The Princess in the Opal Mask (32 page)

In the dark silence that follows, a single sword is drawn, and a Kyrenican-accented voice says, “You know, Garwyn, if all your master cares about is starting a war, why didn’t he have you and your men burn your own capital, instead of ours?”

Before Garwyn can respond, a red arrow strikes a guard’s thigh, and he’s brought to his knees. The shadows streak closer and morph into the form of Kyrenican soldiers, running toward Garwyn and the other men.

“She’s deceived us!” screams Garwyn. “Arm yourselves!” Amid cries of outrage and confusion, torches are dropped and swords are drawn. Steel clashes with steel and a Kyrenican soldier falls under Garwyn’s sword. Another Galandrian is brought down by a red arrow. He slips and falls into the campfire, screaming in agony before he rolls into the sand.

More Kyrenican soldiers storm the beach until they far outnumber the Galandrians, and soon Garwyn and his men all lie on the sand either dead or surrendered.

A shadowed figure approaches the campfire. One by one, each Kyrenican soldier drops to his knees before him. When he steps into the glow of the campfire, I see that it’s Stefan.

“How in the world did you manage to get yourself up there?” he calls.

“Magic, my lord,” I call down to him. “And when you return to the castle, you shall find me in my chambers as though I never left at all.”

Stefan laughs. “I am sure I will. And when I do—with your permission, of course—I wish to kiss the girl who has saved our city this night.”

“The permission will be granted,” I say. What else can I say, when all the soldiers are watching? I look back, wondering how Wilha will react. But the cave behind me is empty, and the passageway is open.

Wilha is gone.

“M
en of Galandria! Why have you come to wreak havoc upon my city?”

Elara’s words twist and turn. She summons truth and falsehood with equal ease, weaving them together into an enchantment that strips the Galandrians of their will to act.

Standing behind her, I watch her as she speaks. Her chin is lifted and her shoulders are thrown back. She seems to be a living copy of my mother’s statue in the Queen’s Garden.

I had come back to the castle intent on saving Elara, believing her to be in danger. I remember the fierce, animal-like look on her face as she stabbed Lord Murcendor. She did not need to be saved, after all.

I did.

And the thought that has fluttered at the edges of my mind now bursts forth like an uncontrollable gale:

What if, sixteen years ago, a mistake was made? What if the true Andewyn daughter, the one to be named Wilhamina, was not the twin who slid first into this world, but the one who was never supposed to exist in the first place?

Wilhamina Andewyn, the Masked Princess.
The name has always seemed like an intangible, ethereal cloud, floating above and around me, covering me completely. And yet never truly becoming a part of me.

As I watch Elara speak, watch the Galandrians fall under the greater numbers of the Kyrenican soldiers—but defeated, really, by the power of Elara’s words—I find that cloud rising up from around me and nudging me back into the cave. It dissipates into nothingness as I sweep into the darkness, filled with a new resolve that moves my arms and legs until I am back in the Masked Princess’s chambers.

I find Patric’s letter in the velvet box, just as Elara said.

Princess Wilhamina,

I regret the hastiness of our last training session, and that I did not have a chance to properly say good-bye. You are competent with a sword, far more so than you give yourself credit for. Remember this when you face your new life in Kyrenica. I also wish to beg your forgiveness, in that I did not grant the request you made of me. As my sovereign, your request should have been my command. As a devoted servant of Galandria, and of the Andewyn family, I can wish for no greater happiness than this: that you should find joy in your life in Kyrenica.

His words reach somewhere deep inside of me. I
am
more competent than I once believed. I remove a cloak from the wardrobe and tuck the letter away. I go to the sitting room, pick up my white and silver costume mask, and tie it on.

Once upon a time, I stood in this room and chose to run away from my future.

But tonight, I choose to run
to
my future.

