Lord Quinlan seems to suppress a grin and says, “Would you mind terribly if I had a word alone with the girl?”
“Gladly.” Arianne sniffs and heads for the door.
After she is gone Lord Quinlan says, “The council has decided to move up the date of the princess’s departure, which means we only have a week to get you ready. You will need to listen carefully to Arianne. She will instruct you on a number of topics that you will find useful.”
I very much doubt that, but I nod politely. “Is this why you came to see me?”
“No.” He flicks his eyes over to the door, and lowers his voice. “I am here to suggest that there is yet another way you can prove your loyalty to the king.” He moves further into the room, and the thick jeweled necklaces he wears sway back and forth.
“What are you talking about?” I ask as he circles the room, running his fingers over the furniture as though checking for dust.
“Your sister carries a reputation for being obedient and . . . not altogether competent.” He turns back to me. “But you on the other hand, could prove quite useful. For a short time you will be living in the Kyrenican Castle, and have unprecedented access to the Strassburgs. And I would find it exceedingly . . . helpful if you could report back to me any information you may hear.”
“What sort of information?” After my “chat” with Lord Murcendor, I am smart enough to know this isn’t actually a request.
“Anything that strikes you as noteworthy. King Ezebo has sworn publicly he has no intention of attacking Galandria. But I should like to know what he says privately. Lord Royce has convinced the Guardian Council that there was simply not enough evidence to conclude that the Strassburgs were behind the assassination attempt. And though it pains me to admit it, he has a point. But,” he smiles, “if you could obtain information proving that Ezebo does not plan to uphold the treaty, I would be most grateful.”
“So you want me to spy?” I ask, sickened by the greedy look in his eyes. Doe he actually want Galandria and Kyrenica to go to war?
“I want you to be observant,” he corrects. “If you happen upon any information that you find useful, I will expect you to pass it along. And in doing so, you will convince me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you can be trusted.” He cocks his head. “Agreed?”
I suppress a shiver of revulsion and look him straight in the eye. “Agreed.”
It’s difficult to contain my awe. Arianne helped me change into a lavender gown—the finest I’ve ever seen—and led me through a passageway from the old servants’ quarters to Wilha’s closet. It is the same one, I assume, Wilha used to visit me a week ago.
I finger the lace of my sleeve as I look around. I knew Wilha had beautiful clothes, but being trapped for the last week in the old servants’ quarters, which seemed only slightly better than some of the rooms in Ogden Manor, I couldn’t have imagined this.
The room is bursting with gowns and jeweled dresses in fabrics so bright it makes my eyes hurt to stare at them. One whole wall is covered with glass cases containing hundreds of her masks. Dark cherry wood dressers line the other walls, which probably contain more jewels and shoes and other fine things. Strewn around the room are half-packed trunks swollen with even more dresses.
“Stop gawking and get a move on,” Arianne says as the passageway slides shut behind us. She leads us out of the closet and into what I assume is Wilha’s bedroom, where silky, gossamer fabric canopies a bed covered with thick velvet blankets. We walk into an adjoining sitting room full of finely crafted furniture where Wilha, Lord Murcendor, Lord Quinlan, and Lord Royce sit in gilded chairs. They rise when they see us.
“Stand side by side so we can get a look at the two of you,” Lord Quinlan says. Wilha obeys and moves next to me. She is wearing a brown cloak, and in her hands she holds a gold-threaded mask.
While Arianne and the three Guardians squint at us, I continue looking around the room. It appears that this sitting room leads to several other rooms besides Wilha’s bedroom.
“Are all these rooms just for you?” I whisper to Wilha.
Her cheeks flush. “Yes.”
“Wilha doesn’t have as many freckles on her nose,” Lord Quinlan says, still squinting.
“That will hardly matter,” Lord Royce points out. “Elara will be wearing the mask. I should think the nobles in attendance tonight will be quite fooled.”
Tonight I am to attend a farewell dinner in the Opal Palace, where the noblemen and women will make several toasts in “my” honor. Arianne has made it clear I am not to speak to anyone, nor will anyone be given the opportunity to speak to me. Meanwhile, in just a few minutes, Wilha will leave with a convoy of guards to begin her journey to Kyrenica. They will travel through back roads in humble carriages disguised as peasants, with Wilha posing as a Maskren. It’s an ingenious plan, really. For how can the princess be on the road when she is present at her farewell dinner?
And tonight if an assassin gets past the palace guards and into the feast? No matter. I’ll be there to take the arrows for the beloved Princess Wilhamina.
Tomorrow I will leave, also posing as a Maskren, with another set of guards disguised as peasants. We will travel over the more well-worn roads leading from Allegria to Kyrenica. Then, just before we enter Korynth, our two processions will converge, and we’ll make the final journey to the Kyrenican Castle together, with me posing as the Masked Princess.
Lord Quinlan tilts his head. “We need to see what she looks like with the mask. Wilha, will you please escort Elara back to your closet to fetch a mask?”
Wilha looks at me uneasily. We haven’t seen each other since the night she appeared in my room. More than once, as I tossed and turned on my bed in the servants’ quarters, I’ve wondered where Wilha spends her nights. I guess now I know.
“Bring out the mask with the lavender colored opals,” Arianne commands. “It will match the dress.”
Wilha nods, turns, and starts walking over to the closet. With a sigh, I follow her.
The masks inside the glass cases glisten with gilt and opals and other jewels. The smallest looks as though it was made for an infant, and I recognize the jeweled one at the very end as the mask Wilha wore in Eleanor Square.
“So many masks,” I murmur.
“New ones are given to me every year for my birthday.” She turns to me, and adds, “Our birthday, I mean. Happy belated birthday by the way.”
“What?” I say, startled.
“Happy belated birthday,” she repeats. “We turned sixteen last month.” She looks at me and frowns. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, I just . . . you’re the only person who has ever said that to me. The Ogdens didn’t know the date of my birth, so we never celebrated it.” Not that they would have celebrated it anyway.
“Oh.” Wilha stares at me, perhaps seeing more than she expected to.
“How do you open the glass cases?” I ask, changing the subject.
Wilha removes her necklace of keys. “The key is here, see? The twentieth one, clockwise from the clasp. The one with the emeralds. If you look closely, you can see it is a bit more worn than the others.” She opens the case, removes a mask, and hands it to me. She opens her mouth to say something, but Lord Murcendor coughs just then. Wilha takes it as a command and she turns and hastily exits the closet.
I run my fingers over the precious stones. Instead of seeing beautiful jewels, I can’t help but see all the food this mask could purchase. It could have fed me well all those nights I went hungry at the Ogdens. Actually, the sale of this one mask alone could probably feed an entire village for several months.
Everyone is waiting for me, but I pause as I look again at Wilha’s opulent chambers. Maybe it’s a good thing no one has offered to let me visit King Fennrick, sick though he is. Because if I saw him, near death or not, I couldn’t trust myself not to spit in his face.