Palace of Lies

by Margaret Peterson Haddix

  Lord Throckmorton stroked his chin. Or, rather, his chins—he had three of them.

  “Now, now, children,” he said. “You know I can’t tolerate childish bickering like that. Though it amuses me, Desmia, to see you defending the sister who abandoned you so heartlessly.”

  “Only because you kicked her out of the palace!” I replied.

  Lord Throckmorton just shook his head in mock surprise.

  “Oh, is that the story she’s spinning?” he asked.

  Once that tone of Lord Throckmorton’s would have been enough to make me doubt myself. That was how he had controlled me for most of my life. I was surprised that now, even stuck in the Fridesian dungeon, I didn’t feel the slightest quiver of doubt, the slightest desire to just give in to whatever Lord Throckmorton was going to tell me.

  Maybe I truly had grown up.

  I turned to Terrence.

  “Were you still loyal to Janelia when you started out with us, on the way to Fridesia?” I asked. “Or were you a total traitor even then?”

  Terrence tilted his head, considering.

  “I was still thinking that if I played my cards right, I could end up married to a princess,” he said.

  “That’s not an answer!” I insisted.

  “You seemed so . . . royal . . . until you started screaming,” Terrence said. “I thought maybe you might still win.”

  “Until I started screaming,” I muttered.

  Terrence shrugged, and at least had the grace to avoid meeting my eyes.

  “You know you lost as soon as you defied me,” Lord Throckmorton chided me. “I thought I taught you better than that! Siding with those anonymous girls and bumbling knights instead of me. You know I always win!”

  It was true. I had seen him win against challengers again and again in the palace.

  “What possessed you?” Lord Throckmorton asked. He sounded truly hurt, almost as if I had been a beloved daughter who ran away.

  “What you were doing—what you wanted—it was wrong,” I said, stumbling over my own words. “The war was wrong.”

  “Oh, and so you became a moralist?” Lord Throckmorton asked. “You, who were always so cold and aloof—you actually began to care for soldiers you’d never met?”

  “Yes!” I said.

  But had I? I thought back to the first time Ella and Jed had come to the palace, the way they seemed so different from everyone else I knew. And then Cecilia and Harper showed up, and Cecilia screamed and yelled and threw fits and Harper still stayed by her side. And they were different too.

  “And . . . maybe I wanted friends,” I admitted. “Maybe I wanted true friends, for the first time in my life.”

  I couldn’t separate it in my mind. Wasn’t it still good to want to impress friends who were good people, and wanted good things? Who maybe made me a better person myself?

  Of course, better person or not, now I was imprisoned in the dungeon of the Fridesian palace, with Lord Throckmorton and Terrence both gloating over my mistakes.

  “Why do you care about any of that now?” I asked Lord Throckmorton. “You’re out of prison, and I’m in it. You got your revenge! And—are you working with Madame Bisset now? Was it the two of you who conspired to burn down the Palace of Mirrors?”

  Lord Throckmorton smirked.

  “We found so many people willing to help,” he crowed. “Jailers willing to accept the slightest bribe, palace officials whose feelings were hurt when the twelve new princesses had no interest in their advice . . .”

  I closed my eyes weakly. I had known the sister-princesses needed to be more tactful. I should have warned them about that, too.

  But I’d also been in awe of their bluntness, their energy, their willingness to do what they thought was right no matter what.

  I’d been a little jealous.

  “You’ve won, of course,” I murmured. “So you can tell me—are they still alive? The other twelve real princesses of Suala?”

  I opened my eyes, hoping to see the truth written on Lord Throckmorton’s face. But he had even more years of palace experience than I did. I could tell he was keeping his expression carefully unreadable.

  “None of you were ever real princesses,” he said. “Surely you realize that now. And surely you realize how easy that makes it for Madame Bisset and me and our underlings”—he glanced almost dismissively at Terrence—“to replace all of you in one fell swoop. With a fake princess who will serve our needs.”

