The Spy Princess

by Sherwood Smith

I set the food down near Peitar. “Do you think Captain Avnos brought this in secret? Is he one of us?”

  “No, he’s loyal to Uncle Darian.” Peitar poured out the steeped gingerroot. “This is on our uncle’s orders, I’m certain. I’m also certain that nothing will happen to us until I have an interview with him. It’s the interim that worries me.”

  “You mean, after we eat, he’s going to have us tortured?”

  “Not that.” Peitar’s smile was rueful, but his eyes looked terrible. It wasn’t anger, it was grief—real grief. The sheen of tears brightened his lower lids. “Oh, Lilah.” He sat back, holding his cup. One of the tears slid down his cheek, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Something betrayed us, if not someone. Tell me what happened with Derek?”

  I gave a shuddering sigh. “I don’t know if it means anything, but before Derek came, I went exploring in that passage. . . .”

  “Lilah. You didn’t.” He winced and shook his head. “My fault, my fault. I never should have told you. Go on. I take it you ran straight into our uncle.”

  “Yes. He was right in the middle of getting dressed! How was I supposed to know that he’d turned the study into a bedroom?”

  “I should have guessed he would avoid the old king’s rooms. Tell me everything, just as it happened, please?” When I had finished, he said, his voice very soft, “Lilah. You didn’t think to check the passage?”

  “I—no! I, I forgot when I saw Derek.” I groaned. “It’s my fault. Our uncle must have sent a spy after I left, and they heard everything Derek said!”

  “And when you ran all over the gardens looking for me, Uncle Darian was busy closing the trap around us. Carefully, quietly, so no one would know. Including us.” Peitar sighed. “That’s why there were guards in the hall when you were summoned—they were sent to find Derek.”

  “Do you think they sent some up the passage from Uncle’s rooms, too?”

  “Probably. But they couldn’t know that Derek was dressed in servant gray, and we saw him go out that way. I hope it means he escaped.” Peitar shook his head. “We’d better eat. Yes, we are in trouble, but it could get worse. Very quickly. We need to be able to think.”

  “You have to think. I’ve already ruined everything.” My throat closed up, and tears of self-pity burned in my eyes.

  “We have to think.” Peitar drank off his steeped gingerroot. “Things are fairly desperate, I’ll admit, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be made worse. We have to prevent that, if we can.”

  I fought back the tears. “All right. Here, you take some oats first.” We ate in silence.

  “Is Derek mad at you for something?” I finally asked.

  “Not with me, but with my ideas. We disagree not on fundamental needs but on how to accomplish them.”

  “He almost sounded like he didn’t trust you.”

  “Oh, he does. That is, he did.” Peitar set down the bowl. Despite his words, he hadn’t eaten much.

  Instead, he poured more steeped gingerroot and held the cup as he stared through the opposite wall to distant places and times and people, and said, “You probably don’t know this, but Derek’s father was a groom in the royal stable. Our mother fell in love with him—and our great-grandfather was furious.”

  Another surprise. “Because he wasn’t a noble?” I asked, and when Peitar nodded, I said, “I just don’t understand why our great-grandfather, or anyone, should care.”

  Peitar said, “Adamas Dei says that you cannot exploit people you respect. The things Derek is angry about aren’t Uncle Darian’s fault, or even our great-grandfather’s. They’re the result of a series of increasingly damaging attitudes going back several hundred years.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “When our parents were betrothed, Derek’s father was banished to the eastern half of the kingdom, where he started a family. He raised Derek and Bernal to love two things: justice and the shadow of our mother. The day he got the news of her death, he walked into a snow bank, hoping to be reunited with her beyond this world—it inspired a lot of tragic love ballads. Anyway, after that—after hearing about us all his life—Derek made his way to Selenna, risking his life when he was hardly older than you are now. He found out that we agreed on a lot of the same principles, and included me in his plans. Lizana protected him as much as she could, but it was still dangerous.”

  “Love! Every time I hear about it, I’m glad I’m too young.”

