The Princess in the Opal Mask (17 page)

“I do. I will take you there now.”

“No, that’s quite all right. You don’t have to accompany me. If you point me in the right direction, I’ll be on my way.”

“It is not a bother. And besides,” he adds with a pointed look, “that way I can make sure you get where you need to go.”

He sets off down the corridor, and I have to run to keep up with his long strides.

“Are you a servant here?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he replies. “I have only just arrived.”

When we reach the kitchen, he offers me a seat at a small wooden table next to a fireplace, where embers glow the color of a fiery sunset.

“This is where Cook takes her meals. I will stoke the fire and find some food.”

“Won’t we get in trouble?” I ask, though I’m not worried about a scolding from the kitchen staff. Wandering around the castle with a servant—a servant who’s seen my face—seems like a dangerous game. And I still need to find Wilha.

“No one else is up at this hour,” he answers. “And I am one of her favorites.” He closes a cupboard and brings me a bowl of soup. “There is not much left. This is all I can offer your lady.”

“That’s all right.”

“Are you sure you are not the one who is hungry?” he asks, after my stomach growls.

“I’m, well . . . yes, I’m a little hungry, actually,” I admit. “I found I couldn’t eat much of what was served at dinner.”

“And what was that?”

“Tuna eyes,” I say. The maid brought dinner to me when she informed me the search of the castle had finished. And while I was thankful for the meal, a meal someone else cooked, and served in a portion larger than I ever would have received at Ogden Manor, I couldn’t bring myself to try it. Not with those wiggly black eyes staring up at me. I ended up disposing of the food in the fire after the maid left.

“Ah, tuna eyes. Yes, I think I would be tempted to skip dinner as well.” He laughs a deep, throaty laugh, and I feel myself beginning to relax more. He pushes the bowl of soup toward me. “Eat. There is still enough left for your lady.” He stares at me expectantly. My stomach rumbles again, and I decide there’s no harm in it.

While I sip the soup, which is a rich, fragrant broth tasting of onions and mushrooms, he adds wood to the fire. Then he leaves and returns with a tray for “my lady” as well as a plate of plum tarts. “I also found these. I think Cook was hiding them. Would you like some?” He grins and offers me a tart.

I accept the pastry, and we eat in silence. When I’m full, I settle back into my chair. The fire and the food have me feeling drowsy, and perhaps a little bit reckless. I should return to my chambers, I know. Or pretend to, anyway, and keep searching for Wilha.

But when I look into the squire’s liquid brown eyes, I find myself exhaling deeply, as though I’ve been holding my breath for a long time. Since the day I woke up in the Opal Palace’s dungeon, in fact. I want to pretend I am just a servant, not a princess. Or, it’s the princess role that’s the pretense—isn’t it?—because I’ve been a servant all my life. Though somehow, I guess I am both. A servant princess.

My thoughts are confused and hazy, and I’m slightly startled when the squire says, “You speak with an accent. Where are you from?”

I’m at least alert enough to know that question can only get me into trouble, so I turn it back on him.

“You first. You said you’ve only just arrived. Where did you come from?”

“I was sailing, actually.”

“Really? What was it like, sailing on a ship? One day I’d like to travel across the Lonesome Sea.”
Maybe one day very soon, after I find a way out of this castle.

Because it looks as though tonight I won’t be leaving or finding Wilha.

“What, you? You hardly look strong enough to survive a voyage on the sea.”

“I’ll have you know I am capable of surviving a good many unpleasant things,” I say, thinking of my years with the Ogdens. “More than you, probably.”

“Oh really?” He smiles slyly. “Let us have a contest, then. The person who has survived the most grievous thing shall win this last plum tart. You first.”

