The Princess in the Opal Mask

by Jenny Lundquist

  I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  “It’s all right, it’s just me,” Victor says with a concerned look on his face. “Didn’t you hear me, Willie? I was calling your name.”

  “Um, no, I did not.” I glance back over my shoulder. Anton and Jaromil are still there. They appear to be listening carefully to whoever is behind the rock. “I had thought to take a walk early this morning.”

  “I always fancy a good walk in the morning, myself,” Victor says. “And Rowan’s Rock is as good a place as any.”

  “Yes, and—” I break off as his words register. “Rowan’s Rock?”

  Victor nods. “It’s the big rock over there, the one rising up in the ocean,” he clarifies. “It was named after Rowan the Brave, the Galandrian queen. She had been condemned to death nearly a century ago, and yet, the night before her execution, she was spotted on this beach near that rock. The next day it was discovered she’d vanished from the castle. Legend says you can still see her sometimes, weeping for the kingdom she lost.” He offers me a burly arm. “Galina gets an early start, and I’m almost through here. Had to purchase fish for tonight’s dinner at the inn. Shall we head over to her shop now?”

  I hesitate, trying to think of good excuse to tell him no, and look over at Anton and Jaromil one last time. They have turned to face the docks where Victor and I stand, and seem to be staring at something in the distance. For a brief moment, I am certain they are looking at me.

  “That would be lovely,” I say quickly, deciding that I will have to climb the cliff later. As we set off toward the city, I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, that of course they were not looking at me.

  I also tell myself that the numbness I feel spreading through my chest is simply from the cold.

  CHAPTER 35

  WILHA

  A small bell jingles when Victor pushes open the door to Galina’s dress shop. Shelves containing bolts of lace and brightly colored fabrics line the room. A mirror sits in the corner. Upon a large claw-footed wooden desk are silver boxes of shiny buttons and glass jars filled with thread. Several girls about my age are seated on light green velvet couches. Each of them are busy stitching.

  “Is Galina around?” Victor asks.

  A girl with hair the color of spun gold stands. “Hi, Victor!” She glances at me and smiles. “Have another one for us, do you? Galina!” she calls to the back of the shop, “Victor’s here again!” She turns back to me. “I’m Kyra.”

  “I am—Willie,” I answer, almost forgetting my new name, and a couple of the other girls laugh quietly.

  I glance over at them, and am surprised to read the distaste in their eyes. Some of the girls are openly staring at my stained traveling cloak and dirty boots. It reminds me of the way the ladies at court stared at the peasants who came to the Opal Palace to see me wave from the balcony.

  An older woman with white hair tied up in a severe bun emerges from a back room. Her eyes glance from me to Victor. “I don’t need another mouth to feed,” she says flatly.

  “Galina, this is Willie,” Victor says. “She says she knows embroidery well.”

  “I don’t have a place for her to sleep,” Galina says, unmoved. “I gave the only bed I had to the girl you brought me last week.”

  “I’ve already given her a room at the Sleeping Dragon. Will you give her a job?” Victor smiles and raises his eyebrows, and despite his massive size and gruff manner, he looks charming, like an old, grizzled prince.

  “Oh honestly, Victor. How many more strays do you intend to take in?” Galina glowers at him, and then sighs and turns to me. “Do you have any samples?”

  “Samples?” I ask, confused.

  “Of your work,” she says, tight-lipped. “If I am to hire you, I must know you have the appropriate skills.” She casts Victor a furious look, and I read the dismissal in her eyes when she turns back to me. It is a look I saw often from Arianne and Vena.

  Suddenly, I am not standing here simply because I did not wish to be left alone on a beach with Anton and Jaromil. I want this job. Once I return to the Kyrenican Castle, any adventure I may have hoped to find will fade and will be replaced by the demands of royal life, and people like Arianne and Vena, who see me as nothing more than useless and fearful.

  I left the castle on my own accord. I will return to it when I have found a story to hang on to during the lonely days and years that are sure to follow. I see the image again, of me telling my daughter my story. The one only I know.

  “Here.” I hastily pull the handkerchief I had been sew-ing on the journey to Kyrenica from my cloak and hand it to Galina.

