The Spy Princess

by Sherwood Smith

  I gulped and studied my toes.

  “A remarkable achievement, if even half the rumors are correct. Have you anything to say?”

  “You were going to kill Peitar.”

  “I may yet have to,” was the answer. “We shall see. As soon as the rain stops, we will put an end to the conflagration you and your friends so blithely set. After which I plan to read your contribution to the family history. And then,” he said, “we will talk again.”

  He waved at Flendar, who gave me a push toward the front door. Did my uncle know what was about to happen? Yes, he knew. No use in begging for leniency, claiming that I was just a kid—the same thing had been done to him, and at a much younger age, by the very adults who were supposed to love and protect him.

  “Run,” Flendar said as soon as we stepped outside. “You have the count of fifty.”

  I splashed across the drive toward the garden. The rain was heavy and hard, and lightning and thunder made it worse. The garden was almost unfamiliar in that bluish light—but not quite. They had to be watching me, so I ran northward in a big circle, laying a false trail. My head ached, and my steps were slow. Twice I blundered into branches and fell in the mud.

  But terror got me up again, running until my side was stitched with pain. At last I reached the center of the garden, and the thicket of shrubs that Peitar had made me learn.

  Glad of every single prickle, I burrowed through, dropped to my throbbing knees, and scrabbled about with my feet until I found the oddly-shaped rock and the woven twine rope. I burrowed my toes under the rock, and shoved my foot under the twine. It scraped painfully, but I pulled with all my strength.

  The passage opened almost directly under me. I tumbled in and it closed, water cascading around me. I was safe.

  Fear still washed through me in waves. I crouched on the stairs until I could breathe again, then rose shakily and felt my way down the tunnel to where we had slept after the revolution. In the pitch dark, backed up against the piles of treasure, I searched carefully until I found what I was looking for—a big, old-fashioned saber—and used it to saw through the sash binding my wrists.

  What now? Where could I go?

  I leaned down to find the lantern. When I straightened up, Tsauderei’s ring bumped my ribs. I’d forgotten it again! I could do the spell—he, Peitar, and Lizana, would want me to do just that.

  But I was a Sharadan brother, and this was my home ground.

  So I waited until night had well and truly fallen. The storm was unabated; all I could hear was the roar of rain.

  I left the passage, making sure the fountain slid shut behind me. Then I faded around the side of the house until I reached the open kitchen window, streaming with light. Two guards were preparing food and loading it onto trays.

  As soon I heard them leave, I climbed inside and slid a shallow bowl and a plate from the crockery shelf. I pulled out my thief tools. I sucked in a deep breath, opened my Lure bag, shook all the blossoms into the bowl, covered it with the plate, and stuck my head out the open window to breathe fresh air until my head cleared.

  Then I slipped out into the empty hall. The downstairs guards seemed to have joined my uncle and his commanders in the parlor, judging from the sounds of talk and cutlery.

  I heard Benoni’s deep laugh, followed by, “Flat disappeared! More fool you, Flendar.”

  Again taking a deep breath, I removed the plate, cracked open the parlor door, rolled the bowl in, and pulled the door shut.

  Someone tried to turn the knob. I held on frantically. Then I heard the thump of someone falling to the floor.

  What had Atan said? The best way to shipwreck a government is to capture all the leaders. And so I had. But what then?

  The Lure would probably lose its virtue by midnight or so, after which my uncle and his commanders and guards would begin waking up. I knew what I ought to do—I ought to use the ring and transfer to Tsauderei and tell him what I’d done, and then he could find Peitar and Derek. But I was crying too hard to do anything but stand there.

  Gradually I became aware of lights, voices, the sound of footsteps. Torches bobbed outside with a sinister, smoldering light, just like the night my father was killed.

  I poised to run, one hand on the door, the other holding the ring.

  The front door opened and several figures hurried in, led by a slender male silhouette limned in golden-red torchlight. A limping silhouette.

  “Peitar?” I gasped, and relief made me dizzy.

