The Princess in the Opal Mask

CHAPTER 47

ELARA

How do you say good-bye to a life that was never your own? What do you take with you, and what do you leave behind?

I spread a few trinkets out on my bed, including a seashell Ruby gave me and a ribbon from a merchant in the city. On the bed too, are my dagger and the book from my mother.

I pick up the book and turn it over. Whenever I think of my mother it is still the vague image of a red-haired woman that I picture. Not Astrid the Regal. I can’t bring myself to think of her as anything more than the dead queen who refused to name me.

I open the book and flip through a few pages. I can’t help but wonder, if Eleanor Andewyn hadn’t discovered Gal-andria’s opals so many centuries ago, hadn’t dropped the First Opal on her coronation day and it hadn’t split in two, where would I be right now, at this very minute?

If Wilha and I had been born into any other family—one who viewed twins as a blessing, instead of a curse—how different would our lives have been?

As I continue examining the book, I notice something I haven’t before. In the middle of the book, a few of the pages have been punctured with tiny pin pricks. How did I miss this before? It’s almost as though someone deliberately—

“Your Highness?” interrupts Milly’s voice from the sitting room. She knocks on my door. “I’m here to help you get ready for the masquerade. It’s getting a bit late.”

“I’ll be right there,” I call out to her.

Quickly, I shut the book and toss it onto the writing desk. Let Wilha—the favored twin—keep it. I tuck Ruby’s sea-shell and my dagger into my satchel, along with the jewels I ripped from Wilha’s dresses. I still plan to use them to start a new life. Whatever and wherever that will be.

When I’m finished, I open the wardrobe and pull out a blue velvet box. It’s a new mask from Welkin, the betrothal present Lord Royce brought with him to Korynth. I open the box and examine the painted white mask encrusted with opals in shades of iridescent, powder blue and milky lavender, the colors of the Andewyn family. When I lift the mask, the opals catch the candlelight and seem to sparkle.

“Your Highness?” Milly knocks again. “May I come in?”

“Just a moment.” I tie the mask on. Only a few more hours of pretending, and this will all be over.

“You look stunning, Your Highness,” Milly says, holding up a small mirror.

A princess in an opal mask stares back at me. Wilha’s silken birthday gown is a light, iridescent blue with a square neckline and draped sleeves. Stitched into the bodice and full skirt are lavender opals and bright, sparkling jewels.

A loud knock sounds at the door and Ruby bursts into the room, with Leandra following closely behind. Both of them are wearing silver masks and scarlet and black colored gowns, the colors of the Strassburg family.

Ruby twirls around, her skirt billowing like a bell. “How do I look, Wilha!”

“Girls,” Genevieve says as she strides into the room behind them carrying a black box. “I’m trying to decide which of your great grandmother’s rings we should wear tonight.”

Ruby and Leandra turn back and bend their heads over the box. I stay where I am, until Genevieve says, “What are you waiting for? Come and pick some out.”

I frown. “Oh, but I thought you only meant Leandra and Ruby. . . .”

“Nonsense. You are part of this family now, too.” She grins conspiratorially. “Besides, it will quite annoy Eudora to see you wearing them.”

I grin back at her. “Thank you.” It’s all I can say, because my throat is suddenly thick. I join Leandra and Ruby and we ooh and ahh over the rings. I settle on a gold one with a large sapphire.

“You’re being too shy,” Genevieve says. “You can wear more than one ring, Wilha. We can all sparkle together tonight.”

And the moment bursts. Once she calls me “Wilha,” I am reminded that this is not my family, this is not my life.

“Now, girls,” Genevieve says when we’ve all finished with the rings, “it is time you went down to the great hall. The doors are about to open and your father and I want you to greet the guests with us. Wilha will be announced later, after everyone arrives. Milly, will you escort them to the hall please?” Milly nods, and after they’re gone Genevieve turns back to me. “You were given instructions, yes? King Ezebo wishes you to enter from the balcony that overlooks the great hall.”

I nod. “He sent Sir Reinhold earlier to inform me.”

