The Opal Crown (31 page)

“One of the smaller chambers in the northern wing—the one without windows.”

The men start for the door, but I hang back. “What are you doing with the royal family’s valuables?”

“We’re not stealing them,” she replies shrilly, exchanging panicked glances with the other maids. “We’ve been ordered to lock them away. A mob is at the gates—and if they get past them, Lord Murcendor fears they’ll storm the palace.”

“A mob?” A ribbon of dread coils around my chest. “Why? What’s happened?”

“Rumors have been rampant that the city was about to be attacked, and it’s stirred everyone up. Lord Murcendor has ordered all the palace guards to form a line in the courtyard to hold them back if they get past the gates.” With that, she and the other maids hurry from the room.

But I am rooted to the spot. “Patric, this is my doing.
I
started those rumors.”

“You did it to save your sister,” he says immediately. “You had a hard decision to make, and—”

“And in the process, I’ve set the whole city aflame. I should have known. I should have realized. This city has been hanging by a thread, I should have—”

“You made the best decision you could.”

“And if hundreds die tonight, will it have been a good one?”

“Let’s just get to your sister’s room. We can decide what to do after that.”

I’m not sure what he means, but I follow him and we set off, surrounded by frightened cries echoing in the corridors. We come across a fallen candelabrum where dried wax pud
dles the floor. Next to it lies a leather bag swollen with
jeweled items spilling across the hallway, as though someone planned to steal them, but was in too much of a hurry to come back after dropping the bag.

When we reach the appointed chamber, Elara is
no-where to be found. One of my masks, burnt and melted, rests on the mantel. I pick up a half-full cup of tea.

“She can’t have left that long ago,” I say, showing Patric the teacup. “It’s still warm. Now where shall we look? Do you think it’s possible she’s left the palace?”

A heaviness seems to settle over the room, and the men exchange tentative looks with one another.

“What? What is it?” I say.

“Wilha . . . there are hundreds of rooms in the palace,” Patric says. “It could take us hours to conduct a thorough search—hours we may not have.” He pauses and glances at the men. “Many of us have been trained to protect not just your family, but this palace. I don’t think any of us now want to just stand aside when all is being threatened.”

“You want to join the soldiers in the courtyard?”

“You saw the terror on the maids’ faces. If the gates are breached, many of the men and women who have spent their lives serving your family are going to face the wrath of an angry mob. Would you wish that upon them?”

“Of course not,” I say. “But each one of you is considered a traitor.”

“I daresay we will be welcomed back tonight.”

Patric and the others look at me expectantly, waiting for my command. “Go,” I say. “Go and save us from this mess I have created.”

“I don’t suppose it’s too much to ask that you return to the waterfall?” Patric says softly.

“She’s my sister. I have to keep looking for her.”

He pulls a sword from his waist and holds it out to me. “Then take this with you. But promise me that if the gates are breached you’ll evacuate.”

Patric and the rest of the men make for the armory. If I strain my ears, I can hear the chanting of the people outside the gates. The sound brings back a lifetime of memories. My gaze is drawn to the blackened mask. Slowly, as if in a dream, I pick it up and tie it on, the metal cool against my cheeks. Then I leave the room, the path I’m set on well-known to me. For years I traveled it every Friday to appear before the crowds that came to see me. Now tonight, our positions are reversed. I am going to see them, and I hope their chanting has drawn Elara’s attention as well.

I check every room as I make my way through the corridors, but I don’t find her. When I arrive at the balcony, the doors are closed, though the screaming beyond the gates is clear as the people call down curses upon Andrei. Elara is nowhere to be found, yet I cannot help but pause to stare outside.

An ocean of torchlight trails like molten steel from the golden gates and down the hill to Eleanor Square. My stomach stitches itself into knots; I have never seen such a large crowd assembled in Allegria. It’s only a matter of time before they gain entrance to the palace. Already I see the curling gold
A
at the top of the gates shaking against the pressure of the mob beyond. Below in the courtyard, every available palace guard stands at attention, armed and waiting to meet them.

“I had hoped you were still alive.”

The sound of Lord Murcendor’s voice startles me and I whirl around. I run my hand along the hilt of my sword, mostly to reassure myself that it’s still there. Lord Murcendor also holds a sword; his fingers grip the hilt tightly as he gazes out onto the courtyard.

“Come away, Princess. This is no scene for a lady to be
witnessing.”

“You no longer command me, Lord Murcendor.” I chance another look out the window. “Will the guards be able to hold the mob back if they breach the gates?” I say.

“We’re not going to wait to find out.”

“What do you mean?” I turn and read the look in Lord Murcendor’s eyes; the way he strains forward—the way the entire contingent of soldiers in the courtyard strain forward.

And I come to a horrifying conclusion.

Chapter 66

Elara

T
he screams of the mob outside the gates hurl
through an open window as I make my way down a deserted corridor. The people are cursing, screaming, calling for Andrei’s death. A shiver runs down my back. The voices are loud, louder than I’ve ever heard. Just how many are gathered outside the gates?

In the Eleanor Throne Room, I find Andrei alone, huddling on his throne. The opal crown sits askew on his forehead.

“I wondered if you would haunt me in death, Sister. Do you hear the people calling for me?” he says dreamily, and I realize he’s mistaken me for Wilha. Before I can correct him he continues. “Do you know that when we were younger, I was quite jealous of you? Every Friday, for nearly all my life, it seemed the very walls of my room would shake as the people chanted, waiting for you, the famous Masked Princess, to make an appearance. Now it’s
my
name they call. But I dare not meet them.” He closes his eyes. “Wilha, I fear I have done a terrible thing.”