  Peitar shook his head. “Love is love, it’s ineffable. But when it’s mixed with politics, it becomes a stain on the spirit.”

  “Will that ever make sense?” I asked, pulling the oatmeal bowl toward me. “It sure doesn’t now.”

  “Is that your kindly way of saying that I’m talking a lot of hot air?”

  The ring of boot heels outside silenced us. The door opened, and a battered young man was shoved in. He crumpled to the floor, moaning.

  “Lilah. Help him.” My hands shook as I moved the tray to the table. By then, Peitar had reached the stranger, whose bruised, puffy face resembled Derek’s. His hands had been tied behind him. Together we managed to shift him to the cot. He was unconscious.

  We attempted to undo the knots around his wrists, but they were too tight, and blood-soaked besides. Finally Peitar straightened up, his face drained of color.

  “Is—is this Bernal?” I asked, my voice too high.

  “A reminder, sent by Uncle Darian, of the price of high politics,” Peitar said. “He will be summoning me very soon. I’ll try to get some bandages and things brought here, if I can. If I can’t, I want you to help Bernal. Try to make him comfortable.”

  “Is this going to happen to us next?” I asked, my voice quavering.

  “I don’t know. What I do know is that we have effectively vanished. Our uncle had just enough time to plan it while you sought me in the garden. No one knows where we are—not servants nor courtiers, much less spies in the city. He must have tried to do the same with Derek. It means he no longer trusts anyone—anyone at all.” He looked up at me soberly. “Derek’s words in your room had to have been a strike to his heart.”

  “Uncle Dirty Hands doesn’t have a heart,” I snapped.

  “Yes, he does. But it’s banded by thick scars.”

  For a time we sat in silence, me beside the cot, my insides knotted with fear, and Peitar on the chair, looking down at Bernal.

  Presently, just as he had predicted, the guards came for him.

  There was nothing I could do for Bernal until he woke up, so I just sat there, waiting. I have no idea how much time passed, for there was no candle to burn down or light to change. Time was measured in Bernal’s painful breaths, in and out. Tears ran down my face, hot, then cold.

  When they stopped I remained crouching, watching a spider spin a web on one of the legs of the cot. The little creature lived its life unheeding. I wished I was back at Selenna House, playing in the garden and dreaming about what was over the wall.

  Bernal’s breathing changed just before I heard noise again. I wiped my face on my silken sleeve and waited.

  The door was unlocked, and Peitar came in, his forehead tight with pain. I looked at him questioningly. He sat and gave that sardonic smile that jolted me with its resemblance to our uncle’s. “We had a discourse on duty.”

  Then Bernal moved. He was awake. “Peitar,” he whispered.

  “This is my sister, Lilah,” Peitar said. “Shall we help you bind those wounds we can reach?” He smiled slightly. “Lilah is carrying a bit of superfluous cloth.”

  I looked down at all my petticoats but didn’t feel like laughing.

  “No matter,” Bernal managed. “I—why are you here?”

  “I’m afraid my uncle found out about our participation.”

  “Does Derek know I got caught?” Bernal’s brown eyes were anxi
ous.

  “Yes,” Peitar and I said together.

  He made an unhappy sound. “Then he’ll do something. Tonight.” At Peitar’s questioning look, he went on. “Because tomorrow I’m to be put to death. Public. City square.”

  I crouched in a ball, almost biting through my lip, but I felt no pain.

  The two of them just talked, their voices low murmurs. Not about Derek or plans or anything like that. Bernal didn’t rail against courtiers or even against Uncle Darian. Instead, they spoke of Arnathan, the province where the Diamagans had spent their childhoods, and horses. I got a feeling that if Bernal hadn’t devoted himself to Derek’s cause, he would be raising them.

  Time passed, and I helped Bernal drink the rest of the gingerroot, and then he slept.

  Peitar laid his head on his crossed arms, and after a time, I heard his breathing slow down.

  I tried thinking, I am Lasva Dei the Wanderer, and this is my adventure, but I was too scared to believe it. So I sat there and studied the little spider in her web.

