“We don’t know where those arrows came from!”
“Don’t we? What other kingdom dyes their arrows red and wants to get their hands on Galandria’s wealth?”
“It wasn’t the Kyrenicans!” Lord Quinlan shouts back at him. “You know who wanted the king dead—and you assured us he and his men were taken care of! If someone is to be held responsible for this, it should be you!”
Lord Quinlan rushes over to my father, who appears to be going in and out of consciousness. “Your Majesty! I swear we checked the Clock Tower. You know I protect you as though you are my brother. You and I were boys together!”
“Lord Murcendor, Lord Quinlan, hold your tongues!” Lord Royce admonishes them and glances at me. “You are upsetting the princess.”
Patric comes over. “Princess, you’re pale. Come sit down.” He tugs at my arm, but I don’t move. My eyes are drawn to the red trickle by my ankle.
“Princess? Wilha”—I feel Patric shaking me—“Are you all right?”
Just as Patric lifts the hem of my dress and shouts, “The princess has been hurt!” The weight of Lord Murcendor’s words sink in.
If he is right, if Kyrenica is behind the attack, then that means the Strassburgs, my future in-laws, have just tried to assassinate me.
CHAPTER 14
ELARA
A strange clanking sound awakens me. Darkness meets my eyes and my head throbs. I remember Cordon screaming my name, and red arrows flying toward the royal family. Was I struck by an arrow? But a quick hand to the back of the head tells me no. The ache is from a lump on my scalp.
A fire hangs in the dark sky. At first I assume I’m lying in Eleanor Square, and that the sun is setting. Or maybe it’s rising? Yet my eyes don’t adjust in the surrounding darkness, and the ground beneath me feels soft, like hay. When I take a deep breath and my lungs fill with air that is both dank and musty, I realize I’m indoors. But how did I get here? And where is my satchel?
I roll over—and promptly fall to the floor. I sit up and my head starts pounding. Panic rises in my chest. “Cordon? Cordon are you there!”
“You shouldn’t scream.” A faint, hoarse voice echoes from behind me. “They will only hit you harder.”
“Who’s there? Where am I?” I call, but the darkness swallows my words.
“We’re in the place where it all started,” answers the voice. “And the place where it all ends.”
“What?” I stand up shakily and move toward the voice. “Where are we?” I say again. I stare at the faint orange glow and realize it’s not the sun, but the last flickering embers of a mounted torch. I take a few more steps, and cold metal brushes my hand. Bars. I’m being kept in a cell?
In Eleanor Square I remember guards screaming. I remember Cordon telling me to watch out. But there was something else, wasn’t there? Before the world went dark, I had seen something. What was it?
In the dim torchlight, I see someone huddled in the cell next to mine. And when my eyes adjust, I realize it’s someone I know.
“Mister Travers?”
He is slumped against the bars and his clothes are torn. I crouch down to get a better look at his face. His cheeks, once full, are now sunken. Dry blood crusts his face and his hands, and purple bruises shadow his glazed eyes. “Are you a ghost?” he whispers.
“It’s me, Mister Travers. It’s Elara.” I give him a small shake and then touch his forehead. He’s burning up.
“Elara?” he says dreamily. “Lord Finley wasn’t sure where she was, but we knew if we watched him close enough, we’d eventually figure out where he hid her.” His eyes flutter closed.
“Lord who? What are you talking about?” He’s not making any sense. If we are being kept in cells, are we in Allegria’s prison, despite what the guard told me earlier about Mister Travers not being here? But why am I here?
“I failed her,” he says and begins to weep. “The guards are coming for me. The order has been signed. They only kept me alive this long so I would tell them where the others are. And to my everlasting shame, I told them.” He weeps harder.
The sound of clanking metal and jingling keys followed by rough laughter makes me jump. Flickering torchlight appears in the distance. This may be my last chance to talk to him.
“Mister Travers, listen to me!” I shout, as he weeps louder. “You haven’t failed me. I’m right here. You did find me, remember? You said you knew my mother. Who was she?”
The clanking grows louder. It seems to penetrate Mister Travers’s delirium. He stops weeping and his eyes clear. “Elara?” He glances in the direction of the brightening torchlight, and grasps my hand tightly. “Whatever you do, don’t trust the Guardians.”
“I don’t understand. What are you—”
The door to Mister Travers’s cell opens and two guards step in and seize him. Just before they drag him away he shouts, “Don’t trust the Guardians! The king’s secret has poisoned them!”
CHAPTER 15
WILHA
I sit by my father’s bedside and hope he will awaken. His face is pale and his breathing is labored. An arrow only grazed my ankle. Although it bled a lot, it is already healing. But my father has not been so fortunate. His physician was able to successfully remove the arrow from his cheek, but he has lapsed into a fevered unconsciousness. If I listen carefully, I can hear the cries of the people echoing from the palace gates, as the city waits to hear the fate of their injured king.
Eight Maskrens, four palace guards, and two Guardians have died in the assassination attempt. The masquerade ball has been canceled. Sir Reinhold has sworn an oath that, despite appearances, Kyrenica had nothing to do with the attack and that they have every intention of honoring the treaty. King Ezebo himself has sent pigeons carrying messages reaffirming his commitment to the treaty.
As I sit here and wait, the Guardian Council is gathered for an emergency session to determine Galandria’s response, as well as my future.
I take my father’s slackened hand. The physician did a remarkable job, but the wound has puckered into an angry welt. For the rest of his life, however long or short it is, my father will bear a jagged scar upon his cheek.
What will he do when he awakens and sees his new face? Will King Fennrick the Handsome dare to appear in public? Or will he, too, wear a mask?
A firm knock hits the door and it opens. The remaining members of the Guardian Council file into the room.
“Has the council reached a decision?” I ask.
“We have,” answers Lord Royce.
I need not listen to his long, formal explanation. From the seething anger I read in Lord Murcendor and Lord Quinlan’s expressions, and the way the other Guardians look everywhere but in my eyes, I know the answer.
“. . . The council is inclined to believe that the assassination attempt was perpetrated by men still loyal to Lord Finley, not the Kyrenicans, and so we will move forward with the treaty,” Lord Royce finishes.
I nod. No one has spoken to me directly about Lord Finley, one of my father’s former Guardians, but I have heard servants whispering of his treachery. Many of them attended his execution.
“Lord Finley’s men were disorganized and stupid,” Lord Murcendor interjects. “I have no doubt the Kyrenicans were behind the attack.”
“Your views on this matter have already been heard, and were overruled.” Lord Royce stares impassively at Lord Murcendor. “You will forgive me, but no one in this room believes you can be objective when it comes to the princess.” Lord Murcendor glares at him, but says nothing.