  “There she is!” That was Landos Gilad, holding a lantern.

  “Lilah, I’m sorry,” Deon exclaimed, Innon and Bren at either side. “The bells weren’t ringing, and the rain—I tried to guess at noon—I banged on the door, didn’t I, Innon? But you didn’t answer, and they were waiting to take us to—”

  Derek bent close, interrupting Deon’s stream of words. “Are you all right, Lilah?”

  “Peitar?” I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. “Derek? Landos?”

  “He risked a lot coming to find us.” Derek clapped Landos on the shoulder.

  “I left the wagon,” Landos said. “And went back alone to find Lord Peitar. I told the king’s people I was a messenger, so they passed me through. I have a feeling that some of them are secretly sympathetic, because they didn’t ask any questions. And when I reached the sentries on the other side, all I had to mention was ‘Lilah Selenna,’ and—”

  “He told us quite a story about you and the Sharadan brothers,” Derek said.

  At his shoulder, the other three brothers grinned, Deon hopping up and down in glee. “We’re famous,” she whispered.

  But Peitar looked serious. “So we rode straight here. We stopped at Bren’s house to change horses, and he said that two of Uncle Darian’s personal guard were in Riveredge yesterday, scavenging food, right before the storm hit. I feared the worst. So I came to trade my life for yours. . . .”

  “And I came to offer mine for his,” Derek said, looking around. “However, no one seems to be here except you.”

  “Where is our uncle?” Peitar asked.

  “Here.” I pushed open the door a crack, and the sweet, dreamy, all-conquering scent of Lure drifted out. “Hold your breath.”

  Peitar looked past me. The parlor was filled with slumbering forms, most prominent of which was Uncle Darian, hand stretched toward the door.

  “What?” Derek croaked in flat disbelief, as Riveredge villagers entered and crowded in behind him to take a look. He moved away from the parlor. “How did you do that?” he asked, and everybody stared at me.

  I shut the door. “Slam justice,” I said.

  Afterward

  I was sitting on the rim of the palace fountain, feet in the water, as I tossed scraps of bread to the fish, when I heard a familiar voice.

  “Lilah!” Innon sauntered up, dressed in riding clothes. I hadn’t seen him since the day after Peitar’s coronation.

  “Just got back.” He sat down next to me. “I was going to ask what it felt like to be a princess. I see it’s real torture.”

  “Peitar said I could take my time getting used to it, but Great-Aunt Tislah’s still here.”

  “She is? I thought you said she was at the trial—accusing Peitar!”

  “That’s because she believed the rumors that he killed Father, and all those other things she said. I wanted him to kick her out, but he insisted we accept her apology, because she’s family. Pheg! Anyway, it’s easier to wear this gown than listen to her mealtime lectures about what a proper princess should do. And she can’t see my bare feet under the table.” We both laughed. “So how was your visit home?”

  “My parents are busy overseeing improvements in Tasenja.”

  “Your house got ruined? But the people in Tasenja liked you.”

  “Yes. My father and the locals got alon
g pretty well, but there were some roving bands from Helasda. They looted us and attacked a couple of our towns. Everybody’s trying to rebuild.”

  “So how is it, being a Roving Eye?” We all liked Peitar’s nickname for the trusted people he’d dispatched around the kingdom. They were officially called “Royal Emissaries,” and had a signed letter of passage.

  “It’s great. I get to ride around and stick my nose into things, and no one can chase me away. I like being important.” He pretended to throw back lace from his wrists and grinned. “I like being a Tasenja for the nobles who care about rank, and I like being a Sharadan brother for everyone else, especially those who might want to ignore a kid.” Another grin. “You should hear some of the rumors! The farther you get from Miraleste, the crazier they are, and your brother said to never confirm or deny the really good ones—like where we three decoyed the rest of the army while you captured King Darian single-handed.”

  I snorted. “From what I remember, the rain decoyed the army—on both sides.”

