“What you remember,” he interjects, “is the wet nurse we placed you with until I located a family to take you. The Ogdens.”
I swallow and open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. Because his words make sense. The arrange-ment with the Ogdens is unusual, isn’t it? Why had I never thought to question it?
Am I the king’s secret?
I am the daughter of King Fennrick, I try the words out in my mind, but they don’t seem to fit. Yet I can’t help remembering every evil word Mistress Ogden said about my mother, all the dirty names she called her. Was my mother such a woman? A woman who thought her life had changed for the better when she caught the king’s eye, only to be cast aside later, after she had served her purpose?
But why wasn’t I allowed to stay with her? Why the wet nurse? Why couldn’t the treasury have paid my own mother to care for me somewhere in obscurity? Was it because she knew the king’s shameful secret was considered a threat? Is she even alive now?
“Did you kill her?” I ask, swaying slightly.
“I am afraid you will have to be more specific,” Lord Murcendor says.
“My mother. After she gave birth, did you kill her? Because you were afraid one day she’d proclaim her daughter the bastard child of King Fennrick the Handsome?”
The Guardians glance at each other, seemingly perplexed. “You misunderstand,” Lord Quinlan answers. “Your mother was Queen Astrid. It is pure royal blood that flows through your veins.”
I am poised to argue. If I am a princess, why was I given to the Ogdens? Why haven’t I grown up in the Opal Palace?
Before I can ask them this, Lord Murcendor rises and knocks on a door behind him. “You may come in now.”
The door opens, and a golden statue enters the room.
CHAPTER 17
WILHA
The Guardians bow as I enter the room. The girl across the room remains standing. I read the confusion in her eyes and realize they have not told her. Lord Murcendor’s kindness in telling me a couple weeks ago, and giving me time to understand and accept it (in so far as that can be possible) has not been extended to her.
The girl glances from me to the Guardians. She is dirty and her hair is matted. Deep purple circles hang under her eyes and flea bites dot her arms. Covered in all that grime, it is almost too hard to believe she is who they say she is. Almost, but not quite.
“Your Highness,” Lord Murcendor says, bowing again. “You may proceed.”
All my life I have waited for this invitation. All those nights when I stared into my looking glass, I longed for the day when I could do this one small thing, and know truly, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I could hurt no one.
I reach behind my head and untie the mask. With shaking hands I remove it.
There are several sharp inhalations and the girl’s face whitens.
Lord Murcendor introduces us. He says the words. He gives her the explanation she probably never suspected, but the one I have searched for my whole life.
The girl’s face twists in disgust. Her rejection is sharp like an arrow.
And for the briefest of seconds, I want to put the mask back on.
CHAPTER 18
ELARA
I am staring at my own face. Except not quite. The girl standing before me has my exact features, but with slight differences. Her skin reminds me of cream and roses. The way she carries herself is different. As though her shoulders and waist are tied to an invisible post, forcing her to stand straight. She wears a gold dress and her necklace of keys make a tinkling melodic sound as she steps forward. And in her hands she carries the jeweled mask she just removed.
The Guardians, except for Lord Murcendor, stare at us in awe.
“So alike,” Lord Quinlan murmurs. “For so many years I have wondered.”
“For sixteen years, we have all wondered,” answers Lord Royce.
“Elara, may I introduce Princess Wilhamina Andewyn.” Lord Murcendor pauses, and adds, “Your twin sister.”
“That’s imposs—” I begin, but stop as the memory I’ve been searching for finally surfaces. In Eleanor Square, just before I was knocked unconscious, I had seen Princess Wilha-mina’s mask come undone. And it had occurred to me that her face reminded me of another.
My own.
I can’t tear my eyes away from her. Our height, our green eyes, our brown hair—we’re identical. But this girl, this other me, she’s quaking. As though our stares are too much for her to bear.
Lord Quinlan says to me, “There is a stool behind you.” To Princess Wilhamina he says, “If you would care to sit down as well, Your Highness.”
Princess Wilhamina looks quickly at Lord Murcendor, who nods, before she settles herself on a marble throne across from where I take a seat on the stool. Seeing a girl with my face huddled on a throne makes my neck prickle.
Lord Quinlan saunters to the middle of the room with a grand smile on his face. He circles around, taking his time, clearly enjoying the moment.
“Where to begin?” he says. “When it was discovered that Queen Astrid had given birth to twins, the king summoned four of the Guardians: myself, Lord Murcendor, Lord Royce, and another to witness the occasion. When we arrived, the king was almost mad with grief. The last time twins were born to the ruling Galandrian monarch was a century ago, with the birth of Rowan and Aislinn Andewyn. Back then, it was simply assumed that the older twin would rule, and that the line of succession would continue on peacefully. No one could have foreseen that Aislinn Andewyn—the Great Betrayer—would become a bitter woman. Bitter enough to betray her own sister and cause the splitting of our kingdom, thereby bringing about the fulfillment of the Legend of the Split Opals.
“But this time, the king had the advantage of his own family history. There was much unrest in Galandria in those days. Many feared revolution, just as they do now. And another set of twins could be seen as yet another premonition. Another split of a great and glorious kingdom by two heirs both bent on ruling.
“The king feared, and the three of us agreed, that if the birth of twins was announced, factions would immediately develop, supporting one girl over another, with the likely result one day being civil war. And so, the decision was made: There would be only one child born that day. Only one recognized princess of Galandria. And if the queen could conceive another child, the princess was to be removed from the line of succession. With neither of the twins knowing about the existence of the other, and neither of them in line to rule, it was thought the kingdom would be safe.”
I sit there numbly as Lord Quinlan explains how the midwife was sent abroad, and how one of the twins—myself—was smuggled out of the castle to be raised anonymously by a wet nurse until they could locate a suitable home. How Lord Murcendor was appointed to watch over her and keep her location a secret.
“Wait a minute,” I interrupt. “How did you decide?”
“Decide what?”
“How did you decide which twin would go and which would stay?” I need to hear him say it.
Lord Quinlan’s eyes meet mine. “Birth order. Princess Wilhamina was born seven minutes earlier than you.”
I nod. So when my father looked upon the second twin, he didn’t see her. He didn’t see me. He saw another Aislinn Andewyn. An act of treachery a century before I was born stole my future.
“So you decided to hand me over to an anonymous family to be treated as their servant?” I address my words to Mister Black—to Lord Murcendor.