The Spy Princess (8 page)

“No freedom?” I picked up my hairbrush and set to. No use in being careful; the curl had already fallen out. I'd be forced to put rags in before I slept.

“Oleus is the steward in charge of pages. The second day I got here, he said, ‘What's the use in everyone being forced to scrabble for bread—those who are still alive? That's all a civil war will do for us.' Me, I'd just love to see that nasty Lady Arnathan scrabble for
her
bread!”

I thought of Lady Arnathan, who was always on the watch for proper etiquette and deference. If anyone she considered lower in rank tried to enter a room first, she used her bony elbows to painful effect.

We laughed, then Deon left, and I ran down to the baths for a soak before I put up my hair and climbed into the enormous canopied bed.

eleven

O
ne of my biggest problems is that I don't always think ahead.

The next morning I woke early and went out onto the balcony. Dawn was just a bluish smear in the eastern sky. The soft, still air carried scents from the wildflowers on the hills below. The lake was almost invisible, except as a vast black shadow.

There were lights here and there throughout the city, where people were preparing for market. The servants' windows were lit—those and the enormous ones in the grand pavilion, which housed the ballrooms. The last dancers had probably left just a short time ago.

I went inside to take the rags out of my hair. Then I put on a morning gown and sat down to record yesterday's events. I wrote fast, my handwriting getting tinier as I tried to fit as much as I could on the page. About halfway along I stopped—I'd forgotten to use my codes! So I started abbreviating, which was easier to remember. It felt good when I was done, but after I hid away the book, I wondered what to do next.

I eyed the back of the closet, where Peitar had said the secret passage was.

I'd never been to Uncle Darian's rooms, but I'd heard about the formal study where he met diplomats and other important visitors, the parlors for courtiers, the grand bedchamber almost as big as the ballroom, the enormous royal bath. The passage didn't lead to any of these, but to a small room where I was sure he held secret talks. What else would you do with a small side room? I envisioned myself eavesdropping on some crucially important conference and being the one to tell Derek. I just
had
to take a quick, careful peek.

The closet was carved with twining roses. I pressed each in turn, and sure enough, one at the bottom corner sank into the wood. With a familiar whirring sound, the door slid back, revealing an opening that smelled of old wood and dust, with a faint whiff of damp stone. As the door closed, a tiny glowglobe blinked on, lighting the way.

The passage twisted and twisted again, braiding around the royal suites. If my uncle, who must have been dancing until late, was snoring away in the royal bedroom, there wouldn't be a secret conference, but maybe I'd find some papers. When I reached the end I searched for a peephole. Nothing. I pressed my ear to the wooden panel. No sound at all. I ran my fingers along it, and found a carved handle. It twisted slightly—and the door slid out of my hand and into the wall.

Leaving me and my uncle staring at one another.

He was seated on the edge of an ordinary narrow bed—nothing like a king was supposed to have. At that moment he looked like a normal person, in trousers and an unlaced shirt, holding a stocking, his boots on the floor beside him. His uncombed hair hung down over his shoulders.

My uncle's blue eyes were no longer surprised but annoyed. “What are you doing?”

I closed my mouth, swallowed—or tried to, my throat had gone dry as paper—and managed, “Testing a passage I found.” I added, improvising, “Mother used to make it a game for Peitar, finding passages. Selenna House's full of 'em. And he taught me.”

Uncle Darian resumed pulling on his stocking. “That passage was put in by one of our distinguished ancestresses, for receiving favorites,” he said wryly, studying me. Not with irritation, I discovered uneasily, but with interest.

I looked from him to the room, confused. “But this isn't one of the royal chambers!”

My uncle laughed. An actual laugh, the second I'd ever heard from him. “When you're a king—or a queen,” he said, “you can use your rooms however you want. But until you are, I'd advise you not to go poking about uninvited.”

“All right,” I bleated.

He smiled frostily and picked up his other stocking. “May I finish dressing?”

“Oh! Uh, sorry, Uncle.”

I stepped back into the passage, fumbled for the door handle, and it slid closed. Then I hurried away, fighting the sense that I was still being watched by those cold blue eyes. I scolded myself:
He can't be bothered with me—to him, I'm just a stupid brat.