  “By marrying her off to the prince of Fridesia,” I muttered. “Joining the two kingdoms. Leaving you and Madame Bisset to be the powers behind the throne of a country that’s twice the size of Suala.”

  Lord Throckmorton beamed, his eyes greedy.

  “I taught you well!” he announced. “You see the possibilities! Isn’t it a marvelous plan?” He leaned in close. “We were willing to let you play the true princess role, if only you’d cooperated with Madame Bisset. Because you do look so much like a princess—you can, anyway—and you’d served that role for so long. But, alas, you chose to betray my goals yet again. By running away after the fire.”

  “And so you started the rumor that I set the fire and murdered the other princesses,” I murmured, finally putting this piece of the puzzle together. “As revenge. And—to thoroughly discredit me. So nobody would believe me if I dared to come out of hiding and tried to rule alone.”

  “Quite so,” Lord Throckmorton said, nodding. “Quite so.”

  It was frightening how well I understood him. I didn’t want to. How could I know him so well when he didn’t understand me at all?

  “But it’s too late for you now,” Terrence interrupted, leering at me through the bars. “Lord Throckmorton knows not to give you any more chances. Right? And other things could change too. Maybe it won’t be Madame Bisset who stays in power as Lord Throckmorton’s second in command. Isn’t that true? Because there are other people you’d rather help?”

  Both Lord Throckmorton and I ignored him.

  “But did Lord Twelling kill the prince’s first wife?” I asked. “Did you kill the other princesses? And what happened to Ella and Jed?”

  I tried hard to sound disinterested, as if I was only asking as a point of curiosity. But my voice cracked, letting out the pain and fear. There was too much for me to hold back.

  The corners of Lord Throckmorton’s mouth twitched.

  “I believe I’ll leave you in ignorance on those matters,” he said. “Consider it the first torture we decide to administer.”

  Torture?

  Was he just toying with me, or did they have that planned for my future?

  Terrence tugged on Lord Throckmorton’s sleeve.

  “Lord Twelling should be pressuring the prince into making a decision soon,” Terrence said.

  “Ah yes, I believe he is a hasty decider,” Lord Throckmorton agreed. “Madame Bisset told me he agreed to marry his first wife sight unseen. Which explains why such a handsome man ended up yoked to such an ugly hag.”

  I had spent barely a quarter hour in Prince Charming’s presence, and for much of that time he had been sobbing and I had been begging to be released from the dungeon. But I still winced at Lord Throckmorton’s insult to the prince’s deceased wife. I could imagine how hurt the prince would be.

  “You won’t get away with this,” I argued. “Long before the wedding, the Fridesians will realize you’re lying. I already planted the seeds of doubt. Eventually they’ll come to believe what I told them instead.”

  “Will they?” Lord Throckmorton asked. “When we provide them with the proof you lacked?”

  “You won’t have proof,” I fumed. “Because you’re lying!”

  Lord Throckmorton tapped his finger against his cheek.

  “Perhaps Janelia told you who Lord Constantine is?” he asked.

  “The doctor who delivered Queen Charlotte Aurora’s baby?” I asked. “Who was exiled because he knew the baby died? The one who supposedly bribed Janelia to stay quiet, when really
it was you?”

  Lord Throckmorton looked like he was going to object to the last description, but then he only shrugged.

  “Conveniently, Lord Constantine is going to show up in Fridesia in, oh, about a week’s time,” he said. “He’ll tell a tale of palace intrigue . . . about how the original baby wasn’t dead after all. He’ll be able to swear to the true claim to the Sualan throne of . . . well, whomever Prince Charming chooses!”

  41

  I stared at Lord Throckmorton in dismay.

  That would work, I thought. That would actually work very well.

  I’d seen his strategies in action for fourteen years. A chill struck me as I thought of another angle he could use: All he needed was Janelia to testify that the man claiming to be Lord Constantine really was Lord Constantine.

  And Lord Throckmorton could probably get her to do it by making her think it might help me, I thought.

  It was all I could do not to scream, Stay away from Janelia! Don’t hurt anyone else! Especially not anyone I care about!

