The Opal Crown (7 page)

Elara sits inside, looking out the opposite window. Her face is blank. Her eyes are swollen and bloodshot.

Lord Royce settles himself next to me. “Do the Strassburgs know of this?” I say.

“Not yet,” he answers. “We have been clever. Neverthe-less”—he turns and calls out to the driver—“go now, and do not stop until it is absolutely necessary.”

As the carriage starts forward, the music inside the inn resumes, as though I was never there at all.

Chapter 8

Elara

I
feel nothing.
Not the rattling of the carriage as it bumps its way over the roads leading to Allegria. Not the blustery Kyrenican wind, nor the less frigid Galandrian breeze after we cross the border. Not Wilha’s hand on my arm when she asks me if I’m all right and urges me to eat.

I spend most of the journey looking out the window of the carriage. When Rolf came for me in my cell, it was tempting to flee to the kitchen, where I was sure Stefan was spending another sleepless night. It was only the knowledge that he wouldn’t welcome me as his love, but revile me as a traitor, that kept me on course.

We pass a road leading to Tulan, and I wonder often about Cordon and the Ogdens. The last time I saw him, Cordon was coming for me in Eleanor Square—just before a palace guard struck me and took me to the Opal Palace. In the year since then, how have they all fared?

We make camp for the night a few hours away from Allegria. One of Lord Royce’s men hands me a note, and the haze I’ve been in finally seems to dissipate. I read the message, glance up to see Lord Royce looking at me, and nod.

For better or worse, I made a deal. Now it’s time to pay up.

8

E
arly the next morning, I slide out from beneath the blanket Wilha and I sleep under. Wilha stirs, but she turns over and is silent once more.

Outside our tent the sky has lightened; a faint orange glimmer marks the eastern horizon. The noises of the night, the hooting of an owl, the chirping of crickets have given way to a predawn silence. Rolf is making a campfire; woodsmoke spirals through the air in soft curls.

I meet Lord Royce at the edge of the clearing, just as his note instructed.

“What’s the plan?” I ask.

“I will tell Wilha I think it’s best if you travel in separate carriages. She lacks your propensity for deception; it will go better for her if your escape truly takes her by surprise.”

I nod, though I’m tempted to ask him more about Andrei. Exactly who—and what—are we sending Wilha back to?

“Andrei will likely have his men watching for us at the gates, so it is imperative they see that I have two girls with me. We will not make our move until after we have crossed into the city.”

“And then what?”

“You are to travel in the last carriage, behind the others. Once we are waved through the gates, we will continue on toward the palace. Rolf will make contact not too long afterward and escort you to a place I have prepared for you.”

“How do I know your men can be trusted?”

“They can be trusted. It is
you
who needs to prove your trust. But be warned. Rolf will see you to your new location, whether or not that is where you wish to go.”

I don’t have anywhere else to go
, I want to tell him.
You and the Guardians made sure of that.
I remember again that day in Eleanor Square, and
Cordon calling after me. “Do you know what has become of the Ogdens?” I ask.

“They’re being watched.”

“Watched?” I say sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Remember, up until recently, it was thought you were lost in the world somewhere. The palace has watched over them in the hope that you would return one day. Their daughter, Serena, married a village boy a few months ago—Cordon is his name, I believe—and they continue on, much as they have before, though Lady Ogden’s health has been declining. Food has been scarce in Tulan, as it has been in many villages.” His features harden. “You have your brother’s new tax policies to thank for that.”

I imagine Cordon and Serena slowly taking on the de-mands of life at Ogden Manor. It’s hard to picture Mistress, always so fierce, as anything other than healthy and cruel. Last winter, food in Tulan was scarce as well, and I remember there were days when I felt so light-headed from hunger I thought I might pass out. Are things even worse this year?

“I don’t suppose we could send worthings to—”

“No.” Lord Royce is firm. “I will have enough trouble explaining your disappearance to the palace. I will not add arranging charity to your peasant family on my list of things to do this day.”

