Castle of Lies

by Kiersi Burkhart

  Praise for Kiersi Burkhart’s young adult novel

  “A must-read.”

  —Booklist

  “An explosive, harrowing tale. . . . Engrossing.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “A book to recommend to readers who enjoy relevant gritty issues.”

  —School Library Journal

  Text copyright © 2019 by Kiersi Burkhart

  Carolrhoda Lab™ is a trademark of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

  All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

  Carolrhoda Lab™

  An imprint of Carolrhoda Books

  A division of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

  241 First Avenue North

  Minneapolis, MN 55401 USA

  For reading levels and more information, look up this title at www.lernerbooks.com.

  Image credits: Castle: Calavision/Shutterstock.com; Gleb Guralnyk/Shutterstock.com (border); ElenaG177/Shutterstock.com (gold); Imagine Photographer/Shutterstock.com (marble); Ozz Design/Shutterstock.com (swirl); Nata Kuprova/Shutterstock.com (font); Gordan/Shutterstock.com (grunge).

  Main body text set in Janson Text LT Std 10.5/15.

  Typeface provided by Linotype AG.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Burkhart, Kiersi, author.

  Title: Castle of lies / Kiersi Burkhart.

  Description: Minneapolis : Carolrhoda Lab, [2019] | Summary: Thelia has spent her whole life scheming to get on the throne, but when her kingdom is invaded by an army of elves and a dangerous well of magic is discovered under the royal castle, her plans change drastically.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018031556 (print) | LCCN 2018041433 (ebook) | ISBN 9781541541856 (eb pdf) | ISBN 9781512429978 (th : alk. paper)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Fantasy.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.B88 (ebook) | LCC PZ7.1.B88 Cas 2019 (print) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018031556

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  1-41597-23504-11/12/2018

  Chapter 1

  Thelia

  Corene isn’t made of queen material—never has been. And illustrating my point: she can’t even hold her liquor. She worms across her bed in her silk nightgown, spilling wine across the blankets. Weak, inside and out.

  “Thelia, I don’t know what to do.” My cousin settles her head on my lap and sips what’s left in her glass. I play my usual part. Rubbing her shoulders so she won’t guess the fury still boiling inside me. Touching her hair so she won’t know how much I want to tangle my hand in it and pull until she screams.

  I peel my lips back in a smile. “What do you mean? Do what you’ve always done.”

  She rolls her head around on my lap in denial. “It’s more than that with Bayled. It’s . . .” She lets out a frustrated puff of wine breath. “It’s more complicated now.”

  As if things haven’t always been complicated between Princess Corene and that lucky foreigner. Yes, lucky. Corene can pity Bayled all she wants for losing his parents when he was barely ten, but look where it landed him—in line for the throne.

  So maybe his parents were unlucky. Still, they should’ve known leaving out a candle to welcome Magic into their house was a bad idea, especially here in the Holy Kingdom. People have been hanged for less. And always preaching how women should be allowed in politics didn’t make them popular either. I’ve never been convinced that fire was a mere accident.

  “Why would it be complicated?” I ask Corene gently. “He’s the King’s ward and heir. You’re the Princess, the people’s favorite. You two are supposed to end up together.” If the King were smart—which is always a matter of suspending your disbelief—he’d be angling for the union. With Bayled on the throne, we’ll get access to the Northern Republic’s trade routes, their luxury market, their technology.

  “We were.” Corene empties her glass. “But I think a mistake was made.”

  My whole chest goes warm and bubbly, like the wine in my glass. I’ve been waiting for these words since the spring, when she buried that dagger in my back and she ruined my one chance at happiness.

  “What happened?” I ask, keeping the eagerness out of my voice as much as I can.

  Corene slides off my lap and buries her face in a pillow. Her empty glass rolls away. “I shouldn’t say more.”

  “You know you can trust me.” I take her hand and squeeze. “What’s happened, Corene?”

  She sniffles into the pillow. “Bayled asked me to marry him. He asked me, not Dad.”