  Victor and I wait while she examines the stitching. “The technique here is excellent,” she says.

  “Thank you,” I answer, and as I stare at the dresses the other girls are working on I realize my skills far surpass theirs. This is unsurprising, I suppose, given all the practice I have had over the years. There was little else to do in the Opal Palace when I was not waving from a balcony or attending a royal engagement.

  “These are the Andewyn and Strassburg coat of arms,” Galina says, looking up.

  “Yes,” I answer quickly. “I intended it as a wedding present to the Masked Princess. I hear she is due to arrive in the city soon.”

  “We really could use more help,” Kyra says. “You were just saying so yesterday.”

  Galina nods and it is settled. She motions to the girls and they shift around on the couches, making a place for me. After inviting me to dine with him and James tonight at the Sleeping Dragon, Victor leaves, and Galina hands me a needle and a spool of thread.

  “Now then,” she says, “King Ezebo has planned a masquerade in the Masked Princess’s honor, and orders are already pouring in from ladies who are attending. I need someone to assist me with the embroidery on their dresses. Can you do that?”

  Galina stares at me expectantly, and something deep in my chest seems to detach and float up and out of my mouth in a laugh.

  “Yes,” I gasp amid everyone’s curious stares, “I can stitch dresses for the princess’s masquerade.”

  CHAPTER 36

  ELARA

  Thankfully my head is still attached to my neck. Somehow I’ve managed to survive my first two days in the Kyrenican Castle. The dinner with the Kyrenican nobles went all right—I think. The ladies complimented my mask and dress excessively. Of course, they also seemed positively gleeful when I knocked over a wine glass.

  After dinner, Leandra and Ruby escorted me back to my room. It seems I am expected to stay in my chambers when I’m not visiting with the Strassburgs or attending an engagement. I had planned on exploring the passageway after everyone retired for the evening, but after a day of pretending, I was exhausted and fell asleep.

  I was still tired when I woke up this morning. Wilha asked for time. How much does she expect me to give her? When I put my mask on today—a pale lemon-colored one with yellow fire opals that matches one of Wilha’s yellow gowns—it felt heavier than ever.

  As Milly helps me get ready for tea with Queen Genevieve, my thoughts turn to the squire. I have watched the comings and goings of the servants, but haven’t spot-ted him again. Has he left the castle? Our conversation in the kitchen was the only part of the last two days that I’ve actually enjoyed.

  “Oh, I nearly forgot,” Milly says, fastening a ribbon in my hair. “You received pigeons.”

  “Pigeons?” I repeat, snapping out of my reverie. What is she talking about?

  “Carrier pigeons?” Milly frowns. “Letters from the Opal Palace?”

  “Oh yes, of course,” I say hastily. “I’m sorry Milly. I’m feeling a bit dull today.”

  I press my nails into the palm of my hand and command myself to stop thinking about the squire and concentrate. I can’t forget, not even for a moment, where I am. And who I’m supposed to be.

  Milly hands me two folded pieces of parchment, and tells me that the princesses Leandra and Ruby will come and fetch me for tea. After she e
xcuses herself, I move to the sitting room and settle myself on an armchair. I take off my mask and blow out a breath.

  I open the first letter. It’s carefully worded, and very, very interesting. It’s from a soldier named Patric. I gather he was training Wilha to defend herself, which surprises me. I read his message several times over. I think I read, too, what he is so carefully trying not to say, and I’m surprised again. I wouldn’t have thought Wilha capable of what I suspect I see in this letter.

  I open the second letter and it is from Lord Quinlan.

  Your Highness,

  I hope you reached Kyrenica safely. Lord Royce, Lord Murcendor, and I expect to arrive in Korynth shortly before the masquerade and look forward to meeting with King Ezebo. Please remind your maid of her duty to you and to us.

  His words, too, are carefully worded, yet I understand the meaning of the last line:

  Guard the princess. Find out what you can about Ezebo, and if he intends to honor the treaty.