“Good.” Genevieve smiles. “You look beautiful, Wilha. Tonight, all eyes will be on you.”

CHAPTER 48

WILHA

As I wrap the black cloak I borrowed from the dress shop around myself, I try to think of an explanation to give James and Victor for why I have to leave. Although I cannot tell them the truth, I can at least give them the comfort of knowing I am safe. Because once I make the switch with Elara, “Willie” will be gone forever, and come the next morning, I don’t want them worrying about me. My family has need of me, and I have to return immediately, I compose the explanation in my mind.

It won’t even be a lie.

I pick up the white and silver costume mask Kyra found for me to wear tonight and look around my room one last time, trying to capture the image in my mind. Perhaps one day, years from now, I will laugh at my adventure in the city, and it will not seem quite so painful, as it does now.

Downstairs, the inn is full and festive. Several customers wear costume masks and carry candles. According to town gossip, the Masked Princess is supposed to appear on the balcony at midnight while fireworks ignite over the castle. A gift from King Ezebo to those who were not invited to the masquerade.

It is with bitter irony that I realize the girl waving to the crowd tonight will be me.

“All set to go?” James asks when he sees me. Kyra told him we were meeting at the castle gates to pass the time until midnight.

“Yes,” I say, and then surprise him by reaching out and hugging him tightly.

He hugs me in return and whispers, “I’ll see if I can get Victor to let me off early, and I’ll come meet you and Kyra.”

I will myself to say the words, to tell him that I won’t be joining Kyra at the gates after all. Yet as usual, my voice fails me and I keep hugging him, not wanting to let go.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” James says when we finally break apart.

I nod, ashamed of my own cowardice. With one last wave, I step outside the inn and close the door on one life. With a sigh, I tie on my costume mask, and once again, the world becomes a little smaller.

I step out into the night and head toward another life, the one I have been marked for since birth.

CHAPTER 49

ELARA

A guard pushes open the wooden doors and ushers me out to the balcony, which overlooks the party. The great hall shines; hundreds of lit candles hang from newly polished silver chandeliers. The wooden floors have been scrubbed and waxed until they glow like honey. A fire dances in the large hearth. Red and black banners of the Strassburg family crest alternate along the walls with Andewyn ones of powder blue and lavender.

Down below, the entire royal family is seated on the dais. Ladies dressed in vibrantly colored gowns twirl about the dance floor on the arms of elegantly styled men with all their faces hidden under masks. Some of the masks are decorated with jewels or sequins and bits of glass that glitter in the candlelight. Other masks are the faces of monsters and beasts bearing expressions of agony.

Near the staircase leading to the dance floor below, a man wearing a mask of silver, black, and crimson waves at me, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s Stefan.

“I didn’t recognize you at first.” I laugh.

“No one could mistake who you are,” he says, bowing deep. “You are beautiful.” He steps closer. “Though you would be even more beautiful if you were not wearing your mask.”

I struggle to keep my smile in place. I know he’s probably only being polite for the benefit of the soldiers and servants behind us, but my heart constricts at his words anyway.

“May I present Their Royal Highnesses Princess Wilhamina Andewyn of Galandria and Crown Prince Stefan Strassburg,” calls out a page.

The music halts, the dancing stops, and a hush falls over the crowd as everyone stares at us. King Ezebo rises from his seat on the dais and begins to clap. The rest of the royal family—except for Eudora, who remains stubbornly seated—follows suit and soon the ballroom is filled with thunderous applause. It’s dizzying, listening to them all cheer for me.

Not for you, I remind myself. For Wilhamina.

Stefan bows to me again. “Ready to meet your public?”

I take the hand he offers. “I’m ready.”

He gives my hand a small squeeze, and together we descend into the colorful crowd below.

CHAPTER 50

WILHA

Night has fallen at the ocean. An iridescent ribbon of moonlight spools across the Lonesome Sea and the tide has begun to rise. I step over jagged rocks, gasping when a wave rolls in and icy water seeps through my borrowed slippers. When I reach the moss-covered stone steps cut into the cliff, I hike up my skirt and begin climbing.

