The Decoy Princess

by Dawn Cook

  My breath came fast, and my heart pounded. Fists clenched, I refused to push him away lest he think his nearness bothered me. Which it did. “You’re a branded thief, Duncan,” I whispered, knowing it would hurt him but desperate for a way to get him to back up. “You can’t risk it.”

  He stiffened. Jaw clenched, he dropped his head and took a step back. My hands were shaking, and I couldn’t seem to get enough air. I felt guilty for having said it, but I wanted him—all of them—safe. I wouldn’t risk his life. I wouldn’t risk any of them.

  “That was foul of you, Tess,” he said tightly. Turning, his hunched figure moved soundlessly into the hallway. He slammed the front door as he went out.

  Feeling like the bottom of a chu pit, I looked up to find Thadd and Heather both downcast and uncomfortable. The sound of excited people in the street was loud. I wished I hadn’t eaten; my stomach had turned into knots. “We’d better get going,” I said faintly, and Thadd and Heather silently followed me out.

  Twenty-nine

  Duncan wouldn’t look at me as I came out onto the stoop. I hesitated, wondering if we would all fit into the small city cart Thadd strode down to. A surly pony was harnessed to it, and I surmised Thadd’s huge draft animal was busy churning up the tiny yard where Heather said she kept the pony in the rare instance it wasn’t in the field.

  With much shifting and broken comments, we arranged ourselves with Thadd and me in the back, and Heather and Duncan in the front, facing us. Thadd ran the reins between Duncan and Heather, and we started off after an initial balking from the pony at the heavy load.

  Unhappy, I sat crammed into the small space, comparing it to the few times I had toured the city by coach. I was closer to the people in the cart—hearing the worry in their voices and seeing the excitement in their eyes—but still detached. I caught snippets of talk of war, and that the war was already over and we had lost. No one was even considering that the changes in the palace were due solely to my botched marriage arrangements. It was depressing.

  Even worse was Duncan’s continued stiff silence. I wished now I had never opened my mouth. Any appology from me would be rebuffed; he wouldn’t even meet my eyes. But he had scared me, and I had lashed out. The memory of our kiss intruded, turning me even more miserable. At least I wouldn’t have to decide what to do about that now.

  “Turn around,” Heather said breathlessly when we found the main entrance to the square blocked with people. “Go down that alley there, then up and to the left. We can get in through the smaller side entrance between the yarn shop and the confectioner’s.”

  People swarmed to take our place as Thadd hupped and called, expertly backing the pony up. He kept us to a good clip, and we dodged around other carts and mounted riders bent on the same thing. “Is it too close?” I questioned as we slipped back into the square. We were almost next to the hastily constructed, raised stage. Misdev guards in Costenopolie colors stood three deep, making a ring nearly thirty paces from the scaffold’s footing. The young soldiers looked tense, and the crowd was voluntarily keeping back from them. We were past accurate dart range, but I had known Jeck wouldn’t make it that easy for me. A movement on the high stage incited the crowd into more noise, and I stared along with everyone else.

  Garrett, Contessa, Jeck, and Kavenlow were filing into the small box atop the scaffolding, having just climbed the stairs. Dressed in furs and silks, they arranged themselves behind six sentries forming a living wall. A closed wagon waited nearby to whisk them back behind the palace walls. Thadd looked desperate, helpless pain thick on him.

  Shouts of, “Where are the king and queen?” and, “Where’s the princess?” were put forth. I shrank down on the bench, praying I wouldn’t be recognized. It might start a bloodbath.

  Clearly Garrett was going to begin Jeck’s endgame, proclaiming he had the real princess and that he was going to marry her. Kavenlow’s word would be sufficient to convince the crowd it wasn’t a convenient lie. The real question was how the Misdev dog was going to explain our parents’ death.

  “Duck your head, Tess,” Duncan murmured, and I glanced up to see a Misdev guard circling the crowd. My heart pounded and my fingers touched my whip as he passed us murmuring, “Proud beggar woman with a black eye and good boots,” over and over like a litany. I was fervently glad I had come as middle-class, and I no longer minded my hair was red.

