The Princess in the Opal Mask (13 page)

They are pictures of death. Death by strangulation. Death by hanging. Death by fire. A hundred paintings, rendering a hundred brutal deaths. What artist was commissioned to paint such scenes? I turn away, unable to continue looking.

Wolfram, finished with lighting the torches, exits the room.

Lord Quinlan looks at Lord Murcendor. “See that she is properly persuaded.” And with that, he steps out.

Properly persuaded?
I swallow thickly, thankful I haven’t eaten anything yet. “Where did Lord Quinlan go?”

“He prefers to let others do his dirty work,” Lord Murcendor says as he refills my goblet. “The king is currently unconscious. But if he awakens, how do you think he will feel when he discovers his long-lost daughter may have been working to depose him in order to see herself crowned queen?”

“I told you, I didn’t know of Finley’s plans.”

“There is no way for us to know that. The only way is for you to prove your loyalty.”

“Prove my loyalty?” My stomach roils as the meaning of his words becomes clear. “By posing as Wilha’s decoy, you mean?”

He nods. “With the assassination attempt, there is great concern over the princess traveling to Kyrenica.” He picks up an apple and begins slicing it with his dagger.

I take a small sip of wine, trying to stall for time. He starts eating the apple slices, and I look longingly at the feast. My mouth waters, and I wish he would invite me to eat. But I shake myself. I know what he is trying to do, and I can’t let myself become distracted. I need to stay alert. I saw the arrows flying toward the Andewyns myself. This is no small thing they are asking.

“Won’t the king object?” I ask, trying to think of a way out of this. “If he wanted me back so badly—wouldn’t he object to sending both his daughters to Kyrenica?”

“I think not. Sixteen years ago, the king and queen sent you into obscurity to protect the kingdom. If he were conscious enough to do so, I believe he would be the first to volunteer you now for this task.” He sips his wine and continues. “There are two ways to look at this. One is that you were working with Lord Finley’s men to assassinate your own family and attempted to flee when we brought you to the Guardians’ Chambers for questioning. The other is that upon learning of your true identity, you immediately agreed to protect your sister in her time of need.” He leans back in his chair. “Which scenario do you suppose will sit better with the king?”

“I know nothing about being a princess,” I say.

“You can learn. I have watched the games you and the Lady Ogden have played. I am certain you can assume any role required of you. If you arrive safely in Kyrenica, you are to serve as the Masked Princess and Wilha will pose as your maid until it is determined that the Strassburgs mean no harm to your sister.”

“But if Wilha serves as my maid,” I say, thinking fast, “they will see her face. Won’t they think it strange that my maid looks exactly like the Masked Princess?”

“Royalty rarely pays any attention to their servants. And you will be wearing the mask, which you are not to remove. They should have no indication of what the Masked Princess looks like. And your stay in Korynth will be short-lived. King Ezebo is planning a masquerade to formally introduce Wilha to Kyrenican society. Lord Quinlan, Lord Royce, and I have agreed to attend. Once we have seen for ourselves that the Strassburgs mean Wilha no harm, you two can switch back. Serve your sister, and when we return you to Galandria you will be given a new life, filled with more wealth than you could possibly imagine.”

“You mean, you’ll give me a new life,
if
I’m not assassinated on the road or in the Kyrenican Castle.”

His lips curl. “Yes.
If.
”

I rack my brain frantically, searching for another reason to object. When I can’t find one I say, “And what if I refuse?”

“You could,” Lord Murcendor says, glancing around the room meaningfully, “but of course, Lord Quinlan and I would have to figure out what to do with you.”

It’s not much of a choice. Impersonate the princess, or die. Of course I will do it. But there is one thing I want in return. One thing I want so badly I’d escort Wilha not just to Kyrenica but across the Lonesome Sea and back again if I could obtain it. “I’ll do it, on one condition.”

Lord Murcendor seems amused by this. “I was not aware you were in a position to issue any conditions.”

“What I’m asking for will cost you nothing.”

“And that is?”

“My name. Before the king and queen sent me away, what did they name me?”

“They didn’t,” he answers flatly. “Your father handed you over to me and said that as far as he was concerned, only one child had been born that day.”

“What?” It takes a moment for his words to register. “They didn’t name me?” My chest is heavy, and I curse at myself when I feel wetness on my cheeks.

How could they have denied me the simple courtesy of a name?

“I will leave you to your meal,” Lord Murcendor says and stands up. “When you are finished, Wolfram will escort you to your new room.”

Several minutes later when I am finally myself enough to eat, I take a bite. But the rich, colorful food tastes rotten, and I spit it from my mouth.

I
hold up my candle and look at my masks inside the glass cases. Each of them stares back at me. A silent, expectant audience. I press my thumb on the embedded opal, and the wall next to the cases slides away, revealing the passageway beyond. I swallow my fear, and step hesitantly inside.

The Guardians have decreed that Elara and I are to be kept separate while she is trained to be my decoy. Elara will be housed in the old servants’ quarters near the armory until we leave for Kyrenica. And though I know I should follow their orders, tonight I cannot. Not when I know my very own twin is so near.

With a soft moan, the wall to the servants’ quarters slides back. The room is windowless and smells musty and rank from disuse. Bunk beds line the far wall. Outside the door, I hear guards laughing. The only light from the room comes from several candles on a nightstand.

Elara sleeps in the lower bunk beside the nightstand. Her tangled hair spills over a grimy pillow. Her lip is swollen. Her hands are calloused, and her fingernails are rimmed with dirt. I watch as she scratches at a cluster of bites on her arm.