I know I should correct him. But I feel frozen, unable to break the spell of the dreamlike haze that has descended over the room.

“What did you do?” I say.

“After Father got sick, he seemed to be getting better. Around this time Lord Murcendor had sent word through a servant loyal to me that he had returned to Allegria. We had been meeting secretly, and when he learned of Father’s illness, he gave me some tea leaves and said it would cheer his spirits.” The words rush from him, like a confession he’s long wanted to make. “But shortly after I visited him, Father took a turn for the worse.” Andrei opens his eyes. “And to this day, I don’t know if the tea helped him or if it—or if
I
—” he breaks off, unable to continue speaking.

“Did you love Fen—our father?”

“I barely knew him. I don’t think he particularly cared for children. Lord Murcendor said
he only became a father because he needed to produce an heir.” He swallows. “But I never would have purposely harmed him, Wilha. I swear to you, Lord Murcendor said the tea would help him.”

It’s hard to reconcile the monstrous image of Andrei I’ve held in my heart all these months with the pale, broken-hearted boy huddling on the throne. He doesn’t look strong enough to plot the death of a king; he barely looks strong enough to stand.

“I’m not Wilha,” I say. “And I’m not a ghost, either.
I’m Elara.”

“Elara?” He blinks, and his faraway expression disappears. “Arianne was supposed to come for you.”

I hold up the sack of worthings. “She did.”

“Then why haven’t you left the palace?” He pauses, and in the silence the mob’s screams push their way into the room. “Are you here to deliver the justice the people are calling for? Are you here to kill me? Lord Murcendor said you wanted me dead.”

“Do you believe everything Lord Murcendor tells you?”

“I did,” he says sadly. “I did not come to see him for who he truly is until it was too late.” He leans back on his throne and continues. “When I was young Lord Murcendor often took me riding. He used to let me pretend he was a great knight, and I was his son, and we were setting off on a grand adventure. I understand now that everything he said and did was a lie, of course, but still, at the time those were my happiest days.”

“Your happiest days?” I say. “Really?”

“Of course. Those were the days I had a friend.”

I think of all the times Wilha tried to tell me of her loneliness in the palace, and how Lord Murcendor went out of his way to pay attention to her, and understanding suddenly blooms in my heart. If Mistress had shown me the slightest bit of kindness, how eager would I have been to do her bidding or believe her lies?

“It’s a wonderful thing to have a friend,” I say quietly. “It’s almost as wonderful as having a family who loves you.”

Andrei doesn’t answer. He stares, unseeing, at the statue
of Eleanor. He does not appear to have any intention of leav
ing the room. He seems resigned, as though he doesn’t expect to leave the palace alive.

“Where are your guards?” I ask.

“They’ve fled. They didn’t want the unhappy task of protecting me if the people breach the gates.”

“Then what’s preventing you from leaving the palace? I don’t see Lord Murcendor anywhere.”

“Where would I go? You hear the people screaming—who would harbor me? Do you know that I have never, not even once, been outside this palace without a line of guards
and advisors telling me what to do? I know absolutely noth
ing about living life outside.”

“But as it turns out, I know everything.” Gently, I take him by the hand. “Come on, let’s find a way out of here.”

In some ways, Andrei and I aren’t so different. Our father loved neither of us, and in the absence of parents who would protect us, others stepped in to fill their void. Mistress Ogden screamed her abuse, but Lord Murcendor had the most insidious tactic of them all: He cloaked his malice in the form of a friend. And while I learned early on to shut my ears and my heart to the poison blowing my way, Andrei never even suspected he needed to.

We step into the corridor; both of us freeze when we hear voices echoing in the distance.

Andrei turns to me, looking as if he’s seen a ghost. “That sounded like Wilha.”

Chapter 67

Wilha

“F
or the love of Eleanor,” I say, bringing a hand to my mask. “You’re going to open the gates, aren’t you? You’re going to order the soldiers to attack the crowd.”

Lord Murcendor’s malicious grin is the only confirmation I need.

“No—call it off. The people are merely scared. They’re angry—”

“They’re traitors. And traitors need to be put down.”

“
Put down?
It is our own people that you speak of, not a pack of injured horses.”

“But they
are
injured,” he says. “Gravely so. They’re infected with revolutionary fever. And when one part of the body becomes infected, the only way to save the whole is to cut off the diseased parts.”

“No, that is not the way. Tell the guards to
stand down
!”

Lord Murcendor’s shoulders stiffen. “You are not in charge, Princess, no matter how much you would like to be. That power rests with your brother, my king.”

“Then as your king, I’m ordering you to call them off.”

I whirl around. Andrei and Elara stand behind us. Andrei looks pale but determined as he stares at me with wide eyes. “Thank Eleanor you live, Sister,” he says.

Elara steps beside me, a joyous look on her face. “I
knew
you had escaped—” She stops short when she catches sight of the courtyard below.

“Your Majesty, you may be king,” Lord Murcendor says, “but you are also still a boy.
Leave matters that are above your head to your elders.”

Andrei shoots a hesitant look at me. “Do you think we could calm the mob?”

“I think it’s worth a try. We could appear at the gates and speak to them. We could
try
, Andrei, before we slaughter our own people.”

Andrei nods. “Call your men off, Lord Murcendor. That is an order from your king.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Lord Murcendor replies, his dark eyes glimmering. He turns and opens the doors to the balcony. Then, before anyone can react, he turns back. . . .

And plunges his sword into Andrei’s chest.

A scream rips from my throat. Elara rushes forward and grabs Andrei. They sink to the ground, blood from Andrei’s wound spilling onto Elara’s dress.