  PART II

  Enemies

  one

  Finally I fell asleep, curled up on the stone, head pillowed on a swath of my skirts.

  Approaching noise woke us. The door slammed open, smashing into the wall, and a crowd of armed people roared in, led by . . . Derek!

  “Castle’s ours!” he cried, waving a blood-streaked sword. A long knife was stuck through his ragged sash. “City will be soon.” His companions cheered. Their weapons and spattered clothing made me shudder.

  “My uncle?” Peitar asked.

  “Ours! It took more than ten of us to capture him. Who would have known all those swords he’s got on the walls weren’t bolted down?”

  “His own guards died, I take it?”

  Derek’s smile faded. I suspect he’d forgotten that those “guards” were men Peitar had known all his life. “Only four.” Then, in a sharper voice, “And the king either killed or wounded as many of my people before they disarmed him. He’s a prisoner, bound and guarded.” Derek said to the others, “There’s my brother, Bernal—and my friend Peitar, and his sister, Lilah. See to it they are safe.”

  And he was gone, along with most of the crowd.

  Someone bent to cut Bernal free. “I’ve got to join my brother,” he whispered to me as he got shakily to his feet and began to work his cramped arms and legs.

  He was helped out, leaving Peitar and me alone.

  “Lilah, get yourself to one of the passages and hide. . . .”

  “No chance.” I helped him up. “Here’s my shoulder. We’ll stay together.”

  “All right,” he said reluctantly, because we both knew he couldn’t walk. “But we should get out of these clothes before some of Derek’s rioters attack us.”

  Out in the hall, I saw everything I dreaded. The floor and walls were splashed with blood. People were sprawled everywhere, some unmoving, others in obvious pain. We stopped by the first few wounded, though there was nothing we could do. Peitar told them we would try and get help, but I was afraid Derek’s followers wouldn’t show the mercy that Captain Avnos had.

  The door between the garrison and the palace was ajar, smoke drifting through, bringing the sounds of distant cries and the crash and tinkle of windows breaking.

  Twice we ducked into archways to avoid shouting, singing rioters, their arms full of loot. It was horrible, seeing Selenna servant blue and gray among the fallen. Terror made me shaky, but Peitar seemed to have acquired some kind of strength, because he kept us moving. Though he looked at everything, long and grim, as if memorizing it.

  Finally, we reached the residence gardens and found our first dead courtiers. I knew them for courtiers only because of the blood-soaked silk and velvet and brocade. All their jewels were gone.

  The rioters had not yet reached our floor. Father’s suite was empty. “It looks like there was some warning after all,” Peitar said, looking around the vast chamber. He shook his head once, as though it hurt. “I have to find Derek. Get his people to see to the wounded.”

  My room streamed with morning light. It finally caught up with me—a complete day and night had passed while we were in the garrison. I hurriedly changed into my Larei clothes, braided up my hair, and crammed on my cap. Then I stuffed the fashion book into the waist of my knee pants.

  Peitar met me in the hall. Gone were the jeweled hair tie and the fine shoe clasps. He wore a plain shirt and leaned on his extra cane.

  No one would recognize us as nobles now.

  So this was revolution. I remembered how impatient I’d been for it to happen—just so I wouldn’t have to curl my hair. But in my idea of revolution, people gathered to make stirring speeches about how we could better our lives, followed by cheers and exciting trumpet blasts as . . . things somehow changed. Not this horror.

  We made our slow way downstairs and came upon people emerging from one of the suites. A teenage girl had pulled a costly ball gown over her clothing. Her companion waved a sword. “Damnation to the nobles!” he shouted, jabbing a tapestry on the wall.

  “Long live King Derek!” the girl shrilled. Giving us a wave, they vanished into another room.

  I looked at my brother. “King Derek?”

  “Not his idea. The problem is, he hasn’t replaced it with anything else.”

  Outside, on the grand terrace, more rioters swarmed back and forth, some laughing like it was a picnic. We joined the crowd entering the royal pavilion, where government had taken place for so many generations.

  The floor was littered with shards of glass and broken statuary. The tapestries depicting famous historical scenes hung in tatters. The air was hot and gritty.