  A knock sounds at the door. “Come in,” I say absently, still holding the letter. Since I was received by Ezebo and Gen-evieve yesterday I’ve heard nothing to indicate that they are anything less than extremely pleased about the treaty. So what does Lord Quinlan expect me to do? Break into Ezebo’s—

  The door opens and a scream echoes.

  “Wilha, your mask!” Leandra says with a hand raised to her eyes, looking ready to faint. Behind her, Ruby stares at me wide-eyed.

  I quickly snatch up my mask and tie it on, cursing my own idiocy.

  “You’re not supposed to take it off!” Leandra cries. “No one is ever supposed to see your face!”

  “I know,” I say, rushing over and leading her to an armchair. “I was thoughtless. I’m sorry.”

  Ruby tugs at my skirt. “Wilha, are we cursed now?” she asks in a hushed voice. “Will we die?”

  Leandra gives a frightened whimper and hides her head in her hands.

  I crouch down until I’m level with Ruby. “No,” I reassure her firmly. “You will both be fine, I promise. No one in this room is cursed, not even me. It’s just a rumor, and not a very nice one.”

  “I don’t understand,” Ruby says. Her eyes search my mask, but I think she’s seeing beyond it, imagining my face. “You are not very ugly.”

  “Does that mean I’m only a little ugly?” I ask, and I see Leandra, color returning to her cheeks, suppress a grin.

  “No,” Ruby says, seeming to be thinking hard. “But if you are not cursed, and you are not really ugly, then why do you have to wear the mask?”

  I decide to tell Ruby a small truth, one I’m sure Wilha herself would agree with. “Because of all the things my father, King Fennrick the Handsome, has valued in this world, his daughter’s happiness is not one of them.”

  “You are different than I expected,” Leandra says as we make our way to Genevieve’s chambers. Now that she has gotten over her fright, she’s resumed her usual formal air.

  “Oh? How so?” I keep my voice casual and my eyes fixed on Ruby, who has skipped ahead of us.

  “I did not think you would be so bold. In the report Sir Reinhold sent us he said you were proper above all else.”

  “Really?” At this, my stomach tightens. “What else did the report say?”

  “Only what is expected when considering a betrothal. Was a similar report not given to you of my brother?”

  “If such a report exists, I wasn’t allowed to read it,” I say carefully. “But I am curious to know what yours said of me.” Tell me everything, I want to say. Everything you might know about Wilha that I don’t.

  Leandra’s lips suppress a grin. “It said you hate potatoes.”

  “Yes, I do,” I reply automatically, surprised that Wilha and I actually have something in common. Mistress Ogden made me peel so many, I’ve lost my taste for them.

  Leandra looks troubled. “But I was merely poking fun. The report actually said you complimented the potato stew you ate in the ambassador’s presence. He suggested we serve it here in the castle.” She shrugs. “I only thought it was funny he mentioned it.”

  I force a laugh. “Of course. I was merely joking as well.”

  Leandra nods, yet from the way she stares, I’m not quite sure she believes me.

  I rush ahead to break some of the tension and join Ruby, who leads me out on a balcony overlooking the city. “Father says crowds will gather outside the castle gates to see you tomorrow night. Can I go out with you Wilha, please?”

  Leandra catches up to us and says we must move along or we’ll be late. As we make another turn, two men wearing scarlet robes are exiting a room halfway down the corridor. With a start, I realize I recognize this hallway, and that door. It’s the one with the gargoyle door handle. The same door the squire caught me trying to open two nights ago.

  “The plans are coming along,” the first one says.

  “I agree,” says the second man, shutting the door behind him. “I will tell the king—”

  Upon seeing us, both men quickly stop talking. “I hardly think the northern wing is fit for foreigners,” the first man says to Leandra, with a pointed glance at me.

  “Of course.” Leandra, flushing, grabs my arm and hurries me away. When we have turned the corner I ask, “Those men are your father’s advisors, aren’t they? What were they discussing?” But she just shakes her head and replies that we mustn’t keep her mother waiting.

  She moves ahead, but I can’t help look back and wonder what was in that room that Ezebo’s advisors—and the squire—don’t want me to see.

  We turn down a few more corridors. Voices carry from the room Leandra marks as Queen Genevieve’s chambers.

