Palace of Mirrors (18 page)

“You’re right,” I whisper. “I didn’t think.”

Hours later, after we’ve eaten our evening meal and it’s gotten dark and Harper has slipped off into sleep, my heart still pounds unnaturally fast every time I think about Nanny and Sir Stephen and Harper’s mam in the courtyard. I try to convince myself that it wasn’t them, that my eyes were playing tricks on me. Because if they’re here in Cortona, they are looking for us. If they aren’t in danger now, they will be soon.

“Please,” I whisper. I’m talking to God now. I’m pleading for my safety, and Harper’s, and Harper’s mam’s, and Nanny’s, and Sir Stephen’s. And maybe even Desmia’s, too, even though she’s the one who’s imprisoned us.

I’ve barely even begun my prayer when I hear footsteps. And then there’s the soft glow of a lantern shining in through the bars, making long stripes of shadow and light across the tower floor. This has never happened before. I poke Harper in the ribs, whisper, “Wake up!” and then spring toward the door. Talk about prayers being answered.

“Harper, we’re being rescued!” I hiss. “We are! We are!”

I press my face up against the bars, watching for Sir Stephen’s regal frame to round the last curve of the spiral stairs, or maybe Nanny’s hunched-over hobble, or even Harper’s mam, stepping briskly for once.

And then the figure holding the lantern aloft rounds the corner, and I take a step back from the door.

  20  

It’s a girl I’ve never seen before. Even in the dim lantern light I can tell that she’s not a maid. She’s too jaw-droppingly beautiful, too beautifully dressed. And just from the way she walks and stands, it seems like she’s her own person, like she’s not used to taking orders from other people. Still, I can tell she’s not a minister or an adviser or a judge, either, because, well, she’s a girl.

“Hello,” she says cautiously. Then she turns partway around and addresses someone behind her on the steps, out of my view. “Desmia, they’re not screaming or shouting or anything. It’s safe to come out.”

If I scrunch over to the side, I can see just the tip of Desmia’s nose and the peak of her crown as she inches forward.

“But . . . the smell,” Desmia whispers.

The first girl sighs, and flashes me an apologetic glance.

“You know,” she says, “you lock someone up in a tower for a while without any soap or water, that’s bound to happen. Especially at the height of summer.”

Is it the height of summer now? I wonder. Exactly how long has Desmia kept us locked up? Two weeks? More?

I turn my head to the side and sniff my armpit surreptitiously. I guess I do smell bad. I remember suddenly how awful my stained, ripped dress looked even before Desmia trapped us in the tower.

“Please,” I say, being careful not to scream or shout or do anything else that might scare off Desmia and this girl. “I don’t know what Desmia told you about us, but—”

“Wait,” the girl says, holding up her hand to stop me. “I’m sure you’re dying to tell me your side of the story. I’ll listen, I promise. But before you start, you should probably know who you’re telling it to. I’m Ella Brown.”

She moves our food basket and jug of lemonade to the side and then reaches her hand in through the bars to politely shake first my hand, then Harper’s. It’s almost as if we’ve just encountered each other at a fancy ball, rather than on opposite sides of prison bars.

“Are you—are you a princess too?” Harper stammers. I look over at him, and his eyes are wide and awestruck. I did mention that this Ella Brown is beautiful, didn’t I? That’s an understatement. She looks the way I always wanted to look when I used to peer into the pond, trying to see if I looked like my royal ancestors. She’s got thick blond hair
that sweeps halfway down her back, and blue eyes that sparkle with intelligence, and white, even teeth. And even though she’s wearing a fairly simple dress—dark green cotton, in contrast to Desmia’s pale, pale blue satin—it shows off her figure amazingly.

“Don’t forget to blink,” I mutter to Harper.

Ella laughs.

“I am definitely not a princess,” she says. “I tried it for a little while—believe me, it wasn’t my style.”

“Oh,” Harper says, and he sounds so disappointed that I want to jab him in the ribs with my elbow. How come he had such trouble believing that I was a princess, but now can’t accept that this Ella
isn’t
one?

Ella looks over at me, and I don’t know, maybe it’s just an optical illusion in the dim light, but it seems like she’s rolling her eyes at me, making fun of Harper a little. It’s as if she’s saying,
Why can’t people see that there’s a lot more to a girl than what she looks like?

But maybe I just want to believe that Ella’s thinking that, considering what I look like right now.

“Anyhow,” Ella says, “you should probably know that I’m not Sualan. I’m from Fridesia.”

Harper and I both gasp at that. Fridesia is the country we’re at war with right now, the country we’ve been at war with forever, it seems. The country Harper’s father died fighting.

Ella is our enemy.

Boldly, Harper steps forward, clutches the bars in the door, and glares at Desmia.

“So you imprison us, loyal Sualan citizens, and yet allow
her
to freely roam the castle?” he asks.

“I—I—,” Desmia stammers, all but hiding behind Ella.

Ella holds up her hand, as if trying to soothe Harper’s anger.

“Now, now,” she says. “I am here on a mission of peace. I bear you no ill will, no enmity. I’m part of a delegation attempting to negotiate an end to the war.”

I almost blurt out,
Hey! No fair! That’s what I was going to do as princess!
But, amazingly, Desmia steps out from behind Ella and speaks.

“It’s because of Ella’s fiancé,” she says. “He’s the head of the delegation. He’s been here for months. And Ella”—Desmia glances at the other girl, admiringly—“she missed him so much she came to help.”

I remember the cluster of foreign gray military uniforms I saw a few days ago, my suspicion that there’d been a girl in their midst. I’d probably seen Ella arriving. I glance back at Ella, and her eyes have gone dreamy.