  “Yes, but Peitar said people want to believe the stories. The truth can go in the records, but for now let people talk. He says Derek was right about how they make everyone feel better.”

  Yes, but they also had unexpected results. “People who come to see Peitar look at me like I’ve got magic powers—it’s so strange.”

  “I was about to ask how things are for him.”

  “He works all the time. Except when visitors come, mostly courtiers, whose first question is, ‘When will you summon the nobles to court again?’ Or they present daughters who want to flirt with Peitar and try to become queen.”

  “Flirt! With Peitar!” Innon thought this hilarious. “What does he do? Does he even notice?”

  “Oh, he acts as polite as ever. Then he starts asking questions about the repair and rebuilding in their provinces until they give up and go away. He’s serious about no formal court until the kingdom is in better order.” I sighed. “Great-Aunt Tislah spent our entire breakfast lecturing him about marriage. If he doesn’t send her home by tomorrow, I might visit Bren in Riveredge. Deon’s already gone—Tsauderei sent her to a mage he knows up north. If Dtheldevor and her pirate kids really exist, she’ll find them.”

  I thought back over the rapid changes since that night at Selenna House. I’d looked at Peitar, wondering, What now? Afterward, it seemed like the entire kingdom looked at him and asked the same thing.

  And he’d told them, with confidence. Some complained, but what he wanted was slowly coming to pass.

  “So the grown-ups listen to you?” I asked.

  “They pretty much have to. So I try not to make any mistakes.”

  “Derek said the same thing, before he set off to inspect the towns. And Halbrek did, too—they are listened to, but they also have to listen.”

  Innon leaned back on his elbows. “Well, it seems to be working. Out loud I say that I’m there to gather reports and note anything that requires crown help, but every single person I’ve visited so far seems to know that I’m also there to check up on how they’re doing.”

  “Are you done?”

  “Oh, no, I’ve only just finished the western provinces. Peitar was very specific: every single estate, every town and village. I never knew how many there were.”

  “Sounds awful,” I said.

  “Well, that’s why I’m doing it, and you’re not,” Innon said. “Fact is, I’m good at lists and patterns and numbers, so I can tell when someone’s trying to blinker me. I really like seeing the kingdom being put back together.”

  “Derek said that, too.” I tossed the last of my bread into the pool and watched the golden and silvery fish rise to the surface. “He just left again yesterday.”

  “Sorry I missed him,” Innon said, and then a yawn caught him by surprise. “Hoo! I’m tired. Long ride, but I wanted to get here and report.”

  “How about some lunch first—oh, wait. Here he comes.”

  Peitar crossed the terrace toward us. He’d had only two visits from Tsauderei, but already his walk was much easier. He limped, but he no longer needed a cane.

  Peitar came closer, looking worn out. “Problem?” I asked, some of the fear from the bad days squeezing my heart. I hadn’t told Innon, but I still had nightmares.

  “No.” Peitar’s lips twitched. “I studied magic texts far too long last night, and I’m feeling the effects. But I’ll live.”

  And you’ll do it again, I thought, but I didn’t say anything. We’d promised one another: no nagging about what we thought the other’s duty to be.

  “Innon! Welcome,” he said. “Go have some lunch. Reporting can wait.”

  Innon called a good-bye over his shoulder as he ran off.

  As soon as he was gone, Peitar said, “I will keep assuring you that there is no danger.” It was easy for him to read my face, too. “Commander Leonos has already discharged most of the army to their homes to work on rebuilding. And Uncle Darian will keep his word.”

  “I wish I could believe it.”

  I hadn’t been there when Uncle Darian woke up from the Lure sleep. I wanted to be well away, and I was, sound asleep myself at the home of Derek’s new Selenna Leader, who turned out to be Deon’s grandmother.

  Peitar had waited until we were going back to Miraleste to tell me what had happened. They carried Uncle Darian to my room, and I made certain that I was the only one there. It was bad enough that he woke to find that he’d lost the kingdom once again—all his leaders agreed to the truce when they found out he was in our hands. I could not bear to make it worse.

