The Spy Princess Page 8

  Our chambers were royal, all right. My room was enormous, lit by many glowglobes. The walls were decorated in elaborate plasterwork—climbing golden-leafed vines and tiny roses of every shade of pink, with buds made from coral. The curtains and upholstery were embroidered with gold leaves and pink roses.

  I looked more closely at the flowers on the walls. Whose hands had set them there, and when? What unknown artist had painted each one so carefully that the plaster petals showed gradations of color? What princess had looked at them in the past, and what had been her feelings?

  My thoughts were broken when an almost invisible door opened beside the wardrobe. Out stepped Deon, all clean and neat and dressed in servant gray! She grinned at my surprise. “Hi, Lilah.”

  I gaped. “Who told you?” Because there was no chance she would have been so friendly if she hadn’t known about my Larei disguise.

  “Bren. And Lizana put me in charge of hiding your secret things, and here they are.” She pulled out the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. There were my underclothes, neatly folded, dried rose petals scattered among them. She lifted everything up to reveal my Larei disguise and the fashion book. I exhaled in relief. “I’m supposed to ask if you want anything before I go down to the guest suite and wait on those snobs.”

  “Well, the father might be a snob, but the boy—Innon—is on our side.”

  Deon put her hands on her hips. “Really?” I nodded. “I’ll be sure to tell Lizana. And Bren . . . and Derek,” she ended, in a testing sort of voice.

  “Good,” I said. “As for what I want . . . just for something to happen! Something besides the boredom here, I mean.”

  “Derek says soon. What a prime place for some real slam justice!” I’d heard that phrase from Bren, too. Before I could ask what it meant, Deon gave me a challenging look. “Do you want me to brush out your hair or something?”

  “No, I do all that myself. I don’t want a lady’s maid.”

  “And everyone talks about how you don’t yet have one, as if that’s a bad thing. Hoo, do they gossip! You’ll have to have one when you turn sixteen, Lizana said.”

  “All the more reason for a revolution,” I retorted with careless cheer. “I don’t want somebody lurking around whose entire job is to make me fashionable and tattle when I go barefoot.”

  “Who’d actually want to be a maid?” Deon looked around in disgust. “I’m doing it for Derek. Though I have to admit, it’s nice to have baths each morning—as long as we’re out before sunrise, so you nobles can use them the rest of the day.” She was still challenging me. I shrugged—it wasn’t as if I could change things. She scowled at the rose-colored carpet. “And it’s good to get plenty of food, but it’s turned everyone here into tamed pets.”

  “You mean the servants? They don’t want a revolution?”

  “None that I’ve met. Oh, they all complain about the nobles—you ought to hear them!” She hooted. “But change? Not a chance! They like living in a palace right fine. As for a fight for freedom, they act like it’s a horrible idea.”

  “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

  One 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 brea
the 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.