The Opal Crown (21 page)

I cannot imagine how this knowledge must sit with you, to know that a crown was valued more than your own life. So many nights I lie awake and think of you and wonder where you are, what you are doing. Who you are becoming. But that knowledge is kept secret even from me, your own mother.

Yet I have a secret of my own.

Your father has decreed you will be brought back to Allegria after your sister is married and sent to a foreign kingdom. This was all decided while I was still weak from childbirth and my grip on consciousness was fleeting. How I wish you could have seen me cry, still weak, still bleeding, the moment he told me of the decision he and the four Guardians reached. A mask for the firstborn; an anonymous home for the second.

It was, they said, the best they could do for the both of you. Your father insisted we not name our second daughter. “If she doesn’t have a name, she cannot be hunted,” he said. And although I did not then, and still do not agree with him, I went along with it.

You must understand, we had no inkling I was carrying twins. Only one cradle—a beautiful, golden one—was crafted. And when a second daughter was born, surprising us all, there simply was not a space prepared for her. And so we placed her in a wooden trunk and kept it next to the cradle.

I lost two babies early on before I became pregnant with you and your sister. But somehow I knew this time would be different. And when I held my baby, my beautiful Wilhamina, I knew I was victorious, for I had accomplished what I had purposed to do, and my heart was full of gratitude. Yet only a few minutes later, pain dragged at my insides and a second daughter was granted to me. Truly, I had the desire of my heart in a double measure!

Though the name Wilhamina had been decided upon ages ago if we were to have a girl, I gave my lovelies, my two beloveds, secret names. I called my oldest Victory and my second Desire.

Even from birth, my two daughters, my two beloveds, were so different. Wilhamina was born with her eyes wide open, ready to embrace life. My younger daughter came into this world crying and fearful. Did she sense, even then, the fate she would be sentenced to? Watching the two of you sleep, a golden cradle next to a wooden trunk, I saw clearly the life my two daughters would lead: the older, golden and royal; the younger, orphaned and unknown. A mother never stops fearing for her child, and so I believed that whatever precautions your father and the four Guardians took would never be enough.

I believe that is why I did what I did that night.

An hour before Lord Murcendor was to arrive to spirit away the younger twin, I picked up both of my beloveds and cradled them. For those precious minutes I knew one of the highest joys of motherhood, one that is often denied to a queen, the feel of my children in my arms as they nursed at my own breasts. And when I put them back down, I placed Wilhamina in the trunk, and the younger twin in the cradle. In doing so, I hoped to give both of my girls a claim to the Andewyn name and heritage. One, a claim by birthright as the firstborn of the king and heir to the crown; and the other, the claim of time, for she would grow up in the Opal Palace.

Do you understand my words, dear daughter? You are the older twin. Your true name, the name given to you at birth, is Wilhamina Andewyn.

Your father has decided to have you brought back to Allegria after your sister leaves, and to give you a new life here. But he feels you should never be told of your true identity. He feels it is best for all.

All save me, for I want to know you, my dear darling. If I am still drawing breath in this world on the day that you read this, I want you to take this letter and come to me. Offer it up as proof to anyone who would oppose you that you are an Andewyn. You are Wilhamina, Fennrick’s firstborn, and your true place should have been here, with me.

By the time you receive this letter, your childhood will have passed. Forgive me, please, my darling daughter, for how I’ve wronged you. You should have grown up in the Opal Palace; you should have been the recognized princess of Galandria. I know not whether my actions will have helped or hurt you and your sister. I know only that on that night I was nearly mad with grief and believed I was helping.

I am Queen Astrid and I write these things by my own hand.

For a few brief moments, I have a peace I have never known. I have a name, and a mother who loved me. A mother who thought of me every day. The knowledge reaches in, touches my heart, and I let myself feel it.

But the feeling is short-lived as the reality of what I’ve just read sets in. If what she’s saying is true,
I
am the oldest of the Andewyn children. The one with the strongest claim to the throne. And Astrid has just handed me the evidence to prove it.

Chapter 42

Wilha

“W
hat did you tell Lord Royce?” I ask Patric as we set off from the manor on the horses we borrowed from Lord Nichols’s stable.

“I told him we wished to go on a picnic,” he says. “I assured him we would not journey outside of Lord Nichols’s property, and that we would be back at sunset. This, of course, will be impossible, and when we return tomorrow, I will tell him you took a slight fall from your horse and I thought it best if we made camp for the evening before returning.”

We continue down the road, our horses keeping a steady pace. I am not happy that this journey requires so many lies, and yet it is necessary. I remind myself that if I am to rule with Elara one day, it shall mean a lifetime of making difficult decisions.

Once the manor has faded from sight, we steer the horses sharply to the east, back toward Allegria. We travel down lesser-used roads, and I am careful to keep my hood flipped up; with so many fliers of my image circulating around the kingdom, I will not chance being recognized on the road. And as Andrei and the whole court believe Elara and I are farther north, Patric and I have judged it safer if I
surprise my brother by paying him a visit early on in his sum
mer progress. His first stop is just outside of Allegria at a manor maintained by Lord and Lady Ashland.

Patric and I ride in easy silence, and yet I cannot keep from glancing at him from time to time, and admiring the way the sun glints off his black hair, or the way his deep green eyes continually sweep side to side, always alert for danger. As much as I want to meet with Andrei, much in me wishes Patric and I really could spend the day picnicking together.

“How will we get inside the manor?” I ask after we have journeyed for some time.

“Your father visited the Ashlands on progress every year. Lord Ashland always gave up his own quarters to him, so I have no doubt he will make the same offer to Andrei. Since I attended the king on many of those nights, I am familiar with the manor’s layout.”

“You attended him?” I say, startled to realize Patric possesses memories of my father that I do not. “How did he seem on those nights?”

