I stare at the Ogdens’ rickety carriage. I had hoped our two days on the road would give Cordon and me an opportunity to talk, yet Serena has always seemed to be underfoot, preventing us from having any time together. It hasn’t seemed like Cordon has minded as much as he would have when we were younger. Is it because he does remember his promise, and wishes he had never made it?
It was many years ago and he found me crying by the Eleanor River. Serena had struck me and called me a worthless servant who would never amount to anything—words she heard Mistress repeat thousands of times. I cried on Cordon’s shoulders and he swore Serena had no more sense than a drunk dingbat.
“But she’s right,” I cried. “I have no one. I can’t ever expect to marry, not without a dowry. I’ll spend my whole life here, if Mistress doesn’t throw me out first.”
“You don’t have no one,” Cordon protested. “You have me, and I won’t let anything happen to you. When I turn seventeen, I’ll marry you. I promise.”
I glance ahead at the carriage again. Cordon turned seventeen a few months ago, and from the growing tension between us I think he remembers his promise just as keenly as I do. But still, he hasn’t asked. And I’m not quite sure what I’d say even if he did ask.
I know I feel more than just affection for Cordon. But love? Sometimes I wonder if I’m even capable of loving another. I learned early on that if I was going to survive Mistress’s abuse, I would have to take the little girl who cried and craved another’s love and tuck her away, somewhere deep inside of me, where no one could ever find her.
All these years later, I wonder if that girl even exists anymore.
As the morning passes, the forest thins out and gives way to farmland, which soon yields to gently sloping hills. I climb another hill, always keeping the Ogdens’ carriage in sight, and suddenly, I’m in Allegria proper.
I’ve grown up hearing tales of Allegria’s grandeur. But nothing prepares me for the sight that greets me as I pass through the city gates. Gray stone buildings with golden spires rise up into a blue sky; and the cobblestone streets, inlaid with shards of common lavender opals, glitter in the sunlight.
Gargoyles perch on the tops of iron lampstands and stone buildings, watching the crowd below with evil grins. The streets are packed with carriages, and the city reeks of roasting meat, horse manure, unwashed bodies, and the warm, sugary smell of fresh apple tarts. Strung across the streets are banners wishing Princess Wilhamina happy birthday. Ladies wearing costume masks and pastel-colored dresses look into shop windows. A few brown-cloaked figures wearing gold-threaded masks stand on a street cor-ner, and I stop short when I see them. They appear to be Maskrens. I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never seen one before.
Vendors call out to passersby, begging them to buy their wares. A plump man carrying a stack of colorful fans jumps in front of me. He holds up one made of peacock feathers and white lace and shouts, “Official birthday ball fans! Cover your eyes and protect yourself from the curse of the Masked Princess! Only five worthings!”
Everyone, it seems, is trying to capitalize on the prin-cess’s birthday. One vendor parades a cart of costume masks up the street, calling out that it would honor the Masked Princess if women wore them. Another sells hair ribbons in shades of milky lavender or iridescent powder blue, calling out “Get your hair ribbons in the official colors of the House of Andewyn!”
All around me noblewomen are feverishly snatching up the trinkets. And I can’t help but wonder if any of them know how many families in Tulan will go hungry tonight.
Mister Blackwell arranged for us to stay at a place called the Fountain Inn, named for its proximity to the King’s Fountain, where water sprays out of the mouth of a stone statue of King Fennrick.
By the time I catch up to the carriage, Mistress Ogden has already checked in at the inn.
“Elara, get the trunks,” she commands. “Our rooms are on the second floor. Mister Blackwell only reserved three, so you’ll have to sleep on the floor in Serena’s room.”
“I’ll get the trunks,” Cordon says, hopping down from the carriage. “They’re heavy and then Elara can—”
“Nonsense,” says Mistress Ogden, “Go inside and rest up with Harold. Elara’s strong as an ox, and not much prettier.”
“Better strong as an ox than dumb as a donkey,” I retort, reaching into the carriage and yanking out my satchel. “Go on in,” I say to Cordon, shooing his hands away, “I don’t need your help.”
“You never need my help,” he answers. With a sigh he leaves, and a seething Mistress Ogden follows behind.
My opportunity to go to the prison comes a day later, when over a dinner of rabbit stew and cheese, Serena complains that she wants a decorative fan for the birthday ball.
“The entire city is already sold out of them,” she pouts. “We should have bought one when we first arrived. I don’t want to be the only girl who doesn’t have one.”
“Really? That’s odd,” I say, thinking fast. “I heard a couple of Allegrian women talking today—noblewomen, by the look of them—saying they were sending their servants across town to a shop that still had them.”
I stare down at my stew. I’m planting a seed, letting them believe their next thoughts will be their own.
“Elara will go for you in the morning, darling,” Mister Ogden says, drowsy from his third mug of ale. “The king is giving an address tomorrow in Eleanor Square; you won’t want to miss it.”
I ignore Cordon, who is looking at me suspiciously, and steal a quick glance over at Mistress Ogden. I’ve spent my whole life studying her. If I give any indication that I actually want to get sent on an errand, she’ll see to it that I spend the rest of the trip staring at the walls of the inn.
“But that shop was on the other side of the city!” I protest. “It will take me all morning to—”
“You will do exactly as we say and fetch that fan,” Mistress snaps. “Serena asks one small thing, as she is quite within her right to do, and you turn up your nose and sniff, just as you’ve done all your life—” She stops suddenly, realizing that several tables around us have fallen silent.
I give a grunt of frustration and mumble my assent to Mistress Ogden. Nothing on my face shows the triumph I feel.
Later, as I’m turning in for the night, Cordon meets me at the foot of the stairs. “What are you planning for tomorrow?” he whispers.
“What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. Now the Ogdens think it was their brilliant idea to give you free rein in the city tomorrow.”
“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.