The Opal Crown (6 page)

“Why? What do you need me for?” I search his face for clues, but as always, Lord Royce’s blue eyes are impassive.

“There’s something I want to discuss with you. Something I will not speak of in Kyrenica.”

“And what if I prefer to take my chances with Andrei?”

“Would you? Andrei believes you may be a threat to the crown. To
his
crown. Lord Quinlan told him all about Lord Finley’s plan to put you on the throne last year. Think carefully, Elara. Do you really want to be handed over to a brother who believes you may want to overthrow him?”

I look away from his gaze and imagine myself stuffing away the disappointment lodging in my chest. I suppose I had held out a line of hope, however thin, that Andrei may be curious about me—may actually want to
know
me. But it seems he’s just like his dead father: he’s decided I’m a threat before he’s even spoken a word to me.

“If I agree to this, what do you want in return?”

Another rap on the door. “One minute!”

“In exchange, you will willingly accompany me back to Galandria. You will agree to have a discussion with me about a matter close to my heart . . . and you will give me Wilhamina’s location. Andrei wants her returned to the Opal Palace, and I intend to make good on my king’s wishes.”

“I have no idea where Wilha is,” I say, careful to keep my face blank. “She fled the castle—for all I know she’s dead. And I told you once before that—”

He holds up a hand. “Please save your protestations for someone ignorant enough to entertain them. I have made you an offer. You can either accept it or reject it.” He stands. “I’ll give you a day to think it over. But one way or another, one of you is going back to the Opal Palace. So it’s up to you to decide, will it be you, or will it be Wilhamina?”

8

T
hat night, as I shiver on my cot, I ask myself why I didn’t immediately tell Lord Royce where Wilha is hiding. While I rot in a cell—not for the first time—Wilha is provided for.

Anger pierces my insides. King Fennrick sent me to live with the Ogdens. Wilha walked away from her own life and expected me to pick up the pieces. Now Andrei has ordered me back to Galandria. How many lives will the Andewyns take from me? How much more must I give them before I can work myself free from their grasp?

In the morning, after the guard shows Lord Royce into my room, he doesn’t waste time. “What have you decided?”

I think of Wilha in the dress shop, telling me she’s happy. “She doesn’t want to be found,” I say, mostly to myself.

“Your brother wants her. Even if you do not disclose her location, men will still be sent to search for her. But if you cooperate with me, I will spare you from Andrei.”

“Spare me? Is he really so terrible?”

“I do not think you will want to find out. And once I have you safely hidden away in Allegria, I have a proposition to share with you.”

He isn’t asking for a lot, I tell myself. Just a few words. Just one sentence.

If I go back to the palace, I have little hope of receiving a warm welcome. But the same can’t be said for Wilha. She’s the famous Masked Princess, and the sister Andrei grew up with.

I close my eyes. “There’s an inn near the docks called the Sleeping Dragon—she rents a room above it.”

By the time I open my eyes, Lord Royce is gone. I wonder if, along with giving up Wilha’s location, I haven’t also just surrendered a piece of my soul.

Chapter 7

Wilha

“Y
our countenance is all wrong,” Marko says as we practice in the alley.

“What do you mean?” I lower my sword and stamp my feet to stay warm. Though spring is finally making an appearance, the nights are still chilly.

“It’s obvious from the look on your face your heart isn’t in it tonight. By revealing yourself like that you send a clear message to your opponent that you are easily beatable.”

I nod and blink rapidly, trying to clear away thoughts of James and how his face fell when I said I would not have dinner with him again tonight. As Elara is not currently appearing on the balcony—exactly what illness has befallen her?—I had to tell him I was meeting a few girls from the dress shop for some late-night sewing to catch up on orders. Somehow, this lie felt worse than all the others.

“You will be easily disarmed, if you go into a fight with such a distracted mind,” Marko says. “So perhaps we should practice some other moves tonight—clearly you’ll be needing them.”

“Now then,” he says after I’ve laid aside my sword. “If you are disarmed or you are attacked while walking down the street, your objective is to first free yourself—and then run for help. Turn around.”

I do, and Marko wraps his arms around me. “If he grabs you from behind, you will want to throw him off-balance. The key is to act quickly before he can secure his position. You could step backward and stomp on his toes.”

I practice for a minute, leaning back into him before stomping on his boots.

“Good,” Marko says, with his arms still around me. “Now if he tries to turn you toward him”—he spins me, until we’re face-to-face—“then you will want to deliver a kick to his private—”

He breaks off at a shuffling sound behind us. “Who’s there?”

Silence.

“Find out if someone is back there,” he commands.

“Me?” I say, blinking.

“Yes. Take up your weapon and arm yourself.” He gives me a pointed look. “Perhaps facing a real threat will cause your mind not to wander. If you require assistance, I will be here.”

Quietly, I pick up my sword and creep down the alley, wishing the night wasn’t so dark. My hand grips the hilt so tightly the metal digs into my skin. Blade raised, I swing around the corner.

No one is there.

But in the slick of mud covering the ground is the unmistakable impression of footprints leading away into the street.

“No one’s there,” I say, coming back to Marko. “But someone was definitely watching us.”

“Probably a beggar trying to find a warm place for the night,” he says, sheathing his sword. “Blast this weather. If you are too addled to properly concentrate, then I’m not going to stand out here any longer.”

Amid much grumbling, Marko takes his leave. I wander through the city, well aware that with the lie I told James I cannot immediately return to the inn.