  My gaze rose to Kavenlow’s, willing him to look at me. He didn’t. My brow pinched as he shifted with an odd, shuffling walk. He was fettered with chains. He looked weary, dressed in a black robe that hindered his motions rather than his usual form-fitting trousers and jerkin. I wondered if he had eaten today, feeling guilty for my full stomach. His hair looked freshly combed and his face washed. It was obvious someone had tried to disguise the abuse he had suffered. I was torn between my hatred for Garrett and my heartache for Kavenlow. The pain at seeing him like this and being helpless to do anything was unexpected, and my heart clenched.

  “I’m sorry, Tess,” Heather said, seeing the direction of my gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

  Garrett leaned to the princess and said something. She re-coiled, her face aghast. Kavenlow’s lips barely moved, and a sentry hit the back of his legs. I gasped. Duncan caught my hands as I reached out.

  Garrett shouted something at the guard, and the sentry backed off. Duncan’s grip tightened in warning, then released. Thadd looked as if he might pass out, so tense with the effort to not storm the scaffolding was he. Giving the sentry a barked order, Garrett moved forward past him, raising his hands to the crowd. The murmuring eased to a background hum.

  “Where are the king and queen?” someone shouted, and it was repeated several times.

  Garrett raised his hands higher. I could see—and hate—his beautiful, reassuring smile from where I sat in the pony cart. “I have answers,” he said as his hands lowered and the crowd settled. He took a breath. “As you good harbor folk have surmised, I’m Prince Garrett of Misdev, come to beg your princess’s hand in marriage and usher in an era of cooperation and trade between your kingdom and my father’s.”

  “Where’s the princess?” someone shouted, and several more took up the call.

  Not distressed in the least, Garrett turned to the first voice. “She is safe beside me.”

  “Take your whore away,” a voice bellowed. “Princess Contessa shops at my stores.”

  The crowd surged into noise, drowning out Garrett’s words. My heart hammered, and I wondered if they would swamp him, forcing a battle they couldn’t win. The ring of guards about the scaffolding braced themselves, and the angry crowd stopped shy of their reach.

  “The woman you were betrayed into calling princess isn’t one!” Garrett shouted over their noise. “She was a changeling, bought in your very streets to occupy assassins while the real princess was raised in safety.”

  The people at the front went silent, shocked. A slow murmur rose as his words were carried to the back of the crowd. I heard, “He’s lying. The Misdev dog has killed them all,” and Garrett surged ahead before he lost control.

  “I didn’t know, either,” he said, allowing a hurt, innocence-wronged tone to enter his voice. “I was betrayed as much as you. But your true princess has returned, brought back by your chancellor and my captain of the guards in a show of solidarity.” Jeck stepped forward and touched his hat before stepping back.

  The crowd’s voices strengthened.

  “The chancellor will affirm this woman is the true and rightful princess, heir to Costenopolie,” Garrett said.

  My throat tightened as Garrett gestured to Kavenlow. He stepped forward, pride making him hide that he was shackled. His eyes roved the crowd. I willed him to see me, almost crying out as our eyes met and he forced himself to look away. He saw me, I thought. Tears threatened, and I clenched my fists. Damn Garrett. Damn him for what he has done.

  “The woman standing beside me,” Kavenlow said, his resonant voice, stilling the crowd, “is the heir to Costenopolie
’s throne. At the queen’s request, I took her daughter upon her third month of life to safety, and upon her twentieth year, I brought her home again.”

  The crowd didn’t like that. “Where are the king and queen?” someone said. It was repeated and taken up until Garrett raised his hands. Silence grew. Slowly his hands dropped.

  “Your false princess has murdered them,” Garrett said.

  I gasped, turning to Duncan. His long face mirrored my own shock. The crowd roared, and I shrank down, feeling as if I was being beaten. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.

  “She killed them,” Garrett shouted. The crowd tried to listen, but their outrage wouldn’t allow them to be still. “She killed them when they told her she wasn’t the princess. She murdered them, then tried to murder me because I knew the truth. She left me for dead to find and kill the true heir so she could take her place.”