  “Milord,” Terrence mumbled beside Lord Throckmorton. I could tell he probably wanted to tug on Lord Throckmorton’s sleeve again but was afraid to.

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Lord Throckmorton agreed. “We need to go back to the ballroom to see who the lucky winner is. I believe we’ve told Desmia everything she needs to know.”

  He can tell by my face that I understand, I thought. He didn’t teach me to hide my feelings well enough after all.

  “Put the torch back, boy,” Lord Throckmorton ordered Terrence.

  Terrence hung it back on the wall, and then the deceitful man and the deceitful boy disappeared into the stairway.

  I waited a few moments, because I still had my pride—I wasn’t going to let myself cry until I was sure neither of them could hear me. But, strangely, after the footsteps receded on the stairs, my eyes stayed dry. I waited for the empty-sky helpless feeling to overwhelm me once again, but it didn’t come.

  I felt calm.

  Because . . . my brain still thinks there’s something I can do? I wondered. Even if I haven’t figured it out yet?

  Could there be some way to escape this dungeon cell, even without a shovel or a hole?

  I went around poking at the stones up and down the wall. But they all seemed solid and unmovable.

  If a guard or even that gravelly-voiced jailer showed up, could I bribe him to get a message to Tog and Janelia and Herk somehow?

  What if a guard or jailer never shows up, and they just let me starve to death in here? What if nobody comes back until it’s time to remove my skeleton?

  I decided not to think about questions like that.

  Lord Throckmorton was acting rather mean to Terrence, now that he’s done using him as a spy, I thought. If Terrence ever comes back down here, could I get him to switch his allegiance once again?

  That seemed like a possibility. But it would require Terrence stepping down into the dungeon once more. And maybe he’d learned a lesson from me: that it wasn’t wise to step foot in a dungeon when you weren’t with people you could trust.

  Just then, I heard footsteps again on the stairs. They were soft and hesitant, not like the confident stomping of Lord Throckmorton or Lord Twelling, or even Terrence or the prince.

  “Hello?” I called. “Is somebody there?”

  “It’s us,” a soft voice called back. “We believe you.”

  I saw the gleaming hair and glistening jewels and shimmering dresses first. And then I got my eyes to separate out individuals from all that glittering: It was three girls.

  Three of the impostor princesses.

  42

  “Well, of course you believe me,” I said bitterly, before I could stop myself. “You know you’re not real princesses.”

  “But we don’t know for sure that you are,” the blond girl in the middle pointed out. Was she supposed to be Elzbethl? “So it is a matter of believing you. Trusting you.”

  I clutched the bars on my door.

  “You’re right,” I said. “Completely right. I’m . . . sorry.”

  I squinted at the girls in their finery, so out of place in the grimy dungeon. I knew how Lord Throckmorton would view my apology: as an admission of weakness. Royalty wasn’t supposed to admit mistakes. Or make them. But I was experiencing something like double vision—or maybe triple vision. I could see how I’d always thought a princess should act. I could see what behavior had come to seem acceptable during my time with Janelia and Herk and Tog.

  Could I also see what I needed to do to convince these girls to help me?

  They’re already here, I told myself. They already said they believe you.

  I swallowed hard.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Sophia, Elzbethl, and Marindia, of course,” the one in the middle said. Then she laughed. “No, we’re messing with you. We’re Catrice, Zuba, and Rose.”

  She pointed first at herself, then at the other two. So Catrice was the blond in the middle, Zuba was the tall brunette on the right, and Rose was the tiny brunette on the left.

  “And you believe me?” I asked. “You really do? Do the other ten believe me as well?”

  The three girls exchanged glances.

  “We didn’t exactly have a chance to ask everyone,” Zuba volunteered. “But . . . I think everyone else could be convinced.”

  “Because none of us wants to die,” Rose finished up.

  I winced.