“The Ogdens are
not
my family.”

“Then we are in agreement.” He brusquely turns and walks away.

A bird begins chirping, the sound of a new day arriving. Wilha emerges from the tent and wanders over to the campfire. I look out toward the east and the dawning sunlight. The sun rises, the sun sets, and life goes on. I’m happy for Cordon, or at least, I
want
to be happy for him. But I miss him; I miss having a friend. With one last look at the horizon I turn to join Wilha by the fire.

“What were you and Lord Royce talking about?” she asks.

I try to find the strength—and the stomach—to summon my next words. It’s only one more lie. Only one more, when I’ve already told a thousand. “We were discussing plans to enter the city. He wants me to sit in the carriage in the back. I guess he doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact that there are two girls.”

“And so it begins.” Wilha sighs. “It might not be so bad, going back to the palace. At least this time we will be to-gether. . . . Have you ever seen the Opal Palace’s gardens? They are quite beautiful. There is one in particular, the Queen’s Garden, that I visit often. I shall have to take you there.”

Seeing Wilha’s tentative smile makes me question what it is I think I’m doing. For so many years I wanted to find my family. Now I have a sister—a sister I’m beginning to believe I could love if given half a chance. And I’m going to just leave her?

“I wish I had your optimism,” I say. “I wish Andrei would simply welcome us back, and we
could
visit the gardens together. But the last time I was brought to the palace, I was thrown into a dungeon and nearly starved to death. And it doesn’t sound as though Andrei is eager to embrace me as his sister.”

Wilha’s smile slips; her brow creases. “Whatever anger Andrei is feeling right now is
my
fault, Elara, not yours. Running away and asking you to step in and live the life I could not was wrong, and I’m truly sorry. It was more than anyone could ever ask, and yet you did it. Where I was a coward, you acted with courage. I shall do my best to let Andrei know that whatever blame he wishes to assign, all of it lies with me, not you.”

The guards—all of whom, I now realize, must know Lord Royce’s plan—pretend not to look at us while I simply stand there speechless.
Thank you
would be an appropriate re-sponse to her apology. “I’m sorry” is what I say instead.

“I do not blame you for telling Lord Royce where I was living. If Andrei has ordered us both back to Galandria, there is little else we can do.”

Little else we can do . . .
She’s right. And although I hate deceiving Wilha, I know I can’t allow myself to fall under Andrei’s command. Her dream of the two of us walking in the Queen’s Garden is just that: a dream, easily destroyed by the reality of a brother who sees me as a threat to his reign.

“We need to keep faith.” Wilha reaches out and takes my hand. “This could all work out just fine.”

“Of course it can.” I swallow thickly, and the lie slides down my throat, where it sits like arsenic in my stomach, poisoning me from the inside out.

Chapter 9

Wilha

E
lara goes back inside the tent, saying she doesn’t feel well. I continue to warm my hands over the fire and watch the sunrise. My sister should not blame herself for our circumstances. I do not view Lord Royce and his men as our captors, but as a royal escort. The men who will help me correct something I made wrong several months ago.

As the days have passed, I have thought of Andrei often. I wonder if now, with our father dead and Andrei king, and the secret behind my mask known to both of us, we can finally become more than strangers to each other.

Rolf asks me to meet Lord Royce inside one of the carriages. He is already there, waiting with a velvet box. I breathe deep and turn questioning eyes upon him.

“Andrei wishes you to enter the city wearing a mask,” he says without preamble.

I accept the box from him, but do not open it. “Did he say how long he wishes me to wear it?” As we have traveled anon-ymously, neither Elara nor I wearing a mask, I have nursed the hope that Andrei would abolish our father’s decree.

“I did not ask,” Lord Royce replies. “There is also a gown inside here.” He gestures to the trunk beside him. “He wants you to enter the city in the full regalia of the Masked Princess.”

