And what was once a vast Galandrian kingdom, was essentially split in two. Many believe it was the fulfillment of the omen foretold in the Legend of the Split Opals, on the day of Queen Eleanor’s coronation.
All my life I have been taught to believe that the Kyrenicans and their royal family, the Strassburgs, are brutal, desperate people. That they are a threat to my family, and to everyone else in Galandria.
Several seconds go by before I can respond, and when I do, my voice is high-pitched and quaking. “You would have me marry a Strassburg? A Kyrenican?”
“You would marry Crown Prince Stefan, the future king of Kyrenica.”
“I have heard you say that the lowest servant in Galandria is more worthy than the greatest lord in Kyrenica. You have called them dogs. You would have me marry a dog?”
“I would have you save lives. It seems that King Ezebo does not fear the rumors of your mask, and is eager to see you married to his son. He has asked for your immediate departure. You are to leave in three months.”
“Three months?” I repeat. “But I am not to marry until I am seventeen.”
“You will marry at seventeen. In a year.” He nods. “But we agreed that as a gesture of goodwill, I would send you sooner. And it will give you time to become acquainted with Kyrenica before the wedding.”
“But . . . I thought I had another year. . . .” I feel faint and I sink into the chair in front of his desk. Why is he so eager to get rid of me?
My father shuffles the parchments on his desk, and when he looks up at me he sighs. “Be a good girl, Wilha. A good princess. Kingdoms need someone to believe in. Let them believe in you.”
He stands then, as though the matter is settled. And I suppose it is.
“I will go,” I say, also standing. “You know I will. But give me one thing before I go.”
“A gift? Certainly. All the jewels and dresses—”
“No, not that. I want you to look at me. If the rumors are untrue, as you say they are, then please, look at me.” I move to untie my mask.
“Wilha, stop!” His voice is firm. “Don’t make this more difficult.”
“Don’t make what more difficult? You say that the rumors are rubbish. If that is true, then why will you not look at me?”
He does not answer. Instead, he exits the room without another word. And I am left alone with the sinking fear that has been my constant companion.
Because if my own father refuses to look at me, there must be something horribly wrong with me.
CHAPTER 5
ELARA
I cannot breathe. I cannot speak. I can only stare blindly at the book.
This was my mother’s?
Before I can ask any of the thousand questions churning in my mind, the din in the tavern suddenly ceases and a loud voice calls out. “I’m looking for the man you all know as Travers.”
Mister Travers pales. He seizes me by the arm and shoves me into an alcove just off the kitchen where Sylvia keeps her supplies.
“But who wants—” I begin.
“Hush!” He grabs my shoulders and stares at me with an intensity I’ve never before seen in his eyes. “Stay in here until I’m gone, do you understand?” he whispers fiercely, gripping my shoulders tighter until I nod. “Tell no one we have spoken.”
“We saw him come in here,” the voice outside the kitchen continues. “We will reward anyone who can deliver him to us.”
“I saw him go into the kitchen,” calls another voice.
Quickly, Mister Travers strides to the door and opens it. With a grim determination he declares: “I am the one you are looking for.”
Once he disappears into the main room, I slip the book into my cloak, cross the kitchen, and crack the door open an inch.
The room is silent. A palace guard wearing a breastplate with the Andewyn coat of arms binds Mister Travers’s hands with chains. Several other guards stand nearby, eyeing the men warily, many of whom have risen from their seats and have their hands near their belt, as though they intend to grab their weapon.
“Our business is only with this man,” a guard calls out. “The rest of you can resume your activities.”
The guards usher Mister Travers out the door. Just before he leaves, the guard who bound Mister Travers’s hands holds up a large black velvet bag. He opens it and tosses a handful of worthings to the floor. “A present from King Fennrick.”
The hush that has fallen over the room breaks and the men are on the floor, scrambling over one another for the worthings. And though I haven’t forgotten Mister Travers’s words, the sight of the golden coins makes me plunge into the crowd, scratching, pulling, and kicking, until I’ve collected twelve worthings. I walk over and give eight of them to a watery-eyed Timothy.
“Take these,” I say, pulling him out the door quickly. “Take them and hide them in your pocket. Don’t show them to anyone, and run until you get home.”
After Timothy flees, I turn in the other direction and see a guard is pushing Mister Travers into a gilded carriage.
“That’s a royal carriage from Allegria,” Cordon says, joining me at the door.
The curtain in the carriage parts, and a pale hand adorned with a large opal ring holds out several worthings to the guard, who accepts them and bows.
“What could King Fennrick possibly want with Mister Travers?” Cordon asks. He turns to me, looking concerned. “When he went into the kitchen, did he say anything to you?”
My hand slides down my cloak. I feel the edge of the book, hidden in my pocket. I glance back at the carriage and make a decision. “Nothing. He said nothing at all.”
After I finally pry Mister Ogden away from the Draughts and we begin our walk home, I wonder how Mister Travers came to be in possession of a book belonging to my mother. I consider every possibility I can think of until one of them fits.
Mister Ogden, though incapable of managing Ogden Manor, has been able to sustain a side business by systematically selling off the contents of the manor. He’s made some-what of a name for himself as an antiques dealer. Few of his customers realize it’s his own possessions he sells.
If my mother left a handful of items to be passed on to me, I have no doubt the Ogdens would see it as nothing more than their right to sell them. And I’m sure Mister Travers, being a schoolteacher fond of history, would have jumped at the chance to own such an expensive-looking book. Though how he could’ve found out the book was my mother’s, I don’t know. And if she left me a book, what else did she leave? Had there been other items that would have given me a clue to my family’s origins?
But that doesn’t explain why palace guards were after Mister Travers or his insistence that I not be seen with him. And the guard had said they were looking for the man we know as Travers. Is that not his real name?
“Harold, you’re drunk!” Mistress Ogden cries as I drag him into the kitchen.
“Not a bit, dearest,” Mister Ogden says and sways before sitting down heavily on the stool I pull out for him. “I’ve just had a wonderful run of the cards.” With a flourish, he produces several worthings. “And you’ll never guess what just happened at the Draughts—”