A
fter I return to the castle, Ezebo summons me to his study and I explain to him how Lord Murcendor attacked “me” and told me of his plans. I promise him that Lord Murcendor was working alone and that Galandria has every intention of honoring the peace treaty. Ezebo orders the guards to search the city for Lord Murcendor, and then finally, I am dismissed and return to my chambers.

Dawn’s early rays peek through the castle windows by the time I enter my bedroom. When I open the blue velvet box to take off the mask, I find a letter tucked inside. Not Patric’s letter, but another, also addressed to the Masked Princess. I quickly open it, all thoughts of removing my mask forgotten.

Dear Elara,

Tonight you saved the city from an unimaginable fate. Indeed, your actions may well have saved both Kyrenica and Galandria from an unnecessary war. I know you do not consider yourself an Andewyn, and for this, I cannot blame you. Yet in you I see so much of our ancestors. Indeed, far more than I have ever glimpsed in myself.

You say you have no name, so I beg of you, take mine. For in these last several days you have worn it with more grace and vigor than I ever have. Take my name and build for yourself the life that should have been yours sixteen years ago. Become the Masked Princess. I have seen you and Stefan together, and it is clear he has claimed your heart and you his. Someday we will meet again, and on that day I hope you will forgive me for choosing a life outside of the castle.

Somewhere in your heart you must see that this is the logical end to this matter.

Wilha finishes the letter without a signature. Fitting for someone who has just walked away from her identity. I stride to the sitting room, start a fire, and sink into the armchair, considering her words.

For all Wilha’s persuasion, she forgot to mention there is still a peace treaty, still a war that would very likely be fought if I choose to leave. But despite all this, Wilha has made her decision.

Now I must make mine.

I read the letter one more time and then I rise. I toss it into the fire, where it curls and blackens, turning in on itself. Until there is nothing left but ashes and embers.

A knock sounds at the door, and I hurry to open it before Milly awakens. Stefan enters the room. His eyes droop with exhaustion.

“The guards can find no trace of Lord Murcendor in the castle, or in the city. They will continue to look, of course, but I fear we may not find him. Lord Quinlan has sent several pigeons bound for Galandria. He seemed eager that your father should know of Lord Murcendor’s actions. Indeed, that was what he wanted to speak to you about in private earlier. One of his men saw Lord Murcendor in the city yesterday speaking with Garwyn, and he was troubled when Lord Murcendor did not report it to my father.”

“Where is Lord Quinlan now?” I ask.

“Packing. Both he and Lord Royce mean to leave Korynth at once. As it was some of his own men who joined with Lord Murcendor, Lord Quinlan in particular is anxious to return to Galandria and explain these events to your father in person. Both he and Lord Royce have asked to speak to you before they leave, but I told them I myself would convey their well wishes.” He pauses. “After what happened with Lord Mur-cendor, I am not eager for any of your father’s advisors to meet with you.” He sighs. “Unless of course you wish to?”

I hesitate, remembering Lord Royce’s words: “There were things I could’ve told her. Things your mother wanted her to know. A message she intended Elara to have.”

I don’t think Lord Royce knows anything. If my mother gave me up so easily, I doubt she had anything to say to me, other than giving me the book. And even if she did, I’m not sure I care. Not after she decided I was worth so much less than Wilhamina.

Nevertheless, the temptation to speak to him is strong. Just, I think, as Lord Royce intends. I imagine him not very far away, waiting for me to come to him. Waiting for me to play into his hands.

He’ll have to keep waiting. The farther I stay away from the Guardians, and Galandria all together, the safer I’ll be.

“No,” I say. “I have no wish to speak to them.”

Stefan nods and reaches for my hand. “You are the most wondrous woman I have ever met. Do you want to tell me exactly how you managed to appear on that cliff at just the right moment tonight?”

“A woman can’t give away all her secrets. Surely you must know that,” I say with a bat of my eyes.

He pulls me close, cups my chin in his hands, and whispers, “I look forward to a lifetime of learning your secrets.” His lips meet mine and a thrill passes over me, split into equal parts of joy and fear. Joy that he wants me.

