The Princess in the Opal Mask

by Jenny Lundquist

  “It wasn’t my idea that I spend all morning looking for some blasted fan to satisfy Serena’s latest whim.”

  Cordon grins, and his gray eyes twinkle. “It was, actually. And I don’t think you have any intention of helping Serena tomorrow. You’ve got something else planned entirely. I just want to know what it is.”

  “I’ve just got a few things I need to take care of,” I say.

  Cordon’s grin vanishes, as though I’ve let him down. “When will you learn to trust those who care about you, enough to tell them the truth?”

  I look away. “I do trust you, Cordon.”

  I leave him standing at the foot of the stairs, aware I’m telling a lie neither of us believe.

  CHAPTER 10

  ELARA

  W hen I wake up the next morning, I quietly pull on my boots and grab my satchel, careful not to disturb Serena, who is still sleeping. Downstairs, I’m just about to step outside when Marinda, the innkeeper’s wife, asks me to follow her into the kitchen, where a man in a black cloak waits.

  “This is Gunther from the Royal Orphanage. He is here to see how you’re getting on.”

  Gunther nods. He has a pale, pockmarked face and aloof brown eyes which travel dispassionately up and down my body. “Is your stay in Allegria going well?” he asks once his gaze finally lands on my face.

  “It is, thank you.”

  Gunther continues to study me, his eyes moving over my features, and Marinda and I glance uneasily at each other.

  “Perhaps you’d like to stay for breakfast?” Marinda asks, gesturing to a pot of porridge bubbling over the hearth.

  Gunther finally tears his gaze away from me. “No, thank you,” he says to Marinda. And with another nod of his head he departs, leaving us to stare after him.

  Marinda frowns. “That was odd.”

  “Yes, it was,” I agree, “but Mister Blackwell, the orphanage director, is a bit odd too.”

  “That’s the thing of it,” Marinda says. “I don’t understand this business with the orphanage sending you here. I’ve never met Mister Blackwell. I had never heard of him before he sent us his letter and the payment for your rooms. But I’ve seen the outside of the orphanage, and I just don’t see how they can afford to sponsor a trip for you to visit Allegria.”

  I hesitate, unsure how to respond. I still don’t understand why Mister Blackwell pretended to know nothing about Mister Travers. But after all these years, experience has taught me he won’t answer any questions he doesn’t want to.

  Before I can answer, I hear the stairs creaking and the Ogdens’ bickering voices.

  “Could you at least make an attempt to look presentable while we’re here?” Mistress Ogden rants. “My father paid you a hefty dowry because he thought he was sending me into a proper noble family.”

  “Or maybe he was just desperate to be rid of you, dearest. Did you ever think of that?”

  I hastily bid Marinda a good day and leave before the Ogdens see me and change their mind about sending me on an errand.

  Outside, I make my way toward Eleanor Square. Bright morning sunlight glints off the opals inlaid in the cobblestone streets, giving the day a hazy, rainbow-colored feel. The city is even more crowded today. Several men huddle together in groups, speculating about the king’s address and hoping he’ll have something to say about the rising price of grain and the rumors of a brewing war with Kyrenica. I pass a group of women wearing glittery costume masks who debate over what Princess Wilhamina will be wearing during the address.

  Eleanor Square is a large open area bordered by the Galandrian Courthouse on the west and the Clock Tower on the east. The Allegrian Historical Library marks the north side and on the south is the Royal Opera House. The Opal Palace, a monolith of creamy stone and twisting turrets is visible from the Square, rising up on a hill over the southernmost section of Allegria.

  I buy an apple tart from a vendor near the Clock Tower and ask him to point me toward the prison.

  “It’s just over that way,” he answers. “Make a left at the next street, and you can’t miss it.”

  The prison is several stories high, topped by a watch tower. I approach slowly, finishing off my apple tart and watching as a man and woman knock on the entrance gate, which is opened by a palace guard. They speak with him briefly before being shown inside.

