The Spy Princess (10 page)

two

A
t nightfall, we camped. That is, we stopped on a hillside just above a stream, the horses tethered nearby, since we had nothing to make camp with. It was the first time I had ever slept outside. We had no blankets, and I hadn't eaten since we'd been in the garrison. I was stiff and hungry when I woke.

Bren readied the horses, then showed us how to stretch out our aching legs. Peitar's face blanched with effort. We mounted up and began the first of two long days on the road.

The weather stayed clear and hot. Bren knew which wild berries were safe to eat; otherwise, we went hungry. Whenever we saw a stream, we drank, and turned the horses loose. We did not talk much, except about horses, berries, where to sleep. We were all lost in our separate thoughts.

When we finally reached the Selenna House gates, the guards stared at us in surprise—especially when they saw me in my Larei clothes, with my braid hanging down.

“There's been violence in Miraleste,” Peitar called up at the sentries. “Against the homes of nobles. We had to evacuate, but it's spreading. They may well come here.”

The guard in charge looked back grimly. “We're short-handed, my lord.”

“Do your best,” Peitar said as we passed inside.

Two stable hands took our horses, as if everything was normal. Yet here I was in my disguise, still smelling of torched city. Peitar gave me a troubled glance. “Lilah, watch your tongue. Bren, you too.”

“Why?” I asked, feeling unsettled and crabby. “What can Father do to us now?”

“Lilah, Uncle Darian must have told him we were traitors before ordering him home, or Father wouldn't have left without us. Don't force him into a position of having to choose between two loyalties.”

Loyalties? I was still working that out when we reached the front doors. The hall was dark, and though shadows gathered, no one had lit the great chandelier. It sparkled with dim, ghostly shards of light, reminding me of the rooms in the palace that had not yet been looted.

“Where are the servants?” I whispered.

“Most of them are probably still gone,” Peitar said. “Remember, we were supposed to be in Miraleste all week. As for the rest . . . I don't know. We'll have to shift for ourselves. I'll go talk to Father.”

“Well, I'm hungry. Come on, Bren, let's find something to eat.”

“Sure,” he said with some of his old enthusiasm.

The kitchens were empty but clean. Neither of us could find the fire stick, so Bren used the sparker to light the lamps and the wood laid ready in the grate. The smell reminded me horribly of Miraleste. Bren and I managed to cobble together a meal—reheated barley soup, as well as bread, cheese, and fruit. Peitar joined us, and said, “Lilah, take Father's share on a tray to him, please.”

Father sat in his study, staring into the fire. When I appeared, he glanced up but said nothing. I left as fast as I could.

When I got back to the kitchen, I asked Peitar, “What did you tell him?”

“That Uncle Darian had been mistaken, which was why we were free. He didn't ask me anything more.”

He paused when Father's valet appeared, casting us a narrow-eyed glance as he went straight to the wine closet, selected a bottle and a goblet, and vanished again.

“Better leave him some food, too,” Peitar said.

I was tired and filthy, but I didn't want to sleep in my room. “I think I'll get some blankets from the linen closet,” I said, “and stay right here.”

Bren curled up on the other side of the fireplace. It was warm, and I felt the fears of the days before slip away.
Maybe things will get better
, I thought as my eyelids closed.

• • •

L
AST NIGHT'S MESS
looked worse in daylight. I felt grimy and reeked of smoke.

“Peitar, Bren. I'm going upstairs to use my cleaning frame.”

“I'm coming with you,” Bren said, throwing off his blanket.

It had never felt better to step through the frame and feel magic take the dirt and smoky grit from my skin and hair and clothes. I wished we could do the same for the dirty dishes, but I had no idea where the cleaning spells were.

Father's valet came in soon after and showed us the small barrel of water and the drying cloth. We dipped the dishes once, and they came out sparkling. Magic buzzed through my fingers as I worked.

Afterward, we poked around the larder and found potatoes, onions, and cabbage. I, of course, had never cooked. Bren tried to remember how his mother made potato pancakes, and we worked together. We served them with new grapes from the vine out back, and Peitar took some to Father and his valet. The meal was delicious.

When the kitchen was clean again, it was already noon. “What do we do now?” I asked Peitar.

“Maybe I should go home,” Bren said. He didn't sound all that eager, and I wondered if he was afraid that if he went home, he wouldn't get paid. I knew his family was counting on that money.

“Can you wait?” Peitar asked. “I think we're better off staying quietly here, at least for a day. Maybe you can go scout things tomorrow.” He walked toward the stairs.

Bren scowled. “I'm not going to go into the village and yell about you being here, and tell them to attack,” he muttered.

I'd forgotten that to Riveredge, we were still Lady Fluffbrain and Lord Cripple, brats of Prince Greedy. But Peitar hadn't forgotten. “Maybe Selenna Leader would tell them to attack anyway,” I said, and Bren scowled even harder. But he didn't disagree.

