The Princess in the Opal Mask (16 page)

Elara appears in the doorway. “Did you find a key?”

When I do not answer she rolls her eyes and rifles through the drawers of the writing desk. After she finishes she goes to the maid’s room to continue her search.

I cannot help but think of my great-great-grandmother, Queen Rowan. She was once a prisoner in this castle as well. When she learned the Kyrenicans had decided to execute her, was she in this very same room?

My eyes fix on a tiny smudge on the wall across from the bed. The smudge seems to shine when it catches the light, and I remember that the same family who built the Opal Palace—
my
family—also built this castle. So many underground tunnels connect the Opal Palace to different locations in Allegria. Would my ancestors have insisted on a similar construction for what was once their seaside estate?

Because Queen Rowan the Brave didn’t die in this castle. When the executioner came for her in the morning, she was gone.

I stand up and walk toward the wall with the smudge. I feel a wave of relief when I realize it is not a smudge at all, but a small opal embedded in the stone wall.

I press on the stone for several seconds and with a groan the wall slides back, revealing a dark tunnel. This must be how Queen Rowan escaped, or if not down this exact tunnel, then one just like it. I grab a candle on the writing desk with unsteady hands. I see Elara’s satchel and pick it up. How exactly did she plan to use my jewelry to support herself? Hesitantly, I step into the open corridor. Cobwebs brush my face, like wispy, welcoming hands beckoning me down the hall my ancestors once traveled. I hold up my candle, and find the opal embedded on the other side of the tunnel.

“Wilha, did you find—” Elara strides into the room and stops short when she sees me in the tunnel. Her eyes widen. “What are you doing?”

“Please,” I say. “I just need a little time. I will come back, I promise.”

The door in the sitting room opens and a man calls out, asking to speak to the Masked Princess.

“Get your mask on and get out of there,” Elara hisses and glances quickly over her shoulder. “Stop being a coward.” She waits, expecting me to obey. The word “coward” hangs be-tween us like a royal pronouncement.

My gaze slides from Elara to the masks lying on the bed. If she is so much braver than I am, let her face the guards. I press on the embedded opal, and just before the wall slides back into place, I hear the guard calling again for the Masked Princess. For the first time ever, I do not answer the summons.

If Elara thinks my life is such a fairy tale, then she is welcome to it.

“W
ait!” I cross the room and pound on the stone wall. How did Wilha manage to find a passageway? Frantically, my hands push and prod at the wall, but it won’t yield to my touch.

“Come away from there,” orders a voice. A guard seizes my arm and spins me around. He stares at my dirty boots and traveling dress and his eyes narrow. “Where is she? What have you done with the Masked Princess?”

A second Kyrenican guard enters the room. “Don’t touch her you fool! Do you wish to hang? She’s the princess’s maid.”

“Once we find the Masked Princess, she can get another maid.” He tightens his grip on my arm. “Tell us where she is.”

I’m not sure where Wilha went or if she is coming back, but it doesn’t require a tremendous amount of intelligence to understand that a missing servant is less troublesome than a missing princess.

“She is right here,” I say.

“Where? We’ve searched the chambers. You are the only one here.”

“Exactly.” I yank my arm away. “I sent my maid to fetch something from my carriage almost an hour ago. I am the Masked Princess, and you have interrupted me while I was changing. If you would kindly hand me my mask, you will find it is on the bed.”

“You’re cracked. Fine princess, you are,” he says, eyeing my traveling clothes. But the color drains from his face when the second guard picks up the gold-threaded mask and hands it to me.

“You don’t look like a princess, anyway,” the first guard says.

“And what do you suppose she should look like?” I inquire in a cold voice, tying on the mask. “You think because you haven’t dropped dead yet that I cannot be the Masked Princess?” His hand tenses and flexes, and I wonder if he wants to cover his eyes. Or strike me. “What do you suppose,” I continue, rubbing my arm where he grabbed me, “is the penalty for injuring a member of the royal family? In Gal-andria we execute those who would hurt us. In any event, you have come at the right moment. My maid never re-turned. She seems to be missing, as well as a satchel filled with my jewels”—I tell the first lie I can think of—“I suggest that instead of manhandling me, you search the castle. If you find my maid, then maybe I won’t tell the king of your incompetence.”

