“This is true.” I pause, and think for a moment. “All right, I have it. Once I had to listen to a two-hour lecture from a woman on the appropriate use of cutlery.” I don’t say that woman was Arianne, or that it was part of my training to become the Masked Princess.
“Horror of horrors!” He places his hand on his chest. “Your lady must be truly terrible, to subject you like that. Yet I can do you one better. Once I had to listen to a discussion for three hours on the appropriate way to hook a fish.”
“Three hours? I don’t believe it!”
“Oh yes, you will find the men in Korynth are quite serious about their fish.”
We laugh, and I find myself wanting to say something more. Something real. “I once spent four hours scrubbing out a skirt for a noblegirl. She dirtied it on purpose so I wouldn’t be able to attend the dance being held in our village that night. Her mother was quite harsh, and I knew what would happen if I returned the dress still stained.”
“Harsh?” His smile vanishes. “What do you mean?”
“Oh,” I wave breezily, “aren’t all rich people harsh with their servants?”
“No, not all of them.” He leans forward. “The lady you work for now, is she kind?”
“Oh, um, yes, of course,” I say, caught off guard by the concern in his eyes. “She is very kind.”
“I am glad,” he says and hands me the plum tart. “And now I think you have won.”
Wordlessly, I accept the tart and stuff it into my mouth. An unfamiliar feeling crawls its way into my belly, and it’s a moment before I recognize it for what it is. Shame. As usual I have said too much, so I decide to leave the truth behind. It’s easier and far less painful to slip back into my lies. “I’m so glad my lady sent me.” I lounge back in my seat. “Now tell me, if you could go anywhere or do anything right this minute, what would it be?”
“I would be talking to a beautiful girl in the king of Kyrenica’s kitchen, and wondering what she was really doing out of bed in the middle of the night.” His eyes study me, as though he can’t make up his mind if he should have me questioned, so I rise and quickly make up an excuse about needing to get back to “my lady.”
“She’ll have my head if I’m gone any longer.” I turn to go.
“I think you have forgotten something.” He gestures to the tray sitting on the table, and his eyes narrow. “That is why you were sneaking around the castle, wasn’t it? To get her a snack?”
“Yes, of course.” I grab the tray and turn away.
He stands up. “I will accompany you.”
“No! I mean, she may be kind, but she’s also strict, and it is quite late after all. If she sees me with you, she might get the wrong idea. Please,” I add in my most desperate voice, “I can’t afford to be dismissed from her service.”
“A fair point,” he acknowledges. “But,” he sharpens his gaze, “I shall be patrolling tonight, and I expect no more late night activity from you.”
I nod. “Of course.”
Before he can change his mind, I turn away again and stride from the kitchen. I travel back to the room with the tapestry and enter the passageway. If I’m not mistaken, I hear the faint echo of footsteps from far down the corridor. Quickly, I close the passageway. Once I’ve hurried back up the tunnel, the faint candlelight from Wilha’s bedroom is a welcome beacon. I pour the broth out into the fire, and I place the tray and the empty bowl inside the passageway and close it, certain no one will miss a few of the king’s dishes.
It’s only later, when I’m crawling into bed, that I realize the squire never told me his name.
CHAPTER 30
WILHA
The next morning I awaken groggily, stiff and numb with cold, to the sound of seagulls and pounding surf. At first I wonder why my mattress feels so hard, why my covers are so rough. But I remember the abandoned tarp on the docks I hid under last night and wake up to the full horror of what I have done. I have walked out of the castle as though the life the Kyrenicans presented me with is nothing more than a new dress I do not care to purchase. Not the fulfillment of a treaty preventing war between two kingdoms all too eager to believe the worst of each other.
Cautiously, I peek out from under the tarp that covers me. It looks to be midmorning judging by the bright sun. Several ships have just come into port, their white sails billowing in the breeze, and sailors haggle with shopkeepers over the price of their wares. No one seems to be looking my way, and so I quickly slip out from my hiding place and stumble to a nearby bench. My cheeks are hot, not from sunburn, but from shame.
