The Spy Princess (9 page)

PART II

Enemies

one

F
inally I fell asleep, curled up on the stone, head pillowed on a swath of my skirts.

Approaching noise woke us. The door slammed open, smashing into the wall, and a crowd of armed people roared in, led by . . . Derek!

“Castle's ours!” he cried, waving a blood-streaked sword. A long knife was stuck through his ragged sash. “City will be soon.” His companions cheered. Their weapons and spattered clothing made me shudder.

“My uncle?” Peitar asked.

“Ours! It took more than ten of us to capture him. Who would have known all those swords he's got on the walls weren't bolted down?”

“His own guards died, I take it?”

Derek's smile faded. I suspect he'd forgotten that those “guards” were men Peitar had known all his life. “Only four.” Then, in a sharper voice, “And the king either killed or wounded as many of my people before they disarmed him. He's a prisoner, bound and guarded.” Derek said to the others, “There's my brother, Bernal—and my friend Peitar, and his sister, Lilah. See to it they are safe.”

And he was gone, along with most of the crowd.

Someone bent to cut Bernal free. “I've got to join my brother,” he whispered to me as he got shakily to his feet and began to work his cramped arms and legs.

He was helped out, leaving Peitar and me alone.

“Lilah, get yourself to one of the passages and hide. . . .”

“No chance.” I helped him up. “Here's my shoulder. We'll stay together.”

“All right,” he said reluctantly, because we both knew he couldn't walk. “But we should get out of these clothes before some of Derek's rioters attack us.”

Out in the hall, I saw everything I dreaded. The floor and walls were splashed with blood. People were sprawled everywhere, some unmoving, others in obvious pain. We stopped by the first few wounded, though there was nothing we could do. Peitar told them we would try and get help, but I was afraid Derek's followers wouldn't show the mercy that Captain Avnos had.

The door between the garrison and the palace was ajar, smoke drifting through, bringing the sounds of distant cries and the crash and tinkle of windows breaking.

Twice we ducked into archways to avoid shouting, singing rioters, their arms full of loot. It was horrible, seeing Selenna servant blue and gray among the fallen. Terror made me shaky, but Peitar seemed to have acquired some kind of strength, because he kept us moving. Though he looked at everything, long and grim, as if memorizing it.

Finally, we reached the residence gardens and found our first dead courtiers. I knew them for courtiers only because of the blood-soaked silk and velvet and brocade. All their jewels were gone.

The rioters had not yet reached our floor. Father's suite was empty. “It looks like there was some warning after all,” Peitar said, looking around the vast chamber. He shook his head once, as though it hurt. “I have to find Derek. Get his people to see to the wounded.”

My room streamed with morning light. It finally caught up with me—a complete day and night had passed while we were in the garrison. I hurriedly changed into my Larei clothes, braided up my hair, and crammed on my cap. Then I stuffed the fashion book into the waist of my knee pants.

Peitar met me in the hall. Gone were the jeweled hair tie and the fine shoe clasps. He wore a plain shirt and leaned on his extra cane.

No one would recognize us as nobles now.

So this was revolution. I remembered how impatient I'd been for it to happen—just so I wouldn't have to curl my hair. But in my idea of revolution, people gathered to make stirring speeches about how we could better our lives, followed by cheers and exciting trumpet blasts as . . . things somehow changed. Not this horror.

We made our slow way downstairs and came upon people emerging from one of the suites. A teenage girl had pulled a costly ball gown over her clothing. Her companion waved a sword. “Damnation to the nobles!” he shouted, jabbing a tapestry on the wall.

“Long live King Derek!” the girl shrilled. Giving us a wave, they vanished into another room.

I looked at my brother. “King Derek?”

“Not his idea. The problem is, he hasn't replaced it with anything else.”

Outside, on the grand terrace, more rioters swarmed back and forth, some laughing like it was a picnic. We joined the crowd entering the royal pavilion, where government had taken place for so many generations.

The floor was littered with shards of glass and broken statuary. The tapestries depicting famous historical scenes hung in tatters. The air was hot and gritty.

