“Thank you,” she says.
We continue staring at each other, but I look away first. “Throw the sword down to them,” I tell her.
Wilha hands me the torch, and I fall back into the darkness of the cave. She steps forward, raises the sword above her head, and hurls it down to the rocks below. She returns and takes the torch from me.
I step forward. “Lord Murcendor, the man who gave you your orders, is dead,” I call down to the men. “I offer you his sword as proof.”
The men begin to argue. Two of them blow out their torches. And amid their bickering, the sound of horses clattering is carried along by the wind.
“I say again,” Garwyn calls, “who are you?”
I remove my cloak and hold out my hand to Wilha. “Give me the torch.”
I step to the edge. The ocean roars and a blast of wind hits my face. “I am Princess Wilhamina Andewyn, descendant of Queen Eleanor the Great, great-great granddaughter to Queen Rowan the Brave, whose presence still haunts these cliffs, daughter to King Fennrick the Handsome, future daughter-in-law to Ezebo, king of Kyrenica, I am, simply, the Masked Princess, and if you do not lay down your torches I will curse you. You, and every last member of your family.”
Illuminated by the campfire and torchlight, I can see the expressions of the men, their shocked, fearful faces as they take in my mask and dress.
“How is it that she’s here?” cries a man with a Kyrenican accent, hysteria drenching his voice. “She’s supposed to be in the castle.”
None of the men seem to notice that the sound of galloping horses has drawn closer. “Are you surprised?” I call down to them. “Is it because you thought me dead? Easy prey, for a man such as Lord Murcendor? I tell you the truth, he is dead. Dead, by my own hand, for I killed him myself.”
“That’s not possible,” Garwyn calls, though I can see doubt beginning to cross his face. “The Masked Princess is nothing more than a frightful and ugly girl, if the rumor can be believed.”
“It can, though not the one you speak of.” The sound of horses galloping comes to a halt. Behind the men, who stand transfixed while I speak, I see shadows creeping toward them. “It is true that I can curse, but I can also bless.” I pause and hope that the men—especially the Kyrenican men—are still listening. “So I say to you now, lay down your swords and I will bless you. For just as my ancestor Eleanor Andewyn built a great dynasty, I intend to build an even greater Kyrenican dynasty with the Strassburgs. For a century our two kingdoms have been at odds. But starting tonight, can we not begin moving toward a lasting peace? I ask you again, will you lay down your swords? Will you join me, in protecting a kingdom that I have embraced as my own?”
In the dark silence that follows, a single sword is drawn, and a Kyrenican-accented voice says, “You know, Garwyn, if all your master cares about is starting a war, why didn’t he have you and your men burn your own capital, instead of ours?”
Before Garwyn can respond, a red arrow strikes a guard’s thigh, and he’s brought to his knees. The shadows streak closer and morph into the form of Kyrenican soldiers, running toward Garwyn and the other men.
“She’s deceived us!” screams Garwyn. “Arm yourselves!” Amid cries of outrage and confusion, torches are dropped and swords are drawn. Steel clashes with steel and a Kyrenican soldier falls under Garwyn’s sword. Another Galandrian is brought down by a red arrow. He slips and falls into the campfire, screaming in agony before he rolls into the sand.
More Kyrenican soldiers storm the beach until they far outnumber the Galandrians, and soon Garwyn and his men all lie on the sand either dead or surrendered.
A shadowed figure approaches the campfire. One by one, each Kyrenican soldier drops to his knees before him. When he steps into the glow of the campfire, I see that it’s Stefan.
“How in the world did you manage to get yourself up there?” he calls.
“Magic, my lord,” I call down to him. “And when you return to the castle, you shall find me in my chambers as though I never left at all.”
Stefan laughs. “I am sure I will. And when I do—with your permission, of course—I wish to kiss the girl who has saved our city this night.”
“The permission will be granted,” I say. What else can I say, when all the soldiers are watching? I look back, wondering how Wilha will react. But the cave behind me is empty, and the passageway is open.
Wilha is gone.
CHAPTER 61
WILHA
“Men of Galandria! Why have you come to wreak havoc upon my city?”
Elara’s words twist and turn. She summons truth and falsehood with equal ease, weaving them together into an enchantment that strips the Galandrians of their will to act.
Standing behind her, I watch her as she speaks. Her chin is lifted and her shoulders are thrown back. She seems to be a living copy of my mother’s statue in the Queen’s Garden.
I had come back to the castle intent on saving Elara, believing her to be in danger. I remember the fierce, animal-like look on her face as she stabbed Lord Murcendor. She did not need to be saved, after all.
I did.
And the thought that has fluttered at the edges of my mind now bursts forth like an uncontrollable gale:
What if, sixteen years ago, a mistake was made? What if the true Andewyn daughter, the one to be named Wilhamina, was not the twin who slid first into this world, but the one who was never supposed to exist in the first place?
Wilhamina Andewyn, the Masked Princess. The name has always seemed like an intangible, ethereal cloud, floating above and around me, covering me completely. And yet never truly becoming a part of me.
As I watch Elara speak, watch the Galandrians fall under the greater numbers of the Kyrenican soldiers—but defeated, really, by the power of Elara’s words—I find that cloud rising up from around me and nudging me back into the cave. It dissipates into nothingness as I sweep into the darkness, filled with a new resolve that moves my arms and legs until I am back in the Masked Princess’s chambers.
I find Patric’s letter in the velvet box, just as Elara said.
Princess Wilhamina,
I regret the hastiness of our last training session, and that I did not have a chance to properly say good-bye. You are competent with a sword, far more so than you give yourself credit for. Remember this when you face your new life in Kyrenica. I also wish to beg your forgiveness, in that I did not grant the request you made of me. As my sovereign, your request should have been my command. As a devoted servant of Galandria, and of the Andewyn family, I can wish for no greater happiness than this: that you should find joy in your life in Kyrenica.
His words reach somewhere deep inside of me. I am more competent than I once believed. I remove a cloak from the wardrobe and tuck the letter away. I go to the sitting room, pick up my white and silver costume mask, and tie it on.
Once upon a time, I stood in this room and chose to run away from my future.
But tonight, I choose to run to my future.
CHAPTER 62
ELARA
After I return to the castle, Ezebo summons me to his study and I explain to him how Lord Murcendor attacked “me” and told me of his plans. I promise him that Lord Murcendor was working alone and that Galandria has every intention of honoring the peace treaty. Ezebo orders the guards to search the city for Lord Murcendor, and then finally, I am dismissed and return to my chambers.