Oh,
I think,
that one
is
in love.
To travel so far into enemy territory—she’d need courage as well as devotion. My journey was nothing compared with hers.

I understand the wistful tone in Desmia’s voice. This is romantic.

Ella seems to shake herself out of the dreaminess.

“So I was talking to Desmia at dinner tonight,” Ella says. “And she told me she faced an, ah,
dilemma
, apart from the war—”

“She’s trapped us here unfairly!” I accuse. “She doesn’t know the truth, and I guess she’s afraid to ask anyone—”

At the same time Harper’s trying to explain, “We’ve done nothing wrong! It’s a misunderstanding! We just—”

“Please! One at a time!” Ella begs. “I’ll listen to everything you say, but take turns!”

We do. Harper lets me talk first, but he keeps adding commentary: “Think of it from Cecilia’s viewpoint,” he pleads. “She’s grown up always being told she was the true princess, so of course that’s what she believes. . . .” And, “Really, we mean no harm to Desmia. . . .” And then, “To tell the truth, I personally don’t care if Cecilia ever gets to sit on the throne; it’s just, she’s my friend, and—”

“Some kind of friend you are!” I mutter. He’s ruined my whole story. I’m so mad that if Ella and Desmia stepped away for a minute, I’d punch him.

Ella tilts her head, looking from Harper to me.

“Why do you want to be princess?” she asks.

“It’s not about what I
want
,” I say. “I
am
the princess. It’s my . . . my fate. My destiny. Sir Stephen and the other knights were so brave in saving me after my parents were killed. I . . .” I look down. “I owe them. I owe my country.”

“But you didn’t do what Sir Stephen wanted you to do,” Ella says gently.

“Because I
can
think for myself,” I say. I glare at Harper. My fury gives me courage. “Sir Stephen and Nanny still want to protect me, like a little child. I was scared coming to Cortona. I’ve been terrified since Desmia locked us in this tower. But what good is it to be the princess if I don’t ever do anything about it? If I care more about staying safe than about helping my kingdom? Suala doesn’t need a princess who’s just a doll that waves!”

Harper gasps beside me.

“She doesn’t mean that,” he says. “Not the way it sounds.”

“Yes, I do!” I say.

Harper turns three shades paler. He peers around behind Desmia, as if he’s expecting to see an executioner lurking in the shadows, waiting his turn.

Truly, I don’t want to be
that
kind of princess—the kind that gets executed. But I don’t regret anything that I’ve said. I’ve never felt so much like the true princess as I do right now, standing up for myself.

“Hmm,” Ella says. “This is all very interesting.”

Her voice is so mild that I’m sure there’s no executioner waiting for us. But then she turns to Desmia.

“Desmia,” she says. “Would you like to explain your side of the story now?”

Desmia shakes her head. “I think they should see for themselves,” she says in a small voice. “So they’ll believe me.”

“You want them to see what you showed me?” Ella
asks doubtfully. “Wouldn’t it be safer just to—”

“No,” Desmia says.

Ella frowns.

“How do you plan to accomplish this?” Ella asks.

“We’ll tie them up,” Desmia says. “Wrists and ankles. And use gags and blindfolds, maybe, until we get there?”

“You expect them to walk down those secret stairways with blindfolds over their eyes and ropes around their ankles?” Ella asks in disbelief. “I thought you said you
didn’t
want to kill them.”

I shoot Harper a gloating look, as if to say,
See? Even if you’d let me tell my story the way I wanted to, she wasn’t planning to kill us!

“Then just bind their wrists and gag their mouths until we’re there?” Desmia revises herself.

“You don’t think we could trust them?” Ella asks. “Without tying them up at all?”

Desmia shakes her head. I can’t say I blame her.

Ella shrugs and turns back to Harper and me.

“We’re taking you to the castle dungeon,” she says. “Through the secret passageways—Desmia said you used those before. I know you have little reason to trust me or Desmia, but it’s dangerous for all four of us if anyone hears us. I promise you, we do not intend to leave you in the dungeon. I know about dungeons—I would never do that to anyone.”

The way she says that, I believe her. But how could this
beautiful girl ever have been in a dungeon? I’m tempted to ask her about her story—how does someone “try” being a princess for a while and then give it up? But then a new thought seizes me.

“You’re taking us to the dungeons. . . . You haven’t captured Sir Stephen, have you?” I ask, suddenly horrified. “Or Nanny? Please, please, don’t hurt them, don’t—”

I’m prepared to beg harder for their lives than I would for my own. But Ella reaches through the bars and grabs my hands—I guess I’m flailing them about—and orders, “Stop! It’s not anyone you know! It’s—”

“Shh.” Desmia stops her. “We’re showing them, remember?”

Things happen fast after that. I want to signal Harper, to work out some sort of arrangement, passing information with a glance:
Once they open this door, you take out Desmia and I’ll overpower Ella and then we’ll run for help. We’ll wake up the whole castle if we have to!

But I can’t catch Harper’s eye, and I’m not going to run away and leave him behind. And anyway, I am curious about what Desmia wants to show us in the dungeon. Besides, Desmia insists on tying our wrists together before she unlocks the door—we have to stick our hands out between the bars, and then lean our heads against the door for the gags.

“I’ll take the boy, first,” she tells Ella. “You take Cecilia.”

In spite of myself I have to admit that that’s a clever strategy. Surely Harper knows that he can’t scream and rouse the whole castle, because then Ella could just throw me back in the tower—or maybe out the tower window. And I can’t do anything to attract attention, because that would put Harper in danger too.