  “You figured out the same thing I did,” I whispered. “One girl gets to live in luxury in the palace, as the wife of Prince Charming. And then eventually she’ll be queen—queen of the combined kingdoms of Suala and Fridesia. But for that charade to work, the other twelve girls must be…”

  “Eliminated,” Catrice finished for me. “To make sure we never tell our stories. So no one ever knows the truth.”

  I wanted to sink down to the ground. Then I remembered the filth on the floor and just clutched the bars of my dungeon cell even harder.

  “What is your story?” I asked. “You all look so . . .”

  “Real” was the word I wanted to use. They looked as though they had all grown up in a palace—or at least lived in a palace for the past few months. Girls who were peasants wouldn’t wear ball gowns with such ease and natural grace. Girls living on paupers’ food wouldn’t have hair that gleamed like that, or skin that glowed with such health and vitality. Girls who had to work for a living wouldn’t have such smooth hands, such perfect fingernails.

  I knew this because I could feel how rough and frazzled my own skin and hair had become in the weeks of walking from Suala. I could see the many cuts on my own hands from the days of basket-weaving; I could see all my chipped and broken nails.

  Catrice snorted.

  “It’s so easy to figure out,” she said. “We’re actresses.”

  I should have thought of that. But I’d only heard about acting troupes from my sister-princesses. Lord Throckmorton had forbidden their presence in the palace because he considered them tacky and low-class. And untrustworthy liars and thieves.

  And he wanted to be the only liar and thief in the palace, I thought bitterly.

  “I warrant that every acting troupe in Suala is missing its ingénue cast member right now,” Zuba added.

  “If none of us goes back, I don’t know how they’ll ever act out a love story again,” Rose said, as if this was something to worry about. “It’ll just be the pirate and soldier plays they do. And there’ll be no kiss waiting for the brave hero at the end. . . .”

  “Maybe they’d just start using ugly girls instead,” Catrice said calmly. “The ones who usually play servants. Love stories wouldn’t die.”

  I blinked. How did any of this matter? How could they care about the future of theater troupes at a time like this?

  “So someone came and—what? Kidnapped all of you?” I asked. “Forced you to act like princesses?”

  “They didn’t have to kidnap us,” Zuba said, shruggi
ng apologetically. “They offered us four times our usual salary.”

  “For a long journey and maybe just one performance,” Catrice finished. “Tonight’s performance.”

  “But whoever the prince chooses—” I began. “She’ll have to go on acting for years and years and years.”

  “You think that one will have a long life either?” Rose asked. “I mean, maybe the prince will like her. But—”

  “But since when is it the prince’s decision?” Catrice broke in. “Look what happened to his first wife!”

  They were all so matter-of-fact about all this: the danger they were in, the casual manipulation of people’s lives.

  “Does this surprise you?” Zuba asked, watching me carefully.

  “I . . . I guess I was a little sheltered growing up in the palace,” I replied.

  It was true. I had known about lies and manipulation and evil, but I’d almost never seen the messy outcomes. People just disappeared. Whispers just traveled through the courtiers. I’d only seen prettied-up evil, masked by perfume and luxury.

  The first true thing I’d seen had been my sister-princesses trapped in a dungeon back at the Palace of Mirrors.

  And I did something about it! I wanted to protest.

  But that had just led to the fire. It had led to my sister-princesses vanishing.

  And it had led to me being trapped in this dungeon now.

  So maybe I’m not all that great at dealing with truth?

  “If you knew what Madame Bisset and Lord  Throckmorton were planning, why did you go along with it?” I asked plaintively. “Why didn’t you refuse from the very beginning?”

  “Because we didn’t know what was going on until tonight,” Zuba said, shaking her dark curls for emphasis. “We thought we were doing our patriotic duty, fooling our enemies.”

  “And protecting the real princesses,” Rose added. “Don’t forget they told us that. We thought we were being noble and brave, standing in for the real princesses in the danger of our enemy’s court.”

  “And then you showed up and . . . we thought about things a little deeper,” Catrice said. “We sneaked down here and we heard what you talked about with Lord Twelling and the prince, and then with Lord Throckmorton and Terrence.”