The guards glance uneasily at each other. “Yes, Your Highness.” They bow and quickly leave the room.

And I smile at how easy that was.

T
he candle I hold seems small and insufficient compared to the deep darkness of the tunnel. I grip the strap of Elara’s satchel and fight a wave of panic. I close my eyes and imagine the passageway is lit with a golden glow, and every female ancestor of mine who has ever traveled this tunnel stands at either side urging me forward, away from the Strassburgs and toward whatever lies at the end of this path.

I stretch my hand out, walk several steps, and stop when my fingers close over something long and thin. I let out half a scream before I realize it is just a torch and not some-one’s arm. Of course, the passageway is probably lined with torches.

But if the passageway is known to the Kyrenicans, then lighting the torches will surely give me away, so I let the faint glow of my candle light the way. At the sound of something small skittering near my feet, I jump and drop the satchel. It opens and several opals spill out. Hastily, I pick everything up and continue on. I pass several doors at either side of the tunnel. I don’t open any of them, as they probably lead to other rooms in the castle. I decide I will follow the tunnel until I reach whatever final destination my ancestors planned.

The candle burns low. Hot wax drips down my hand, and I stifle a cry of pain. Lower and lower the candle burns as I fumble forward, until the wick drowns in its own wax, extinguishing what little light there is.

Hours seem to pass, though I know it can only be minutes, and I begin to think I will never escape the darkness— until I walk straight into a stone wall. I set down the candle and put out my hands, searching for the opal that will open the door. After several more minutes, I finally feel a point in the wall that feels smoother than the others and press on it.

The door gives way with much creaking and moaning, and I trip and tumble into a pile of sand. Coughing and spitting, I stand and brush myself off. I am in a shallow cave, and I hear the sound of rushing water. The air is sharp and cold, and besides the sand, I taste salt on my tongue. To my right, late afternoon sunlight beckons. I find the embedded opal on the other side of the wall and press down, and the door groans shut.

I cautiously step out of the cave, but come to a halt. I am perched on a small ledge on a mossy cliff side. Spread out before me is the ocean. A single large rock rises up in the water, moss covering it like an emerald gown. Down below, the shore is strewn with tall, jagged rocks, and whitened wood. Several hundred yards up appears to be Korynth’s seaport.

I look down, searching for a path to get to the beach below. Hidden under a layer of slippery moss is a steep stone staircase, which cuts through the cliff and leads down between two tall boulders to the beach. Cautiously, I make my way downward, trying not to focus on the jagged rocks below.

When my feet touch the sand, I walk up the shore—almost as if in a trance—toward the docks, both amazed and horrified by my actions. I expect to hear the heavy footsteps of soldiers rushing behind to capture me. Yet no soldiers come and the sailors at the docks pay no attention to me.

A salty wind whips my hair. I tilt my head toward the sun and feel my cheeks, hidden all my life behind masks, beginning to burn.

For the first time ever, I am outside and alone, free of palace walls.

But as the sun sinks beyond the horizon and shadows creep across the docks, I ask myself:

Can I exist in a world without walls?

I
f I don’t find Wilha soon, I may well be executed. The lie I told about the missing maid has bought me time, but how much? How long before someone suspects it’s not the maid who has gone missing, but the princess herself?

I’ve been stuck in Wilha’s chambers the entire night, but she hasn’t returned. The only person I’ve seen at all is a timid maid who visited to tell me that the search of the castle had ended, and my missing servant hadn’t been found.

“King Ezebo has returned, and I have been asked to tell you that you need to remain in your chambers this evening. He’s entertaining a large party of nobles who have come to stay a few nights at the castle, and doesn’t yet wish to an-nounce your presence in the city. Tomorrow he promises to receive you properly,” she finished, before quickly leaving.

