Seeker of the Crown

by Ruth Lauren

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I should have known I couldn’t outwit her.”

  Katia’s head lifts. “But how could you have even known she was here?”

  “Katia’s right.” Anatol puts his hand on my shoulder. “None of us knew Anastasia had guards with her. None of us suspected the queen was here. It’s not your fault they got away.” He forces a small smile at his repetition of my words to him.

  It feels like my fault, though—especially when I look at Anatol’s face. How sad he is, how much older than his thirteen years he seems.

  “You miss your mother,” says Feliks, his voice so quiet I almost don’t hear it.

  Anatol nods, and all at once he’s a young boy again, a boy whose sister has betrayed him, who has no home to return to, and whose mother is gone. Feliks’s thin hands wrap around the bricks on either side of his face, and I’m reminded of when I first got to know him in the palace dungeon.

  “I know how you feel,” he says, still in that same small voice.

  “Where’s your mother?” asks Anatol.

  I remember Feliks showing me the scar he got in the forge, remember him telling me that he worked there after his parents died, and my heart gets so full that I have to look at the ground.

  “She died when I was young,” says Feliks. “But I remember her. She used to sing to me when I couldn’t sleep.”

  I think of my own mother, of her strong hands pulling a bowstring, sharpening a knife, brushing my hair.

  Anatol stands up straighter, the prince in him showing through again. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry she died. It’s not so bad for me. I know my mother’s alive.”

  I stand up straighter too. “And you have friends who will help you find her,” I say. I hold my torch close to the bricks. “Look for a way out of this,” I tell Katia, and then I do the same on my side, scouring the wall for something that will show me how the mechanism of the bricks works.

  Anatol joins me, and together we run our fingers over the wall until I find a stone that’s a little shorter than the rest and push it in. Immediately the bricks start to fold back the way they came. Katia steps forward.

  “No!” I say, hastily pulling Anatol out of the cavern and into the space where the others have been stuck. “We all stick together, and we all go back the same way.”

  Nicolai nods. Katia takes my hand. Feliks and Anatol look at each other for a moment, then down and away.

  “What now?” says Feliks as we start back the way we came. I’ve never seen him knocked down for long, not since the first day I met him.

  “Now we find out who let Anastasia out of the palace dungeon and we question them,” I say. It’s the only thing I can think of, though I don’t let myself dwell for too long on how little it is.

  “I can help with that,” says Anatol, and he sounds much brighter. “I know all the palace staff, and I think most of them even like me.”

  “Won’t they have been questioned already?” asks Katia.

  Anatol nods. “They have been. But that was right after it happened. Someone must know something, and that’s a big secret to keep for this long. After what’s happened this past month, maybe there’s someone at the palace who just wants to spill their secrets to someone they can trust.”

  “But you can’t go to the palace,” Feliks says. “It isn’t safe for any of us anymore.”

  Anatol sets his jaw, a determined prince. “I won’t need to go to the palace at all. I know exactly where we can start.”

  It’s late by the time I get home. The house is dark and silent, but even though I’m tired and my boots are still wet, I duck behind a pine tree and look for the guard. I strain my eyes into the darkness for minutes on end. Nothing moves.

  I slip around the house, flitting from one hiding place to the next, but it soon becomes clear that there is no guard. No one is posted at the house anymore. I was expecting more guards, not fewer, after the way I got out this morning. I dread to think what Mother and Father are going to say. I’ll have to tell them everything. My skin prickles as I open the back door.

  “Valor?”

  I jump at my name and suck in a big breath. Sasha sits by the kitchen fire, though it’s burned low. Her injured ankle is neatly strapped now and rests on a cushioned footstool.

  “What did the doctor say?” I ask.

  “It’s only bruised,” she says. “Badly, and it will hurt for quite a while, but there’s no worse damage.”

  I let out a breath. “There’s no one outside. Where’s the guard?”