  This is it. If I’m ever going to find out what Mister Travers knows about me and my family—or if he is my family, the time is now. I pound on the gate. When it opens, a guard with bristly black hair peers out at me.

  “Yes,” I begin, “can you help me—”

  “State your name and the name of the prisoner you wish to see,” he interrupts, leaning against the gate.

  “My name is Elara, and I wish to visit Mister Travers.”

  He eyes me suspiciously. “There is no one here under that name.”

  He begins to close the gate, but I put my hand out to stop him. “He may have come in under a different name. He would have come from the village of Tulan, approximately two weeks ago.” I tilt my head and let my hair fall over my shoulder. Give him my most charming smile. “Surely there must be a way to find out if you’re holding someone of that description?”

  It works. He returns my smile, revealing a mouthful of gray teeth. “Maybe. What’s it worth to you?”

  I open my satchel and remove my four worthings. Wordlessly, he snatches them out of my hand. “Stay here,” he says, and shuts the gate.

  While I wait, I imagine all the questions I will ask Mister Travers. Several minutes later, the gate opens and the guard emerges. “I spoke with the warden.”

  “And? What did he say?”

  He looks pointedly at my satchel, until I open it and hand him the three worthings Mistress Ogden gave me the night before. I tell myself I’ll think up a good excuse for why I came back without the money or the fan. “That’s everything I have. Now what did the warden say?”

  He stuffs away the coins. “He said no prisoners from Tulan have been admitted in the last month.”

  With that, he slams the gate shut.

  His words settle over me like heavy chains. Chains that will keep me bound to the Ogdens. Blindly, I trudge back up the streets, pushing angrily against the crowd of people making their way to Eleanor Square. I drop onto a bench next to the fountain of King Fennrick, open my satchel and yank Mister Travers’s book from it. Of all the things my mother could have left me, there has to be some reason why she chose this dusty old history book.

  I flip through the dog-eared pages. Just like I’ve done a hundred times in the last two weeks, whenever I was out of sight of the Ogdens. I’m searching. For what, I don’t know. A sign from my mother, maybe. Something to tell me who she was and who she might have been—who I might have been—if she hadn’t given me up. The only memory I have of my mother is a vague, hazy image of a kind-faced woman, her curly red hair tickling me as she sang a lullaby. Or at least, I’ve always assumed she was my mother.

  I settle on a page and begin reading:

  The Legend of the Split Opals weighed heavily on Eleanor in her final years. Indeed, she called for her physicians often and said she was haunted by nightmares. She claimed that in these dreams she saw who would eventually cause the Opal Split. “Me,” she was said to have confessed. “She looked just like me.”

  I stop reading at the sound of Serena’s voice, coming from a nearby bench. A rose bush sits between the benches, shielding us from view of each other. I can barely make out her words. Something about a fan and a new dress, I think.

  I slam the book shut. For Eleanor’s sake, what more could she possibly want? Slippers made of pure gold? Hair ribbons blessed by the Masked Princess herself?

  “I don’t care about a silly fan,” she says.

  “You could’ve fooled me,” comes Cordon’s teasing voice. “I think your mother’s not the only fine actress in the family.”

  “Yes.” Serena laughs. “But worthings or not, Mother would never send her away
, not as long as she thinks I have need of her.”

  Their voices are drowned out by children splashing in the fountain. I lean into the rose bush—nearly getting stung on the ear by an irritated honeybee—and strain to hear them. My stomach tightens. Why are Serena and Cordon resting together on a bench?

  “We’ll have to tell them soon,” Serena is saying. “We can’t wait forever.”

  Cordon is silent for a moment. “You’re right. But let me tell Elara first.”

  Fed up with being able to only hear half of what they’re saying, I stand up and step out from around the rose bush. “Tell me what?”

  But when I see Cordon and Serena’s clasped hands, the meaning of their words becomes all too clear. Small details click into place: the growing distance between Cordon and me, his insistence that Serena has changed. . . .

  I am a blind fool.

  The shock in their faces mirrors my own. “You two? You’re . . . together? How long?” I sputter at them.