“All right,” I say, warming to the game. “One time I—” But I find I can’t say what I want to. The fire and the food have gotten me to drop my guard, and I almost begin to tell him of the night I spent shivering in the barn, hoping I wouldn’t freeze to death. But I never even told Cordon about that night. Instead I say, “One time I decided to run away from home. I climbed the tallest tree in my village, but found once night came that I’d changed my mind, yet I was too scared to climb down in the dark. I spent the entire night stuck in the tree, staring at the stars.”

“A night staring at the stars, contemplating the heavens and all their mysteries? That does not seem nearly so grievous.” He grabs the plum tart off the plate. “You will have to do better than that.”

I give a slight laugh and nod, though I purposely didn’t tell him the truly grievous part. The thrashing I received from Mistress Ogden the next morning when I finally roused up enough courage to climb down and return to Ogden Manor the next morning.

“All right. Once I was walking in the forest, on my way to the Dra—to an inn—and I nearly walked right into a grizzly bear,” I say, which is actually true. I just don’t tell him it was a very small cub that must have gotten separated from its mother.

“A grizzly bear! And how did you live to tell the tale?”

“I stared him down, and he went running away.”

“Stared him down?” He opens his eyes wide. “With what? The sheer force of your beauty?”

“Yes. That was it, exactly.” I roll my eyes. “No, you fool—I had a shiny dagger, and I shoved it in his face and roared as loud as I could.”

“You roared at a grizzly bear?” He throws back his head and laughs, and has to catch himself from tipping over in his chair. “But that does not seem so bad either,” he says when he stops laughing. “It sounds to me like the bear was more scared than you were.”

“This is true.” I pause, and think for a moment. “All right, I have it. Once I had to listen to a two-hour lecture from a woman on the appropriate use of cutlery.” I don’t say that woman was Arianne, or that it was part of my training to become the Masked Princess.

“Horror of horrors!” He places his hand on his chest. “Your lady must be truly terrible, to subject you like that. Yet I can do you one better. Once I had to listen to a discussion for
three
hours on the appropriate way to hook a fish.”

“
Three
hours? I don’t believe it!”

“Oh yes, you will find the men in Korynth are quite serious about their fish.”

We laugh, and I find myself wanting to say something more. Something real. “I once spent
four
hours scrubbing out a skirt for a noblegirl. She dirtied it on purpose so I wouldn’t be able to attend the dance being held in our village that night. Her mother was quite harsh, and I knew what would happen if I returned the dress still stained.”

“Harsh?” His smile vanishes. “What do you mean?”

“Oh,” I wave breezily, “aren’t all rich people harsh with their servants?”

“No, not all of them.” He leans forward. “The lady you work for now, is she kind?”

“Oh, um, yes, of course,” I say, caught off guard by the concern in his eyes. “She is very kind.”

“I am glad,” he says and hands me the plum tart. “And now I think you have won.”

Wordlessly, I accept the tart and stuff it into my mouth. An unfamiliar feeling crawls its way into my belly, and it’s a moment before I recognize it for what it is. Shame. As usual I have said too much, so I decide to leave the truth behind. It’s easier and far less painful to slip back into my lies. “I’m so glad my lady sent me.” I lounge back in my seat. “Now tell me, if you could go anywhere or do anything right this minute, what would it be?”

“I would be talking to a beautiful girl in the king of Kyrenica’s kitchen, and wondering what she was
really
doing out of bed in the middle of the night.” His eyes study me, as though he can’t make up his mind if he should have me questioned, so I rise and quickly make up an excuse about needing to get back to “my lady.”

“She’ll have my head if I’m gone any longer.” I turn to go.

“I think you have forgotten something.” He gestures to the tray sitting on the table, and his eyes narrow. “That
is
why you were sneaking around the castle, wasn’t it? To get her a snack?”

“Yes, of course.” I grab the tray and turn away.

He stands up. “I will accompany you.”

“No! I mean, she may be kind, but she’s also strict, and it is quite late after all. If she sees me with you, she might get the wrong idea. Please,” I add in my most desperate voice, “I can’t afford to be dismissed from her service.”

