The Secret Prince (23 page)

“Absolutely not,” Professor Stratford said sternly. “You are
not
going to the Nordlands, of all places. You’ve misunderstood. Certainly the headmaster can’t have meant for you to go.”

“You weren’t there,” Henry said coolly. “Because if you were, you wouldn’t say that.”

“Henry, it’s a noble thought, but your place is here with your friends. And your only responsibility is to earn good marks in your classes.”

Henry sighed. “I thought you’d be proud of me,” he said. “For starting the battle society. For finding a way to prepare the other students for war, and for wanting to help when everyone else is too afraid to even acknowledge the problem.”

“I
am
proud of you, Henry, more than you’ll ever know. But all isn’t lost. You have no call to go running off to the Nordlands just because of a few complications.”

“How can you say that?” Henry retorted. “I’m as good as expelled. And now Frankie’s gone, and it’s all my fault.”

“You can’t blame yourself for Frankie,” Professor Stratford said sadly. “She might come to her senses and return home.”

“She won’t,” Henry said. “She’s always talked of running off. I just never thought she meant it. And what’s to become of you if she never returns?”

“I’ll manage,” the professor said. “I always do. But, Henry, please—don’t put me in this position.”

“If you’re so keen to stop me, feel free to tell Lord Havelock what we’re planning,” Henry retorted.

Professor Stratford frowned and chewed nervously on the corner of his mustache, briefly considering. And then he put his elbows on the desk and rested his head in his hands. “Please don’t ask this of me,” the professor mumbled.

“I’m not asking for permission,” Henry said firmly. “I’m going. I wanted you to know because I hate that I didn’t tell you about the battle society. I’ll be back on Sunday night.” He pushed back his chair and picked up the parcel, ashamed to accept such a gift after what he’d just said. But leaving the package behind would have been even worse manners.

“Thank you for the birthday present,” he said gingerly. And as an afterthought he said, “Oh, and whatever happens at supper, it would be best if, er, you just went along with it.”

Feeling as though he had deeply betrayed Professor Stratford, Henry slunk from the room and let himself out of the headmaster’s house.

17

A
dam made a face and peered skeptically at the
bottle of medicine. “How much should we take?” he asked.

Henry glanced up from his desk, where he was flipping through the index to their medicine textbook. “I don’t know. I can’t find anything about emetics in here.”

“A sip should do it,” Rohan said in a rather long-suffering manner. “I had to take some when I ate poisonous berries off Father’s estate as a child. Although I should warn you, you’ll feel horrible after.”

“That’s the plan,” Henry said, closing his textbook.

“Is this really necessary?” Rohan asked.

“Yes,” Henry and Adam said.

“No, not the ipecac syrup,” Rohan said. “The envoy. What if Lord Havelock’s there? What if someone recognizes you?”

“No one’s going to recognize us,” Henry said confidently. “Servants are as good as invisible. Besides, Adam and I were banned from the Inter-School Tournament last term, so no one should know us at Partisan, either. I hope.”

“Just because Frankie’s run off doesn’t mean you should as well,” Rohan said, and sniffed.

“This isn’t about Frankie,” Henry said. “It’s about doing what we can to prevent a war, or at least to prepare for it.”

“I’m with Henry, mate,” Adam said. “No one ever won a war by sitting and waiting for it to happen.”

“Do what you wish. I want no part of it,” Rohan said primly, standing up. “I’m going to supper before anyone thinks I’ve caught what you two have.”

“What?” Adam asked, and then helpfully pantomimed vomiting. “You mean that?”

“Actually, I was referring to your ridiculous need to meddle with things that are better left untouched.” And with that, Rohan slammed the door.

Henry bit his lip. He’d thought Rohan would come
around, like he always had. It hurt that Rohan didn’t approve of their plan, but then, Rohan rarely approved of anything these days besides cricket or schoolwork.

“Do you think we’re making a mistake?” Henry asked.

Adam shook his head. “No, but I think Rohan is. He should support us. We’re his friends.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Henry said dryly.

“He’s probably just upset at being left behind.”

“We can’t take him to the Nordlands,” Henry said. “And it’s not as though he’s begging to come.”

“Actually, mate, I meant if Lord Havelock expels us.”

“Oh,” Henry said. “I didn’t think of that.”

But now that he did, it made an odd sort of sense. He could just imagine how much Rohan would loathe being the lone commoner at the academy, especially considering how sensitive he was about the label.

“We should probably, you know,” Adam said, nodding toward the bottle of ipecac syrup.

“Right.” Henry twisted open the bottle. “Bottoms up,” he muttered, taking a swig. He made a face and passed the bottle to Adam.

“L’Chayim,”
Adam said, swallowing. “Ugh, that’s awful.”

“Not as awful as what’s to come,” Henry said darkly, fumbling to remove his tie and roll up his shirtsleeves. “Come on, before it kicks in.”

Twenty minutes later Henry picked himself up from the floor of the toilets with a groan. He was pale, clammy, and shaking.

“Adam?” he croaked.

“Worst idea ever,” Adam whimpered, hugging the sink for dear life. He looked even worse than Henry felt.

“Come on,” Henry said weakly. “We have to go to supper.”

“Don’t mention food,” Adam moaned. “I hate food. I hate the way it tastes … coming up.” He shuddered at the memory.

Henry swallowed thickly, hoping neither of them would be sick again as he held open the door to the hallway. Somehow they made it to the dining hall.

But the dining hall was oddly subdued, the students acting as though they were at a formal supper rather than laughing and joking per usual. Henry winced as he and Adam crept to the first-year table and slid gratefully into their seats, pale, sweating, and exhausted.