  Engaged, without the King’s permission. Behind his back. I hold in a wicked smile. Praise be the grace of Melidia! I know exactly how I’ll repay Corene for what she did to me.

  “Congratulations. I’m sure the King will approve.” I take her glass and refill it. “Another?”

  Corene sighs languorously. “Thank you.”

  I hand the full glass back, watching as she takes a long gulp. Tomorrow’s banquet day, when everyone who’s anyone comes to Four Halls to dine with the King, and I already have a battle plan. Mother always said that everyone needs an edge, a bit more knowledge than anyone else, so you always have a bit more power.

  I’ve found my edge, and I know just how to use it.

  I’m walking into the banquet hall when Parsifal stumbles up to me. His cheeks are bright red—he’s gotten into the wine cellar with Derk again. “My dearest Thelia Finegarden. You’re looking fabulous tonight.”

  I roll my eyes at my pig-faced cousin. He’s been a flatterer ever since he arrived in the Holy Kingdom and realized certain people were laughing not only at his jokes, but also at his irregular face. It works surprisingly well for him—with most people. “I’ve worn this dress a dozen times, Percy.” And I’ve re-stitched it another half-dozen times or dyed it a different color to make it look new. That’s been my routine ever since the King’s senseless war bankrupted us along with every other noble family. Daddy found out the hard way that just being the Queen’s brother didn’t protect our fortune.

  “Doesn’t negate my statement in the least.” Parsifal’s flattened nose and mouth curl into themselves as he smiles.

  We take our seats next to each other at the long banquet table. I sit across from Daddy, who ignores me even though he hasn’t seen me all week. That never gets easier, but at least my brother Morgaun didn’t join him tonight. He’s probably back at the manor performing bloody penance to the Goddess. Eating roast pig at a banquet would undoubtedly interfere with all his gratuitous self-sacrifice in Melidia’s name.

  I’m not interested in Parsifal’s gobble tonight. I have something important to do. Dearest uncle, I’ll say as I help the King out of his chair at the end of the banquet. He’ll be drunk and grateful for my assistance. I hate to bear this sort of news, but I believe your daughter has betrayed you.

  “I heard something that might interest you,” Parsifal says, and I snap out of my private rehearsal. “Some visitors arrived at the castle earlier today.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Visitors?”

  He holds up one finger. “You first. You must have something for me.”

  We’ve played this game for years—trading a secret for a secret. An insight for an eavesdrop. Now that our families have no coin, we only respect one kind of currency: information.

  I had integrity, once upon a time. But then my brother tried to break my legs, I got this scar down the side of my face, and Mother ran off. S
ince then, I haven’t had much patience for the hard and honest way.

  So I lean over and tell Parsifal what I know, and his dark eyebrows rise up into his bounteous curls. This should be enough to buy me the gossip he promised.

  “I suppose it was inevitable.” Parsifal cocks his eyebrow. “You must be disappointed.” He’s the only one—well, besides Mother—who knows what I want more than anything: to push Corene out of the way, marry Bayled myself, and the moment the old King kicks off . . . become the Queen.

  My mother clawed her way to the title of Duchess with her teeth and nails, tolerating every violation and humiliation for one fistful of power. As she always said, “What Corene was born with, you’ll have to fight for.” While my silly cousin was mooning over a boy, Mother taught me to cripple a man without messing up my braid.

  “I’m not disappointed.” I smirk at him. “I’m going to tell the King.”

  Parsifal sits up straight, unable to hide a curling grin. “How absolutely cruel of you.”

  I smile. “Did you expect anything less?”

  “Never.”

  Nobody else would understand. Nobody else knows what Corene did to me. “Maybe he’ll even be so insulted that he’ll insist the two of them part ways,” I say. Making Bayled available for me.

  Parsifal’s brows furrow. “And keep Bayled as his heir? He wouldn’t choose Bayled over his own daughter.”