And fear that he will find out my biggest secret.

But I push those thoughts away and give myself over to the kiss. It’s me he wants, and me he will marry, the only twin he has ever known. And if I have to trade one name for another, does it really matter? Because standing on that ledge and addressing those men as the Masked Princess didn’t feel like deception. It felt like the righting of so many wrongs.

“I meant what I said earlier. I intend to make a new start,” Stefan says when we pull apart. “I intend to put aside our families’ differences and love you.” He traces a finger down my mask. “Loving you, I suspect, will not be a difficult thing to do.” His face is hopeful and expectant, and I know he wants me to return his sentiments.

Instead, I bring my lips to his for another kiss. Of all the words in this world, love is the most powerful of them all. It’s a word I can’t say. Not yet, anyway.

Not until I know it comes from the deepest, most sincere place in my heart.

T
he masquerade lasts until dawn. When a servant ushers the remaining guests from the great hall, I rise up from the corner I have been hiding in to join the crowd that is now streaming out the castle.

The streets of Korynth are damp and dirty from a night of reveling. Several men are passed out near the castle gates. Empty bottles of ale and half-burned candles litter the cobblestone streets.

I pass a couple slumped together on a wooden bench. The girl wears a simple, powder blue dress and a lavender costume mask. Instinctively, I change direction and turn north, set on a new destination.

When I reach the Broken Statue I kneel down, my eyes almost level with Queen Rowan’s stone gaze. I remove my white and silver mask and tilt my head to the wind, enjoying the feel of fresh, salty air on my face.

Queen Rowan’s broken, beheaded statue stares at me silently. For once, I don’t think she is judging me to be unworthy of the Andewyn name. I think she is watching, curious to see which path I shall take.

“No matter where I go,” I whisper to her, “I will always be an Andewyn. Always.”

I leave the mask at the foot of the statue. Then I rise and turn eastward, and head for home.

I don’t know what will happen today, or the next day, or the day after that. I only know, for the first time ever,  I have the chance to
choose
the life I want to live.

And for right now, that is everything.

For years this book was my “Secret Project,” the story I played around with when I needed a break from my formal work-in-progress. It would still be my secret project today had my agent, Kerry Sparks, not suggested that I “start writing my YA book” during a phone call when I was whining about having writer’s block. Thank you for all your encouragement and direction, Kerry!

Marlo Scrimizzi, my editor at Running Press, believed in this project even in its earliest stages. Marlo, every author should be so lucky to have an editor like you!

The entire team at Running Press has been a joy to work with. Thank you to Teresa Bonaddio, the genius behind the cover and map. To Suzanne Wallace, Susan Hom, Emily Epstein, and Stacy Schuck: Thank you all for helping turn my manuscript into an actual book and seeing that it gets into the hands of readers.

To my early readers: Douglas Coleman, Lisa Allen, Ruth Gallo, Nancy Winkler, Pam Carroll, Stefanie Wass, and Deanna Romito, thank you so much for your encouragement and feedback. It means so much!

In order to reach the deadlines on this book I often had to call in re-inforcements. Thank you to Pam and Tom Carroll, Nancy and Gerry Winkler, and Lisa and Bryan Allen for watching my boys when I had to sneak away to write.

To all of my friends and family who have supported me on my writing journey, thank you, I am so incredibly lucky to have you in my life.

To my Grandpa Jim, who is in his nineties and is convinced I’m famous: Thank you for always trying to sell my books at your senior center!

To my husband Ryan who is always willing to help me carve out more writing time: Thank you for always being my biggest fan, and especially, for not being picky when it comes to housekeeping! I still feel so lucky to be your wife.

And finally, highest thanks to God, the First Storyteller, and the author of my own journey. May I live a life that increasingly reflects your love and commitment to this world.

Copyright © 2013 by Jenny Lundquist

All rights reserved under the Pan-American and International Copyright Conventions

Printed in the United States