The Princess in the Opal Mask (25 page)

Lord Quinlan sighs heavily. “It is too bad your sister didn’t turn out to be more like you, Wilha.”

At that, I have to stifle a snort. Lord Quinlan wishes I was more like Wilha? More easily controlled, is what he really means.

For the first time, I ask myself which girl got the better end of the deal sixteen years ago. I got the Ogdens, and Wilha got the mask. But I also had Cordon. Did Wilha have anyone at all?

“Ezebo has not heard from Garwyn, but I will send more of my men to search the city and see if we can locate her,” Lord Quinlan says.

“Locate her, why?” I ask. “She escorted me here, and clearly the Strassburgs do not mean to harm me. It would seem that she has finished her duty and chosen to start a life somewhere else, rather than return to Galandria.” I keep my voice soft. I’m not challenging him; I’m a polite princess, making a polite inquiry.

But this is what I’ve wondered: If I said thanks, but no thanks, to the Guardians’ offer of a new life in Allegria, what would they do? Would I be allowed to find a new life anywhere else?

“Your father has ordered me to bring her back to the Opal Palace,” he answers. “It is his decision what becomes of her.”

Exactly as I thought. And if Fennrick and the Guardians once contemplated sending me into seclusion—my sole offense being that I had the misfortune of being Wilha’s twin—what type of “new life” would they choose for me now, when they still suspect I may want to claim the opal crown for myself?

No, Galandria is not safe for me, and never will be.

“As you command,” I say sweetly.

Lord Quinlan excuses himself, and I turn away to head back to my chambers.

“There was one other thing.”

I jump slightly at the sound of Lord Royce’s voice. I had nearly forgotten about him.

“Yes?” Unease claws at my belly. His ice blue eyes are watchful, far from the impassive gaze he wore before Ezebo and Genevieve.

“Your Father commissioned Master Welkin to design another one of his creations to congratulate you on your betrothal. He knows what a fan you are of his work. Lord Quinlan and I have brought it here to Korynth.”

Master Welkin? Creations? The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. Lord Royce watches me closely, a muscle twitching near his jaw. Was he not so easily convinced that I’m Wilha? Is it possible that he’s testing me?

I curtsy. “If you write to my father the king, please tell him his gifts are always welcome.”

I plead exhaustion then, and tell him I must return to my chambers. I don’t know if Lord Royce was simply delivering a message from his king or something else entirely. But I decide that the best thing I can do is avoid the Guardians as much as possible before the masquerade.

G
arwyn may be searching for me, but I am not ready to be found. If there is one thing I learned in the Opal Palace, it was how to content myself with a life lived behind walls. The walls of my room at the Sleeping Dragon may be far less grand than my chambers in the Opal Palace, but they serve my purpose, nevertheless.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the castle tonight?” Kyra says as we close up the dress shop.

I nod. “And besides,” I hold up the bundle I carry, “I told Galina I would finish this dress tonight at home.”

“Oh, come on, Willie. You’ve been sewing for Galina for the past few nights. It’s really not fair for her to give you so much work.” She glances over her shoulder, to make sure Galina, who is still in the back room, doesn’t hear us.

“I volunteered to do it. I will stop once the masquerade is over.”

After I leave the shop, I hurry up the street. When I arrive at the Sleeping Dragon, I find Victor and ask him, just as I have done the past few nights, if he could bring dinner to my room. Then I’m up the stairs and locking my door behind me. I place the bundle on my bed and step over to the window. In the building across the street, a woman is leaning out of her window and removing laundry from a clothesline. She waves at me. I wave back and look down at the street. Many Kyrenicans—most of them carrying candles—make their way west toward the castle.

Garwyn and Moran left the Sleeping Dragon the night after I heard them talking, presumably to try other inns in the area. But ever since, I have jumped at the sound of the bell in the dress shop, certain Garwyn had found me, certain he had finally realized I was not just “the barman’s nosy girlfriend.” My neck has prickled with the feeling of someone watching me. Each time I have whirled around, only to find no one there.

Garwyn may not have seen me, but I have seen him. Two days ago, from the window of the dress shop I glimpsed him strolling up the street, his eyes intent on the passersby.