I haven’t gotten very far when I hear voices coming from down the beach. I stop and duck down behind a boulder. The voices grow closer, and it sounds as though two men are fighting.

“We won’t be caught—the entire city is focused on the masquerade. I’ve been given our orders. We are to wait here until the signal is given. When will your men arrive?”

With a start, I realize the voice sounds familiar. I chance a look over the boulder and see that it is Garwyn, along with Moran and the rest of the Galandrian guards. Garwyn is talking to Anton and Jaromil.

“In a moment,” Anton answers tersely. “They’ll be here soon.”

“What is the signal?” asks Jaromil.

“At midnight, when the castle lets off fireworks, we are to begin. We are to start here, on the southernmost dock and spread out and work our way west. Tomorrow, Kyrenica will wake to a city burned.”

“I still don’t see how that will spark war,” Anton says.

“It will when they see the Galandrian banners we’ll leave in our wake. And if that isn’t enough, he has something else planned.”

Anton says something else, but his voice is low. I stand up cautiously to hear better.

“. . . Don’t know how, exactly,” Garwyn is answering. “Someone in the castle could be working for him. Or maybe he plans to do it himself. But after tonight the crown prince will need to find himself a new bride.”

After this there is silence, and I see the dim profiles of Anton and Jaromil turn to each other. “Does that mean . . . ?” Jaromil asks.

“Yes, slain on the very night of her own welcoming party. When Galandria gets word of it, they’ll be chomping at the bit to go to war. And when Kyrenica realizes Galandria is responsible for the burning of their capital, they’ll be all too eager to meet them.”

“Never wanted a peace treaty in the first place,” Jaromil says. “Your master, whoever he is, is a wretched bastard—a man after my own heart.”

Horror washes over me and I duck down behind the boulder, putting a hand to my mouth to keep from crying out. It is possible that Anton and Jaromil are involved with illegal trading, and that Garwyn and his guards have been searching for me—but that is not what they have been recruiting men for.

They have been to help push Galandria and Kyrenica into war.

And I watched them do it. All the time they spent in the inn plotting, I watched them and did nothing. Not even when I was sure I read evil in their expressions. All I did was hide when I thought it was me they were coming for.

As a result, the entire city will burn, and Elara may be in danger this very moment. While I don’t understand everything they have just said, I know that someone in the castle wants the Masked Princess dead.

All this time the mask was to protect Elara and me from people who would seek to use us to destroy our kingdom. The same type of people who will assassinate Elara tonight.

Unless I stop them.

Without hesitation, I rise and quietly begin climbing, hopeful that the men, draped in darkness and preoccupied with their evil schemes, won’t notice me.

CHAPTER 51

ELARA

Wilha is everywhere, but nowhere. When I glimpse a girl lurking near the fireplace wearing a mask shaped like a dragon’s head, I’m certain it’s her. Then I suspect she is the girl in the blue and green mask with peacock feathers who lingers by the platters of food, but never eats. After that, I’m positive she is the girl in the wolf mask standing quietly by the window.

But none of these girls turn out to be Wilha when I approach them.

Through it all, as I exchange pleasantries with noblemen and compliment noblewomen on their beautiful dresses, I expect a tap on the shoulder, a nudge in the ribs—some signal to let me know she has arrived and is ready to switch back. But as the night wears on, there’s nothing. Where is she?

When Ezebo asks me to dance a waltz and everyone turns to stare, I wonder if she’s here, biding her time. Hiding behind a mask and watching me, but saying nothing. Just as Lord Royce has done.

All evening, he’s stood to the side of the room, near the orchestra, watching me. Of all the masks in the room, his is the most unusual. It is white and plain and completely un-adorned, almost as though he has no face at all.

But Lord Murcendor and Lord Quinlan have not been so content to stay in the background. Both of them have hovered just at the edges of the crowd surrounding me, both seemingly intent to catch my eye. It’s been a complicated dance to avoid them all night, but a worthwhile one.