  Sasha looks as drawn and tired as I feel. “When you didn’t return along with the doctor, our guard sent out a message. When she got an answer, she just left without telling me why. But putting a guard here didn’t work—you got out anyway. So … Inessa’s found another way.”

  She holds out a folded letter.

  My stomach clenches.

  I pull off my boots and drop them quickly in front of the fire. I can barely see, so I throw more wood into the fireplace and take the letter while the logs start to crackle and spit. My name is on the outside of the note, along with Sasha’s. It’s written in Father’s hand.

  I glance at my sister, but she just drops her eyes to the letter, so I unfold it.

  My Dearest Daughters,

  I find myself detained with essential work at the palace—I must stay here until the dire situation with our neighbors Pyots’k and Magadanskya is more stable. Do not worry; I am sure that under Queen Inessa’s rule, we will achieve peace yet.

  The queen has found it necessary that your mother travel to the far reaches of our realm to deal with estate management issues near the mountain pass into Pyots’k.

  I will see you soon, my loves, all being well.

  Your loving father

  I drop into the chair on the other side of the fire. “Mother’s gone.”

  Sasha nods. “And Father is detained.”

  I jolt upright. “Do you think he meant to warn us?”

  My sister shakes her head, her expression troubled. “I can’t tell. But either way, Inessa has control over both of our parents.” Her shoulders slump.

  The fire takes hold, flaring up and roaring in the fireplace. I lean into the warmth, putting my frozen feet on the hearth.

  “Do you think we should stop?” I ask. I don’t know if I want her to say yes or no.

  My sister looks straight at me. “Stop hunting Anastasia? Stop fighting for our queen and our country? Stop doing the right thing?”

  I smile, my heart lifting, and Sasha smiles back. Then I tell her everything that happened today, until the fire is burning low again and neither of us can keep our eyes open anymore.

  My boots squeak through fresh snow in the morning as I walk to the market square to meet Anatol. Before we parted last night, he told me to arrive early and to prepare to be there all day, so I’m wrapped in my warmest furs, a thickly lined ushanka on my head. I left Sasha fashioning a crutch for herself in the kitchen; her ankle is much less swollen now, but still barely fit to hobble on. The house was quiet, empty, and cold. Neither of us talked much while we ate breakfast, both wrapped up in thoughts of our parents.

  The stalls are all opening up when I arrive. A girl sweeping snow from the main pathways frowns at a boy who shakes a sack cloth off on the cobbles. Workers lay out fresh fish, fine cloth, and fruit transported in from Magadanskya.

  On the far side of the square, beyond the smoke rising from a brazier, a tall figure waves at me. His dark cloak moves as he lifts his arm, the glint of a short sword just visible. I hurry over. “Nicolai.”

  “Valor.”

  He looks much brighter today, with an appointed task and his sword back in place, even if his uniform isn’t. We grin at each other for a second before he remembers himself and beckons me to an awning over a shop. There, a cloaked Prince Anatol is pretending to examine the contents of the display window, his back to the slowly gathering crowd of early morning shoppers.

  “Will anyone from the
palace arrive this early?” I ask.

  The prince shakes his head. “That’s why we needed to be here right from the minute the market opens. I wasn’t sure of the time, only the day. And unless Inessa has given orders changing the routine of all the kitchen staff, there’ll definitely be palace servants here today.”

  Nicolai rests his hands on his belt. “And you and I can spot them, Valor. We both know what their uniforms look like, and with two of us patrolling the market, we should be able to find them while Prince Anatol lies low.”

  Anatol nods. “I’ll be in this shop. The owner knows me and is loyal to my mother. He’s supplied the fabric for all her gowns since she was a young girl. Bring the servants to me here. I can question them. We’ll soon find out who helped Anastasia escape from the dungeon.” He grabs my shoulder and shakes it slightly. “Once we know that, Nicolai has agreed to help us get that person out of the palace. We’ll find out everything they know about where Anastasia’s gone and what she intends to do next. I’m getting my mother back, Valor.” Anatol smiles, his eyes bright with hope. A mischievous look crosses his face. “Even if you have to use that crossbow of yours again to make it happen.”