“Are you two all right?” Conrad asked, looking back
and forth between Henry and Adam with genuine concern. The boys seated nearby shot one another nervous glances before scooting as far away from Henry and Adam as the benches would allow.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Henry said, pouring himself a glass of water. His hands shook as he hefted the pitcher, and water splashed onto the table. “What’s going on?”

“My father’s here,” Derrick muttered, nodding toward the High Table.

Henry looked. The High Table had been extended to allow for eight guests. No wonder everyone was acting as though they could be expelled for dropping a fork.

“I heard there’s flu going around,” Rohan commented loudly, with a pointed look at Henry and Adam. “You’ve looked off all afternoon.”

Henry shrugged, his attention still on the High Table. Lord Havelock scowled back at him for a moment before turning his attention to the ancient gentleman on his left. And then Edmund passed Adam the basket of rolls, and Adam went green. He clapped his hand to his mouth and rushed from the dining hall.

Henry wearily watched him go. “Actually,” he admitted, “maybe I
am
feeling a bit off.” He took a small sip of the water. It made his stomach roll.

“You look awful,” Edmund said. “Maybe you should go to bed.”

“Yeah,” Henry said, climbing to his feet. “Must have caught that flu.”

“Feel better,” Derrick called.

Henry dragged himself from the dining hall. As he crawled into bed, he wondered worriedly how long it would be until the effects of the emetic wore off.

An hour later he was feeling much better. He sat up, running a hand through his mussed hair.

Adam was curled up in a ball on the floor and clutching their wastebasket, which was thankfully empty.

“Adam, get up,” Henry said.

Adam moaned. “I’m dying,” he whispered.

“You’re not,” Henry said. “I feel loads better. I think it’s wearing off.”

Adam sat up gingerly. “Oh, you’re right,” he said sheepishly. “I do feel better.”

Henry rolled his eyes. And then a knock sounded at the door.

“Act like you still feel poorly,” Henry whispered, and then raised his voice. “Come in.”

Valmont pushed open the door to their room. Adam
loudly faked being sick into the wastebasket.

Henry’s stomach lurched at the sound, and he swallowed.

“What are you doing?” Valmont asked, narrowing his eyes.

“What does it look like?” Henry retorted. “Lying in bed and being ill.”

“You’re pretending,” Valmont said. “You were fine earlier.”

Valmont looked around their room, his gaze lingering on Henry’s book-strewn desk, Adam’s messy half-open drawers, and Rohan’s tidy work space.

“We got caught,” Henry admitted. “After the battle society meeting last night. Headmaster Winter saw us with the sabres.”

“What did you tell him?” Valmont demanded.

“I didn’t turn you in, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Henry said sourly, swinging his feet over the side of his bed and briefly explaining the situation. “And everyone’s too distracted by our esteemed guests to deal with us. Maybe if you spoke with Lord Havelock over the weekend, he’d go easy on us.”

“Are you mad, Grim? That’s the same as turning myself in.”

“But he’d listen to you,” Adam said indignantly.

“Right.” Valmont sneered. “That’s likely.”

“We’re going to the Nordlands,” Henry admitted. “And you can’t tell anyone.”

“That’s impossible,” Valmont said. “You can’t get across the border.”

“Actually, we can.” Henry quickly told Valmont why the gentlemen at supper were there, and what he planned to do about it.

“You’re going as servants?” Valmont hooted. “Oh, that’s priceless.”

Henry shot him a dark look.

“Sorry,” Valmont muttered.

“It’s just for the weekend,” Adam said.

“That’s why you’re faking ill?” Valmont asked, and then his gaze fell on the bottle of ipecac syrup on Henry’s desk. “Oh, very clever.”

“Want to try some?” Adam asked brightly. “I bet it works even better after you’ve eaten a large supper.”

Valmont shot him a disgusted look.

“Just keep quiet about this,” Henry warned.

“I’m not Theobold,” Valmont said angrily. “I’m not going to turn you in for trying to do something that benefits us all.”

Adam looked up in surprise. “Really, mate?”

“I’m not your mate,” Valmont returned. “But, yes, I think it’s a good idea—mostly because I’ll thoroughly enjoy my weekend knowing that you two are off scrubbing the floors like the commoners you are.”

“Careful,” Henry said dryly, “or someone might think you actually mean it.”

Valmont huffed and slammed the door.

Henry couldn’t sleep that night. He stared at Adam, who was dead to the world, and Rohan, who had clamped a pillow over his head to drown out Adam’s snores, and he wondered where Frankie had gone, and if she was wondering after them as well. Not that it mattered what Frankie was thinking.

But mostly Henry thought about how strange it would feel to play the role of the servant again, even if it was only for the weekend.

When it was time, he woke Adam.

“Ready to go, servant boy?” Henry joked, buttoning his most ragged shirt. He pulled on his worn boots and hunted up a plain necktie from the bottom of his drawer.

Adam yawned hugely and staggered to the wardrobe, his blankets wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.

“Should we bring this?” Henry asked with an uncertain frown, holding up the bottle of ipecac syrup.

“Nah.” Adam yawned again. “Pour the rest of it onto Rohan’s toothbrush.”

Henry snickered at the thought.

“I
am
awake, you know,” Rohan said primly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Are you two leaving now?”

Adam finished buttoning one of his spectacularly rumpled shirts and nodded.

“Don’t forget to make your beds look as though they aren’t empty,” Rohan said with a sigh, “in case anyone should check.”