  I watched from under my hat, shocked as Garrett pulled the princess forward. “Tell them who you are and how she attacked you,” he said, and the crowd went silent. I felt as if I was going to pass out. The princess’s lips moved, and I heard nothing. “Louder!” Garrett demanded.

  “I am Princess Contessa of Costenopolie,” she said, her voice trembling. She looked like our mother, more so for being dressed in her clothes. It was enough to convince the most doubting citizen. “She did attack me, but it was—”

  Jeck gently pulled her back, and fear paled her cheeks. Thadd groaned. Sweat trickled down his neck as he kept himself unmoving.

  “Your false princess killed your king and queen, and tried to kill their daughter,” Garrett said. “She is here now, in the city, plotting another attempt on her sister’s life even as I speak. I will knight the man who brings her to me.”

  The crowd erupted into noise. I slumped onto the cart’s bench, putting my head on my knees more to keep from passing out than to hide. Someone draped a lavender-scented blanket over my shoulders. I numbly stared at the yellow floorboards as the clamor shook the wood under my feet. How could he be so foul as to blame my parents’ deaths on me?

  “I will find your murdering, gutter-slime, false princess!” Garrett shouted over the tumult. “Your future queen has agreed to wed me at month’s end, and with her, I will bring justice to Costenopolie!”

  The sound of the crowd, fierce with its conflicting opinions of denial and acceptance, beat upon me. I felt the cart shift and heard the call of our frightened pony.

  “Get her out of here,” Duncan said. “Thadd, get down and lead the pony out of here.”

  The cart jerked, inched forward, then moved faster. The press of the people grew less. With a shocking suddenness, the noise dulled. It was replaced by the sharp clips of our pony’s hooves against the cobbles when we found an empty street. There was a pause, and the cart shifted as Thadd lurched into it. I could hear the muted roar of the crowd come and go like storm surf as Garrett continued his lies. The air was cool with evening, and when I pulled my head up, I saw Duncan sitting across from me, waiting.

  “What are you going to do, Tess?” he asked. He looked severe, the tiny scar above his lip pale in the gathering shadows of the streets.

  I remembered Kavenlow in chains and the princess’s interrupted confession. A feeling of inevitability and determination pushed out my confusion. I couldn’t afford it anymore. Costenopolie was mine, and I had to win my master’s game for him. I took a deep breath.

  “I’m going to need some rope.”

  Thirty

  The jostling Of people looking for answers at the palace gate square was overwhelming. I couldn’t even see the open latticework of worked metal. Putting my back against a lamppost, I shifted the bag that contained my rope higher onto my shoulder and tried to ward off my panic at the crush. It wasn’t dark enough to go over the wall yet, and I had come to estimate the amount of distraction the crowd would provide since Duncan was sulking, refusing to help me. My people weren’t angry yet, but they were working themselves up to it. Already the guards behind the gate had moved back, showing an increasingly uncomfortable indifference to the shouts.

  My hands were damp, and I brushed them on the trousers I had borrowed from Duncan. I felt naked, as if I was in my underthings, and the trousers caught at my legs with every step. Thadd had covered my topknot with a cap and firmly pronounced me a fine-looking lad, but Heather’s pinched expression had told me it was a thin disguise. For the first time, I was glad of my tall, less-than-womanly figure.

  “Hoy! Make a way!” came a familiar voice, and I spun in surprise. My lips parted as I saw Duncan and Thadd in the wagon with the statue, forcing it through the crowd.

  “No,” I whispered, realizing why he had been so adamant he was staying behind and would have nothing to do with my plan. He was going in anyway. After I had told him not to!

  “Get out of the way!” he shouted as he stood from the wagon’s bench and waved a dirty hand at the people. “Official palace business. Make a path!”

  His cursed pride led him to this, nothing more. Frightened, I avoided eye contact. He looked confident, having put his trust in a plan that was going to fail. Thadd, though, looked properly petrified, and I cursed Duncan for pulling him into this.

