The Princess in the Opal Mask

by Jenny Lundquist

  After they leave, I take several deep breaths as I prepare myself to face a king.

  CHAPTER 32

  WILHA

  Victor stares at me. Anton and Jaromil stare at me. Suddenly, I am more aware than ever that I am roaming around Korynth without any guards, without any protection whatsoever. If Kyrenican soldiers entered the inn now, I think I might run to them in relief.

  “I know who you are,” Victor repeats.

  “Who?” I grab Elara’s satchel, getting ready to run.

  “One of them kids from the villages, thinking finding a job in the city will feed your family.”

  Relief washes over me and I relax my grip. “Yes,” I answer, well aware that Anton and Jaromil are still listening. “I am from Tyran,” I add, more grateful than I have ever been for Lord Murcendor, and the fact that he insisted I study geography. Tyran is a village just on the Kyrenican side of the border. Like most Kyrenicans, the villagers in Tyran shorten their vowels, yet they speak slightly more formally, making their accent not quite Kyrenican, yet not quite Galandrian either.

  “Most families are smart enough to send their sons,” Victor continues. “More jobs for sons.”

  “Are there jobs for daughters?” I ask. I do not want to lie outright. Yet the truth obviously will not do.

  “For tough ones there are.” He looks me up and down skeptically. “Are you strong enough to haul crates of fish?”

  I shake my head.

  “Can you bake loaves of bread? Mix potions? Make cheese or brew ale?” he says, as I continue shaking my head. “Well then, what can you do?” he asks in exasperation.

  What can I do? After all these years of feeling useless as a princess, capable of nothing more than dazzling crowds, not because of any great wit or beauty I possess, but because of the mystique of the Masked Princess, it seems I am useless as a person, too. Have I learned anything worthwhile in the sixteen years of my life? Any skills others may find helpful besides sitting in a chair and—

  “Embroidery,” I say suddenly. “I am really good at embroidery.”

  “You mean that fancy kind of sewing all those noblegirls do?” He seems to consider this. “It’s not often we get someone with those talents down here.” He stands up. “Follow me.”

  “I—” I almost tell him I am not looking for a job, but after another quick glance at Anton and Jaromil, I decide to play along. I follow him over to the bar, where he grabs a tarnished silver key off a peg board and hands it to me.

  “What’s your name?” he asks.

  “My name is Will—” I stop abruptly, because I can’t very well tell him my real name.

  “Will? That’s an odd name for a girl.”

  “I think my father wished I was a boy,” I answer quickly. “Though, oftentimes he called me Willie.”

  He nods. “Nice to meet you, Willie. I’m Victor.” He starts up a staircase behind the bar, and gestures for me to follow him.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’ve got a room for you. Mind, you’ll pay me for it, once you get a job.” He stops at a door. “Before I show you in though, I want you to understand something. The streets are no place for a girl like yourself. But this inn ain’t no palace, either.”

  He pauses for me to consider this, and I cannot help thinking that no matter how rough the inn is, I doubt I will be locked inside like a prisoner.

  “Lots of questionable characters come in here,” he continues, “and you’re to be cautious. Understand?”

  I nod, and he unlocks the door. Inside the room is a bed, a small desk, and an even smaller bedside table. “It’s not much, but it should help you for now.” He looks at me critically. “You look like you could use a good long rest. I’ll have James bring you up some food. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to get a job at Galina’s.”

  “Who is Galina?” I ask.

  “A seamstress, one of the best in the city.” Before he leaves, he tells me to lock the door behind him. I do, and then lie down on the bed, touched by Victor’s kindness, and sad I will have to disappoint him. Tomorrow morning, if the soldiers do not come for me, I will have to leave. I have a cliff to climb and a life to return to.

  CHAPTER 33

  ELARA

  Words are power. The right words, said in the right tone of voice, can bring a man to his knees. They can make him fall in love with you. “Say the right words,” Mistress Ogden once told me, “and it will get you what you want.”

  And right now, as a guard leads me to the great hall to be received by King Ezebo, I want just one thing: to avoid detection, and execution.