  “That’s your foreign upbringing showing.” He hates when I rib him about growing up in Frefois. “Bayled’s not royal blood, but he’s a man. That counts for more.” Mother always said when you’re a woman in this land, working twice as hard won’t get what you want; maybe wanting it ten times as much will.

  Parsifal grimaces at me. I smile back and ask, “Now what do you have for me about these visitors?”

  He sighs. “They’re from the South.”

  “The Lord of the Willows?” My eyebrows rise, and a hopeful note fills my voice. “ . . . or the Baron?”

  “Farther south.”

  There’s only one place past the edge of the Kingdom—the Klissen. A sunlit land of hills, sheep, and people who are utter doorknobs. “What could those cratertooths be doing here?” I ask. “They’ve refused to speak to us since the war.” Ten cycles ago, their scattered tribes united and elected their first head chief to repel our foolish invasion.

  “Do you blame them?” Parsifal snorts. “We tried to invade and conquer, completely unprovoked. Kind of a shit move.”

  “So why are they here now?”

  “I’m sure we’ll find out soon.”

  A horn blows—the royals are entering the banquet hall. We all rise. The King walks in first under the guards’ crossed spears, carrying a full goblet of wine. Behind him comes Corene, strawberry ringlets spilling down the front of her ocean-blue gown. Then Bayled enters, dressed in his favorite long red coat. The fabric makes his deep brown skin glow in the lamplight, and I can’t help smiling. Supreme Ass-Kisser of the Kingdom though he is, he has a certain boyish charm.

  But Bayled doesn’t take his usual seat at the King’s right—he settles one chair down. And he looks like he’s swallowed a particularly unsavory beetle.

  We’re all about to return to our seats when another horn blows. A pretty young blond man I’ve never seen strides into the banquet hall, wide-open collar flapping across his chest. Is that the Chief? He’s so much younger than I expected. He’s flanked by three rough-looking bodyguards—two men and one woman, all of them armed. So it’s normal in the South for women to use swords? For a second I feel foolish about setting my ambitions here, on the Holy Kingdom—but the taste of victory will be even greater when I become Queen and wield my sword from the King’s balcony. Everything will change under my rule.

  The blond man takes Bayled’s seat and casts Corene a sideways look with his ocean-blue eyes. His bodyguards stand against the wall, watchful. Parsifal shoots me a look that says, Things are getting exciting, aren’t they?

  We all sit down, and a parade of servants enters the banquet hall with carts and trays full of food. I’ve only gotten one bite of ham when the King staggers to his feet, goblet held aloft. “Everyone!” Wine sloshes over the side of his goblet. “I have an announcement.” He gestures to the blond Southerner. “Welcome to Melidihan, Nul se Lan, son of Chief Lan, and formidable leader of the Klissen. I’m sure all the noblewomen here appreciate your presence.” A ripple of laughter travels down the banquet table.

  Parsifal whispers, “As if only noblewomen appreciate a blond with impeccable chest definition.”

  “I’ve invited our friend from the beautiful hill country of the Klissen for a good reason,” the King drones. “We’ve finally reached terms for annexation.”

  My head jolts up. Annexation would mean the Klissen becoming one of the Holy Kingdom’s docile territories, like Frefois. It’s all the King’s ever wanted. We’ll have all the sheep, iron, and potatoes the Kingdom will ever need. But what did we trade away for it?

  Nul se Lan rises beside the King, goblet held up. “Very glad of this invitation I am. Honor it brings to my country to be asked by the King, and join blessed Holy Kingdom.”

  I turn to Parsifal, his face a reflection of how I feel, like we’re missing an essential piece of the picture. Why would the cratertooths be this eager to reconcile with us? Unless . . .

  I snap my gaze to Corene, sitting at the other end of the table with her eyes focused on her lap. The Princess. The key to keeping the royal bloodline going—and the perfect glue for building an alliance.

  “To secure our bonds of brotherhood,” the King says, voice slurring, “I am pleased to announce that in one moon, my daughter, the Princess Corene, will wed Nul se Lan of the Klissen. Our kingdoms will at last unite!”