Last night I could not bring myself to return to the castle, but neither could I work up the courage to journey into the city. Instead I lingered at the docks for hours, frozen in indecision, until it was clear I would need a place to spend the evening. I glimpsed the tarp in a neglected portion of the docks, and hid under it for hours (just like the coward Elara believes I am) until sometime in the middle of the night, I must have fallen asleep.
I look over to the cliffs, and the stone steps that are hidden under the moss. Fleeing the castle and leaving Elara to face my own fate is the most selfish act I have ever committed, and I know I have to come to my senses.
Yet is this really how I want my adventure to end? I imagine my ancestor’s stone faces in the Queen’s Garden, and the disapproval I have always read in their eyes. Do I want to come creeping back to the castle, defeated and dirty, without so much as having walked the streets of the city?
No doubt Elara was all too happy to tell the Kyrenican guards of my cowardice. At any moment I am sure soldiers will be storming the streets looking for me. In the mean-time, is it selfish to want to continue my charade for just a little longer?
I replace the image of my stone ancestors with another. I imagine myself, years from now as a middle-aged queen, looking into my daughter’s face and saying, “Yes, it is true when I was younger people thought me incompetent and fearful. But once upon a time, I changed their minds. For I did something truly and wonderfully mad. . . .”
I stand up. Yes, that is the story I want to one day tell. After all, the soldiers should be here any moment.
But they never come. For hours I walk through the crowded streets, marveling at how they smell of salt, sweat, and fish. Everywhere I look I see new construction, evidence of a younger, thriving kingdom. The older buildings are made of wood and are tall and narrow. Their roofs bottleneck into chimneys, reminding me of giant wooden wine bottles. Clotheslines are strung up high across the streets, and women lean out of second- and third-story windows, calling out greetings to one another as they hang laundry to dry.
The streets are packed with sailors, traders, and townspeople, and I force myself not to flinch when they brush past me. From an inn called the Sleeping Dragon wafts the warm smell of fresh bread. My mouth waters, and I realize I have not had anything to eat or drink since just before we reached Korynth yesterday.
I follow the smell into the inn, where a fire roars in a large hearth. Most of the wooden tables in the room are empty, and what few customers there are seem bleary and only half-awake. A boy about my age, who is thin with a mop of flyaway brown hair, is polishing the bar with a rag. “Can I help you, miss?” he asks when he sees me.
“That bread smells wonderful.”
“We buy it from the bakery next door,” he says, flashing a crooked smile. “Would you like some?”
“Yes, please.” As I speak, I realize I am swaying.
He frowns. “Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll bring some out?”
Feeling lightheaded, I nod and find a seat near the fire. I stretch my hands out to warm myself, and then lean back into my chair, nearly dozing off to the low hum of nearby conversations. But my ears prick up when I hear someone mention Galandria.
“You’re sure, Anton?”
“Positive. He spoke with a Galandrian accent. Said he just arrived in town yesterday and needed men for a job. Jaromil—I think we should consider it.”
Cautiously, I turn my head and look over. Two men are sitting at a nearby table, holding goblets. The first one, whom I take to be Anton, is young and thin, while the second—Jaromil—is older with a belly so round he looks to be with child. Yet both of them have tanned faces and leathery skin, as though they’ve spent most of their lives outdoors. Are they sailors?
“I’m not working with a barbarian.”
“I told him as much at first—but he said his master would be willing to pay us more money than our scruples could possibly be worth.”
“To do what, exactly?”
“Not sure. Said his master had something planned for the masquerade ball for the Masked Princess.”
At this, I feel my hands growing numb again, despite the warmth from the fire.
“Is his master a Galandrian or a Kyrenican?”