  I haven’t been able to get Leandra’s words out of my mind. “He said your marriage to our brother would save countless lives. . . .”

  For a moment the walls of the castle corridor fade away, and I am back in Eleanor Square. I see King Fennrick just before the attack, addressing the crowd and announcing the peace treaty between Galandria and Kyrenica. I hear the ringing applause—as joyous as wedding bells—and the relieved shouts of the people, thankful that peace had been achieved. It’s incredible how much hangs on this marriage. Not just Wilha’s happiness, but the destiny of two kingdoms.

  If I leave the castle before Wilha returns, it will look as though the Masked Princess has simply vanished. I have no doubt King Ezebo and the Guardians in Galandria will each accuse the other of deception. With the likely result being war.

  I know little about Wilha. She seemed to follow whatever order was given to her. I have to believe if she gave her word that she would come back, then she means to keep it. In the meantime, I promised to play the role of the Masked Princess until the masquerade. I also promised to find out what I could about King Ezebo, and if he intends to honor the peace treaty. True, these were promises I never had any intention of keeping, but that’s beside the point now.

  The guard leads me through an arched hallway and to a set of ornately carved wooden double doors, where a second guard waits.

  “The king and queen will see you now, Your Highness.” He bows.

  I take a deep, steadying breath. The berries and cream I ate earlier roil in my stomach. It’s with a little loathing that I ask myself what Mistress Ogden would do if she were here in my place. She certainly wouldn’t cower before a challenge like this. She would instead relish the chance to impersonate royalty. My fear begins to melts away, and a new resolve steadies me.

  I smooth my skirts and straighten my mask. Chin up, shoulders back, I remind myself. And keep your mouth shut as much as you possibly can.

  The large, carved wooden doors open and the guard beckons me inside.

  Let the show begin.

  The great hall is poorly lit. The silver chandeliers above are void of candles, and the majority of the light in the room comes from a large fireplace along one wall. The room is covered in dark wood paneling, and portraits that I assume are of the Strassburg family line the walls. To my right, a long staircase curves up to a balcony overhead.

  At the end of the hall on a dais are two wooden, high-backed thrones. A plump man with graying hair sits on one. Next to him sits an elegant-looking woman clad in a scarlet gown. Standing in front of the dais is a short man with oily hair and a pug nose dressed in scarlet robes, and he bows before me.

  “And so you come at last to our humble kingdom, Your Highness! Soon the entire city will know of the Masked Prin-cess’s arrival,” he says. “You look well, just as you did in Allegria. Truly, the very air of Kyrenica seems to agree with you.”

  I have a brief moment of panic before I understand this must be the Kyrenican ambassador who met with Wilha. What did Arianne say his name was?

  “Thank you . . . Sir Reinhold,” I answer, remembering his name just in time.

  Sir Reinhold grins and with a flourish of his hand, says, “King Ezebo, Queen Genevieve, may I present Princess Wilhamina Andewyn of Galandria.”

  They both stare at me expectantly. I think back to Arianne’s lessons and wish I had paid more attention. Am I supposed to
curtsy or kneel before them? After being attacked by one of their guards and locked inside my room, I don’t particularly feel like doing either. I remind myself of Wilha’s impeccable manners and curtsy, but almost tip over from the weight of her mask and dress. I straighten up quickly and hope they didn’t notice.

  I soften my voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you. . . . I am at your service,” I say, for added measure.

  Queen Genevieve beams, but King Ezebo wears a disgruntled expression. “This is scandalous,” he says.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

  “To arrive unannounced,” Ezebo continues, as though I haven’t spoken, “it is unheard of. We had no pigeons, no word of your earlier arrival. Does Galandria expect us to stand for such a disgrace?”

  “My father’s advisors judged it to be safer if I left Gal-andria earlier than expected and traveled anonymously,” I say, just as Arianne instructed.

  Ezebo is red-faced with his lips pursed in a petulant frown. This is something I didn’t expect. I expected a cunning monarch, not a king having a temper tantrum. I’ve learned well how to handle Mister Ogden when he was in one of his foul moods. I know what to say to a man to calm him down and shut him up. But does Wilha? My guess is not, so I say nothing.

