Palace of Lies (33 page)

It was a good thing we weren't still in the Palace of Mirrors, or I might have had to fight giggles all through the wedding ceremony, seeing those crazy designs reflected again and again.

The strange thing was, Tog was staring at me as though I were wearing the most beautiful dress in the world.

He really did seem to be wearing the most handsome suit in the world. He could easily be mistaken for royalty now. And yet, staring at him, I could understood why he'd
said I'd looked most royal back in the cave, when I was heaving the pot of boiled rags at the men who were about to strangle him.

As handsome as he looked now, I still thought he'd looked even better in that same cave, when he and Janelia ran back to save me.

Cecilia dug her elbow into my side.

“Hey, I know you're all googly-eyed with the newness of this love thing, but you really should be watching the bride and groom, not your own beloved,” she whispered.

Googly-eyed? Love thing? Beloved?
I wondered.

I realized I'd totally missed Ella walking down the aisle.

“Oh . . . right,” I murmured.

I glanced back once more at Tog and noticed that Herk was digging his elbow into Tog's side and maybe saying the exact same thing. Tog glanced my way once more, guiltily, and then turned to face the front of the chapel.

I reached out and firmly grasped his hand anyway, because at least I could have that at Ella and Jed's wedding. How could I not want to hold Tog's hand as we listened to other people speak of love?

“Do you, Jed, take Ella . . . ,” the chaplain was saying.

Jed and Ella peered into each other's eyes as if they were the only two people in the world.

“Of course,” Jed murmured.

I remembered that the chaplain was actually Jed's younger brother. There wasn't much family resemblance:
The chaplain was a stuffy palace type without a single hair out of place, while Jed, even on his wedding day, looked wild-eyed and wild-haired. But the chaplain beamed at Jed and Ella as though he was as happy about their marriage as they were.

Ella got her chance to promise to love and honor Jed, and then the chaplain was finishing up with the words, “What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.” But he got no further into it than “asun—” because suddenly there was screaming outside.

“Wait! Wait! Don't give up on the treaty! I'm here!”

“And me!”

“And me!”

“And—”

A cluster of disheveled girls spilled into the chapel—girls and aged, decrepit knights and arthritic old women I recognized as former nannies.

“I'm Princess Sophia of Suala, and—”

“I'm Princess Fidelia of Suala, and—”

“I'm Princess Rosemary, and—”

I counted, which was hard to do because everyone was jumping up and down in amazement and exultation. And they were also sweeping each other into hugs.

“Oh, so you survived!”

“I thought I'd never see you again!”

Some of the girls had no crowns on their heads, and some had broken crowns, and one—Porfinia—seemed to
have fashioned a replacement crown out of bits of charred wood and burnished jewels. It was amazingly beautiful.

. . . eight, nine, ten, eleven . . .

They were all here, all my sister-princesses. Every single one had survived. Every single one had escaped whatever hiding place Madame Bisset had trapped her in, evidently with the help of the ancient knights and former nannies. And every single one had cared enough about the peace treaty—our sole true joint accomplishment—to risk everything and find her way to Fridesia to make sure it was properly signed.

They'd all managed to arrive exactly at the moment they thought the treaty was to be signed.

In the hubbub, none of them had yet noticed Cecilia and me sitting in our pews. They were still exclaiming about each other's survival. Evidently, none of them had known that the others had also escaped and traveled to Fridesia.

“Oh, Marindia, I was so worried about you!”

“Oh, Elzbethl, did you pass out in the smoke and then wake up in a strange house the next morning too?”

“Adoriana—is Adoriana here too?”

“Where's Lucia?”

It appeared that none of them, even numbers-obsessed Florencia, had thought to use my approach of simply counting. I guess I just had more experience with that.

I stood up. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cecilia doing the same thing.

Cecilia looked over and flashed me a grin that was even wider than the one she'd had on our coronation day.

“Go ahead, you tell them,” she said. “I gave you my proxy vote, after all—you might as well have
some
chance to use it!”

I had permission to speak, but for a moment I was too overcome to use it.

Partly that was because I could still see the whole scene the way Lord Throckmorton would view it:
What a bunch of disorganized, disheveled, disreputable girls!
He would sniff.
What an embarrassment! So they survived one challenge to their crazy unprecedented reigns—so what? They don't have a palace anymore! Most of them aren't even wearing shoes! And who knows what shape they left Suala in, every single one of them thinking she had to traipse all the way here?

I could see how Lord Throckmorton would view everything—but that didn't mean I had to agree with him.