“Didn’t say. Didn’t want to say, it seemed like. He just said King Ezebo—”
Jaromil curses. “King Ezebo is a traitor, to bring an Andewyn into our land. If I caught sight of the Masked Princess, you can bet I’d wring the little freak’s barbaric neck.” He spits onto the ground. “All right, I’ll hear the man out. Where did he say to meet?”
“Tomorrow morning, just after dawn, on the beach.”
“All right,” Jaromil says again. “And don’t worry, Anton. I never had that many scruples to begin with.” They laugh and clink goblets.
I stare into the fire, my heart racing, hoping they won’t realize their voices have carried. Of course I should have understood that, just as many Galandrians hate the Strass-burgs, so too, it must be that many Kyrenicans hate the Andewyns—hate me. I remind myself they could not possibly recognize me. Today, my own uncovered face is a mask.
It sounds like these two men, Anton and Jaromil, are being hired to do something, something that has to do with the masquerade. But what?
The boy returns with several slices of bread and a cup of water. “That’ll be two klarents, please.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” I say, startled. I start to reach into Elara’s satchel, but freeze. I don’t have any klarents, the Kyrenican currency, only worthings and opals. And with Jaromil and Anton sitting so close, that is not something I want anyone discovering.
“I—I do not have any klarents.” I stand up to leave, though it is everything I can do not to snatch up the bread and water. “I will go. I am sorry to have bothered you,” I take care to shorten my vowels, as the Kyrenicans do, all too aware of my accent, and that Anton and Jaromil are staring at me with interest.
“No, no,” the boy says. “You don’t have to leave.” He calls over his shoulder. “Victor, can you come here?”
“What is it, James?” A burly and grizzled old man approaches. The boy James whispers something to Victor, who looks at me.
“I see,” Victor says when James finishes.
Victor takes a seat next to me and crosses his arms over his massive chest. “When was the last time you ate?” he says gruffly.
“Um, yesterday,” I say.
“You’ve only just arrived in Korynth, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” I answer.
He nods, as though he expected this, and says, “I know who you are.”
CHAPTER 31
ELARA
When I wake up the next morning, Wilha is still gone. The bed in the maid’s room is empty, and the covers are undisturbed. I had hoped she would return after I’d fallen asleep and decided to spend the night here.
The stone floor is cold on my bare feet. I’ve used up all my firewood, so I sink down into an armchair, grumbling to myself. Where could Wilha have gone, and more importantly, when will she be back? How dare she leave me here in this castle?
But you were going to leave her. Even though you’d promised to stay with her.
The voice comes from somewhere deep within, and I quickly dismiss it. I rise and pull a blue gown out from one of her trunks and set to work removing the opals stitched into the bodice. Since Wilha stole my satchel, I’m going to steal more of her jewels, and use them to get as far away from this dank place as I can.
I’m not wasting another night on a half-cocked search for Wilha. Tonight I’m leaving, whether or not she comes back.
Although, I smile in spite of myself. Last night wasn’t a complete waste.
When I’ve finished removing the jewels, I stuff the dress down at the bottom of the trunk where it won’t be found. I open another trunk filled with Wilha’s clothes and run my hands over the silken dresses, preparing myself to face the day as the Masked Princess. What does a princess wear when she is going to be received by her future in-laws? Arianne never instructed me on that.
After I’ve changed into a pastel green gown, which takes several minutes longer than it should, I open the velvet boxes and settle on a pale green mask encrusted with diamonds and pale-colored opals.
A soft knock sounds at my door. “Your Highness?” comes a timid female voice. “Is it safe to come in?”
Safe?
“Are you wearing your mask, Your Highness?” she clarifies.
“Oh, just a minute,” I say and quickly tie on the mask. I hate how it restricts my vision and remind myself not to fidget with it in front of anyone. “Okay, I’m decent,” I call out, but stop. You are royalty speaking to a maid, you idiot. Act like it. “I mean . . . you may come in.”
A girl carrying a tray of bread, berries, and cream enters with an apologetic look on her face.