  He’ll never let me forget the shot I took at him from the bell tower. But now it’s a link between us, not a barrier.

  The marketplace is huge, covering the expanse of the square, which is wider than the palace itself, so Nicolai and I divide it up into sections that we’ll cover and set points where we’ll meet. Anatol disappears into the shop, rolls of fabric hiding him from view, and then it’s up to us.

  I take a long look at the palace, as though my father might be pounding on one of the windows, trying to get my attention. He may be surrounded by plush carpets, and the guards might be wearing royal sashes and not prison tattoos, but he’s a prisoner in there just as much as I was in Tyur’ma.

  I turn to the nearest market stall and examine its fur mittens and ushankas. If I want to beat Anastasia and Inessa at their own games, I have to learn their rules. My bow can’t help me now, however much I might miss its presence on my back.

  I soon become adept at picking out and discarding the uniforms of servants from the other great houses, not meeting anyone’s eyes or drawing attention to myself. I search for the palace uniform and screen everything else out.

  I remember how the fine fabric of such a uniform felt against my own skin as I hid in the dark in the palace, watching as Anastasia took the stolen music box from its hiding place.

  I move faster, winding between the stalls, drawing the collar of my furs up around my neck and pulling my earflaps down. But though I pass Nicolai three times, each time we shake our heads—the palace servants aren’t here.

  I’m beginning to think I should purchase something or ask Nicolai to swap routes when I see him: a kitchen boy wearing the simple cream tunic and gray furs that mark him as a palace servant. I judge him to be a little older than me, his eyes darker, almost black, but his skin is lighter than mine. He lifts a laden basket to move past a group of haggling customers, and I lunge forward and take it from his grasp.

  “Here, let me help you,” I say.

  He opens his mouth, then frowns. Does he recognize me?

  “Someone very important wishes to speak to you,” I say in a low voice.

  “And someone very important back at the palace will have my hide if I don’t deliver this produce to the kitchen on time,” he says warily, though I can tell he’s intrigued.

  “Better be quick, then.” I turn my back, keeping firm hold of the basket, and hurry away from him.

  “Hey!”

  I push through the crowd as fast as I can, earning myself a few complaints but responding to none, until I’m at the door of the fabric shop. I don’t wait for the kitchen boy, just open the door and spin inside. When he catches up to me and grabs for the basket, I hook my leg around and give him a swift kick so I can close the door behind us both.

  He lurches into the shop and turns on me indignantly, snatching back the basket before stopping short and staring over my shoulder.

  “Viktor?” Prince Anatol, concealed from the shop window by a great roll of gold brocade, lowers the hood of his cloak.

  Viktor’s eyes widen, and then he drops into a hasty bow. “Your Highness.”

  I edge toward the door, putting myself between it and Viktor. I’m not sure I trust anyone from the palace, whether they bow to Anatol or not.

  When Viktor straightens, he looks from me to Anatol and back again. “You’re—”

  “In need of some information,” I say, crossing my arms and stepping forward.

  “Valor,” says Anatol gently, “Viktor has worked for my mother since he was a child. Both of his parents work for her.”

  I open my mouth to ask what difference knowing someone for a long time makes—we all knew Anastasia, not to mention the fact that she’s Anatol’s own sister, but one look at his face tells me he’s already thought the same thing.

  “Viktor, we don’t have much time,” Anatol says. “All we need to know is who helped my sister escape from the palace dungeon.” The prince takes a step toward Viktor and draws himself up. And even though Viktor is taller, he wilts. I’ve been questioned by the prince more than once myself, at Tyur’ma. I don’t envy Viktor now, squirming under the commanding gaze Anatol can summon when he wants to.

  The prince lifts his chin. “Do you know?”