“A fair point,” he acknowledges. “But,” he sharpens his gaze, “I shall be patrolling tonight, and I expect no more late night activity from you.”

I nod. “Of course.”

Before he can change his mind, I turn away again and stride from the kitchen. I travel back to the room with the tapestry and enter the passageway. If I’m not mistaken, I hear the faint echo of footsteps from far down the corridor. Quickly, I close the passageway. Once I’ve hurried back up the tunnel, the faint candlelight from Wilha’s bedroom is a welcome beacon. I pour the broth out into the fire, and I place the tray and the empty bowl inside the passageway and close it, certain no one will miss a few of the king’s dishes.

It’s only later, when I’m crawling into bed, that I realize the squire never told me his name.

T
he next morning I awaken groggily, stiff and numb with cold, to the sound of seagulls and pounding surf. At first I wonder why my mattress feels so hard, why my covers are so rough. But I remember the abandoned tarp on the docks I hid under last night and wake up to the full horror of what I have done. I have walked out of the castle as though the life the Kyrenicans presented me with is nothing more than a new dress I do not care to purchase. Not the fulfillment of a treaty preventing war between two kingdoms all too eager to believe the worst of each other.

Cautiously, I peek out from under the tarp that covers me. It looks to be midmorning judging by the bright sun. Several ships have just come into port, their white sails billowing in the breeze, and sailors haggle with shopkeepers over the price of their wares. No one seems to be looking my way, and so I quickly slip out from my hiding place and stumble to a nearby bench. My cheeks are hot, not from sunburn, but from shame.

Last night I could not bring myself to return to the castle, but neither could I work up the courage to journey into the city. Instead I lingered at the docks for hours, frozen in indecision, until it was clear I would need a place to spend the evening. I glimpsed the tarp in a neglected portion of the docks, and hid under it for hours (just like the coward Elara believes I am) until sometime in the middle of the night, I must have fallen asleep.

I look over to the cliffs, and the stone steps that are hidden under the moss. Fleeing the castle and leaving Elara to face my own fate is the most selfish act I have ever committed, and I know I have to come to my senses.

Yet is this really how I want my adventure to end? I imagine my ancestor’s stone faces in the Queen’s Garden, and the disapproval I have always read in their eyes. Do I want to come creeping back to the castle, defeated and dirty, without so much as having walked the streets of the city?

No doubt Elara was all too happy to tell the Kyrenican guards of my cowardice. At any moment I am sure soldiers will be storming the streets looking for me. In the mean-time, is it selfish to want to continue my charade for just a little longer?

I replace the image of my stone ancestors with another. I imagine myself, years from now as a middle-aged queen, looking into my daughter’s face and saying, “Yes, it is true when I was younger people thought me incompetent and fearful. But once upon a time, I changed their minds. For I did something truly and wonderfully mad. . . .”

I stand up. Yes, that is the story I want to one day tell. After all, the soldiers should be here any moment.

B
ut they never come. For hours I walk through the crowded streets, marveling at how they smell of salt, sweat, and fish. Everywhere I look I see new construction, evidence of a younger, thriving kingdom. The older buildings are made of wood and are tall and narrow. Their roofs bottleneck into chimneys, reminding me of giant wooden wine bottles. Clotheslines are strung up high across the streets, and women lean out of second- and third-story windows, calling out greetings to one another as they hang laundry to dry.

The streets are packed with sailors, traders, and townspeople, and I force myself not to flinch when they brush past me. From an inn called the Sleeping Dragon wafts the warm smell of fresh bread. My mouth waters, and I realize I have not had anything to eat or drink since just before we reached Korynth yesterday.

I follow the smell into the inn, where a fire roars in a large hearth. Most of the wooden tables in the room are empty, and what few customers there are seem bleary and only half-awake. A boy about my age, who is thin with a mop of flyaway brown hair, is polishing the bar with a rag. “Can I help you, miss?” he asks when he sees me.