The Opal Crown (24 page)

We wait silently, and in the darkness Stefan’s hand finds mine. “Don’t be afraid,” he says. “The guards will take care of it.”

“I’m not afraid,” I say, louder than I should have, because Patric turns around and tells me to be quiet.

Stefan laughs quietly and squeezes my hand. We stay in the darkness for a long time, until a guard comes into the kitchen. “They got away. There were three of them, but they didn’t appear keen to attack. I’m thinking they were scouts.”

Patric nods grimly. “Get everyone up and in here immediately.”

The guard leaves, and Patric lights a candle from the smoldering embers of the fire. Minutes later, people begin stumbling into the room, bleary-eyed and bearing expressions of confusion. We crowd around Patric, the candlelight casting shadows on our faces.

“Scouts were spotted at the edge of the property,” he announces. “They escaped before we could detain them. Caution demands that we consider the possibility they are allied with Andrei.”

“I have been most careful,” Lord Nichols says, sounding offended. “I have never given Andrei or anyone else at court cause to believe I am anything less than loyal to them.”

Patric turns to Lord Royce. “Have any of your sources in Allegria reported that Andrei has discovered our whereabouts?”

“They have not,” he replies.

“And you, Your Highness”—Patric looks at Stefan—“do you
have any reason to believe you could have been followed here?”

Stefan shakes his head. “My men and I followed every precaution you asked us to take.”

“What about the letters you were writing?” Patric asks Wilha and Lord Royce. “Is it possible you wrote something that could have disclosed our location?”

“Of course not,” Wilha says. “Lord Royce and I have
been careful.”

Dread snakes through me as I remember the letter I sent to Cordon. This can’t be
my
doing, can it?

“Well,
something
must have tipped them off.” Lord Royce’s gaze lands on me. “When you were in the city, did you have contact with anyone?”

“Not . . . exactly,” I say.

His eyes narrow. “Then what,
exactly
, did you do?”

Stefan squeezes my hand. “Tell him,” he says.

“You told me Mistress was sick, and you refused to send help, so . . . I sent a letter to Tulan.”

Silence.

“Oh, Elara,” Wilha says. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“And in this letter,” Lord Royce says, his voice dangerously calm, “did you tell them how to contact you?”

I swallow. “I told them to send a message here.”

The guards begin murmuring to themselves and Lord Royce curses. “You ignorant, foolish girl! Did I not
tell
you that the palace had people watching in Tulan, waiting to see if you would try to contact the Ogdens?”

“Yes,” I say, my stomach sickening as I remember, “but—”

“
But
, you played right into their hands! It seems I’ve pinned all my hopes on a dim-witted—”

“That’s enough, Lord Royce,” Stefan says. “What’s done is done. What are we to do now in response?”

“We have to leave immediately,” Patric says. “Those scouts—”

“We don’t know they were scouts,” I say desperately, hoping he’s wrong. Hoping I haven’t just ruined everything. “They could have been anyone.”

“If I’m wrong,” Patric says, “we can return tomorrow. But if I’m right, those scouts could come back with troops in too great a number for us to hold off. We must leave.”

“And go where?” Lord Nichols asks. “Who would receive us?”

“There is a place,” Lord Royce answers. “I have been in contact with the Lyrisians. Their village is small, but I have been
regularly providing them with grain—they would undoubt
edly welcome the princesses and all who support them.”

Patric raises his voice. “Pack only what you can carry on horseback. We leave in an hour.”

The manor becomes a whirl of activity, and I watch as images spin before me: Lord Royce stuffing Wilha’s jeweled masks into a saddlebag; Wilha shrugging a cloak over her shoulders; Patric shoving a sword into her hands and saying, “I don’t think it will come to it, but if it does . . .”; Rolf and Nicolai raiding the kitchen for supplies; Lord Nichols flying through the rooms, trying to decide which of his possessions he wants to take with him, finally ordering guards to remove a stack of books and scrolls from his library.

