The Princess in the Opal Mask (28 page)

Anton says something else, but his voice is low. I stand up cautiously to hear better.

“. . . Don’t know how, exactly,” Garwyn is answering. “Someone in the castle could be working for him. Or maybe he plans to do it himself. But after tonight the crown prince will need to find himself a new bride.”

After this there is silence, and I see the dim profiles of Anton and Jaromil turn to each other. “Does that mean . . . ?” Jaromil asks.

“Yes, slain on the very night of her own welcoming party. When Galandria gets word of it, they’ll be chomping at the bit to go to war. And when Kyrenica realizes Galandria is responsible for the burning of their capital, they’ll be all too eager to meet them.”

“Never wanted a peace treaty in the first place,” Jaromil says. “Your master, whoever he is, is a wretched bastard—a man after my own heart.”

Horror washes over me and I duck down behind the boulder, putting a hand to my mouth to keep from crying out. It is possible that Anton and Jaromil are involved with illegal trading, and that Garwyn and his guards have been searching for me—but that is not what they have been recruiting men for.

They have been to help push Galandria and Kyrenica into war.

And I watched them do it. All the time they spent in the inn plotting, I watched them and did nothing. Not even when I was sure I read evil in their expressions. All I did was hide when I thought it was me they were coming for.

As a result, the entire city will burn, and Elara may be in danger this very moment. While I don’t understand everything they have just said, I know that someone in the castle wants the Masked Princess dead.

All this time the mask was to protect Elara and me from people who would seek to use us to destroy our kingdom. The same type of people who will assassinate Elara tonight.

Unless I stop them.

Without hesitation, I rise and quietly begin climbing, hopeful that the men, draped in darkness and preoccupied with their evil schemes, won’t notice me.

W
ilha is everywhere, but nowhere. When I glimpse a girl lurking near the fireplace wearing a mask shaped like a dragon’s head, I’m certain it’s her. Then I suspect she is the girl in the blue and green mask with peacock feathers who lingers by the platters of food, but never eats. After that, I’m positive she is the girl in the wolf mask standing quietly by the window.

But none of these girls turn out to be Wilha when I approach them.

Through it all, as I exchange pleasantries with noblemen and compliment noblewomen on their beautiful dresses, I expect a tap on the shoulder, a nudge in the ribs—some signal to let me know she has arrived and is ready to switch back. But as the night wears on, there’s nothing. Where is she?

When Ezebo asks me to dance a waltz and everyone turns to stare, I wonder if she’s here, biding her time. Hiding behind a mask and watching me, but saying nothing. Just as Lord Royce has done.

All evening, he’s stood to the side of the room, near the orchestra, watching me. Of all the masks in the room, his is the most unusual. It is white and plain and completely un-adorned, almost as though he has no face at all.

But Lord Murcendor and Lord Quinlan have not been so content to stay in the background. Both of them have hovered just at the edges of the crowd surrounding me, both seemingly intent to catch my eye. It’s been a complicated dance to avoid them all night, but a worthwhile one.

Wilha can speak to the Guardians after we switch back. I’ve had enough of them to last a lifetime.

After I finish dancing with Ezebo I stride over to the dais, hoping that with a better vantage point I’ll be able to spot Wilha. Instead I find Ruby, standing alone, tears streaming down her face.

“Ruby, what’s wrong?”

Ruby turns and presses herself to my side. “I went to give Grandmother a hug and I accidentally spilled her drink on her. She yelled at me and told me I will never make a good princess.”

I look around the room, searching for Genevieve. Stefan, I notice with a flash of irritation, is surrounded by a group of giggly noblegirls. Again.

“Where is your mother?”

“She and Leandra accompanied Grandmother to her chambers so she could change into another gown,” Ruby says through muffled sobs. “They were trying to calm her down.”

I hug Ruby. As fond as I’ve grown of Genevieve and the rest of the Strassburgs, it’s ridiculous the way they allow Eudora to push them all around.

Or maybe I’m the ridiculous one. Maybe it’s the royal way to let Eudora, as the eldest, spill her vitriol everywhere, regardless of who she hurts in the process.