Patric gives me a sideways look. “Old and very sad. Once or twice I heard him weeping in the middle of the night.”

It is difficult to imagine my father, always so ready for another feast, another ball, weeping in the night like a child waking from a nightmare. Or did he weep because, upon waking, he discovered his nightmares were true? What if those dark nights were the only hours he allowed himself to think of what he had done?

I shake the past from my thoughts, and will myself back to the present. “Do you mean for us to visit Andrei in Lord Ashland’s chambers, then? How will we get in?”

“The estate was originally built by your family before being given to the Ashlands as a gift,” Patric says. “There’s a passageway leading from Lord Ashland’s chambers to the back of the manor.” He shifts uncomfortably in his saddle. “I have seen your father use it to receive different lady friends in the middle of the night.”

I nod silently, choosing not to comment on my father’s late-night activities.

“When we arrive we’ll wait in the woods at the back of the manor. I think it best if we enter at night, but earlier, when Andrei should still be feasting with the court. I would rather we already be in his chambers when he retires for the evening. When we cross to the manor we’ll keep our hoods up and our heads down. Even if someone were to see the two of us entering the passageway, they may assume I’m one of Andrei’s guards, and have been ordered to bring you to his room.”

Patric’s inclinations prove correct, and long after night has fallen, we make it inside the passageway, certain we have not been noticed. Just before he presses on the embedded opal leading to Lord Ashland’s chambers, I say, “I want you to wait in here.”

“Absolutely not. If there’s a problem and you need me, I want to be right—”

“Andrei will not take kindly to the idea that I have brought an armed guard with me. He may misunderstand my intentions.”

Patric seems to think about this before reluctantly nodding. “I will stay. But I won’t send you in unarmed.” He unsheathes a sword and hands it to me. “If you need anything, rap on the wall.” He demonstrates with a loud knock. “I will hear it on my side, and I will come to your aid.”

I move to press on the opal, but Patric stops me. “Wait a second,” he says, his eyes roaming over my face. “Don’t go just yet.”

“Why not?” I ask, keenly aware of my heart knocking against my rib cage; aware that we’re alone in the dark. Patric leans closer and, almost unwillingly, my eyes flutter
closed and I can’t help but wonder if his lips are as soft as they look.

But I’m not given the chance to find out. Patric plucks several stray threads of grass from my hair. “Okay, you’re good to go. Please be safe. And signal me if you need to.”

“I will.”

I step through the passageway, feeling out of sorts and vaguely wishing I could slash something with my sword.

8

J
ust as Patric predicted, the room is empty. It’s also smaller than I expected, and stiflingly hot. In the dim candlelight, I glimpse dark tapestries, a canopied bed, and a flagon of wine on a table next to some plush armchairs. I hide myself behind a tapestry, but I do not have long to wait. The door bursts open, and arguing voices fill the room.

“I don’t understand why you needed to execute them,” Andrei says. “They were harmless.”

“They were flouting the law,” Lord Murcendor says. “I decided to make an example of them.” My mouth goes dry, and I grip my sword tighter.

Andrei’s voice swells with petulance. “But I told you not to do it. And
I
am the king.”

“Those Maskrens refused to take off their masks, even when it is now illegal. It was as good as declaring themselves in favor of your sisters.”

My stomach turns. The Maskrens, with their brown cloaks and gold-threaded masks, were always loyal to me. Now it seems their devotion will cost them their lives. While I have been away, how many in Allegria are being executed?

“But—” Andrei begins.

“Your Highness, it was for the best. If you reach your maturity and come of age, perhaps you will understand these things better.”

From Andrei’s silence, I think he hears the threat in Lord Murcendor’s words just as I do.

“Of course,” Andrei finally replies. “I am sorry, Your Lordship.”

“You are always welcome to share your differing views with me. Just . . . not in public,” Lord Murcendor says.

I hear the sound of a door opening and closing again. I chance a peek at the edge of the tapestry and see Andrei is now alone and locking the door. He turns and looks into the empty fireplace, as though the weight of the world rests upon his shoulders. Quietly, I slip out from behind the tapestry and step forward.

“Does Lord Murcendor always speak to you so?”

Andrei jumps and screams for the guards before whipping around to face me. “Wilha?”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, as the stone floor thrums with clat
tering footsteps and guards begin pounding at the locked door. “I should have announced myself properly.”

“Your Majesty! Open the door!”

Andrei’s eyes stray to the sword in my hand. “Have you come to kill me?”

“I have come as you asked,” I murmur, as the guards continue to shout. I grip my sword tighter. “Did you invite me here only to have me arrested?”

“Hardly. Step behind the tapestry and be quiet.”

I comply and force myself to take soft, shallow breaths as Andrei turns the lock and guards spill into the room.

“Your Majesty, are you all right? We thought we heard voices.”

“I thought I heard something outside the window, but it was just an owl. You are free to go.”

Silence. When the guards don’t move, Andrei’s voice turns icy. “Leave. That is an order from your king.”

“But, Your Majesty,” the guard’s voice shakes. “Lord Murcendor said—”

“I don’t care what Lord Murcendor said.
I
am telling you to leave. If you do not, I shall call for more guards and have you both removed.”

“Of course, Your Majesty, forgive us.” The guard now sounds eager to leave. “Call for us if you need anything.”

After the door closes behind them, I hear the click of the lock turning again. “You may come out now,” Andrei says in a hushed voice.

When I step out from behind the tapestry, his eyes search my face.

“Do you know as a young boy I was terrified of you? I actually thought the rumors were true. I spent countless nights imagining your face and the monster I believed you to be. You haunted my dreams and terrified my steps. On the few occasions when I found myself alone in the palace, I was certain you were hiding in the shadows, just waiting for the right moment to curse me.”