  But he could have killed you! I protested.

  But he didn’t, Peitar retorted. We talked, just the two of us, after I told him what happened. And when we made our agreement, we walked out of the parlor together.

  Uncle Darian and his leaders agreed to exile, which meant leaving Sarendan. Tsauderei transferred them by magic to one of the northern countries.

  Peitar looked beyond the fountain—beyond the palace and the kingdom. “After I was sentenced, Darian and I sat up all night talking. Knowing that you have less than a day to live clarifies your thinking,” he added dryly.

  “Talking?” I cried. “And he wouldn’t halt the execution?”

  “It was the verdict. Though he admitted he was angry when he chose the jury. Anyway, I think I understand him better now. The terms of our agreement were precise. I trust him to stay beyond the border until I invite him back.”

  “I know it sounds odd, but I always feel as if he’s lurking around, watching.”

  “I hope he does watch from a distance,” Peitar said. “That will keep me honest.” I groaned, and he gave me a humorous glance.

  But I wasn’t in a laughing mood. A growing sense of guilt made me say, “And I’ve been doing exactly nothing to help.”

  “Most of what needs doing is being done. I don’t know if my plan will work. It’s a gamble, and unfortunately the risk belongs to us both if I don’t win.”

  He meant using the crown treasury to pay for all the jobs—all the reconstruction and repaving and reseeding—and not collecting taxes until a year had passed, to give everyone else the chance to rebuild, too.

  Peitar dipped his fingers in the pool and watched the ripples. “Two things you might consider,” he finally said, in a tentative voice.

  “Go ahead,” I responded. “That’s not exactly nagging!”

  “The first, I wish you would write up what happened, just as you lived and saw it. I think your perspective would be interesting as well as important.”

  “I don’t even want to look at that fashion book for at least ten years. Twenty!”

  “Very well.”

  “You give in too easily,” I grumped. “But I’d rather just tell you, and you can write it down. You’re the one who wrote all those let
ters. All I did was scribble things.”

  “I don’t think I could do the job you would. I didn’t see what you saw. All I did was worry about whether or not I ought to take action, and once I did, I managed to get myself into trouble from which I had to be rescued.” He looked sardonic. “Don’t waste time denying it.”

  “I don’t see it that way.” And when he didn’t answer, “So what’s your second thing?”

  “You must keep your promise to Atan and visit her. Tell her what happened.”

  I drew in a breath of sheer pleasure. “Of course I want to go back to the valley, but I keep thinking I might be needed here. You know, in case.”

  “In case I need any more rescuing?”

  My face burned, because it was true. Despite everything, my feelings were unchanged—I had to watch out for my brother. Even if he was a king. But I kept remembering what Tsauderei had said about passion and practicality.

  Peitar said, “For now, life is quiet here, so you’ve time for both things, if you wish. Eventually I think we’ll return to the old ways, though with significant changes. I’ve been thinking about something like the Sartoran page system.”

  “When the nobles send their kids to someone else to learn manners and governing?”

  “Exactly.” He turned his face to the sun. “I don’t want people to believe the only requirement for inheriting land and rank is to be ornamental, because then we’ll have the same problems all over again. But change has to be slow.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. Some didn’t like change, truth be told. Others were trying things they’d dreamed about. Bernal was back in Arnathan, starting his horse farm. Bren was helping repair Riveredge, and thinking about Peitar’s offer to send him to Colend, which had the best art academies on the continent.

  Mirah and Nina went right back to cooking, but now they had magical aids in the kitchen again. Tsauderei oversaw the mages who were traveling throughout the kingdom, renewing spells. Lexian was prenticed to the silversmiths, and Lizana had come back from Delfina to take Master Halbrek’s position when he was appointed a Roving Eye. She didn’t say anything, but I suspect she had waited until there was peace because she felt the old loyalties to Uncle Darian, despite her allegiance to Peitar.