  Cordon jumps up. “Not long, Elara. And I wanted to tell you—Serena told me from the beginning I needed to say something.”

  Serena rises and nods. “Yes, Elara. I was unkind to you when we were children, and I’m sorry for that. But I swear I—”

  “Do you love her?” I ask Cordon, ignoring Serena.

  Cordon grabs my hand, his eyes pleading. “I’m so sorry, Elara. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but . . .” He says a bunch of words, of how they ran into each other one day and suddenly things between them were just . . . different.

  “But . . . I thought you loved me?” My words come out plaintive, and I hate myself for it.

  “When we were children, I did love you. As much as you’ll let anyone love you. But sometimes I’m not sure I even know you, Elara. I need someone who will tell me how she really feels, someone who will let me in. Someone who will let me love her.”

  I nod blindly because I understand. I am not like other girls. I am broken. I am not normal.

  “But I still remember the promise I made to you,” Cordon is saying. “And Serena and I have been trying to figure out a way to—”

  “What?” His words rip me out of my reverie. “You told her? You told her of your promise?” I look at Serena. She does nothing to hide the pity in her eyes. How pathetic I must seem to her. All this time while I’ve wondered why Cordon hasn’t asked me to marry him, they’ve been meeting secretly and discussing me. As though I’m a problem the two of them have to solve.

  “Once we’re married, you can come live with us,” Serena says. “You don’t have to stay with my parents. I know my mother can be—”

  “I would never be your maid,” I hiss at her.

  Cordon pales. “That’s not what she meant.” He looks at Serena. “Right?”

  Serena pauses before she nods. “Right.”

  “Not as our maid,” Cordon continues. “You could be—well, I don’t know what, exactly, but not our maid.”

  “How kind of you,” I say.

  A thousand knives stab at my heart, and I envision the pain as a small, ugly box—one that I crush with a mallet. Then I imagine stuffing the broken box somewhere deep within me where I won’t have to feel it.

  Tears are prickling my eyes. But I refuse to let them see. “I hope you’ll be very happy together.” I manage to choke out the words.

  And then I run.

  CHAPTER 11

  WILHA

  Guards flank either side of my family and the ten Guardians as we travel the narrow underground tunnel which connects the Opal Palace to the Galandrian Courthouse in Eleanor Square. The palace is full of such passageways. Centuries ago my ancestors decided it would be safer for royalty to travel secretly underground and they built several tunnels connecting the palace to key sites in Allegria.

  Lit torches line the passageway, casting dim shadows on the stone walls, and I shudder at thinking of all the stone and packed earth above us.

  Lord Murcendor falls back at my side and puts an arm on my shoulder. “Just a few more minutes, and we will reach the courthouse. Remember, the guards will enter first, then the Guardians, then Andrei, and then you and your father.”

  “Why does Wilha get to enter last with Father?” comes my brother’s petulant voice from behind. “I am the future king of Galandria, not her.” I glance backward and see Andrei’s mouth pursed in displeasure.

  My father either does not hear Andrei or chooses to ignore him. He is laughing and jesting with Lord Quinlan while Lord Royce walks quietly behind them. Besides a good feast, my father loves nothing more than a grand entrance and a captive audience.

  “Hush, Master Andrei.” Lord Murcendor drops farther back, drawing even with Andrei. “Your father has an important speech to deliver and Princess Wilha is needed. When you are king of Galandria, you can make your own decisions.”

  Lord Murcendor, who has taken it upon himself to pay Andrei the attention my father does not, is the one person my brother listens to. Andrei quiets down and says, “Sorry, sir.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Lord Murcendor answers. “Royalty should never apologize.” He drops his voice and says something else, and Andrei whispers in return.

  Patric, who has been walking at my other side this whole time, takes the opportunity to whisper, “What does he mean by that, that you are needed in the king’s speech?” He glances around. “Apart from your father, everyone seems unusually grave. We are announcing a peace treaty, after all.”

  I smile faintly. “A treaty with your enemy is not always cause for celebration.”