“Is this my brother’s wish? Or the commandment of
my king?”

He holds out the velvet box. “Both.”

The mask inside is gold, yet tinged with crimson at the top, with fire opals trailing down the cheeks. It seems to stare back at me with malevolent eyes, taunting:
Surely you did not think you would get away so easily?
I pick it up; it feels much heavier than I remembered.

I tie it on and try not to notice that, once again, my world has become much smaller.

8

A
t the entrance gates to the city, a line of carts and carriages wait while soldiers search for weapons—
something I do not remember them doing previously.
When our convoy reaches the front, Lord Royce calls out his greetings. The soldiers recognize him and soon the men are conferring. When they seem to reach an agreement, one soldier mounts his horse and speeds off in the direction of the palace.

Lord Royce enters my carriage with a brief nod and settles himself. A guard waves us through the gates and our procession slowly begins moving through the packed street. The carriage jounces over pockmarks—the glittering, opal-flecked roads are in
worse condition than I remember. The air is heavy and unmoving, and the scent of too many bodies, horse manure, and roasting meat is overpowering. Did the city always smell this way? Living in Korynth by the docks, I suppose I had grown used to the salty air and briny breeze always blowing up the streets.

Stone buildings with their golden spires still rise up into the sky. Gargoyles still perch from iron lampstands. Yet now, beggars line the streets, calling out to the passersby for a spare worthing. Along a row of storefronts, one shop must have recently caught fire, for the stone is scorched.

Many of the Allegrians who stroll up the street wear costume masks in hues of various colors. Yet it’s not just the women, as I remembered.

“Is it now fashionable for men to wear masks as well?” I ask Lord Royce.

“Fashionable, no. Beneficial, yes. Many men find it easier to avoid their creditors when they cover their faces.”

A shout rises from up the street, and our carriage slows.

“Stand back, you fool!” shouts a palace guard. “Those opals are the property of King Andrei!”

A man dressed in ragged clothing is kneeling and digging into the street with a small knife. He attempts to yank an opal out of the ground. I look around at the rest of the pockmarked street, and my heart sinks. The opals must have been dug up.

In times past, those small opals were worthless. Nothing more than colorful flecks to adorn the streets. How far has Galandria fallen, that men will dig for them, in full view of the palace guard?

The guard clubs the man in the face. Blood spurts from his nose and drips to the ground, staining the street scarlet.

Next to me, Lord Royce says, “You have been away a long time, Your Highness. Much has changed in your absence. Bread is scarce, and fear is rampant.”

“What is Andrei doing to address this?”

His expression is guarded. “You will see for yourself soon enough.”

A thin hand reaches through the carriage window. “Please, can you spare a—” The voice, which belongs to a small, malnourished boy, stops when his eyes take in my mask. “It’s her!” he shouts. “It’s the Masked Princess! She has come back!”

Lord Royce yanks the curtains closed as men begin shouting. Soon the curtains take the form of shadow serpents—hands trying to push their way inside as my driver yells for everyone to stand back. The carriage jolts heavily as first one man, then another, jump onto the sides. While Lord Royce yells at them I shrink into my cushions.

The carriage is listing to the side—are the people attempting to overturn it?—when I hear the unsheathing of swords and a soldier ordering everyone to stand back.

“Do it now!” he cries. “Or we’ll attack!”

The men jump down, and the carriage seems to sigh in relief.

“Go back to your business!” the soldier calls. “The princess has returned. If you wish to see her, you will have to visit the balcony.”

The carriage starts up and rolls forward at a good pace. I glance at Lord Royce. He’s pale and breathing heavily; for once his cool demeanor seems rattled. We keep the curtains closed, not wanting to be seen, yet from the sound of heavy, marching footsteps outside, I know the guards have surrounded our procession. We continue on, until the carriage comes to a halt. When I emerge outside, Arianne is waiting on the steps of the Opal Palace. A line of guards stand behind her.