Wilha can speak to the Guardians after we switch back. I’ve had enough of them to last a lifetime.

After I finish dancing with Ezebo I stride over to the dais, hoping that with a better vantage point I’ll be able to spot Wilha. Instead I find Ruby, standing alone, tears streaming down her face.

“Ruby, what’s wrong?”

Ruby turns and presses herself to my side. “I went to give Grandmother a hug and I accidentally spilled her drink on her. She yelled at me and told me I will never make a good princess.”

I look around the room, searching for Genevieve. Stefan, I notice with a flash of irritation, is surrounded by a group of giggly noblegirls. Again.

“Where is your mother?”

“She and Leandra accompanied Grandmother to her chambers so she could change into another gown,” Ruby says through muffled sobs. “They were trying to calm her down.”

I hug Ruby. As fond as I’ve grown of Genevieve and the rest of the Strassburgs, it’s ridiculous the way they allow Eudora to push them all around.

Or maybe I’m the ridiculous one. Maybe it’s the royal way to let Eudora, as the eldest, spill her vitriol everywhere, regardless of who she hurts in the process.

But watching Ruby cry, I’m reminded of when I finally understood that even if I couldn’t walk away from Mistress Ogden and the abuse she hurled my way, I didn’t have to hear her, either. That was the day I shut my ears and started feeding her words to my imaginary kitten.

“And then Grandmother said—”

“—Your grandmother is an idiot,” I interrupt, and Ruby’s mouth drops open. “Ruby, listen to me.” I crouch down so I am level with her. “When she speaks to you, I want you to nod, smile politely—and then dismiss every single thing she says. Your grandmother doesn’t have an ounce of sense or kindness in her. Do you understand?” Ruby nods, and I continue. “Have you ever noticed how her neck wiggles when she speaks, kind of like a turkey?”

“I guess,” Ruby says, hiccupping.

“Next time she yells at you, I want you to look at her neck and picture her as an oversized turkey. Gobble gobble. All right?”

Ruby’s lips quirk with an impish grin. “Gobble gobble.”

A waiter interrupts us and offers appetizers from a platter piled high with grapes and olives and figs. My eyes stray to the dance floor, and I see a girl wearing a dark cloak with her hood flipped up and a white and silver mask. She stands alone in the center of the dance floor watching us. Then she turns and strides from the room.

This is it. Time to go.

All of a sudden, it seems too fast. And the worst of it is I can’t say good-bye to any of them, not even Stefan. They will never even know that “I” ever existed.

I hug Ruby tightly, and with one last smile, I step down from the dais and walk quickly through the crowd, passing Lord Royce, who’s left his spot in the corner and is speaking intently with Sir Reinhold.

Outside in the foyer, the girl is standing in a dark corner under a portrait of Genevieve and Ezebo. But she’s not Wilha, and she’s clearly not alone. She is locked in a passionate embrace with one of the waiters, the one who just offered Ruby and me appetizers.

“Princess,” she gasps when she sees me, and they immediately spring apart. “I’m so sorry. We didn’t see you standing there.”

The waiter utters an apology and hurriedly straightens his clothes.

“Please, Princess,” the girl begs. “My father is determined to marry me into a good family. He would be so angry if he knew. . . .” Her eyes dart to the waiter, and she swallows nervously.

“Of course. Your secret is safe with me,” I say, feeling like a dim-witted fool.

The girl smiles and curtsies. “Thank you, Princess. We were just about to get some fresh air.” She pulls him away and they disappear into the shadows.

I linger in the foyer, gazing up at the portrait of Genevieve and Ezebo, and mentally catalog everything I’d like to tell Wilha, if I had the time. Don’t let Eudora push you around. Leandra is annoying, but means well. Genevieve is determined to like you and will make a good confidante. And Stefan is . . .

A soft touch on my shoulder snaps me out of my reverie.

It’s about time. I turn around, but again, it’s not Wilha.