  “I don’t know why Ezebo thought he needed to fetch a wife for my grandson from the most barbaric kingdom in the world,” comes an unpleasant female voice.

  “Eudora, hush. She will arrive any minute,” answers another voice, which I recognize as belonging to Queen Genevieve. She says something else but I don’t hear what. Eudora, Ezebo’s mother, the dowager queen, has pleaded a headache the last two days, so I have yet to meet her. But I heard quite a bit about her from Arianne, who referred to her as the Great Viper.

  We arrive at the door and Leandra hesitates before walking in, looking at me with a horrified expression. I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her. I want to hear this. And I want to catch them off guard.

  “She cannot help being an Andewyn anymore than we can help being Strassburgs,” Genevieve says.

  “You are not a Strassburg by birth, Genevieve,” Eudora snaps.

  “Of course,” Genevieve says. “But if we are to truly accept her into the family, we must see past her origins.”

  “Humph. Never trust a Galandrian. They will dazzle you with their wealth and then stab you in the back when you’re not looking. As far as I am concerned they are all a bunch of—”

  “Good afternoon,” I say as I step inside. Next to me, Leandra’s shoulders slump and Ruby skips ahead of us to give her mother a hug.

  Genevieve gives me an apologetic look as she reaches down to Ruby. But Eudora, the dowager queen, looks at me with unkind and appraising blue eyes that see out of a small wrinkled face.

  An awkward silence descends as we all look at each other. The only sound in the room comes from the crackling of the fire. The walls of the room are covered in red tapestries. Behind Genevieve and Eudora is a dining table made of dark cherry wood.

  Eudora shoos away Ruby, who tries to hug her. “Your dress is stained,” she snaps, and Ruby’s face falls. “Genevieve, how many times do I have to tell you to take a firmer hand with your daughter?” Eudora looks me up and down, staring everywhere but in my eyes. “She has small hips,” she remarks to Genevieve, as though I’m not in the room. “It is a good thing we were able to secure so much from the Galandrian treasury. With hips like those, I doubt my grandson will be able to get any sons from her.”

  Eudora’s leering stare feels dirtier than any I’ve ever received from men a
t the Draughts. Great Viper, indeed. For once, Arianne’s assessment seems to have been right on target.

  “Have the barbarians in Galandria taught you nothing?” she snaps, her eyes taking in my dress distastefully. “You don’t wear your finest gown to afternoon tea.”

  “This is hardly my finest gown.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. It’s only then that I notice Genevieve and Eudora, as well as Leandra and Ruby, are wearing dresses in muted shades.

  Eudora’s cheeks seem to swell. “How dare you—”

  “Eudora, I don’t think she meant anything by it—” Genevieve begins.

  “Nonsense, Genevieve. I know when I am being insulted, and I won’t have it. Not in my own home. And certainly not by a barbarian.”

  I open my mouth, but quickly bite back the tart reply rising to my lips. And though I’m clenching my hands so hard my nails bite into my palms, I force myself to say, “I’m sorry,” in a demure, soft voice. “I wasn’t quite sure what the Kyre-nican expectations were for afternoon tea.”

  “Apology accepted,” Genevieve cuts in before Eudora can speak. “Shall we sit down?” she says with forced pleasantness, and everyone makes their way to the table.

  I had thought “tea” meant sitting down for, well, a cup of tea and maybe a few slices of bread. That is what passed for tea at the Ogdens. But apparently royalty has a different standard. Platters of fruit, cheeses, olives, and bread are spread out on the table before us. Several forks and knives frame either side of the plate in front of me. Really, why do the wealthy require so many utensils just to eat a single meal?

  Probably because they never have to wash their own dishes.

  Genevieve and everyone else seem to be staring at me expectantly. I’m not sure what to do, so I say, “What smells so good?”

  “Ah,” Genevieve says approvingly, “that is the scarlet tea. It is a Kyrenican specialty. I believe I may have fallen in love with it before I did with the king.” She smiles at me, ignoring a sharp look from Eudora, and signals to a maid hovering in the corner. “Please pour the princess a cup of scarlet tea.”