But watching Ruby cry, I’m reminded of when I finally understood that even if I couldn’t walk away from Mistress Ogden and the abuse she hurled my way, I didn’t have to
hear
her, either. That was the day I shut my ears and started feeding her words to my imaginary kitten.

“And then Grandmother said—”

“—Your grandmother is an idiot,” I interrupt, and Ruby’s mouth drops open. “Ruby, listen to me.” I crouch down so I am level with her. “When she speaks to you, I want you to nod, smile politely—and then dismiss every single thing she says. Your grandmother doesn’t have an ounce of sense or kindness in her. Do you understand?” Ruby nods, and I continue. “Have you ever noticed how her neck wiggles when she speaks, kind of like a turkey?”

“I guess,” Ruby says, hiccupping.

“Next time she yells at you, I want you to look at her neck and picture her as an oversized turkey. Gobble gobble. All right?”

Ruby’s lips quirk with an impish grin. “Gobble gobble.”

A waiter interrupts us and offers appetizers from a platter piled high with grapes and olives and figs. My eyes stray to the dance floor, and I see a girl wearing a dark cloak with her hood flipped up and a white and silver mask. She stands alone in the center of the dance floor watching us. Then she turns and strides from the room.

This is it. Time to go.

All of a sudden, it seems too fast. And the worst of it is I can’t say good-bye to any of them, not even Stefan. They will never even know that “I” ever existed.

I hug Ruby tightly, and with one last smile, I step down from the dais and walk quickly through the crowd, passing Lord Royce, who’s left his spot in the corner and is speaking intently with Sir Reinhold.

Outside in the foyer, the girl is standing in a dark corner under a portrait of Genevieve and Ezebo. But she’s not Wilha, and she’s clearly not alone. She is locked in a passionate embrace with one of the waiters, the one who just offered Ruby and me appetizers.

“Princess,” she gasps when she sees me, and they immediately spring apart. “I’m so sorry. We didn’t see you standing there.”

The waiter utters an apology and hurriedly straightens his clothes.

“Please, Princess,” the girl begs. “My father is determined to marry me into a good family. He would be so angry if he knew. . . .” Her eyes dart to the waiter, and she swallows nervously.

“Of course. Your secret is safe with me,” I say, feeling like a dim-witted fool.

The girl smiles and curtsies. “Thank you, Princess. We were just about to get some fresh air.” She pulls him away and they disappear into the shadows.

I linger in the foyer, gazing up at the portrait of Genevieve and Ezebo, and mentally catalog everything I’d like to tell Wilha, if I had the time.
Don’t let Eudora push you around. Leandra is annoying, but means well. Genevieve is determined to like you and will make a good confidante. And Stefan is . . .

A soft touch on my shoulder snaps me out of my reverie.

It’s about time.
I turn around, but again, it’s not Wilha.

It’s Lord Quinlan and Lord Murcendor, and I curse myself for my own stupidity. I should have realized the moment I detached myself from the crowd they would find me.

Lord Murcendor’s expression is hidden behind his checkered black and gold mask as he bows deeply. “Truly Wilha, you light up the world tonight. Would you do me the great honor of dancing with me?”

I hesitate, wishing Wilha were here. I’m still not sure I can fool Lord Murcendor. And what would his reaction be when he realizes I’m only Elara, and that Wilha is currently unaccounted for?

“Actually, Princess,” Lord Quinlan says, stepping forward. “I wonder if I might have a word with you in private somewhere?”

I edge closer to Lord Quinlan, thankful to have an excuse to get away from Lord Murcendor.

“Of course,” I say.

I
am halfway up the cliff side when my cloak catches. I give it a yank and the fabric tears. Several pebbles cascade to the rocks below.

“What was that?” comes Moran’s voice.

“Your imagination,” says Garwyn.

“No, I think I saw a shadow. There, up beyond them boulders there,” Moran insists, and I press myself to the cliff wall as tightly as I can, pebbles digging into my hands. “I saw something; I know it.”

“This beach is said to be haunted,” comes Jaromil’s voice. “They say the ghost of Queen Rowan roams these cliffs. See that large rock in the water there? It’s been named after her.”

