The Opal Crown (11 page)

I obey and sink into a deep curtsy. When I rise, the chanting grows louder:

Masked Princess!

Masked Princess!

Masked Princess!

Andrei’s eyes narrow. “They love you more.”

“They don’t love me,” I say as we both wave. “They love the jewels, the masks, and the mystery. But they have never loved
me
.”

A man’s voice cries out. “The opal crown belongs to the Masked Princess! Not to the gluttonous usurper!”

A shocked hush descends and the people begin turning to one another. With so many faces covered, it is difficult to
know where the voice came from. Palace guards begin
threading through the crowd as the man continues shouting.

“While the palace feasts, your people starve! What say you, Andrei the Usurper? Will you show yourself to be a true—” The guards envelope a man wearing a black leather mask. A blow to the back of the head sends him to the ground, and they begin kicking him.

“Stop them!” I say, turning to Andrei. “They’re going to kill—” I break off when I read the hatred in his eyes.

“Your Majesty,” Patric says, “I think perhaps we should get you and the princess back inside.”

With a final withering look, Andrei sweeps through the doors. Patric orders the rest of the guards inside the palace as well. When it’s just the two of us on the balcony, he says, “Before we go back inside there’s something you need to know. Andrei has not endeared himself to the people in the short time since he became king. A faction has developed in
the city, and they are becoming increasingly bold in
expressing their views.”

“And what are their views?” A knot forms in my stomach.

“They are saying that Andrei is not the true heir to the throne.” He pauses. “Wilha, they are saying that the opal crown should have passed to
you
.”

Chapter 19

Elara

I
s it possible that the king and queen secretly named me?
There was a time when finding out my true name was what I wanted most in this world. I would have done anything to obtain it and shed the name Mistress Ogden gave me. In doing so, I hoped to put more distance between myself and the woman I wanted to love as a mother, but grew to hate as a mistress instead.

My search ended abruptly last year when Lord Murcendor told me my parents refused to give me a name, but I wonder now why I accepted his words so easily. While I wait for Lord Royce to return, I study my mother’s message until it’s burned into my brain:

this book has a twin. find it and you will find your name.

What does it mean? It’s an interesting play on words, and I decide there must be another copy of the book somewhere, but where?

I conjure an image of Queen Astrid lying in bed embroidering, surrounded by servants. As soon as she’s left alone she casts her work aside and picks up a book by her nightstand. Holding her needle in between her fingers, she flips the book open to a random page and begins pinpricking the message she doesn’t trust anyone to carry.

Yet I assume she entrusted Lord Royce with the book itself. I remember his words from last year:
“There were things I could have told her. Things your mother wanted her to know, a message she intended Elara to have.”
Did he know the book carried a message? But why couldn’t he have simply given me the book, as well as my name last year? Why the secrecy?

8

T
hat night at dusk, Lord Royce appears at the bakery
wearing a black leather mask and hands me a glitter
ing costumed one. “My face is well-known in this city,” he says. “Palace guards still hunt for a girl matching your general description, so anonymity is better for both of us.”

Rolf, also wearing a black mask, joins us as we step out from the bakery. The sky swirls with deepening pastels, and the air is warm. Spring is in full bloom. But the impending night hasn’t erased the suffering I’ve glimpsed from Alinda’s window. Men dressed in torn and dirty clothing mill about, some muttering to themselves, some calling out to us for worthings as we pass by.

“Stop for no one,” Lord Royce says as we hurry up the street.

We pass a small family standing under a lantern. The woman clutches a wailing infant to her breast and tries to comfort him. Next to her stands a small boy saying, “Mama, I’m hungry. . . .” As we pass them I wish more than anything I could turn around, go back to the bakery, and offer them some bread.

But then I remember there isn’t any. Alinda ran out earlier than usual this afternoon.

We turn down a number of streets, each becoming slightly less seedy. Finally, Lord Royce leads us inside a tavern. Most of the tables are filled; every single patron wears a mask. Lord Royce flags down a bar mistress and whispers in her ear. She nods, and leads us to the back of the tavern and into a private room with a small wooden table and two chairs. Lord Royce hands Rolf several worthings and commands him to order dinner. After he’s left, the two of us settle into the chairs.

“I imagine you have many questions for me,” Lord
Royce says.

“I do.” He nods, indicating that I should ask them.

“Did my mother give you the book?”

“Yes. She felt that of the four Guardians who knew of your existence, I was the most likely to be sympathetic to her. She summoned me privately to her chambers just before she went into confinement to give birth to your brother. She was in a sorrowful state. She produced the book and specifically asked that I find a way to get it into your hands when you were brought back to Allegria. She did not believe it was right to hide your true parentage from you indefinitely. She charged me with telling you who you really are, and with giving you the book.”

“Did she say why this was so important to her? In Korynth, you said she had a message for me. What was it?”

Lord Royce’s face is grave. “She said she wanted you to know that giving you up was the biggest regret of her life.”

“That’s it?” I lean back, disappointed.

“That’s not enough? There are many people in this world who hope for last words from a parent and never get to hear them. Now you know that your mother, for the brief years she survived after your birth, loved you and missed you terribly.”

I am not immune to Lord Royce’s words, but I had hoped for something else. Something about the message in the book and what it could mean.

“Why did she give me the book in the first place?”

“She said she wanted you to learn from your ancestors. She was a lover of books. Indeed, she had a great many of them in the Opal Palace’s library.”