Derek and several others stood on the dais in the throne room, making speeches. The musicians' gallery and the wall alcoves were filled, but not everyone was listening. Knots of adults talked furtively, while kids pulled at the banners on the walls.

A middle-aged woman in a cook's apron was speaking. As the crowd shoved us forward we began to catch words. “Death . . . blood . . . clean! . . . a new beginning!” she cried. Swords, axes, spears, hoes, and scythes were thrust into the air. “Today will live in history, as the blood of the nobles waters the seeds of freedom!” She threw her arms wide. A cheer echoed through the hall, the crowd shifted—and we came face to face with Bren and Deon.

“Peitar! Lilah!” They too had changed from palace clothes. Deon bounced with excitement, but Bren's grin seemed forced.

“There are the Selennas,” I heard Derek call. The crowd parted around us, and we joined him. “My best friend and guide, Peitar Selenna,” he proclaimed, throwing an arm around my brother's shoulders. There were a few mutterings—some in question, others in anger.

Derek cleared his throat, then whispered, “Gah, I'm thirsty.” He lifted his voice. “Unknown to you all, Peitar was my earliest recruit, my right hand, second only to my brother. I wish you all to protect him and his sister, Lilah, who is also one of us. Peitar, share some of your thoughts.”

My brother tried, but his quiet voice didn't carry. Behind me, a burly man grumbled. Several people laughed, and as the talking got louder, my stomach clenched.

Peitar shook his head and turned to Derek. “There are wounded people who need tending. On both sides.”

“The nobles can look to themselves for a change. As for the others . . .” Derek raised his voice to a powerful shout. “Hear me! Can someone help the wounded? Our fallen brothers and sisters rely on our help!” The people cheered again, but if anyone moved to do his bidding, I couldn't see it. He turned back to Peitar. “Come! Celebrate with us. Your uncle was going to hang my brother today, and probably you tomorrow. Instead,
he'll
be on the execution stand, but he won't get an easy hanging. We'll make it last a couple of days, if we can.”

Peitar gave him a long look, then shook his head. “Derek. When you want to talk again, you'll know where to find me.”

We retreated—Deon, with many backward glances. I thought I saw Innon, looking dirty and disheveled, but he was swallowed by the crowd before I could be sure.

Finally we were on the grand terrace. Peitar leaned against a half-smashed marble bench. “Those people are so stupid,” I muttered, sitting down. And when he gave me a distracted glance, “I heard one say your mind is as twisted as your leg, and all nobles should die. And
he's
going to make a new government?”

Peitar shrugged. “My leg is crooked, anyone can see that. And he knows nothing of my mind.”

“I'd like to smack him over the head with a cook pot.”

“Passing the hurt back, eh? Let it go.”

“Foo!” I exclaimed. “It's all very well to be high-minded like your legendary Adamas Dei—if he even lived—but the fact is, even if that man's words can't hurt us, his sword can.”

“Yes. Which is why there's nothing more for us here. It's too dangerous to stay, and I don't know how to fix it. Let's go home.”

“I'll go with you.” Bren scowled. “C'mon, Deon. . . .”

Deon scowled right back. “No. I don't want to see my family again—noble-loving fools! Well, not Gran. But I'm staying to help. Derek says this is where freedom is being born and history made!”

“Deon . . .”

She shook her head. “I'm off!” And she ran.

I turned to my brother. “Peitar, we have to find Lizana . . . and make sure Father—”

“He's gone,” Bren said, interrupting, as he watched his cousin vanish inside. “Lizana warned people to leave. I thought she was betraying the cause . . . but I think now she was right. That was last night, after the king sent your father home. I helped put food in his carriage.”

“Lizana knows how to take care of herself,” Peitar said. “Let's find mounts, if we can.”

“Are you angry that Deon stayed, Bren?” I asked as we walked. “She just wants to help.” When he didn't answer, I whispered, “I didn't think it would be like this—all the killing.”

