While I sip the soup, which is a rich, fragrant broth tasting of onions and mushrooms, he adds wood to the fire. Then he leaves and returns with a tray for “my lady” as well as a plate of plum tarts. “I also found these. I think Cook was hiding them. Would you like some?” He grins and offers me a tart.
I accept the pastry, and we eat in silence. When I’m full, I settle back into my chair. The fire and the food have me feeling drowsy, and perhaps a little bit reckless. I should return to my chambers, I know. Or pretend to, anyway, and keep searching for Wilha.
But when I look into the squire’s liquid brown eyes, I find myself exhaling deeply, as though I’ve been holding my breath for a long time. Since the day I woke up in the Opal Palace’s dungeon, in fact. I want to pretend I am just a servant, not a princess. Or, it’s the princess role that’s the pretense—isn’t it?—because I’ve been a servant all my life. Though somehow, I guess I am both. A servant princess.
My thoughts are confused and hazy, and I’m slightly startled when the squire says, “You speak with an accent. Where are you from?”
I’m at least alert enough to know that question can only get me into trouble, so I turn it back on him.
“You first. You said you’ve only just arrived. Where did you come from?”
“I was sailing, actually.”
“Really? What was it like, sailing on a ship? One day I’d like to travel across the Lonesome Sea.” Maybe one day very soon, after I find a way out of this castle.
Because it looks as though tonight I won’t be leaving or finding Wilha.
“What, you? You hardly look strong enough to survive a voyage on the sea.”
“I’ll have you know I am capable of surviving a good many unpleasant things,” I say, thinking of my years with the Ogdens. “More than you, probably.”
“Oh really?” He smiles slyly. “Let us have a contest, then. The person who has survived the most grievous thing shall win this last plum tart. You first.”
“All right,” I say, warming to the game. “One time I—” But I find I can’t say what I want to. The fire and the food have gotten me to drop my guard, and I almost begin to tell him of the night I spent shivering in the barn, hoping I wouldn’t freeze to death. But I never even told Cordon about that night. Instead I say, “One time I decided to run away from home. I climbed the tallest tree in my village, but found once night came that I’d changed my mind, yet I was too scared to climb down in the dark. I spent the entire night stuck in the tree, staring at the stars.”
“A night staring at the stars, contemplating the heavens and all their mysteries? That does not seem nearly so grievous.” He grabs the plum tart off the plate. “You will have to do better than that.”
I give a slight laugh and nod, though I purposely didn’t tell him the truly grievous part. The thrashing I received from Mistress Ogden the next morning when I finally roused up enough courage to climb down and return to Ogden Manor the next morning.
“All right. Once I was walking in the forest, on my way to the Dra—to an inn—and I nearly walked right into a grizzly bear,” I say, which is actually true. I just don’t tell him it was a very small cub that must have gotten separated from its mother.
“A grizzly bear! And how did you live to tell the tale?”
“I stared him down, and he went running away.”
“Stared him down?” He opens his eyes wide. “With what? The sheer force of your beauty?”
“Yes. That was it, exactly.” I roll my eyes. “No, you fool—I had a shiny dagger, and I shoved it in his face and roared as loud as I could.”
“You roared at a grizzly bear?” He throws back his head and laughs, and has to catch himself from tipping over in his chair. “But that does not seem so bad either,” he says when he stops laughing. “It sounds to me like the bear was more scared than you were.”
“This is true.” I pause, and think for a moment. “All right, I have it. Once I had to listen to a two-hour lecture from a woman on the appropriate use of cutlery.” I don’t say that woman was Arianne, or that it was part of my training to become the Masked Princess.
“Horror of horrors!” He places his hand on his chest. “Your lady must be truly terrible, to subject you like that. Yet I can do you one better. Once I had to listen to a discussion for three hours on the appropriate way to hook a fish.”
“Three hours? I don’t believe it!”
“Oh yes, you will find the men in Korynth are quite serious about their fish.”
We laugh, and I find myself wanting to say something more. Something real. “I once spent four hours scrubbing out a skirt for a noblegirl. She dirtied it on purpose so I wouldn’t be able to attend the dance being held in our village that night. Her mother was quite harsh, and I knew what would happen if I returned the dress still stained.”
“Harsh?” His smile vanishes. “What do you mean?”
“Oh,” I wave breezily, “aren’t all rich people harsh with their servants?”
“No, not all of them.” He leans forward. “The lady you work for now, is she kind?”
“Oh, um, yes, of course,” I say, caught off guard by the concern in his eyes. “She is very kind.”
“I am glad,” he says and hands me the plum tart. “And now I think you have won.”
Wordlessly, I accept the tart and stuff it into my mouth. An unfamiliar feeling crawls its way into my belly, and it’s a moment before I recognize it for what it is. Shame. As usual I have said too much, so I decide to leave the truth behind. It’s easier and far less painful to slip back into my lies. “I’m so glad my lady sent me.” I lounge back in my seat. “Now tell me, if you could go anywhere or do anything right this minute, what would it be?”
“I would be talking to a beautiful girl in the king of Kyrenica’s kitchen, and wondering what she was really doing out of bed in the middle of the night.” His eyes study me, as though he can’t make up his mind if he should have me questioned, so I rise and quickly make up an excuse about needing to get back to “my lady.”
“She’ll have my head if I’m gone any longer.” I turn to go.
“I think you have forgotten something.” He gestures to the tray sitting on the table, and his eyes narrow. “That is why you were sneaking around the castle, wasn’t it? To get her a snack?”
“Yes, of course.” I grab the tray and turn away.
He stands up. “I will accompany you.”
“No! I mean, she may be kind, but she’s also strict, and it is quite late after all. If she sees me with you, she might get the wrong idea. Please,” I add in my most desperate voice, “I can’t afford to be dismissed from her service.”
“A fair point,” he acknowledges. “But,” he sharpens his gaze, “I shall be patrolling tonight, and I expect no more late night activity from you.”
I nod. “Of course.”
Before he can change his mind, I turn away again and stride from the kitchen. I travel back to the room with the tapestry and enter the passageway. If I’m not mistaken, I hear the faint echo of footsteps from far down the corridor. Quickly, I close the passageway. Once I’ve hurried back up the tunnel, the faint candlelight from Wilha’s bedroom is a welcome beacon. I pour the broth out into the fire, and I place the tray and the empty bowl inside the passageway and close it, certain no one will miss a few of the king’s dishes.
It’s only later, when I’m crawling into bed, that I realize the squire never told me his name.
CHAPTER 30
WILHA