The gates outside the castle are deserted save for the guards standing watch, who look sleepy with boredom. Looking up at the castle, I’m only vaguely wondering about Elara’s illness. I am much more aware that when I found no one hiding in the alley I felt an emotion cascade through me, and it was not relief.

It was disappointment.

For the briefest of moments, I
wanted
an opponent to face. I wanted someone to vent all my grief and frustration upon. Many men have toasted my father’s death at the Sleeping Dragon over the last month, and it has killed me to simply stand by silently, as though the news meant nothing to me. As though
he
meant nothing to me.

I turn and head back to the Sleeping Dragon. At the inn, musicians play while the townspeople dance around them. I move to a seat in front
of the fire. My fingers have just begun to thaw when James drops into the seat next to me.

“Who is he?” he says in a tight voice.

“What?”

“Who is he? The man I saw you with in the alley.”

I open my mouth in surprise, but no sound comes out.

“I knew something wasn’t right, Willie, so I decided to follow you tonight. How long have you been seeing him? You looked quite enthralled as he held you in his arms.”

I imagine Marko’s arms wrapped around me as he muttered instructions into my ear, and I’m sickened as I realize just how that image must have looked to James.

“You misunderstand,” I say. “It is not like that.”

“No?” James raises an eyebrow. “Then tell me what it
is
like, Willie. Help me understand.”

“Marko is . . .” I stop. How can I explain?

“Is he the reason you’ve been avoiding me? If you’ve met someone else you could’ve had the decency to
say
something Willie, rather than making a fool of me.” He leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath. “I think you know I’ve been trying to ask you something.”

I nod, and look away.

I know what he wants to ask. Indeed, it is to be expected. I stare about the inn, at the couples twirling around the musicians. Everyone around me seems so reconciled to their destiny. It all seems so natural for them. If I have chosen this life, why can I not make myself fit into it?

“After Victor retires, he plans to turn over the running of the inn to me,” James continues. “I could provide a good life for you, Willie. For
us
. So I will ask you this only once: Will you marry me?”

I look into James’s sad eyes. There is nothing wrong with living life as the wife of an innkeeper. None whatsoever. Yet something inside me feels certain this is not what I am meant to do. And if I truly love James, should I not want to say yes, no matter the circumstances?

It seemed enough in the summer’s golden light that James chose me. But now in the dim days of winter I think I’m coming to understand that true love doesn’t mean you unquestioningly settle with someone who has chosen you. You have to choose them back.

“James, you know I care for you, but—” I am interrupted when the door to the inn opens, and a man with a hooked nose and high forehead walks in. His eyes lock with mine and he does a double take, as though he recognizes me, though I am certain we have never met.

He heads straight for me and holds out his hand as though he is inviting me to dance. “It’s time to go,” he says in a distinct Galandrian accent.

Immediately, James is on his feet. “Who are you?” He turns back to me. “Willie, do you know this man?”

“Your brother requires your return,” the man says, ignoring James. “We must leave now.”

I clutch the edge of my chair as realization sets in. His accent. His words.

I have been found.

A fog has descended over my eyes and ears. I only vaguely hear James arguing with the man, calling him a barbarian and threatening harm if he does not leave us alone. Everything comes back into sharp focus, though, when the door to the inn opens again and Lord Royce enters. “I have more men waiting outside,” he says as he nears. He glances at James. “I will send them in if I have to. Rolf,” he addresses the man with the hooked nose, “wait by the door.”

“This is madness,” James says. “You cannot just barge in here and take her against her will—I don’t care
what
her family says.”

The music and dancing have stopped; everyone watches as James and Lord Royce face each other. Victor arrives, carrying a wooden club—the same one he uses to threaten men who get out of hand in the inn. “What’s going on?”

Lord Royce ignores him and looks to me. “Go quietly. You know this is the best possible outcome for everyone involved.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Victor growls, and takes a step toward Lord Royce, the club raised.

Lord Royce puts a hand up to stop Rolf from rushing over. “I recognize you,” he says to Victor. “You were the king’s general and once acted in his stead when a dispute broke out near the border over a contested trade route.”

“Yes,” Victor answers, clearly surprised. His eyes widen and he lowers the club. “You were there, too. You were the Guardian of—” He stops short. His eyes widen and he glances around at the silent inn.

Lord Royce leans in close to him. “If you care for her, you’ll let me take her now, before the crowd realizes there’s a valuable Galandrian in their midst.”

“Galandrian?” James says, going pale.

Victor’s eyes flick to me and then back to Lord Royce. “Who is she?”

“You would not believe me, even if I was at liberty to tell you.”

Victor turns to me. Gruffly, he pulls me into a hug—the first he has ever offered. “It doesn’t matter to me where you come from,” he says in my ear. “If these men don’t treat you well, send word, and I shall hunt them down.”

James is looking at me glassy-eyed. “Tell me it isn’t true. You never talk about your family—I just assumed you’d had a falling out.”

“My family is from Galandria,” I say quietly, dropping the accent I have carefully cultivated. “As am I.” I reach out to touch him, but he steps back.

“Stay away from me, Willie—if that’s even your real name.” He pauses. “Is it?”

I shake my head. “No, but—”

“No?”
A look of hurt and revulsion twists his features before he turns and pushes through the crowd.

“James, wait—” I go after him, but Lord Royce grabs my arm. “I have to go after him. I have to make this right.”

“There’s no way to make something like this right. You’ve done enough as it is.” He steers me toward the door. “Now let’s go.”

I wait until we’re outside before the tears I have been holding back begin falling. Lord Royce leads me across the street to a line of carriages guarded by men who he says are in his service. He opens the door of a carriage. “After you.”