It’s Lord Quinlan and Lord Murcendor, and I curse myself for my own stupidity. I should have realized the moment I detached myself from the crowd they would find me.

Lord Murcendor’s expression is hidden behind his checkered black and gold mask as he bows deeply. “Truly Wilha, you light up the world tonight. Would you do me the great honor of dancing with me?”

I hesitate, wishing Wilha were here. I’m still not sure I can fool Lord Murcendor. And what would his reaction be when he realizes I’m only Elara, and that Wilha is currently unaccounted for?

“Actually, Princess,” Lord Quinlan says, stepping forward. “I wonder if I might have a word with you in private somewhere?”

I edge closer to Lord Quinlan, thankful to have an excuse to get away from Lord Murcendor.

“Of course,” I say.

CHAPTER 52

WILHA

I am halfway up the cliff side when my cloak catches. I give it a yank and the fabric tears. Several pebbles cascade to the rocks below.

“What was that?” comes Moran’s voice.

“Your imagination,” says Garwyn.

“No, I think I saw a shadow. There, up beyond them boulders there,” Moran insists, and I press myself to the cliff wall as tightly as I can, pebbles digging into my hands. “I saw something; I know it.”

“This beach is said to be haunted,” comes Jaromil’s voice. “They say the ghost of Queen Rowan roams these cliffs. See that large rock in the water there? It’s been named after her.”

“Shut up, all of you, and go look for some dry wood,” snaps Garwyn. “Get a fire going. That’ll scare away your ghost.”

The men grow quiet as they begin hunting and I dare not move, certain that at least one of them is watching the cliff for shadows. When I hear Garwyn tell the others they have found enough wood, I resume climbing, trying to be as quiet as possible. My arms are shaking from gripping the steps for so long, and my cloak and dress are damp and heavy, pulling me downward. I remind myself that if I have lifted twenty-pound swords, then I can climb a staircase.

With one last burst of exertion, I scramble up the last of the steps and collapse in a heap once I reach the safety of the cave.

My palms are stinging and my legs are aching. The knowledge that a hundred feet below sits several men who wish me dead makes me feel faint. Yet I force myself to my feet, peel off the heavy cloak, and find the wall, where I’m quickly presented with another problem. Clouds have rolled in, covering the light of the moon, and I can’t find the embedded opal. I feel around frantically, scraping my hands against the sharp edges of rock, until I have to concede that I just can’t find it.

I slump onto the wet sand, exhausted. Perhaps I was a fool to believe I could save Elara. For what match am I really, against whomever it is that has his hand set against me?

I picture the imaginary shadowy villain I used to duel against all those nights in the Opal Palace. Who wishes me dead? Do Garwyn and his men take orders from a Galandrian? Or does someone from Kyrenica now command them?

From somewhere below in the darkness the melody of a flute begins to play. Perhaps one of the guards is entertaining the others while they wait. It is a lonely, sad sound. And I wonder at the other sounds we shall hear in a few hours’ time. The hiss of burning wood, the roar of leaping flames—the sparks to ignite a war. The mourning of the Kyrenican royal family (will they mourn?) when the Masked Princess is discovered dead.

Though she may never know it, Elara has saved me these last few weeks. She gave me the time to find out I am not quite as useless as I always believed. Where now, is the person who will save her?

As if in answer, the clouds slide away, revealing the moon, a silver coin in a midnight sky. Moonlight spills and rolls over itself, illuminating the cave with silvery-white light. But only for a moment.

Another cloud rolls in, obscuring the moon, and the cave is plunged into darkness once more. But in that instant, I saw a faint glimmer, higher up the wall than I remembered. I feel around for several more minutes, and the next time the clouds shift, uncloaking the moon, I am ready. There, I see it! I press my thumb to the embedded opal, and the chamber opens. I swallow back my fear, and rush into the darkness waiting beyond.

CHAPTER 53

ELARA

“What do you need to speak to me about?” I ask Lord Quinlan, and suppress a shiver. I’m grateful for the chance to be away from Lord Murcendor, but the deserted corridor he’s led me to feels drafty. And staring at me from behind his goblin mask, Lord Quinlan looks much like an overgrown gargoyle.