Is it possible the second copy of the book is located in the Opal Palace? Either way, it seems likely Lord Royce is telling the truth and doesn’t know about the message.

And, I decide suddenly, that’s exactly how I want to keep it.

“You knew Lord Finley was looking for me,” I say, chang
ing the subject.

“I did.”

“Did you know of his plans last year?”

“To put you on the Galandrian throne? No. I sus
pected, but never sought confirmation of his motives. It had come to my attention that he was secretly trying to find you, and so I gave him your location.”

“My location? But how did you know where I was?”

“I make it my business to know most of what goes on in this kingdom. Your father felt it best if only Lord Murcendor knew where you were hidden. That was unacceptable to me, and so I watched Lord Murcendor—or rather—I employed men to watch him for me. When I discovered your location, I employed those same men to watch you. Long before Lord Finley’s man appeared in Tulan, I was receiving regular reports about you.”

“You had men watching me,” I repeat vaguely. “What does that mean?”

The door opens and Rolf appears. Behind him are several men—the guards we traveled with back to Galandria. A few others stand beside them and they all fan out around the table, forming a circle around Lord Royce and me. I let out a small gasp when I see an unshaven man with oily blond hair. A voice from long ago comes back to me:
“Back again, sweetheart? What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

“You—what—I recognize you,” I finally mange to choke out. “You lived in Tulan. You were a regular at the Draughts of Life.”

“Elara, this is Nicolai,” Lord Royce says.

“It is an honor to meet you,” Nicolai says in a crisp voice I’ve never heard him use before. The leering demeanor I saw so often in the Draughts seems to have vanished as he bows politely before me.

“But,” I stare from Nicolai to Lord Royce, “he lived in Tulan for years.”

“As I said before, I sent him there to watch you. I wanted to see if you were becoming the person I needed you to be.”

“I don’t follow,” I say, although I think I do, and it makes my stomach churn.

“Questions have arisen regarding the validity of Andrei’s claim to the throne,” Lord Royce says. “That, combined with the ineptitude he has already displayed as a ruler, has convinced me beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is not worthy to rule. I believe another should rise up and assert their claim. So I’m asking you, do you wish to possess the opal crown and ascend the Galandrian throne? Because if you do, every single man in this room has taken an oath to support you as their queen.” Lord Royce stands and joins the men circling me.

One by one, they all sink to their knees.

“Get up!” I say, casting a look at the door. “Get up before someone sees!” The men take it as a command, and quickly stand.

The bar mistress enters carrying platters of bread, cheese, and fruit and places them on the table. She returns with mugs of ale and casts a wary glance at all of us.

“Don’t want any trouble in here,” she says.

“You will have none,” Lord Royce says, and after a flick of his hand, Rolf, Nicolai, and the rest of the men follow her from the room. Lord Royce closes the door behind them and sits back down at the table. “You and I both want something that, as of yet, we have been unable to obtain.”

“Oh yeah? And what exactly is it that you think I want?” I ask. “To possess the opal crown?” Has the long winter driven him insane?

“You want freedom from the Andewyns, and the long shadow of their gilded reach.”

I say nothing to this, for I’d have to admit he’s right. “And you, what is it
you
want?”

“I want a ruler who will put the Galandrian people’s welfare before their own pursuits of wealth and pleasure. Your father, as well as your grandfather before him, failed miserably at this. Your brother is showing himself to be no better.”

“And you think I can just—
poof!
—become this wonderful ruler you’re hoping for?”

“With the right person advising you, yes.”

“I’m assuming the ‘right person’ would be you?”

“Galandrian law states that the opal crown must pass to the firstborn child of the ruling monarch,” he says, ignoring
my question. “Your father set aside this law when he
removed Wilhamina from the line of succession. Back then, no one thought to contest his actions. After all, she was not formally removed until after Andrei was born, and by then rumors about her and the mask had spread. It seemed fitting to allow the crown to pass to Andrei—a healthy boy—rather than risk it on a girl who the whole kingdom feared may be deformed, or cursed, or something worse. But now that Andrei is failing to win over the public, there are more than a few who are suggesting that the true heir to the crown is Wilhamina.”

“But if they’re calling for Wilhamina’s ascension, why have you come to
me
with this?”

“Because if Wilhamina does not wish to rule—as I do not believe she does—then under the established laws of succession the crown should pass to the next eldest child of King Fennrick and Queen Astrid.” He pauses. “That would be you.”

“What you’re suggesting is treason,” I say, glancing at the closed door. “Both of us could be executed if anyone hears this.”

“No one in this tavern is a friend to Andrei.” Lord Royce leans forward. “Think carefully, Elara. All your life you have been a pawn of the Andewyns. And as long as your existence is kept a secret, that’s all you’ll ever be. But what if instead of being a pawn—a piece to be moved around, subjected always to the will and whims of another—you became a player yourself?”

“A player, for the crown? I know nothing about being a queen.”

“You knew nothing about being a princess, yet you lived as one quite convincingly. And this time would be different. You would not be assuming the name or the life of another. Rather, you would be announcing your own intentions to ascend the throne. The rightful heir, with a stronger claim than Andrei.”

“This is madness,” I say, shaking my head.

“
This
is palace politics. Something Andrei is all too aware of—particularly with Lord Murcendor whispering in his ear.”

“But Wilha is in the palace with the two of them now. Are you saying she isn’t safe?”

Lord Royce looks at me steadily. “I am saying, Elara, that while Andrei sits on the throne, Wilha—and you—will
never
be safe.”