Incredibly enough, I could see how lots of other people would see things too. Just as soon as Porfinia noticed Cecilia and me and saw what we were wearing, she would think,
Oh, my goodness! This kingdom needs my fashion advice!
Ganelia would think,
Wonderful! All thirteen of us are here—I can bring out my sketches for how we should rebuild our palace.
Sophia would be ready to assure us,
Don't worry, don't worry! If we show a united front when we get back to Suala, there won't be a rebellion there at all. . . .

I knew my sisters. I trusted them. But that didn't mean I had to agree with them all of the time either.

Like Prince Charming, I'd learned to think for myself. And I had some ideas growing in my head about a better way to run our kingdom when we got back to it:

Maybe I can talk Ganelia into designing our palace to be more open and approachable this time around. . . .

Maybe we can take our advisers now from outside the palace, from out in the countryside even, so we know what's really going on in our kingdom. . . .

But first, I needed to get my sister-princesses' attention.

“Girls!” I cried. And I was sorry, but it was simply not possible to speak in a well-modulated bell-like voice when I was trying to speak over so many excited, jabbering girls. Maybe I would never again speak in a well-modulated, bell-like voice. It just wasn't worth it. “Girls, I am so happy to see you all! Cecilia and I both are. I am so glad all of us survived, and we will be able to continue reigning together. I assure you, everything is taken care of with the peace treaty. And, with Prince Charming's help, we have also vanquished the ones who masterminded our palace's destruction. I can't wait to hear all of your stories of how you escaped and came here. But right now we are being very rude to our Fridesian hosts.”

All eleven of the newly arrived sister-princesses stared at me with a mix of astonishment and confusion and delight. For that matter, Cecilia, Harper, Janelia, Tog, and Herk looked a little confused too.

I went on.

“The treaty signing is over, but you've arrived just in time for the best part of Ella and Jed's wedding,” I said. “Don't you think we should let them finish, and
then
straighten ourselves out?”

I pointed toward the front of the chapel.

Even the chaplain looked confused for a moment. Then he grinned in a way that, for the first time, made me see a resemblance to his brother Jed.

“Oh, right!” he said, jerking to attention. “Really, it's all over except for, ‘I now pronounce you man and wife!' And, Jed, you get to kiss the bride. And . . . live happily ever after.”

“This,” Jed said, “is going to be worth the wait.”

And then all of us—Fridesians and Sualans, royalty and servants, courtiers and actresses and paupers—watched Ella and Jed kiss. Both of them had their eyes closed and wore blissful expressions on their faces. They once again seemed to have forgotten that the rest of us existed. They already had everything they needed for their happily ever after.

Tog squeezed my hand, which I knew meant,
When we get a chance to kiss again, and it's not in the midst of a ballroom and a crisis and lots of surprise people dropping by—that's going to be worth the wait too.

I squeezed back, and I was pretty sure he would understand I was saying,
I totally agree.

I thought back to the coronation day with all the other
princesses, when I'd wondered how I would survive when I didn't know who my enemies were. I hadn't even been asking the right question. Because survival didn't just depend on knowing my enemies.

It also depended on knowing whom I could count as friends. And I had that now. I had friends and sisters and a beloved and a kingdom and a friendly neighboring kingdom and even—if you counted Herk—a little brother.

And those were the ingredients for
my
happily ever after.

MARGARET PETERSON HADDIX
is the author of many critically and popularly acclaimed books for children and teens, including the other books in this sequence,
Just Ella
and
Palace of Mirrors
; as well as
Game Changer, Claim to Fame, Uprising
, the Missing series, and the Shadow Children series. A graduate of Miami University (of Ohio), Margaret Peterson Haddix worked for several years as a reporter for the
Indianapolis News
. She also taught at the Danville (Illinois) Area Community College. She lives with her family in Columbus, Ohio. Visit her at
haddixbooks.com
.

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Also by Margaret Peterson Haddix

Full Ride

Game Changer

The Always War

Claim to Fame

Uprising

Double Identity

The House on the Gulf

Escape from Memory

Takeoffs and Landings

Turnabout

Leaving Fishers

Don't You Dare Read This, Mrs. Dunphrey

T
HE
P
ALACE
C
HRONICLES

Just Ella

Palace of Mirrors

Palace of Lies

T
HE
M
ISSING
S
ERIES

Found

Sent

Sabotaged

Torn

Caught

Risked

Revealed

T
HE
S
HADOW
C
HILDREN
S
ERIES

Among the Hidden

Among the Impostors

Among the Betrayed

Among the Barons

Among the Brave

Among the Enemy

Among the Free

The Girl with 500 Middle Names

Because of Anya

Say What?

Dexter the Tough

Running Out of Time

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2015 by Margaret Peterson Haddix

Jacket illustration copyright © 2015 by Sara Mulvanny

Jacket design by Chloë Foglia

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