We counted up the various foods stocked in the larder, tried to figure out how to cook things, then finally decided to make potato pancakes again. By then the shadows had grown long.

Sudden, loud pounding on the front door startled us. We ran out to the foyer. Peitar was on the stairs, carrying a pile of books and papers. Father and his valet appeared in the doorway to their suite. The pounding came again, even louder.

One look at the valet's face made it clear that he had never answered a door and was not about to begin. So I did.

“Gate sentry,” the man said. “Villagers are rioting. Tell His Highness—”

“What?” My father came up behind me, interrupting the sentry.

“Your orders, Highness?”

“Turn them away!”

“But there are only a dozen of us, Highness.”

“You have the gates, and the weapons.”

“But there are too many to count. . . .”

“Hold them off! Kill anyone you have to!” And, as the man ran back into the night, “Shut the doors,” Father ordered. He glanced somewhere between Bren and me and said, “Please bring me my dinner.”

We finished cooking, eating our share as we did. As Bren began the cleaning, I picked up Father's tray—

And almost dropped it when I saw the windows flickering with the wicked flare of many torches. I ran to Father's study.

My father's valet had fled, and he was alone. “Lock the door.”

Then we faced one another. Without his wig, my father seemed older than he was. Pity, fear—a snake pit of conflicting feelings squirmed inside me.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

It seemed a strange question, but I whispered, “Yes.”

“Then I take it these are not here on your invitation.”

“Oh, no.” My voice quavered. “I . . . when I saw what happened in Miraleste, it was—”

He raised a hand, and his rings sparkled. “I hope,” he said in a quick, low voice, “that the two of you will amount to something someday. But your time is now, and mine is past.” Then he was again the father I knew. “Go to the library. I'll hold them here as long as I can.” He took up his fine sword.
“Go!”

Someone battered against the door. “Come out, you bloodsucking noble soul-eater!”

I fled to the library, and the secret passage in the fireplace—but how would I get out the other end? Trembling, I hid behind a chair as people stampeded in.

“No one here!” I yelled, just as the first man saw me.

I got a perplexed stare, but the villagers had no interest in a scruffy urchin. One started pulling books off the shelves and flinging them into the fireplace, as another lit the sparker. A few hacked at the furniture, one with a sword, another with a scythe. A woman grabbed my mother's porcelain figurines and stuffed them into her bodice.

I dodged past, into the parlor, where Father lay in a heap on the floor, his sword gone. I ran, sobs tearing at my throat for him, for the careless violence destroying the only home I'd known.

The hall was filled with smoke. I lurched blindly toward the kitchen, and bumped into someone who dropped his booty and cursed me. I was sobbing too hard to care. The kitchen was empty, but I spotted the fashion book tossed aside on the floor, and stuffed it inside my tunic.

If Bren and Peitar were hiding, I knew where.

I didn't feel safe until I was in the passage. As the fountain slid closed over my head, I felt my way along the damp walls until I heard Peitar call my name. They were in the room where he had met with Derek. Candlelight wavered on the walls.

“I helped Peitar escape.” Bren's voice was tight. “They meant to kill everybody.”

“Did you bring Father?” Peitar demanded anxiously.

I stood there, my breathing ragged.

“They got him, didn't they,” Bren said.

“He—he—s-said we'd better amount to something, and he told me to go, and I wouldn't, and he ordered me, and they s-smashed everything, and—and I went after my book, because . . .”

I couldn't talk anymore. I was crying too hard.

Peitar caressed my cheek, but I felt the tremble in his fingers, because he was crying, too.

Bren crouched on the ground, all bony arms and legs. “I saw them. I
know
them. My own brother Tam. Just a year ago he wanted to be in the army, training horses. And today, he was as bad as those people in Miraleste.”

“I've learned something about crowds.” Peitar's voice was unsteady. “People are no longer themselves when they join crowds. There's a group mood. It's like a magic coercion.” Bren was listening, even if his face was pinched and miserable in the light of the candle. “They seem to take on the ugliness or goodness of the leader. Today it was ugly. Tam might not remember what he did when he wakes up tomorrow.”

“But
I'll
remember,” Bren whispered.

three

W
e hid for two days, while above us the villagers destroyed everything they couldn't take. It was a good thing Bren was with us. Before he helped Peitar to safety, he had made sure to grab as much food as he could.

We slept a lot. When I woke and remembered what had happened, I felt so sick I wanted to go back to sleep again. Bren poked around, examining the golden candlesticks and carved boxes and old clothes of stiff brocade and gemmed velvet, while Peitar, as usual, took solace in reading the books he'd managed to save. I forced myself to write down everything that had happened, using the pen and ink Peitar had brought.