And he is not the only Galandrian I have seen. Indeed, from the window yesterday I was certain I glimpsed one of Lord Quinlan’s men and wondered if the Guardians had arrived in Korynth. I received my answer today when I saw Lord Royce this morning, walking toward the docks with Sir Reinhold. Are they also searching for me? I think if I had seen Lord Murcendor on the street I would have declared myself to him, and he would have instructed me how to make things right. But I know little about Lord Royce, so I stayed hidden in the dress shop.

A knock sounds at the door, but when I open it, it’s not Victor, but James standing in the doorway, holding a plate piled high with steamed clams. He places the tray on my desk and closes the door behind him.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you, I’m sorry,” he blurts out, before I have the chance to say anything.

“It was fine, really.” My voice sounds unconvincing, even to me.

“It can’t be fine. You’ve been avoiding me all week.”

“I have not.”

“You leave early for Galina’s, and you’ve been staying there all hours. Then when you return, you spend all evening in your room, sewing.”

“It cannot be avoided,” I insist. “The masquerade is nearly here. There is hardly enough time to fill the orders we already have, and more are still coming in.”

“Then why are you asking Victor to bring your meals to you, when you could just as easily ask me? You’re avoiding me.”

“Okay,” I admit. “I may be avoiding you, just a little.”

“I knew it.” He rakes his hand through his hair. “I never should have kissed you. I’m a fool.”

“You are not,” I assure him. “It is only that, well . . . I had never been kissed before.”

I have imagined my first kiss a hundred times over, but with Patric. Yet surrounded by all my guards, fantasies were all I could hope for. With James, it was all so quick. One minute I was torn between hiding or declaring myself to Garwyn, and the next, James’s lips were pressing against mine.

James curses. “I’m sorry. It was impulsive and I . . .” He sighs. “And I want to do this right. Victor said I could have a free morning tomorrow. Would you . . . go on a picnic with me?”

It is such a simple thing, a boy inviting a girl to share a meal. And any girl could easily accept. Any girl who is not me.

“I am sorry, James. With the masquerade coming up I can’t.”

He nods, disappointment etched on his face. “Well, it was worth a try I guess,” he says and begins to back out of the room. “I really am sorry, Willie.”

“No, James there’s no need to—” I begin, but he closes the door behind him.

I lock my door again and move to my desk, but find I cannot eat. I stand up and throw open my window, and a salty breeze wafts into the room. Glowing lanterns hang from the rooftops and excited laughter spirals up like sweet incense.

Down below, everyone seems to be having a wonderful time. Yet up here, I hide, just as silent and fearful as I was during the years I spent in the Opal Palace.

I unlock the door and exit my room. Downstairs, James is filling several mugs with ale. When he sees me, he gives me a hopeful smile.

“I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind?”

“I have,” I answer. “I would love to go on a picnic with you.”

I refuse to find Garwyn or any of the others and offer myself up to them. But neither will I continue to hide. If it’s me they’re searching for, let them come.

In the meantime, I intend to enjoy my waning days of freedom.

I
f I spend one more day in this castle, I’ll go mad. When was the last time I saw the outdoors or breathed fresh air, apart from my waving from the balcony? While Milly fastens ribbons in my hair, I tug at the mask I’m wearing. When was the last time I spoke with someone without wearing this wretched thing? I think back to the night I enjoyed a midnight snack with the squire—with Stefan, rather. I wouldn’t admit it, not to anyone, but I miss the squire. It’s too bad, really, because I liked
him
. Stefan, on the other hand, can take a flying leap.

“Milly, if I wanted to get a carriage to take me into the city, how would I go about it?”

“Not sure, Your Highness.” Milly yawns as she fusses over my hair. “Think you’d have to speak to the king.”

Under Stefan’s orders, Milly has moved into my chambers, and both of us know it’s because she’s supposed to be keeping an eye on me. “Your Highness,” she said the first night, “the crown prince could fire me if he thought I wasn’t doing a good job.”

I looked at her fretful gaze and remembered how fearful I was over displeasing Mistress Ogden, as she had the power to toss me out. “I promise Milly,” I had said, “you won’t get in trouble on my account.”