Only when the wardrobe door shut behind me did I breathe easily. Then I hurried to write what had happened.

I had just stashed the book and was about to go find Bren when there was a quick tap at the servants' door. Surely that couldn't be Deon. Servants didn't tap; they entered and left noiselessly.

When I pulled the latch, Derek stepped into the room. I stared in amazement. He was almost unrecognizable, dressed in ill-fitting servants' gray, his ragged hair smoothed back.

“Where's Peitar?” he demanded.

The room, large as it was, suddenly felt too small. Derek prowled the perimeter, examining everything; I stared witlessly at him until he snapped, “Lilah! Did you hear me?”

“Oh! Um, I don't know. Haven't seen him since last night. His is the next room down.”

“Gone. I need him. Fast.”

“Maybe he's at breakfast. Or outside. He goes outside to talk so he can't be overheard.”

Derek frowned. “All the more reason to burn down this damned blight.” He kicked one of the delicate chairs, which skidded toward the window. I jumped up, fearful it would crash into the glass, but it reached the edge of the rug and tipped over. I righted the chair with trembling fingers.

“You want to stay here, and I'll go find him? No one will come in except Deon or Lizana, and—and it's a pretty view, and a pretty room,” I added lamely, trying to calm him, I suppose.

That was a mistake.

Derek whirled around, his eyes angry.
“Pretty!”
He practically spat the word as he sneered at the coral rosebuds on the wall. “What was paid for one of those pieces of offal would feed an entire family for a year.”

I sucked in a breath. “B-but it was done a long time ago. It's art. Isn't there a place for art?” Bren and his drawing flickered in my mind.

“And who gets to see this
art
?” Derek retorted. “Some thieving noble who bleeds the common folk until they drop. I'd like to burn it all.” He glared out the window, his entire body tight with rage. “I could speak one word and torch this entire city,” he said in a soft voice. “The kingdom! Everyone is in place. The main part of the army is on maneuvers at Obrin, and the best of the city guard training in the west. All that's here are the young trainees and the guards near retirement. The time has come, but it all waits on a single person. Your brother.” He began to pace the length of the room. “And now, I can no longer wait even on him,” he said, his voice hard. “Not unless he can perform miracles.”

The day had scarcely begun, and this was the second powerful person mad at me.

“I-I-I'll go find Peitar,” I stuttered, crammed my feet into my slippers, and fled.

The great dining hall, the small dining room, and the library were all empty, except for servants. Peitar couldn't walk far. He had to be nearby.

The gardens
, I thought, and raced outside.

Starting with the closest, I worked my way around in a circle, every so often calling his name. On the third try, I found him. He was with Innon, who carried a chalk and slate.

“Derek,” I said in a croaking whisper. “He's here . . . he wants you. . . .”

“Lilah.” Peitar's voice was soft. “Have you been running all over calling my name?”

I turned cold. “Only three times.”

He turned to Innon. “Make yourself scarce.
Now
.” Innon looked at me, his round face serious, then vanished in the other direction. “All right, Lilah.” Peitar looked even more tense than Derek had. “Here, lend me your arm. Let's go, and tell me everything. Quiet voice, now. And smile if we meet anyone we know. Let's not draw attention.”

“Derek's in my room,” I whispered, adjusting myself as Peitar leaned on me. “Something is really, really wrong. He was saying things—”

“Hold. Let's wait until we get inside.” We were now within earshot of strolling courtiers, and a few servants bearing trays.

We walked up a flower-bordered path and inside the big building. Peitar smiled at two friends of Father's on their way to breakfast. We bowed, and they bowed. The woman glanced at my still-unbrushed hair, and her upper lip lengthened.

When we reached my room, Derek was there, alone.

He whirled around, his hand going to his side, but eased when he saw us. “Peitar. King Dirty Hands has Bernal. So far they don't seem to know who he is. As near as I can find out, he was arrested for loitering, but if some soul-sucking captain decides the men need some entertainment and puts him to the question—”

Peitar winced and rubbed his forehead.