The second day, he read to us from the memoirs of Adamas Dei of the Black Sword, a legendary warrior who had left Sartor in search of peace. Although Bren didn't say much, he seemed to be interested, so Peitar lent it to him.

Our food was gone by the third day. Bren and I listened through the fountain, and when we heard nothing, dared to venture out. The vegetable garden was stripped, the closest fields empty, but we managed to dig up some roots and drank from the kitchen well.

Later, we found Peitar sitting on the front steps in the ash and rubble, looking distraught. “I said the Words of Disappearance over Father. And over the others who had fallen.”

I'd been afraid to go back into the parlor. “I'm glad,” I said, thinking of Father's remains, now a part of the soil where our ancestors lay, and though I hadn't been there when Peitar did the Disappearance magic, I silently recited the poem wishing peace to Father's fled spirit.

Then it was underground to sleep again, amid the gleaming treasures of ancient Selennas.

• • •

I
N THE MORNING
,
Peitar said, “Just before the raid I burned all my letters.” He paused. “Now I believe I must return to Miraleste.”

“Miraleste! Isn't that going right into worse danger?” I exclaimed, and even Bren looked startled. “You said there was nothing more for us there. Why go back? ”

“There's even less for us here,” he said. His smile was bleak. “And the danger is probably about equal. Also, Lizana hasn't returned. I think that means . . . Derek might need my help.”

“He didn't listen when we were there before,” I argued.

“Maybe he will now. I did promise. I have to try.”

Bren and I traded glances. “We'll go with you,” he said.

Peitar sighed, and I knew what he was thinking:
No place is safe anymore.
“We'll have to have mounts.”

“I believe I know where to get some.” Bren turned away, scowling.

I joined him—but first, the two of us went deep into the garden to see if any fruit remained. We devoured what we found, saving some for Peitar, then hurried to Riveredge. The gatehouse was wrecked, but there were no bodies; someone had, at least, said the words of Disappearance over them. I wondered who had fought, who had joined the looters, and who had fled, like Father's valet. And I wondered if anyone had yet Disappeared the dead of Miraleste.

After everything that had happened, I was stunned to find the village almost the same. Things from Selenna House were proudly displayed on porches and in windows—here a silver candlestick, there part of a tapestry. I spotted a bedraggled girl with one of my old dolls.

Bren found his brothers at the village stable. Sure enough, the looters had gotten most of our horses. He wheedled them out of three older mounts, plus a basket of stale biscuits, cheese, and grapes. It was Derek's name that did the trick. Bren lied and said that Derek expected us to report back.

“You'll tell him what we did, won't you, Bren?” Tim asked, his face earnest and proud. “You'll tell him that the horses are from us, and we won't sell 'em to nobles.”

“Sure I will.” Bren gave a convincing grin. “Very first thing I say.”

 

• • •

W
E RODE FOR
Miraleste. I could see from Peitar's profile that he felt as terrible as I did about Father's death. Bren was restless and broody, constantly fingering the reins.

Eventually he burst out, “So you're the Prince of Selenna now?”

“No,” said Peitar. “Nothing changes until one swears the oath of allegiance before the throne. Titles are granted by the crown.”

“Then you can't fix anything here.”

“No one would listen to me. We saw that already, didn't we?”

“Maybe things will be better in Miraleste now.” Bren looked hopeful. “Derek's sure to have them organized, like he did before.”

“Maybe. I hope so.” Peitar turned my way, smiling. “Lilah, I expect that book you've been writing is going to be the most notorious memoir since the Esalan brothers'
Our Provident Careers
.”

I could see he was trying to cheer me up. And yes, it was true that I'd witnessed most of the important events so far—but that was because they were my fault. If only I hadn't stuck my nose into that stupid passage!

“Esalan brothers?” Bren asked. “Who are they?”

“Old thieves,” I said morosely. “Peitar used to tell me their stories.”

“They were sons of a baron, impoverished through unfair circumstances,” my brother explained. “Long ago, in a time like this—with a great divide between those of rank and everyone else. The brothers lived double lives, robbing the wealthy of Miraleste and, once they were truly successful, doing good for the needy. They used daring and imagination and never killed anyone.”

“Then the crown prince joined their gang,” I put in, trying to shake off my dark mood. “Only they didn't know it.”

“The old queen died, and the prince was to be crowned, and the celebration was to be the brothers' biggest caper.” Peitar's voice quickened. “The day arrived, and so did the brothers. But when they saw the new king, they were amazed and swore off stealing.”

“The royal pardon helped,” I added.

Peitar smiled. “And the crown prince had learned most of their secrets. But he did promise that whoever overtaxed their people might just get a visit from the brothers—on the king's command. And so they retired honorably and wrote up their memoir. Our mother read it to me when I was small.”

“How come I've never heard of them?” Bren asked.