  Praise Melidia—I knew it. Everyone claps. I join in, but I’m focused on someone else. Poor, sweet, handsome, guileless Bayled, gripping his goblet so tight his knuckles strain.

  “I can see the spindles turning in your head, Theels.” Parsifal leans closer. “What are you plotting?”

  “I’m not plotting. I hope you get crotch rot for suggesting it.” He won’t get more from me until he can offer me something for it.

  “I could help. I’d rather see you on the throne than that big oaf.”

  Daddy has noticed we’re whispering, so I raise my voice a little and say, “I’m happy for Corene, Percy. Unification will surely return the Kingdom to its former glory.” Daddy gives an approving nod, and I commit it to memory.

  “Absolutely,” Parsifal says. “And annexing the Klissen into the Kingdom will give us a strategic barrier against . . .” He pauses for dramatic effect. “The elven armies.” He laughs like it’s all a good jape, but every muscle in my body goes tight.

  “I’ll stitch your lips closed with chickenthread,” I hiss.

  “Parsifal Bellisare.” Daddy sets down his fork. “Elves are a real threat, not a punchline.” My father doesn’t have a shred of patience for the Bellisares. In-laws or not, they’re my mother’s relatives, so as far as he’s concerned they’re poison. “You should be spending your mental energy on what you’re going to say to Nul se Lan when you meet him. Your father could use the connection to a plentiful land like the Klissen.”

  Parsifal’s cheeks go a fierce red. I could laugh—if I weren’t too busy wondering if he’s right. Maybe this deal happened not only because the King bought the Chief off with his beautiful daughter, but because they’re both afraid of the same thing.

  Them.

  Parsifal

  Thelia refuses to look at me. Fine, so maybe I shouldn’t have brought up elves, but I thought it was all so long ago that she’d reward me with a laugh.

  No point staying now—the drama’s passed. Bayled and Corene have excused themselves, leaving the nobles whispering. This would be the perfect opportunity to put in a good word for Dad with Nul se Lan. Not that any amount of ass-kissing could rebuild everything our family lost when the Kingdom conquered Frefois.

 
I leave the banquet room without a word. Four Halls is so quiet that the heels of my light shoes echo on the stone as I head to the courtyard to reclaim my carriage. The painted faces of long-dead nobles watch me go by, judging me for being such a craggon.

  Back when Thelia’s chest was flat and I hadn’t yet begun longing for her, we stayed particularly late at Four Halls one night, playing games with Bayled and the Princess that usually devolved into teasing Bayled and Corene defending him. We gave the Queen such a headache that she put us in the royal sitting room with the dogs so Corene could get her beauty rest. We fell asleep in front of the fire—but I leapt awake to Thelia’s screams.

  She clawed the air, and I pulled her to my chest so she couldn’t hurt herself. When she became lucid again, I asked with a trembling voice, “What was that?”

  “Them.”

  “Who?”

  “Elves.” Her voice turned to sobs. “With those awful eyes, shiny and beady—no whites. Too far apart, too big for their wrinkly gray heads.” She shuddered. “Their teeth were sharpened to points.”

  I’d never seen an elf—no one in the Holy Kingdom has. But even in the old stories, they’re nothing like Thelia’s dreams. Our tutors taught us the basics: the long ears live on Magic; they maintain a small armed force to keep giants out of their glass city; they rarely breed and rarely die. And before the Split, they rained terrible destruction on humans who had overstepped their bounds.

  This Kingdom has always feared the elves, even though centuries have passed since we last saw them. And for years they came to Thelia in her nightmares.

  I only said it because of my recent dalliance with the indomitable Derk, who let slip that the usual nebulous chatter about the long ears has intensified. Lords from the southern parts of the Holy Kingdom have quietly traveled to Melidihan with their court wizards, requiring extra bread and cakes and scones that Derk bakes and delivers. While he lays out trays of pastry, they talk in quiet tones about “peculiar Magical frequencies”—whatever that means. Something is happening behind the curtains, and tonight’s announcement has everything to do with it.