He let his breath out in a rush. “Oh, I did. Sort of. After all, you can't go to the worst nobles and say, ‘Hand over your estates,' and expect them to do it. And a lot of them fought. One duke, he must have slashed up a dozen people before they got him. But some were kids our age! They tied one girl up and gagged her and threw her in the lake, and laughed as she struggled.” He shook his head. “And when she drowned.”

Sickened, I asked, “What was her name?”

“All I know is, her own maid was the ringleader. Kept saying horrible things, like how she'd been beaten for dropping a hairbrush. Had her fingers smashed for wrinkling a gown. But I thought, ‘Make the noble brats earn their bread. That'll cure 'em. Don't
kill
'em.'”

Peitar said, “The murders of children were not on Derek's orders, Bren.”

“I know. But that's the other thing! They aren't
listening
to his orders! They're just doing whatever they want.” Bren took a deep breath. “You're right, Lilah. Deon just wants to help Derek. And she will. Even if no one else does,” he finished in an undertone.

We picked our way past evidence of fighting, into the deserted stable. The horses were uneasy, ears flicking and flattening. Bren bridled and saddled three as I worried about Peitar, who had not ridden since his accident. We had to help him mount.

Then it was my turn. I'd never been on horseback, and it was frightening to be seated so high on a shifting animal. But Bren said, “Hold on with your knees, and follow me. Don't kick, or yank the reins, and you'll be all right. We won't gallop—we have to make the horses last.”

Knees? Forget that! I clutched the horse's mane in a death grip. We began riding slowly into the city, Peitar also clutching the reins so hard his knuckles were white. After a while, when we realized that the animals never went faster than a walk, he relaxed a little, and so did I.

Finally Peitar said, “We were in prison all day yesterday. Can you tell us what happened?”

Bren said, “Derek gave the command at midnight. They set fire to noble houses in four separate places. We could see the fires from the servants' quarters.”

“And while the guard was assisting with the fire lines down to the lake, the rest attacked guard posts, and converged on the palace?” Peitar clearly knew what Derek had planned.

“Yes. Deon took me to a drill my first night. I didn't want to kill sleeping people, not even nobles. I wanted to do something else, like put out the fires, but there were never any plans for
that
.”

We continued in silence. Smoke billowed from the center of the city, drifting in a frightening brown haze over the lake. I wondered if some courtiers had hidden on their boats or gone out the day before and had no idea anything was wrong until they saw the flames. I did not know which would be worse.

When we reached the market section near the south gate, bigger crowds surged down the streets. Some of the stores had hastily painted signs to forestall looters—
FREEDOM! AND HAIL THE REVOLUTION!
—but others had armed people stationed outside. The streets were covered with glass and smashed furniture and even food, which amazed me. How could people who had complained about hunger destroy food?

No one paid attention to us as we rode out through the open and unguarded gates. People streamed past, some carrying goods in baskets and knapsacks. Others had carts, and there were coaches, pulled by horses, by goats and oxen, and even by people, many roaring drunk.

At last the crowds thinned out, and we started toward the east, and Selenna.

I finally burst out, “I've always hated Uncle Dirty Hands, but that—what Derek said, about making his execution last for days. He never did
that
to anybody, not that I ever heard of.”

“No. He hates torture. He has had people roughly handled, like Bernal. And killed. But never as entertainment.” Peitar drew in a long, shaky breath. “I won't be a part of that, even passively.”

Neither Bren nor I knew how to respond. But I could tell that Bren wanted to say something more.

“I saw your letter,” he finally told Peitar, in a rush. “Yesterday morning, late. I'd just talked to Derek, in the garden where the servants go. After, I thought of a question, and turned back, but he was reading. Then he crumpled up the papers and threw them down. After he left—well, I was curious.”

“What did you think?” Peitar asked gently.

“You're right. You're right, and Derek can't see it.” Bren's voice cracked—he was crying. “I thought every man being king for himself would work—would mean peace!”

“Maybe it can work if each person governs only him- or herself. I read somewhere that the problem comes when people seek to command one another. I believe Derek will see that this way, with violence, doesn't work.”

I hoped so.