“Because the nobles have chosen to rewrite the part of history when ‘Esalan justice' was slang for justice outside the law.”

“‘Esalan justice' . . .” Bren snapped his fingers. “Slam justice! Is
that
where it came from?”

Peitar nodded. “Soon after we first met, I told Derek about the Esalans, and he asked for more about them on every visit.”

“But he never told us.”

“Probably because they were nobles themselves.”

“How about another story?” Bren asked.

So Peitar whiled away the long ride with their adventures, finishing when we camped alongside a stream that night. As I listened, I realized that Derek had woven that sense of humor and camaraderie through his own tales—and hearing about the brothers in Peitar's voice made me feel a bit better.

• • •

T
HE FIRST THING
we noticed when we rode through the unguarded city gates was the stench.

“Ugh,” Bren exclaimed. “Did they burn all the wands, too?” The Wand Guild was definitely not using their magic to get rid of horse and animal droppings.

“Maybe the guilds have disbanded,” Peitar said.

Most of the houses that remained bore signs related to Derek's cause. The first inn we saw, the Three Princes, was now Freedom Alehouse
.
Everywhere we looked, people had scrawled their opinions on walls and fences.

Nearly all were against my uncle. We passed one that said:

 

DIAMAGAN

DIRTY HANDS

 

Next to it, in larger letters:

 

EAT AT THE RED RAVEN— NO NOBLES ALLOWED!

 

Merchants worked on repairing their shops. The streets were filled with people with nothing to do. Many of the noble houses had been burned to the ground, and others were in ruins.

At the royal stables, we were confronted by a man dressed in the red smock of the bricklayers' guild. “Where you goin' with them nags?”

“We have business with Derek,” I replied.

He spat on the ground. “Everyone has business with Derek. If you leave them nags, they're mine. If you want 'em back, it's six golders apiece.” Six! Before, you could
buy
a horse for two.

“What if we haven't any money?” Peitar said.

“That's your lookout. I got a business to run, and fodder isn't cheap.”

“We'll keep the horses by us.”

“Hah!” was the derisive answer. “Some free advice—don't let go o' them bridles, and don't turn your back on anyone.”

“Thank you.”

The man gave him an odd look, and I gulped. Peitar's manners—noble manners—were not acceptable anymore, that was for certain. But nothing happened as we rode toward the damaged but still standing royal pavilion.

We helped Peitar dismount, then Bren said, “I'll stay with the horses. Don't worry,” he added in a hard voice. “They'll be here when you return. And so will I.” To me, he whispered, “Find out where Deon is, will you?”

I nodded and followed my brother inside, where bodies lay all over—not dead, but drunk, judging from the stink. Someone had found the royal wine cellar.

The throne room had been stripped of its furnishings and ancient flags. Voices came from the old treaty library, where we discovered Derek with a few people his age, and . . .

“Innon!” I exclaimed thankfully. “I
did
see you! You're safe!”

Derek's expression changed from tense to surprised to relieved. “Peitar.” He said it like he hadn't expected to see us alive again. His next words shocked my wits right out of me: “Peitar, Darian Irad escaped.”

I think my brother wasn't sorry, but he didn't show it. “That's not surprising.”

“You don't think he'll leave the kingdom?” Peitar shook his head. “It's been a nightmare. The treasury is completely empty. I don't know if Irad arranged it, or if looters got it all—but I have nothing. I can't
do
anything. Innon and I have been sitting here trying to figure out some ways to manage. . . .” He sighed. “Truth is, we don't even know where to begin.”

Derek and
Innon
? Where were all the experienced adults? Dead, if they were nobles—or in hiding. There were only three others in the room, and they were all Derek's age.

Innon gave me a weary smile. It was clear he had been working a long time. The slate in his hand was scribbled over, his grubby clothes covered in chalk dust. The room was stuffy and smelled of sweat.

Derek flicked us a quick smile, then turned back to Peitar. “I hope you aren't hungry.”

“We have three biscuits left. Glad to share.” He didn't mention that they were hard as rocks.

Derek waved away the offer. “Our main threat is going to be Dirty Hands.”

“Yes. His own sense of duty will bring him back,” Peitar warned. “Unless you were able to deal with his army at Obrin. . . .”

“That was a mirage, thinking that I could send untrained farmers and laborers against the army. My leaders were successful against nobles who knew nothing of defense, or who were caught by surprise, but when it was time to march to Obrin, they started deserting in larger numbers. My captains came to me two days ago, saying that the volunteers I had left were making all kinds of excuses—so I had to send
them
home, too. Irad must be on his way to Obrin now. And we can't do anything to stop him from coming back.” Derek looked away, then back at Peitar. “Your father?”

“Dead.” My brother's mouth tightened, making him look unsettlingly like our uncle. I wondered if he felt the same horrible jolt of memory.