  The sculptor’s blocky hands gripped the reins with a fervent intensity. His attitude went perfectly with his story of artisan delivering a promised commodity, and I was sure it wasn’t an act. Duncan shouted again, and heads began to turn, both guard and citizen. A reluctant path opened to show the palace gates and the peaceful grounds beyond. A sentry came forward. His hand was on his sword hilt. “No, no, no!” I whispered. I should have darted them all into unconsciousness! I should have locked them in a closet! I should have turned them in myself!

  I elbowed my way backwards as the wagon creaked to a stop before the tall gates. “Sit down,” Thadd said, yanking Duncan back down on the bench. The sculptor pushed the reins into Duncan’s hands and slipped off the wagon. His fingers trembled as he passed a paper to the guard through the gate. The collective noise of the gathered people swelled in question.

  “I have a delivery for the palace,” Thadd said, his slow drawl bringing the murmur of voices to almost nothing. My people were curious, if nothing else. “My father received a commission to make a series of statues. I have the last here. It was to be an engagement gift for the princess from the king and queen.”

  I strained to watch the guard make a show of trying to read the note. He nodded as he folded the paper and tucked it behind his jerkin. “No one gets in,” he said. “Go home.”

  “I can’t take it back,” Thadd protested, his thick hands clenching. “It’s too heavy to get up the mountain. And give me my paper. I need that to get my money.”

  The crowd pressed closer. I was pushed almost to the front. Wiggling, I put a tall man between the gates and me. “Give him his money,” someone called. “Let him in,” another said. The phrase was repeated, becoming louder.

  “The king and queen bought it for their daughter,” someone cried. “Let him deliver it.”

  “The king and queen are dead!” the guard said. “All of you go home.”

  It wasn’t the best thing for him to have said, and the crowd turned ugly. Duncan looked behind him as the once-sedate horse nervously tried to back up.

  “Let him in!” the shout came again. “He has a paper. Let him do his job.”

  I shrank down. Curse Duncan to the ends of the earth. He was going to get himself killed.

  The noise clamored. A sharp crack of a whip brought a temporary silence, then the crowd returned to a soft murmur. I put an unnoticed hand on the shoulder of the man in front of me to stand on tiptoe. My heart gave a pound and alarm rocked me back. Jeck.

  The captain was behind the gate, still dressed in his smart uniform of black and green, again wearing that overdone hat with drooping black feathers. He was reading the letter. A guard stood with an uncomfortable stiffness beside him. Jeck’s brow furrowed, then smoothed as he folded the paper. His eyes rose t
o Thadd and Duncan.

  Duncan’s casual stance flashed into a tense, dangerous pitch. My breath quickened as I saw his understanding that they were found already. The two men locked gazes over the crowd. Duncan’s shoulders went stiff, realizing he would never be able to flee. Jeck’s eye twitched, and Duncan’s jaw clenched as he acknowledged whatever silent conversation had passed between them.

  “Get them in here,” Jeck said, his eyes riveted to Duncan, and the assembled people buzzed between themselves. I scrunched down.

  “But sir . . .”

  “Get them in here,” Jeck repeated, aggressively shoving the note behind the guard’s jerkin. “They have a paper signed by the late King Stephen. We will honor it. Use a detail of guards to keep the crowd back, but I want them in here.” He leaned close. “Now.”

  They were caught. I had known this would happen, and my breath quickened in frustration as two ranks of sentries came out the guard door in the wall. The people voluntarily backed up, and I was pressed to the edges. Their shouts grew loud when Jeck came into the streets with shackles. “What’s going on?” someone called out as his intent became obvious.

  I all but panicked, torn between my inability to help them and my need to try. Jeck raised a hand. “Assassins have infiltrated palaces through the front gates before,” he said, showing a soothing smile. “If they are who they say, nothing will happen. If they’re impostors, you’ll find their heads on the wall in the morning.”

  My hand went to my mouth and Duncan was roughly pulled from the wagon. The clank of the metal was loud as his boots were pulled off and the rings were fastened around his and Thadd’s ankles. Duncan’s face was tight and angry. Thadd’s fists were clenched.