“Elara?”

Her eyes flutter open. She bolts upright, a dagger clasped in her raised hand.

I jump backward. “It is only me,” I whisper. “Wilha.”

She lowers the dagger and blinks. “Wilha?” she says thickly.

I nod, staring at the dagger. “That is what everyone calls me.”

She rubs her eyes, which are red and puffy, and then looks to the door.

“The guards don’t know I am here,” I say.

“How did you get in?” she says, blinking again.

“Through a secret passageway. The palace is full of them.”

We stare at each other. I am sure the curiosity in her eyes is reflected in my own. After a moment’s thought, I decide to remove my mask so she can see my face.

“May I sit down?” I ask, gesturing to her bed.

She hesitates. “You’re a princess, aren’t you?” she answers finally. “I don’t suppose you need permission.”

I sit and she scoots backward, putting some distance between us. She leans against the wall and tucks her knees underneath the plain cotton shift she wears.

I look away from her. There is a pitcher of water and a clay pot of sweet-smelling salve on the nightstand.

“It’s for the bites,” she says, following my gaze.

“So they are treating you well here?”

She shrugs. “They kept me in a cell until last night. Today Lord Quinlan has brought me my meals. He says tomorrow I am to begin training to be . . . you.”

Her face is inscrutable as she speaks. For so many years I studied other people’s faces; I was trying to understand what about my own appearance was so different that it required the mask. Now, after so much careful observation, it has become easy to read others’ expressions. But this girl, my very own sister, is unreadable.

“Why have you come?” she asks.

“I needed to know if it is true.”

“If what’s true?”

“The Guardians say you might have been involved in the . . .” I cannot finish. The idea that she could have been part of the assassination attempt leaves me nauseous.

She shakes her head. “It’s not true. I had no idea who I was until you walked into that room.”

Her face is still impassive, but her voice betrays more than a hint of bitterness. She crosses her arms over her knees, as though she is holding herself together, and I find I believe her. I do not see another Aislinn Andewyn, a younger twin determined to wear a crown. I see a shell-shocked girl, one who looks just like me. And one who, judging by the look of her, has not been well taken care of these last sixteen years.

“I never knew about you,” I say suddenly. “If I had, I assure you I would have done something. I would have . . .” I stop myself. It is a meaningless promise. For all the deference the Guardians pay me it has never amounted to anything remotely resembling power.

It occurs to me that if Elara had not been born, I would not have been removed from the line of succession. I would have been raised to rule Galandria, as Andrei is now. The next statue to grace the Queen’s Garden would have been my own.

But none of that seems to matter right now.

“I always wanted a sister,” I whisper. “Have you?”

“I always wanted to find my family . . . ,” she answers, and it looks like the admission costs her some effort. She glances around the room.

She doesn’t finish her thought, but her meaning is clear. Whatever she expected to find, being accused of treason and locked inside this sour-smelling room is not it.

Her gaze travels from my silken night dress, to the plain cotton shift she wears. “Please don’t come here again,” she says.

She lies down and turns toward the wall, as though she has forgotten me already.

“H
old still!” Arianne, the king’s impossible secretary, and the only person the three Guardians have told of my existence, attempts to drag a comb through my wet hair. She grunts and tugs as pain shoots up my scalp.

Early this morning Lord Quinlan introduced me to Arianne and said she would be assisting me with my training. So far that has meant the humiliation of bathing in front of her and hours of being plucked, pulled, buffed, and scrubbed until my skin is raw and red.

“Lord Quinlan must think I am a miracle worker,” she grumbles. “Now pay attention. You will need to know about the Kyrenican royal family,” she says, and launches into a vitriolic description of the Strassburgs.

Arianne is interrupted when a knock sounds at the door and Lord Quinlan enters the room. “Ah, Madame Arianne, I was just coming to check on your progress.”

“Well, I don’t know what you expect,” Arianne snaps. “She has spent most of the morning complaining and has the manners of a pig.”

“Oink, oink,” I snort.

Lord Quinlan seems to suppress a grin and says, “Would you mind terribly if I had a word alone with the girl?”

“Gladly.” Arianne sniffs and heads for the door.

After she is gone Lord Quinlan says, “The council has decided to move up the date of the princess’s departure, which means we only have a week to get you ready. You will need to listen carefully to Arianne. She will instruct you on a number of topics that you will find useful.”

I very much doubt that, but I nod politely. “Is this why you came to see me?”

“No.” He flicks his eyes over to the door, and lowers his voice. “I am here to suggest that there is yet another way you can prove your loyalty to the king.” He moves further into the room, and the thick jeweled necklaces he wears sway back and forth.

“What are you talking about?” I ask as he circles the room, running his fingers over the furniture as though checking for dust.

“Your sister carries a reputation for being obedient and . . . not altogether competent.” He turns back to me. “But you on the other hand, could prove quite useful. For a short time you will be living in the Kyrenican Castle, and have unprecedented access to the Strassburgs. And I would find it exceedingly . . . helpful if you could report back to me any information you may hear.”

“What sort of information?” After my “chat” with Lord Murcendor, I am smart enough to know this isn’t actually a request.

“Anything that strikes you as noteworthy. King Ezebo has sworn publicly he has no intention of attacking Galandria. But I should like to know what he says privately. Lord Royce has convinced the Guardian Council that there was simply not enough evidence to conclude that the Strassburgs were behind the assassination attempt. And though it pains me to admit it, he has a point. But,” he smiles, “if you could obtain information proving that Ezebo does not plan to uphold the treaty, I would be most grateful.”