All around me they hurry, while I stand silently, keenly aware that other than my mother’s letter, I have nothing of value to pack.

And that this is all my fault.

Light is just beginning to appear in the eastern sky when we’re saddled up and ready to leave. We ride hard all day, stopping only to water and rest the horses. We don’t hear Andrei’s men thundering behind us in pursuit. Only the smell of smoke, carried along by an acrid summer breeze chases us, and eventually we see angry black clouds billowing into the sky.

“They’ve burned the manor,” Lord Nichols says during one of our brief stops.

“We don’t know that,” Wilha says.

“Of course we do,” he answers, sounding dazed. “That’s what Lord Murcendor does with every traitor. He burns their home.”

“When we take the crown from Andrei, we’ll make sure they’re both held accountable,” I say, grateful that Lord Nichols doesn’t seem to blame me for the loss of his estate. I catch Wilha looking at me strangely before her gaze quickly shifts away.

Everyone mounts up to ride again, but I hesitate, staring at the blackening sky and dreaming of all the ways I’d like to make Andrei pay for what he’s done.

Chapter 48

Wilha

T
he village of Lyrisia is little more than a small collection of dilapidated cottages bordered by a lush hillside to the west, and patches of cornfields and blueberry bushes to the east. The villagers eagerly offer us their homes; one family clears out of their cottage completely and turns it over to Elara and me. Lord Royce sends Nicolai to assess the damage done to Lord Nichols’s manor. The rest of us settle in, and life continues on around us.
The men tend to the crops while the women weave tapestries
they plan to sell at the Allegrian market in the quickly
approaching autumn.
The children in particular seem taken with Elara and me. They ask us both to cover our hair and sit side by side while they make guesses, trying to tell us apart. All of them, it seems, are eager to see Andrei fall. Many of the men have offered to fight on our behalf, if it comes to it.

I sincerely hope it does not.

But I find I have lost my nerve entirely. Although Elara and I have made efforts to spend time together, I cannot bring myself to ask her about a meeting with Andrei. Her anger toward him for hunting us and for burning Lord Nichols’s manor is great, and she will not listen when I try to explain these are Lord Murcendor’s doings, not our brother’s.

Finally I write a message to Andrei and tell him I need more time. Patric sends it via pigeon to a guard he trusts, instructing him to secretly pass it to the king.

Andrei sends a message almost immediately in return:

Please do not desert me now, Sister. There are few in the palace I can trust, and none I can confide in. I am certain it is only because of you and Elara that I am still alive. If I were to die now, the crown would still be expected to pass to you and Elara. But if all three of us were to perish, I fear it would pave the way for Lord Murcendor to have himself crowned king. Please convince Elara to meet with us. Either way, rest assured that I am now prepared to wholly entrust myself to Lord Royce, and all who support you.

It occurs to me I could bypass Elara completely and simply go to Lord Royce and tell him I’ve been corresponding with Andrei. But the picture of Elara gleefully smiling and saying we could use a meeting as a way to lure Andrei into a trap has stayed with me. Could I hope for any better a response from Lord Royce? Or would he, too, see my brother not as a person, but as a pawn to be used for his own agenda? I cannot be sure, so I decide to say nothing.

I tuck Andrei’s message away, and hope an opportunity to make Elara see reason presents itself.

8

“W
hat of Azarlin’s ambassador, Sir Vanderberg?” Lord Royce asks one morning when we’re all gathered around a wooden table in the cottage he’s staying in. “Has he agreed to meet with us?”

“He’s waffling,” I say, shuffling through the parchments in front of me until I find his reply. “He fears the consequences for Azarlin will be severe if Lord Murcendor gets wind of it.”

The responses to the letters Lord Royce and I have been writing have been less than encouraging. Many of the diplomats in Allegria, as well as the noble families, seem too scared to openly declare themselves against Lord Murcendor.