As the evening has given way to night I’ve passed the hours sitting in front of the fire or clawing at the wall in Wilha’s room, trying to gain entrance to the passageway, and wishing I’d paid more attention to how Arianne opened the tunnel in the Opal Palace.

Wilha may not have gone far. For all I know, she’s been stuck on the other side this whole time trying to get back in. I put my ear to the wall and knock softly. I don’t hear anything, but then again, the wall seems thick.

Wilha opened the passageway seemingly without too much difficulty. There has to be a way in, something I’m not seeing. . . .

She pressed something to make the wall slide back, I remember suddenly. Something lower to the ground. I crouch down on my hands and knees, pressing my fingers to the wall. After several minutes, I spot a small smooth stone—is it an opal?

I press it and the wall slides back, revealing the passageway. Once my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see a row of mounted torches. Quickly, I stride back to the sitting room. I stick a piece of kindling into the fire until it ignites, then carry it back to Wilha’s bedroom and light the first few torches.

I’m about to step into the passageway when I pause. I don’t know where the tunnel leads. I only know I need to find Wilha, or get out of this castle—preferably both. But if I’m caught, it will attract no small amount of attention if I’m dressed as the Masked Princess. Quickly, I untie my gold-threaded mask and throw on my cloak, thankful that I still haven’t changed out of my traveling clothes.

I remove the first torch from its mount and decide to leave the passageway open. The tunnel is so dark; I want the candlelight from Wilha’s room—dim though it is—to guide me.

I flip up the hood of my cloak and move deeper into the tunnel. It’s not long before I come to a door, but I pass it quickly. Wilha had been in such a hurry, I don’t think she would have taken the first exit offered to her. After a few more minutes of walking, the torchlight glints off of something small on the ground. I crouch down and see it’s a small opal earring, one that I had stuffed into my satchel. The earring is lying next to a door. Did Wilha exit the passageway here?

I search around and find another opal in the wall and press on it. The wall slides back. I’m greeted with more darkness and see that I’m staring at the back of a floor-length tapestry. I extinguish my torch, leave it in the passageway, and step out from around the tapestry. It appears as though I’m in a small receiving room of sorts. I cross the room quickly and cautiously open the first door I see, but draw back immediately.

A boy who looks to be a few years older than me is exiting another room just across the corridor. As noiselessly as possible, I hurry back to the tapestry. After several minutes, I decide he didn’t see me, and venture out again.

The corridor is deserted. The only light comes from several flickering sconces lining the walls. If Wilha came this way, where would she go? I look over to the door the boy exited, thinking that maybe she wouldn’t have wanted to be so exposed in the hallway. I cross the corridor and grasp the door handle, which is shaped like a gargoyle, and I’m about to push it open when—

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I jump and turn around. At the end of the hall is the boy. His hand is on the hilt of his sword, which hangs at his waist.

“I
said
, what are you doing?” He walks a few steps closer, passing into the glow of sconced candlelight. He is tall and tanned with golden blond hair and a strong jaw. But despite his good looks, his hair is disheveled and his clothes are dusty and dirty. All in all, it looks to me like he’s a squire in need of a bath. A really long one. When he gets closer he draws his sword and points it at me.

Don’t panic,
I tell myself. I loosen my shoulders.

“You can put that down,” I say, in a breathless but bubbly voice. “I promise not to hurt you.”

A hint of a smile plays on his lips. “Thank you for assuring me,” he says and turns serious again. “I am wondering, though, why you are sneaking around. This corridor is part of the Strassburgs’ private rooms. It is off limits to most of the palace staff.”

“Maybe you could help me then,” I say, thinking fast. “My lady and I only arrived at the castle tonight, and she has sent me to the kitchen—a healthy appetite, she has—and I’ve been wandering around trying to find it.”

“Who is your lady?” he asks, looking suspicious.

“Um, the spoiled one.”

At this, he grins and sheaths his sword. “Most of them are.”

“So do you know where the kitchen is?” I repeat, feeling I have no choice but to embrace my lie.