  Viktor hesitates, and then shakes his head, his eyes resting on the still-healing cut on Anatol’s lip.

  “Do you work for Inessa now?” I demand.

  “No!” Viktor looks horrified and then worried in quick succession. “That is, I—I am loyal to the royal family. I mean to our queen. I mean, to Queen Ana!”

  His confusion would be funny if it weren’t so awful. He’s not even sure himself where his allegiances should lie. I wonder if everyone in the city, in the whole of Demidova, feels this way too. How can we ever expect to restore order without Queen Ana?

  “If you’re loyal, then prove it,” I say. “You must know who helped Anastasia. The staff at the palace talk, I know they do.”

  It’s true. Sasha once told me that if she wanted to know if something was going on in the palace, she would talk to the servants. Those girls and boys are everywhere, but no one really sees them. They hear everything.

  Viktor shakes his head. “I am loyal to you and your family, Prince Anatol, I swear it.” He says it with conviction, but his hands are clenched tight around the handle of the basket. “I just—I don’t know who helped the princess escape.”

  I’m about to grab whatever’s at hand—fabric scissors, a loose knitting needle if need be—and tell him I know he’s lying when the bell on the shop door jangles. Viktor startles so hard that he spills a ripe damson from his basket, and it splits on the polished wooden floor. Nicolai appears, closely followed by a girl wearing the same cream tunic as Viktor.

  “This is Polina,” Nicolai says, sounding slightly put out that I found someone first. “One of her duties is to help light the fires in the morning.”

  “It means I hear a lot of things, Your Highness,” the girl says. She steps forward with her head up, and right away I know she wants to tell us what those things are.

  Viktor looks like a cornered rabbit, but Anatol smiles. “And you’re willing to tell us?” he asks.

  The girl nods. “Nicolai told me what you want to know and why you want to know it. It’s just—”

  She stops and takes a breath. Her hands are shaking. One is smaller than the other by at least half, and she makes them both into fists and pushes them into the pockets of her tunic.

  “… you’re not going to like what I have to say, Prince Anatol.”

  Anatol takes a slow breath. “My sister is a traitor, my mother is gone, we have a queen regent who seeks only her own glory, and the country teeters on the brink of war,” he says. “There is little that I like about any of these things, and yet I must know about them.”

  Poli
na bites her lip, and she and Viktor exchange glances. He slides his basket to the floor.

  “We can only hope to put any of this right if you tell us who helped the princess,” I say. “Whoever it is may know something vital about the queen’s whereabouts. You must see how urgent it is that we find her. She has to retake the throne. We need to maintain the alliance with Magadanskya and keep Pyots’k out, and all of that is going to crumble if you don’t do your duty and tell your prince what he wants to know. Do you want Saylas to invade us because Pyots’k waged war on them?”

  Anatol and Nicolai both stare at me. I might be slightly offended if I weren’t so surprised at myself. Words like that might come out of Sasha’s mouth, but not so easily out of my own.

  Polina takes a couple of breaths, and we all wait.

  “I’ll tell you,” she says. “But you have to believe me. And you have to let us both go.”

  The way she says it sends a spike of worry through me. Nicolai’s expression is guarded, and everyone in the room is tense.

  Anatol nods. “You have my word.”

  Polina takes her hands out of her pockets and smooths the front of her tunic.

  “It was the king.”

  CHAPTER 15

  There’s a stunned silence. It can’t have been the king, but at the same time it must have been. Now I see why Viktor was so reluctant to speak.

  Polina hasn’t taken her eyes off Anatol.

  “She’s his daughter. His only daughter,” she says quietly.

  Anatol nods. I can’t tell how he’s feeling from his blank face, but I don’t need to guess.

  “Thank you, Polina, Viktor. You may both leave. And …” Anatol falters for a moment.

  “Tell no one,” I say, picking up Viktor’s basket and pressing it into his hands.

  The two servants give each other a look and then hurry from the shop. The bell over the door jingles merrily in the silence.