“We need something to force his hand. . . .” Lord Royce leans back in his chair, thinking. “He’s a collector of fine things. . . .” He sits up suddenly. “And in our possession we have the masks that Wilhamina Andewyn and her twin were seen wearing at the Royal Opera House on the night they declared their intentions for the throne. Such items are nearly priceless.”

“So you want to offer him the masks as a way of forcing a
meeting with him?” I ask.

“With your permission, yes.”

“You have my permission as well.” Elara’s voice is like an out-of-turn horn, blasting bitter dissonance. Lord Royce gives her a withering look; the two of them have not gotten along at all since we arrived in Lyrisia.

“Those items belong to the Masked Princess, Wilhamina Andewyn,” Lord Royce says. “Not
you
.”

Elara leans forward intently and opens her mouth to speak. She seems to think better of it, though, and turns away.

“What about King Ezebo?” I say quickly, eager to avoid another argument between Elara and Lord Royce. “Where does he stand?”

We all turn to Stefan, who has decided to remain with us for the time being. I feel awkward around him, the man I should have married. Judging from the polite way he avoids me, I believe he feels the same.

“You should remember that my father is still king,” Stefan begins. “And so I must speak on his behalf.”

I nod. “Of course.”

“He is not inclined to support either you or Andrei, but to remain neutral. Once the question of Galandria’s succession is settled, he will resume talks of a new treaty between our two kingdoms.”

The atmosphere in the room changes; Lord Royce and Lord Nichols glance at each other, neither of them quite concealing their distaste. “I know His Majesty is hesitant,” Lord Royce begins, “but he must understand that—”

“I was not finished,” Stefan says. “I told you my father’s position. For
my
part, I have seen enough with my own eyes to understand that Andrei and Lord Murcendor cannot be allowed to remain in power. I intend to return to Kyrenica soon, and I will do everything I can to see that my father comes to the same conclusion.”

Lord Royce nods grudgingly at Stefan and turns to Patric. “Have you had any luck with your contacts in the palace guard?”

“Yes. Several now secretly claim allegiance to the twins.”

“Good. If Andrei finds himself deeply unpopular in his own kingdom, unable to trust his own palace guard, and surrounded by kings who support the twins, his rule may crumble sooner than we could hope.”

The meeting soon ends, and Elara and Stefan leave. Patric and the rest of the men also depart. Lord Royce and I remain, working on more letters.

A short while later Rolf appears. “A message came for you, Uncle.” He hands Lord Royce a roll of parchment. “You’ll want to read it straightaway. . . . I’ll be outside helping in the cornfields if you need me.”

Lord Royce opens the letter, his frown deepening as he reads, and I prepare myself for more bad news.

Once he’s finished, he clears his throat. “This is from Nicolai. It seems your brother was quite a bit more destructive than we first imagined.”

“Whatever my brother has done, it was most likely done under Lord Murcendor’s influence,” I remind him. “But what is it? What have you learned?”

“Being a queen means more than giving speeches or throwing parties and enjoying the fruits of your ancestors’ wealth. An essential part of ruling is possessing the sturdiness of heart to carry bad news.” Lord Royce gives me an appraising stare, and I wonder if this is some sort of test.

“You speak to me, Lord Royce, as though I have no idea what it means to bear the responsibility of being a royal. If you have news you wish me to deliver, tell me what it is.”

“Very well.”

By the time he’s finished reading the message, my mouth has gone dry, and my hands are shaking.

“If you find this to be too difficult,” Lord Royce begins, as if reading my mind, “then—”

“I will do it,” I say. “I will tell her.”

“I knew you would,” Lord Royce says.

And for the first time, I’m certain I read respect in his eyes.

8

I
find Elara hidden under a cluster of willow trees atop a hill near the outskirts of the village. She smiles tiredly as Stefan speaks to her. I have heard them talking late at night near the fire in the cottage Elara and I share. I know she’s
having trouble sleeping, and feels responsible for the burn
ing of Lord Nichols’s manor.