“What do you suggest, O clairvoyant one?” Derek asked, but his expression was not at all humorous. It was desperate.

“I'm not clairvoyant. If I were, we wouldn't be sitting here wondering about the future.”

I noticed the wary, guarded way that they looked at one another and remembered Derek saying that everything depended on Peitar's word. A strange silence stretched out, almost like a contest. Or a duel.

Finally Peitar said, “Have you read my letter?”

“The time for sitting about in comfortable armchairs and theorizing is over. It's over.”

The servants' door flew open. Derek moved fast, pulling a knife from somewhere in his clothes as Deon ran in, looking at me. She said, “Dirty Hands wants you.”

At the discreet tap on my bedroom door she vanished back into the servants' corridor, Derek right behind her.

“Coming,” I called.

There stood one of the stewards. She said politely, “His Majesty requests an interview.”

“Me? Right now? But I haven't really finished dressing.” I indicated my hair, glad of its messiness for once.

“Now, Lady Lilah,” she said in a respectful but firm voice. “You must come as you are.”

I tried to sound unconcerned. “Well, all right, lead the way.” Before we turned the corner, I noticed four of the guards approaching my room from the other direction.

I tried to calm myself. I
knew
no one had heard me say anything to Peitar. Then I spotted Innon in the hall, mincing along behind another steward, his nose in the air. Of course—this was about the betrothal! The steward opened the door. My uncle was alone. “Sit down, children.”

He looked at me coldly, then turned away. I wondered if he'd decided to be angry about my mistake with the secret passage. But it wasn't as if I'd ever do it again!

Innon and I exchanged puzzled glances.

My uncle seemed to be waiting for something. Finally he turned around and said conversationally, “What can you tell me about Bernal Diamagan?”

The question was so unexpected that I jumped. Innon only looked confused.

Darian's eyes narrowed. “I thought so.” His tone made my head ring with warning. “You may go, boy.”

Innon shot me a worried look before the door closed silently behind him.

My uncle said, “I'd assumed you were just stupid, but it appears that you are a stupid, conniving little traitor.” As he spoke, he moved straight to the panel beside the fireplace.

The door slid open, and there was Peitar.

“Step out,” Darian said.

Peitar did. All the walking he'd done so far had told considerably. The two looked at one another, so alike in unexpected ways. Their expressions strengthened the resemblance.

“So,” Darian said, “you do have an interest in high politics after all.” Silence from Peitar. “You'll regret it.”

“No.” Peitar's voice was just as devoid of tone as our uncle's, but the atmosphere in the room was so terrible my heart hammered and my hands trembled.

“Yes, you will, my noble young heroes. I can promise you that much.” Now our uncle's glance included me.

The door opened, and armed guards came in.

Any one of the four tall, strong men could easily have defeated us both. The biggest, I noticed with a strange, detached part of my mind, had thick red hair like my own.

He reached for Peitar, and I tried to protect my brother. The guard gave me what he probably thought was a mild swat. I fell back on the couch, my skirts billowing.

Then a calloused hand pulled me to my feet, and we were marched not to the main halls but to the hidden byways of the palace, ones used only by Darian's silent guards.

twelve

I
knew when we had descended to the garrison prison because the air abruptly became cold and still. We were escorted into a room, and the door slammed and locked behind us.

“You can look around now, Lilah.” Peitar was breathless, but his voice was kindly. “There's nothing to see.”

And there wasn't. Instead of a dungeon full of torture instruments, we were in a room that might have been anywhere, except that it had no windows. A glowglobe was set high on one whitewashed wall. There was a cot, a table with two chairs, and a bench.

The door opened again, and a tall, grizzled warrior in a violet battle tunic came in, incongruously carrying a tray. He set it down on the table and bowed, a quick motion not quite toward either of us.

“Thank you, Captain Avnos,” Peitar said as he sank onto the cot.

“You know him?” I asked after the door closed.

“He used to carry me around on his shoulder when I was eight or nine, when Uncle Darian had gotten rid of my crutch,” Peitar murmured. “Before he was made a captain. Mind scouting that breakfast? I don't think I can get up again so easily. It's been a difficult morning.”