  “Had we known you were coming,” he continues, “plans would have been made to receive you properly.”

  Properly? Did they require advance notice not to lock me in Wilha’s chambers all night? I doubt shy Wilha would demand to know why she was left to rot in a locked room the moment she entered the castle. But I want to know. Something isn’t right here, and I wonder if Lord Quinlan is right to doubt King Ezebo’s intentions.

  “If Your Majesty pleases, I wonder if you could tell me why I was locked in my chambers?” I keep my voice soft and my eyes downcast.

  Ezebo sighs. “The door was locked for your own protection. After unloading your trunks, your guards were given orders to report to the head of my palace guard. Yet one of them—Moran, I am told is his name—was found stealing from the jewels your father sent ahead as payment into our treasury.” He pauses, and when I say nothing, continues, “And when he was discovered, instead of submitting to my men and explaining himself, he fought back and has now escaped, along with the jewels that now belong to me. Your chambers were locked and guarded while my men searched the castle attempting to locate him. The same precautions were taken for the princesses Leandra and Ruby. And I have been told that your maid has also stolen jewels from you. Strange, is it not?”

  “Not so strange,” I say, telling the first lie I think of. “I saw Moran and my maid giving eyes at each other. I had meant to ask her what her intentions were with him, and now I find that I was remiss in not doing so earlier. Her mother is quite strict, and would not have allowed her to marry a soldier. Perhaps they saw their opportunity to begin a new life together and have taken it.” Under no circumstances do I want King Ezebo dwelling on the missing “maid.”

  King Ezebo stares at me indignantly. “Regardless, your procession has arrived unannounced, and your people have stolen from me. This is not how I imagined our first meeting. Sir Reinhold questioned another of your guards. . . .” He pauses and looks at Sir Reinhold.

  “Garwyn,” Sir Reinhold supplies.

  “Yes—Garwyn—and found his answers unsatisfactory. Therefore, I have dismissed him and the rest of your guards and commanded them to locate Moran, your missing maid, and the jewels, and not to return to the castle until they have done so.”

  I pause. “You mean, none of my guards are now here in the castle?”

  “Your guards were at my disposal,” Ezebo retorts, “and they will be welcomed back as soon as they locate Moran, the jewels—and your maid.”

  I can detect no falsehood in Ezebo’s words. It’s possible that he’s telling the truth. Maybe Wilha’s guard really did get caught stealing and Ezebo has sent the others after him. Then again, perhaps Ezebo is a practiced liar and is merely playing a role, as I am.

  Somewhere in all of this lies the truth, hidden though it is. But what I do know is if it is discovered that Wilha herself is missing, I’ll be under suspicion. If Ezebo is willing to lock me in a room just for my “protection” what would he do to me if he believed I’d harmed the Masked Princess?

  I don’t know the answer to that. But I think I do know how Wilha would respond to Ezebo’s words. “I apologize on behalf of my guards, as well as my maid,” I say, looking downward. “Their behavior is truly scandalous.”

  Ezebo grunts. “If your father’s advisors had bothered to do a better job selecting—”

  “Ezebo, that’s enough.” Queen Genevieve stands. “This is no way to treat your future daughter-in-law. She nearly lost her father and she has said good-bye to her homeland, all in the same month. That is a lot to throw at a girl. Remember what a wreck I was the day I arrived in Korynth?”

  Ezebo looks away from me and smiles at Genevieve. Something warm passes between them; a spark of affection I never once saw between Mister and Mistress Ogden. Then Genevieve gives him a stern look and Ezebo sighs.

  “I must ask for your forgiveness, Princess. Your entourage has caused quite an uproar. We have eagerly looked forward to meeting you for several weeks, and now I fear we have given you a poor first impression.”

  “Yes,” Genevieve says, with another look at Ezebo. “And to make up for that I must ask you to join me, the princesses Leandra and Ruby, and Ezebo’s mother, the dowager queen, for tea tomorrow.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  Genevieve smiles and then both the king and queen look expectantly at Sir Reinhold, who clears his throat.