“Shut up, all of you, and go look for some dry wood,” snaps Garwyn. “Get a fire going. That’ll scare away your ghost.”

The men grow quiet as they begin hunting and I dare not move, certain that at least one of them is watching the cliff for shadows. When I hear Garwyn tell the others they have found enough wood, I resume climbing, trying to be as quiet as possible. My arms are shaking from gripping the steps for so long, and my cloak and dress are damp and heavy, pulling me downward. I remind myself that if I have lifted twenty-pound swords, then I can climb a staircase.

With one last burst of exertion, I scramble up the last of the steps and collapse in a heap once I reach the safety of the cave.

My palms are stinging and my legs are aching. The knowledge that a hundred feet below sits several men who wish me dead makes me feel faint. Yet I force myself to my feet, peel off the heavy cloak, and find the wall, where I’m quickly presented with another problem. Clouds have rolled in, covering the light of the moon, and I can’t find the embedded opal. I feel around frantically, scraping my hands against the sharp edges of rock, until I have to concede that I just can’t find it.

I slump onto the wet sand, exhausted. Perhaps I was a fool to believe I could save Elara. For what match am I really, against whomever it is that has his hand set against me?

I picture the imaginary shadowy villain I used to duel against all those nights in the Opal Palace. Who wishes me dead? Do Garwyn and his men take orders from a Galandrian? Or does someone from Kyrenica now command them?

From somewhere below in the darkness the melody of a flute begins to play. Perhaps one of the guards is entertaining the others while they wait. It is a lonely, sad sound. And I wonder at the other sounds we shall hear in a few hours’ time. The hiss of burning wood, the roar of leaping flames—the sparks to ignite a war. The mourning of the Kyrenican royal family (will they mourn?) when the Masked Princess is discovered dead.

Though she may never know it, Elara has saved me these last few weeks. She gave me the time to find out I am not quite as useless as I always believed. Where now, is the person who will save her?

As if in answer, the clouds slide away, revealing the moon, a silver coin in a midnight sky. Moonlight spills and rolls over itself, illuminating the cave with silvery-white light. But only for a moment.

Another cloud rolls in, obscuring the moon, and the cave is plunged into darkness once more. But in that instant, I saw a faint glimmer, higher up the wall than I remembered. I feel around for several more minutes, and the next time the clouds shift, uncloaking the moon, I am ready. There, I see it! I press my thumb to the embedded opal, and the chamber opens. I swallow back my fear, and rush into the darkness waiting beyond.

“W
hat do you need to speak to me about?” I ask Lord Quinlan, and suppress a shiver. I’m grateful for the chance to be away from Lord Murcendor, but the deserted corridor he’s led me to feels drafty. And staring at me from behind his goblin mask, Lord Quinlan looks much like an overgrown gargoyle.

He clears his throat and shifts uneasily. “Princess I—”

He is interrupted by echoing footsteps. “Wilha? What are you doing?”

Stefan removes his mask, and his eyes flick from me to Lord Quinlan in obvious irritation. “Is there a reason why you have trapped the princess in a dark corner?”

“I didn’t trap her,” Lord Quinlan retorts. “I was merely going to ask—in private—how she is getting on here in Kyrenica. The Guardians and I have hardly had a minute with her since arriving in the city. You and your father seem to be purposely keeping her away from us.”

“I am sure the princess is getting on just fine. I am also sure there is nothing you need to say to her that requires spiriting her away from everyone else.”

Lord Quinlan begins to protest, but Stefan cuts him off. “I will remind you, Lord Quinlan, that you are here solely at the invitation of my family, an invitation that can be revoked at any time if we see fit.” He regards Lord Quinlan coolly and continues, “At any rate, please excuse us. I need a word alone with the princess.”

Lord Quinlan hesitates, looking as though he is bursting to say something, but finally leaves.

“What did he want?” Stefan demands.

“I don’t know. He said—” I break off when I see Stefan’s scowl, and a delicious thought occurs to me. “Are you jealous?”

“Not remotely,” he snaps. “But I don’t trust your father’s advisors and would rather you stay away from them. And I hardly think it is proper for you to be conversing in dark corners with another man.”