So I have resolved not to explore the passageway, not to make any plans at all, until after the masquerade, when the Guardians are safely on their way back to Galandria.

“And where is the king right now?” I ask.

“He is with Lord Quinlan.” Milly gets a sour expression on her face. “His latest complaint is that his chambers aren’t warm enough.”

I suppress a grin. Thankfully, I haven’t seen the Guard-ians since they first arrived in Korynth a few days ago. Ezebo has sent Lord Royce and Lord Murcendor to meet with several of his advisors as part of the peace treaty. How Lord Quinlan occupies his time, I can’t be sure. He seems to have little use for me, now that he is sure I’m Wilha—but I hear about him often enough from Milly. Apparently he’s gaining quite a reputation among the servants.

“Would you like me to escort you to the king’s study?” Milly asks.

“No,” I answer quickly. I have no wish to see Lord Quinlan.

“I suppose you could ask the crown prince over breakfast this morning,” Milly says, careful to keep her eyes averted. I think she must know “breakfast” consists of me sitting alone with only a plate of tuna eyes for company. Where Stefan eats, or how he spends his days, I don’t know either. During dinner, he speaks to whatever nobles are joining us for dinner, and is careful to avoid being alone with me. And yet, I’ve watched as he has swept Ruby up in a hug, and proceeded to waltz her around the room. I’ve seen him stand up for Genevieve, when Eudora starts in on her. Clearly, he’s capable of great kindness—just not to me.

Not that I care.

“We both know Stefan would probably say no, even if he did show up for breakfast,” I answer quietly.

At this, Milly meets my gaze and nods. “He’s being most unkind,” she says in a low voice. “I am sure that if the king and queen realized they wouldn’t stand for it.”

Her words give me an idea. I give Milly a gracious smile and utter a polite response, and head for my bedroom.

From the writing desk, I pull out a quill and a piece of parchment. I sit quietly for several moments, contem-plating a letter that is sufficiently Wilha-like, but still gets my point across.

“Milly,” I call when I’m finished.

“Yes?” she says, appearing in the doorway.

I hold out the folded parchment. “Can you please take this to the queen?”

Milly raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. After she has left, I smile—really smile—for the first time in days.

Stefan is not the only one who can play dirty.

W
ith a picnic basket in hand, James leads me to the beach near Rowan’s Rock. He spreads out a blanket and gestures for me to sit.

The day is overcast and the tide is low. I glance over at the cliffs and the staircase that I know is hidden among the rocks and moss. I purposely turn away from it, determined not to let anything spoil the afternoon.

“I can tell you’re getting sick of eating so much fish,” James says once we are settled. “It’s okay,” he adds, when I start to protest. “I grow tired of it after a while, too.” He opens the basket and removes several nonseafood items: olives, figs drizzled with honey, boiled eggs, and a roll of soft goat cheese.

We watch the ocean and eat silently, the only sound being the rhythmic lulling of the waves. I kick off the slippers I borrowed from Kyra and dig my toes into the cool sand.

James gives a sigh of contentment. “Summer is finally making an appearance.”

“It is?” I ask, glancing up at the overcast sky.

“Well, I guess it’s not as warm as your border village, but this is what summer in Korynth looks like. This far north, you’ll be amazed when you see how cold the winters are. But don’t worry,” he adds quickly, mistaking my dismayed expression for concern. “I will make sure you have warm enough clothes.”

“Thank you,” I say, managing a smile, and James closes his eyes and tilts his head back. I’m not worried about winters in Korynth, cold though they might be. At the moment, I’m entertaining another thought altogether. When winter comes, where will I be? What if Garwyn and his men never find me? What if they conclude I have left the city and the search is called off?

I think of the way the girls in the dress shop have begun to stare at me. Many of them seem to like my stitching, and have asked about my techniques. When I answer their questions, their stares are intent, as though they have decided I am someone worth listening to.

My eyes focus on Rowan’s Rock, which rises up out of the sea. Elegant in her mossy finery, it looks as though she wears an emerald gown, like one of Galandria’s Guardians. If only Lord Murcendor were here right now to give me counsel.