She grimaced. “Yeah, kind of.”
“How can you ‘kind of’ be a princess?”
“Well, I can’t inherit the throne,” she said. “I renounced any claim on it when I joined the Knights of Crystallia. Vow of poverty and all that.”
The crowd milled about us, some exiting the room, others stopping—oddly—to gawk at my grandfather and me.
I should have realized that Bastille was royalty. Prison names. She has one, but her mother doesn’t. That was an easy indication that her father’s family was of an important class. Besides, stories such as this one always have at least one hidden member of royalty among the core cast. It’s some kind of union mandate or something.
I had several options at this point. Fortunately, I chose the one that didn’t make me look like a total dork.
“That’s awesome!” I exclaimed.
Bastille blinked. “You’re not mad at me for hiding it?”
I shrugged. “Bastille, I’m some kind of freaky noble thing myself. Why should it matter if you are too? Besides, it’s not like you were lying or anything. You just don’t like to talk about yourself.”
Brace yourselves. Something very, very strange is about to happen. Stranger than talking dinosaurs. Stranger than glass birds. Stranger, even, than my analogies to fish sticks.
Bastille got teary eyed. Then she hugged me.
Girls, might I make a suggestion at this point? Don’t go around hugging people without warning. To many of us (a number somewhere near half), this is akin to pouring an entire bottle of seventeen-alarm hot sauce in our mouths.
I believe that at this point in the story I made several very interesting and incoherent noises, followed perhaps by a blank expression and then some numb-faced drooling.
Someone was talking. “… I cannot interfere with the rules of Crystallia, Bastille.”
I fuzzed back into consciousness. Bastille had released me from her unprovoked, unregistered hug and moved on to speak with her father. The room had cleared out considerably, though there were still a number of people standing at the perimeter, curiously watching our little group.
“I know, Father,” Bastille said. “I must face their reprimand, as is my duty to the order.”
“That’s my girl,” the king said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “But don’t take what they say too harshly. The world is far less intense a place than the knights sometimes make it out to be.”
Draulin raised her eyebrow at this. Looking at them—the king in his blue-and-gold robes, Draulin in her silvery armor—they actually seemed to fit together.
I still felt sorry for Bastille. No wonder she’s so uptight, I thought. Royalty on one side, hard-line knight on the other. That would be like trying to grow up pressed between two boulders.
“Brig,” Grandpa Smedry said. “We need to speak about what the Council is planning to do.”
The king turned. “You’re too late I’m afraid, Leavenworth. Our minds are all but made up. You’ll have your vote, but I doubt it will make a difference.”
“How could you even consider giving up Mokia?” Grandpa Smedry asked.
“To save lives, my friend.” The king spoke the words in a wearied voice, and I could almost see the burdens he was carrying. “It is not a pleasant choice to make, but if it stops the war…”
“You can’t honestly expect them to keep their promises. Highlighting Heinleins, man! This is insanity.”
The king shook his head. “I will not be the king who was offered peace and passed it by, Leavenworth. I will not be a warmonger. If there is a chance at reconciliation … But we should speak of this someplace outside the public eye. Let us retire to my sitting room.”
My grandfather nodded curtly, then stepped aside and waved me over. “What do you think?” he asked quietly as I approached.
I shrugged. “He seems sincere.”
“Brig is nothing if not sincere,” Grandpa Smedry whispered. “He is a passionate man; those Librarians must have done some clever talking to bring him to this point. Still, he’s not the only vote on the Council.”
“But he’s the king, isn’t he?”
“He’s the High King,” Grandpa Smedry said, raising a finger. “He is our foremost leader, but Nalhalla isn’t the only kingdom in our coalition. There are thirteen kings, queens, and dignitaries like myself who sit on that Council. If we can persuade enough of them to vote against this treaty, then we might be able to kill it.”
I nodded. “What can I do to help?” Mokia couldn’t fall. I would make sure that it didn’t.
“I’ll speak with Brig,” Grandpa Smedry said. “You go see if you can track down your cousin Folsom. I put him in charge of Smedry affairs here in Nalhalla. He might have some insight about this whole mess.”
“Okay.”
Grandpa Smedry fished in one of the pockets of his tuxedo jacket. “Here, you might want this back.” He held out a single Lens with no coloring or tint to it. It glowed radiantly to my Oculator’s eyes, more powerfully than any I’d ever seen except for the Translator’s Lenses.
I’d almost forgotten about it. I’d discovered the Lens in the Library of Alexandria at the tomb of Alcatraz the First, but hadn’t been able to determine what it did. I’d given it over to my grandfather for inspection.
“Did you figure out what it does?” I asked, taking it from him.
He nodded eagerly. “There were lots of tests I had to do. I meant to tell you yesterday but, well…”
“You’re late.”
“Exactly!” Grandpa Smedry said. “Anyway, this is a very useful Lens. Useful indeed. Almost mythical. Couldn’t believe it myself; had to test the thing three times before I was convinced.”
I grew excited, imagining the Lens summoning the spirits of the dead to fight at my side. Or instead perhaps it would make people explode in a wave of red smoke if I focused it on them. Red smoke rocks.
“So what does it do?”
“It allows you to see when someone is telling the truth.”
That wasn’t exactly what I’d been expecting.
“Yes,” Grandpa Smedry said. “A Truthfinder’s Lens. I never thought I’d hold one myself. Quite remarkable!”
“I … don’t suppose it makes people explode when they tell lies?”
“Afraid not, lad.”
“No red smoke?”
“No red smoke.”
I sighed and tucked the Lens into a pocket anyway. It did seem useful, though after discovering it hidden in the tomb, I’d really been hoping for some kind of weapon.
“Don’t look so glum, lad,” Grandpa Smedry said. “I don’t think you understand the gem you hold in your pocket. That Lens could prove extremely useful to you over the next few days. Keep it close.”
I nodded. “I don’t suppose you have another pair of Firebringer’s Lenses you could lend me?”
He chuckled. “Didn’t do enough damage with the last pair, eh? I don’t have any more of those, but … here, let me see.” He fished around inside his tuxedo jacket again. “Ah!” he said, whipping out a pair of Lenses. They glowed with a modest light and had a violet tint.
That’s right, violet. I wondered if the people who forge Oculatory Lenses try to make us all look like pansies, or if that was just accidental.
“What are they?” I asked.
“Disguiser’s Lenses,” Grandpa Smedry said. “Put them on, focus on the image of someone in your head, and the Lenses will disguise you to look like that person.”
It seemed pretty cool. I took the Lenses appreciatively. “Can they make me look like other things? Like, say, a rock?”
“I guess,” Grandpa Smedry said. “Though that rock would have to be wearing glasses. The Lenses appear in any disguise you use.”