  “There was one other thing,” he says. “King Ezebo means to start a new Kyrenican tradition. We have heard of the crowds that your sessions on the balcony of the Opal Palace brought to Allegria. King Ezebo would like to see Korynth similarly honored. He requests that you appear on the eastern balcony of the castle each night at sunset before whatever crowd has assembled.” He pauses, waiting for my response.

  It’s a spectacularly stupid idea, and I’m sorely tempted to tell him so. I remember the Andewyns standing on the steps of the courthouse, rose petals raining from the rooftops. Right before the arrows flew.

  Of course, if it’s true the Kyrenicans had nothing to do with the attack, then making appearances on the balcony shouldn’t be a problem. How did Sir Reinhold describe Wilha to Ezebo and Genevieve? Shy and soft-spoken, with an easily malleable will? I remind myself to be cautious.

  I remind myself to be Wilha.

  “That is a lovely idea, Your Majesty. I am at your command.”

  “Excellent. Sir Reinhold will see you back to your chambers. Later, we will be having dinner with several noble families and we will ask you to join us.” King Ezebo beams and nods, and Sir Reinhold takes my arm. Clearly, I’m being dismissed.

  As Sir Reinhold escorts me back to my chambers, I can only hope that Wilha returns soon, before the guards locate her.

  That is, if Ezebo actually sent them after her.

  CHAPTER 34

  WILHA

  Dawn comes, but the soldiers still have not. I throw back the thin cotton blanket I slept under and pull Elara’s satchel out from under the mattress. I upend my pillowcase, where I have hidden the opals, Elara’s dagger, and her book about Eleanor the Great, and begin repacking the satchel.

  I awoke from my nap yesterday to the loud sounds of music and drunken carousing coming from downstairs. After I ate the dinner James brought up, I spent the rest of the night in my room reading of all the great deeds my ancestor had done. Each word felt like a sentence being pronounced, a judgment of my own cowardice. For I doubt Eleanor the Great would have run away from her own life, as I have done.

  Downstairs, the inn is messy, but quiet. James is near the fireplace, sweeping up broken glass. “It’s a bit early to be going to Galina’s, isn’t it?” His eyes are tired and his brown flyaway hair sticks up in all directions.

 
; “I’m . . .” I try to think of something to say, but nothing comes to me.

  “Oh, I see.” His eyes flick to Elara’s satchel. “You’re leaving.”

  “Yes. I mean, no . . . I am going . . . to take a walk on the beach.” I will, after all, have to walk down the beach before locating the staircase leading up the cliff. I do not relish that climb.

  “Right then,” he says, looking as though he does not believe me. “Wait here just a moment.” He exits through the door to the kitchen, and when he returns a moment later he holds up a sack stuffed with a loaf of bread and a roll of cheese.

  “Walks make people hungry,” he says simply, pressing the sack into my hands.

  Something catches in my throat. I have received many gifts before, oftentimes from the richest men in Galandria. But rarely have I received something that was offered solely because someone saw I had a need for it.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Thank you is always good,” he says and flashes his crooked smile. “It’s too bad, really. You would have been the prettiest tenant Victor’s ever had.”

  “Thank you,” I say, swallowing. I tell James good-bye and step outside, before I can change my mind.

  The streets smell like wood smoke, and the city is quiet except for the sound of seagulls screeching overhead. It must have rained late in the night, because the streets look like puddled mirrors. When I look down I see my grim, maskless reflection staring back. What will happen when I return to the castle? Will I be received as a missing princess? Or as an escaped prisoner?

  While I walk I nibble on the bread and cheese, shivering under my thin cloak. How can it be this cold in the summer?

  When I reach the docks, I head toward the beach and see the cliffs rising up in the distance, but quickly stop. Anton and Jaromil suddenly emerge from behind a cluster of large rocks. They seem to be talking to someone else; someone still hidden behind the rocks. I crane my neck, trying to see who it is they are speaking with, and my heart quickens. I remember they were seeing about a job, something to do with the masquerade. What type of job requires so much secrecy?