“Difficult!” I repeated, springing to my feet. “It's a
nightmare
! Why are we even
in
here? We didn't
do
anything!”

Peitar just shook his head, so I turned to the tray. The scent of steeped gingerroot drifted up from a clay teapot. There was a plate of toasted bread, a hunk of cheese, and a bowl of boiled oats with honey, as well as cups and utensils.

I set the food down near Peitar. “Do you think Captain Avnos brought this in secret? Is he one of us?”

“No, he's loyal to Uncle Darian.” Peitar poured out the steeped gingerroot. “This is on our uncle's orders, I'm certain. I'm also certain that nothing will happen to us until I have an interview with him. It's the interim that worries me.”

“You mean, after we eat, he's going to have us tortured?”

“Not that.” Peitar's smile was rueful, but his eyes looked terrible. It wasn't anger, it was grief—real grief. The sheen of tears brightened his lower lids. “Oh, Lilah.” He sat back, holding his cup. One of the tears slid down his cheek, but he didn't seem to notice. “Something betrayed us, if not someone. Tell me what happened with Derek?”

I gave a shuddering sigh. “I don't know if it means anything, but before Derek came, I went exploring in that passage. . . .”

“Lilah. You didn't.” He winced and shook his head. “My fault, my fault. I never should have told you. Go on. I take it you ran straight into our uncle.”

“Yes. He was right in the middle of getting dressed! How was I supposed to know that he'd turned the study into a bedroom?”

“I should have guessed he would avoid the old king's rooms. Tell me everything, just as it happened, please?” When I had finished, he said, his voice very soft, “Lilah. You didn't think to check the passage?”

“I—no! I, I forgot when I saw Derek.” I groaned. “It's
my
fault. Our uncle must have sent a spy after I left, and they heard everything Derek said!”

“And when you ran all over the gardens looking for me, Uncle Darian was busy closing the trap around us. Carefully, quietly, so no one would know. Including us.” Peitar sighed. “That's why there were guards in the hall when you were summoned—they were sent to find Derek.”

“Do you think they sent some up the passage from Uncle's rooms, too?”

“Probably. But they couldn't know that Derek was dressed in servant gray, and we saw him go out that way. I hope it means he escaped.” Peitar shook his head. “We'd better eat. Yes, we are in trouble, but it could get worse. Very quickly. We need to be able to think.”

“
You
have to think. I've already ruined everything.” My throat closed up, and tears of self-pity burned in my eyes.

“
We
have to think.” Peitar drank off his steeped gingerroot. “Things are fairly desperate, I'll admit, but that doesn't mean they can't be made worse. We have to prevent that, if we can.”

I fought back the tears. “All right. Here, you take some oats first.” We ate in silence.

“Is Derek mad at you for something?” I finally asked.

“Not with me, but with my ideas. We disagree not on fundamental needs but on how to accomplish them.”

“He almost sounded like he didn't trust you.”

“Oh, he does. That is, he did.” Peitar set down the bowl. Despite his words, he hadn't eaten much.

Instead, he poured more steeped gingerroot and held the cup as he stared through the opposite wall to distant places and times and people, and said, “You probably don't know this, but Derek's father was a groom in the royal stable. Our mother fell in love with him—and our great-grandfather was furious.”

Another surprise. “Because he wasn't a noble?” I asked, and when Peitar nodded, I said, “I just don't understand why our great-grandfather, or anyone, should care.”

Peitar said, “Adamas Dei says that you cannot exploit people you respect. The things Derek is angry about aren't Uncle Darian's fault, or even our great-grandfather's. They're the result of a series of increasingly damaging attitudes going back several hundred years.”

“Oh,” I said.

“When our parents were betrothed, Derek's father was banished to the eastern half of the kingdom, where he started a family. He raised Derek and Bernal to love two things: justice and the shadow of our mother. The day he got the news of her death, he walked into a snow bank, hoping to be reunited with her beyond this world—it inspired a lot of tragic love ballads. Anyway, after that—after hearing about us all his life—Derek made his way to Selenna, risking his life when he was hardly older than you are now. He found out that we agreed on a lot of the same principles, and included me in his plans. Lizana protected him as much as she could, but it was still dangerous.”