  Derek and several others stood on the dais in the throne room, making speeches. The musicians’ gallery and the wall alcoves were filled, but not everyone was listening. Knots of adults talked furtively, while kids pulled at the banners on the walls.

  A middle-aged woman in a cook’s apron was speaking. As the crowd shoved us forward we began to catch words. “Death . . . blood . . . clean! . . . a new beginning!” she cried. Swords, axes, spears, hoes, and scythes were thrust into the air. “Today will live in history, as the blood of the nobles waters the seeds of freedom!” She threw her arms wide. A cheer echoed through the hall, the crowd shifted—and we came face to face with Bren and Deon.

  “Peitar! Lilah!” They too had changed from palace clothes. Deon bounced with excitement, but Bren’s grin seemed forced.

  “There are the Selennas,” I heard Derek call. The crowd parted around us, and we joined him. “My best friend and guide, Peitar Selenna,” he proclaimed, throwing an arm around my brother’s shoulders. There were a few mutterings—some in question, others in anger.

  Derek cleared his throat, then whispered, “Gah, I’m thirsty.” He lifted his voice. “Unknown to you all, Peitar was my earliest recruit, my right hand, second only to my brother. I wish you all to protect him and his sister, Lilah, who is also one of us. Peitar, share some of your thoughts.”

  My brother tried, but his quiet voice didn’t carry. Behind me, a burly man grumbled. Several people laughed, and as the talking got louder, my stomach clenched.

  Peitar shook his head and turned to Derek. “There are wounded people who need tending. On both sides.”

  “The nobles can look to themselves for a change. As for the others . . .” Derek raised his voice to a powerful shout. “Hear me! Can someone help the wounded? Our fallen brothers and sisters rely on our help!” The people cheered again, but if anyone moved to do his bidding, I couldn’t see it. He turned back to Peitar. “Come! Celebrate with us. Your uncle was going to hang my brother today, and probably you tomorrow. Instead, he’ll be on the execution stand, but he won’t get an easy hanging. We’ll make it last a couple of days, if we can.”

  Peitar ga
ve him a long look, then shook his head. “Derek. When you want to talk again, you’ll know where to find me.”

  We retreated—Deon, with many backward glances. I thought I saw Innon, looking dirty and disheveled, but he was swallowed by the crowd before I could be sure.

  Finally we were on the grand terrace. Peitar leaned against a half-smashed marble bench. “Those people are so stupid,” I muttered, sitting down. And when he gave me a distracted glance, “I heard one say your mind is as twisted as your leg, and all nobles should die. And he’s going to make a new government?”

  Peitar shrugged. “My leg is crooked, anyone can see that. And he knows nothing of my mind.”

  “I’d like to smack him over the head with a cook pot.”

  “Passing the hurt back, eh? Let it go.”

  “Foo!” I exclaimed. “It’s all very well to be high-minded like your legendary Adamas Dei—if he even lived—but the fact is, even if that man’s words can’t hurt us, his sword can.”

  “Yes. Which is why there’s nothing more for us here. It’s too dangerous to stay, and I don’t know how to fix it. Let’s go home.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Bren scowled. “C’mon, Deon. . . .”

  Deon scowled right back. “No. I don’t want to see my family again—noble-loving fools! Well, not Gran. But I’m staying to help. Derek says this is where freedom is being born and history made!”

  “Deon . . .”

  She shook her head. “I’m off!” And she ran.

  I turned to my brother. “Peitar, we have to find Lizana . . . and make sure Father—”

  “He’s gone,” Bren said, interrupting, as he watched his cousin vanish inside. “Lizana warned people to leave. I thought she was betraying the cause . . . but I think now she was right. That was last night, after the king sent your father home. I helped put food in his carriage.”

  “Lizana knows how to take care of herself,” Peitar said. “Let’s find mounts, if we can.”

  “Are you angry that Deon stayed, Bren?” I asked as we walked. “She just wants to help.” When he didn’t answer, I whispered, “I didn’t think it would be like this—all the killing.”