“I am sorry, Your Highness,” she says, curtsying. “I was supposed to visit your chambers early this morning, so that when you woke up you would have food and a fire going in here, but”—she glances up at my mask before looking away quickly, and her cheeks flush—“that is . . . none of the servants were sure . . . I mean, we’ve been told you must wear the mask at all times, and we weren’t sure if you slept in one,” she finishes in a rush, clearly uncomfortable.
“Um . . .” I don’t have the first clue if Wilha wears a mask while she sleeps. “How about this?” I say. “When I have retired to my bedroom, I will shut the door to the sitting room. And you can enter in the morning without worrying.”
She nods, and when she continues to linger, looking uncomfortable, I ask, “Is everything all right?”
“The king will be calling for you later today and, well, I thought you may want to know the buttons on the back of your dress are crooked. If you want, I could fix them?”
“Yes, thank you,” I say, realizing that of course Wilha must have had a maid to help her get dressed.
“King Ezebo is going to appoint another maid for you,” she says after fixing my dress. “And well, if you’ll have me I just wanted to tell you it would be an honor to serve you.” She flushes and looks down.
I’m tempted to tell her I don’t need a maid, that I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, but I doubt that’s something Wilha would have said. Instead I ask, “What is your name?”
“Milly,” she answers, still looking at the floor.
“Well then, Milly, I accept.”
Milly smiles and curtsies, and then brings in more wood to start a fire in the hearth. After she leaves I sit in an armchair to warm myself, but pretty soon I become aware of whispers and giggles in the corridor outside. I cross the room and lean my head against the door, and hear the hushed voice of a young girl.
“You knock.”
“No. You knock.”
“No, Leandra. You.”
“Ruby, you are the one who wanted to come here in the first place.”
The first girl’s voice lowers to barely a whisper. “Do you think she is really ugly?”
I open the door. Two young girls with surprised looks on their faces straighten up quickly and apologize. The older one has pensive, serious-looking green eyes, and the younger one has reddish-blonde hair and freckles. The bottom of her dress is torn.
“Hello,” says the younger one, “I am Princess Ruby.” She smiles, revealing two very large front teeth.
“We are
sorry to disturb you,” says the older one. “I am Princess Leandra. I tried to stop Ruby from coming here, but she insisted.”
Ruby closes the door behind her. “We’re supposed to be in lessons,” she says conspiratorially. “But we’re not!”
“Really? Well, why don’t you come in and sit down?” I lead them deeper into the sitting room and motion to the armchairs. What did Arianne say about Leandra and Ruby, the crown prince’s two siblings? Dogs in training, that’s how she described them. At the time, I hadn’t given it much thought. Arianne, puckered prune that she is, didn’t seem to have a kind word for anyone. But staring at Leandra and Ruby now, her words seem particularly cruel. Ruby can’t be more than seven, and it seems unfair to label her or Leandra a dog, just because they are Kyrenican.
“We mustn’t stay long,” Leandra says with a frown, “or we will be in trouble.”
“We heard Father say you were the most glamorous lady in the world, and that if you married our brother, it would bring Kyrenica much glory,” Ruby exclaims as she plops onto a plushy velvet cushion.
“Ruby, hush!” Leandra scolds. “That is not all he said,” she assures me. “He said he was thrilled a peace agreement could be reached, and that your marriage to our brother would save countless lives.” She recites the words formally, as though she has memorized them by heart.
But they stop me cold, nevertheless. They remind me there’s a purpose to this betrothal, to avoid a war that many thought was inevitable. I am reminded, too, that I promised Lord Quinlan I would try to find out if Ezebo was serious about maintaining peace.
Something that just might play in my favor if it’s discovered that I’m not Wilha, and I have to appeal to the Guardians for help.
“Is your father happy with the peace treaty, then?” I ask Leandra carefully.
“Of course, why shouldn’t he be?” Leandra frowns.
Ruby and Leandra move to dismiss themselves, saying that their father should be calling for me soon.
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