“Love! Every time I hear about it, I'm glad I'm too young.”

Peitar shook his head. “Love is love, it's ineffable. But when it's mixed with politics, it becomes a stain on the spirit.”

“Will that ever make sense?” I asked, pulling the oatmeal bowl toward me. “It sure doesn't now.”

“Is that your kindly way of saying that I'm talking a lot of hot air?”

The ring of boot heels outside silenced us. The door opened, and a battered young man was shoved in. He crumpled to the floor, moaning.

“Lilah. Help him.” My hands shook as I moved the tray to the table. By then, Peitar had reached the stranger, whose bruised, puffy face resembled Derek's. His hands had been tied behind him. Together we managed to shift him to the cot. He was unconscious.

We attempted to undo the knots around his wrists, but they were too tight, and blood-soaked besides. Finally Peitar straightened up, his face drained of color.

“Is—is this Bernal?” I asked, my voice too high.

“A reminder, sent by Uncle Darian, of the price of high politics,” Peitar said. “He will be summoning me very soon. I'll try to get some bandages and things brought here, if I can. If I can't, I want you to help Bernal. Try to make him comfortable.”

“Is this going to happen to us next?” I asked, my voice quavering.

“I don't know. What I do know is that we have effectively vanished. Our uncle had just enough time to plan it while you sought me in the garden. No one knows where we are—not servants nor courtiers, much less spies in the city. He must have tried to do the same with Derek. It means he no longer trusts anyone—anyone at all.” He looked up at me soberly. “Derek's words in your room had to have been a strike to his heart.”

“Uncle Dirty Hands doesn't have a heart,” I snapped.

“Yes, he does. But it's banded by thick scars.”

For a time we sat in silence, me beside the cot, my insides knotted with fear, and Peitar on the chair, looking down at Bernal.

Presently, just as he had predicted, the guards came for him.

There was nothing I could do for Bernal until he woke up, so I just sat there, waiting. I have no idea how much time passed, for there was no candle to burn down or light to change. Time was measured in Bernal's painful breaths, in and out. Tears ran down my face, hot, then cold.

When they stopped I remained crouching, watching a spider spin a web on one of the legs of the cot. The little creature lived its life unheeding. I wished I was back at Selenna House, playing in the garden and dreaming about what was over the wall.

Bernal's breathing changed just before I heard noise again. I wiped my face on my silken sleeve and waited.

The door was unlocked, and Peitar came in, his forehead tight with pain. I looked at him questioningly. He sat and gave that sardonic smile that jolted me with its resemblance to our uncle's. “We had a discourse on duty.”

Then Bernal moved. He was awake. “Peitar,” he whispered.

“This is my sister, Lilah,” Peitar said. “Shall we help you bind those wounds we can reach?” He smiled slightly. “Lilah is carrying a bit of superfluous cloth.”

I looked down at all my petticoats but didn't feel like laughing.

“No matter,” Bernal managed. “I—why are you here?”

“I'm afraid my uncle found out about our participation.”

“Does Derek know I got caught?” Bernal's brown eyes were anxious.

“Yes,” Peitar and I said together.

He made an unhappy sound. “Then he'll do something. Tonight.” At Peitar's questioning look, he went on. “Because tomorrow I'm to be put to death. Public. City square.”

I crouched in a ball, almost biting through my lip, but I felt no pain.

The two of them just talked, their voices low murmurs. Not about Derek or plans or anything like that. Bernal didn't rail against courtiers or even against Uncle Darian. Instead, they spoke of Arnathan, the province where the Diamagans had spent their childhoods, and horses. I got a feeling that if Bernal hadn't devoted himself to Derek's cause, he would be raising them.

Time passed, and I helped Bernal drink the rest of the gingerroot, and then he slept.

Peitar laid his head on his crossed arms, and after a time, I heard his breathing slow down.

I tried thinking,
I am Lasva Dei the Wanderer, and this is my adventure
, but I was too scared to believe it. So I sat there and studied the little spider in her web.