  Now I wish I had told Patric the terms of the treaty. Because this moment will be the one that punctuates all the others, dividing our time together into the before and the after.

  “Whatever happens,” I whisper to him, “know that these last few months have been the best of my life.”

  “What exactly is that supposed to mean?” he says. But thankfully, Lord Murcendor falls back into step with me, preventing us from speaking further.

  When our procession reaches a dead end, a guard holds up his torch and inspects the stone wall. My ancestors marked the entrance and exit to each passageway by a small opal inlaid in the wall. The tunnels, and the methods of opening them, are known only to my family, the Guardians, and a select number of the palace guards.

  “Here it is,” he mutters and presses on the opal. The wall slides back, sending a wave of fresh air into the passageway, and my anxiety recedes slightly as I step into a small hallway in the Galandrian Courthouse.

  The guards extinguish their torches and we silently walk up the hallway and to the double doors that open out to Eleanor Square.

  The Clock Tower starts to toll and somewhere outside the royal trumpeters begin to play. When they finish, a guard addresses my father. “Your Majesty, it’s time.”

  The doors open out to Eleanor Square and sunlight falls upon our faces. With one last glance at Patric, I step outside.

  CHAPTER 12

  ELARA

  My satchel slams against my hip as I flee, and I hear Cordon running after me, calling my name. I push through the crowd and pass Gunther, the man from the orphanage, who is heading toward the inn.

  “Elara!” he calls out. “I must speak with you.”

  “Not now!” I shout back.

  Behind me, Cordon continues to call after me and I let myself get carried along by the crowd into Eleanor Square. Rose petals fall from the rooftops, and palace guards are stationed along the edge of the square. Trumpets begin to sound and I steal a glance backward. Cordon is scanning the crowd, still looking for me. I elbow my way toward the courthouse, hoping to put as much distance between us as possible. I’ll hide in the crowd while the king gives his speech and slip away afterward.

  With a final ringing crescendo, the trumpets cease and the doors to the courthouse open. Soldiers file out and surround the steps. The Guardians come next, clad in emerald green robes. I pay them little mind, though, as we all wait to see the royal family. Crown Prince Andrei co
mes out next, followed by King Fennrick, who wears an ornate crown bristling with opals atop his head. And finally, Princess Wilhamina emerges from the courthouse.

  Like the rest of the crowd, I gasp in awe. Her mask and dress, adorned with more jewels than I can begin to count, glitter in the sunlight. A thick necklace made of jeweled keys hangs around her neck. As she steps forward to take her place next to her father, several people raise their fans to cover their eyes.

  “Please, Masked Princess!” The man next to me holds a gaunt little boy over his head. “My son is ill. Only look at him, and he shall be healed!”

  “Healed?” shouts a haggard woman with stringy white hair. “The princess can heal no one. A curse is what she is! Raise your fans! Protect yourself from the Masked Princess!” She holds her fan over her face and continues railing against the princess until two palace guards appear and drag her away.

  I cast a look back into the crowd. I can see Cordon, but he hasn’t located me yet. I push forward, until I’m standing behind several Maskrens who are lined up only a few feet away from the row of soldiers.

  Silence falls over the crowd as King Fennrick raises his hands. “Citizens of Galandria!” he says, “It is my great honor to celebrate the sixteenth birthday of Princess Wilhamina with you in our esteemed capital, the illustrious city of Allegria! To all of you who have journeyed many miles, I bid you welcome and I thank you, for it does me great honor.

  “Today I come to you with the most joyous news. For months you have been hearing of an impending war with Kyrenica. Yet I say to you this day, fear not! For I have secured peace for our great kingdom. King Ezebo and I have pledged our mutual determination to avoid an escalation in hostilities. As a symbol of our goodwill, King Ezebo has pledged his son, and I have pledged my daughter—your own Princess Wilhamina—in a commitment of holy matrimony. Now the House of Andewyn and the House of Strassburg, at odds with each other for a century, shall be bound together for all time!”