He clears his throat and shifts uneasily. “Princess I—”

He is interrupted by echoing footsteps. “Wilha? What are you doing?”

Stefan removes his mask, and his eyes flick from me to Lord Quinlan in obvious irritation. “Is there a reason why you have trapped the princess in a dark corner?”

“I didn’t trap her,” Lord Quinlan retorts. “I was merely going to ask—in private—how she is getting on here in Kyrenica. The Guardians and I have hardly had a minute with her since arriving in the city. You and your father seem to be purposely keeping her away from us.”

“I am sure the princess is getting on just fine. I am also sure there is nothing you need to say to her that requires spiriting her away from everyone else.”

Lord Quinlan begins to protest, but Stefan cuts him off. “I will remind you, Lord Quinlan, that you are here solely at the invitation of my family, an invitation that can be revoked at any time if we see fit.” He regards Lord Quinlan coolly and continues, “At any rate, please excuse us. I need a word alone with the princess.”

Lord Quinlan hesitates, looking as though he is bursting to say something, but finally leaves.

“What did he want?” Stefan demands.

“I don’t know. He said—” I break off when I see Stefan’s scowl, and a delicious thought occurs to me. “Are you jealous?”

“Not remotely,” he snaps. “But I don’t trust your father’s advisors and would rather you stay away from them. And I hardly think it is proper for you to be conversing in dark corners with another man.”

“Proper?” I scoff. “You’re a fine one to talk. You’ve been surrounded all night by silly noblegirls.”

“I wouldn’t be if you would stay by my side for longer than two minutes. You have been flitting around the hall all night. What is wrong?”

Everything. Everything in the whole world. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

Stefan stares at me for a moment longer. “Come on.” He turns away. “I want to show you something.” I follow him down the hall, up a staircase, and over to a window. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” Outside, beyond the castle gates, a large crowd waits. Most people carry lanterns and candles, making the street an ocean of light. Stefan turns to me. “Tell me what is going on,” he says. “And please do not say ‘nothing,’ because I know something is troubling you.”

I want to tell him I’m not the princess he’s being forced to marry. That, really, I’m the servant girl he met in the kitchen, the girl he could easily laugh with. Though I guess I’m neither. Not really a servant, not really royalty. I’m nobody.

I guess if I could tell him just one thing, it would be good-bye.

When I hesitate too long, he sighs and turns away. “So many people out there,” he says. “And they have all come to see you.”

“They didn’t come to see me,” I mumble. “They came to see the Masked Princess.”

“Why do you do that?” he asks. “Why do you refer to yourself as that?”

“Because I’m not the Masked Princess.” I close my eyes and lean against the window. I’m tired of pretending. Where is Wilha? Has she changed her mind?

Stefan sighs. “I know.”

My eyes fly open. “What?”

He takes my arm and his expression turns serious. “Let me take you to your room. There is something I want to discuss with you.”

CHAPTER 54

ELARA

What is the penalty for impersonating royalty? When we reach my chambers, Stefan gestures to an armchair and asks me to sit. While he lights candles and makes a fire, my heart races. How did I give myself away? What small detail did I miss? Was it the note I wrote to Genevieve? On a table near the door is my satchel, packed and ready to go. I contemplate making a run for it, but decide I wouldn’t be fast enough. Not with the weight from my mask and dress.

When the fire is roaring, Stefan lowers himself into the chair next to me. “I have been wanting to speak with you.”

“Yes?” I scoot forward, prepared to fall to my knees. There’s no role I can play here, no golden words I can speak that will make this better. I’ve impersonated royalty. A forgivable offense when we were on the road and security was a concern. Now, my actions will only be seen as treasonous and self-serving. The only card I have left is to beg and plead for mercy.

I can only hope that Stefan will have some to offer.

He takes a deep breath, and blurts, “I wanted to ask for your forgiveness.”

“I—what?” I ask, stunned. “You want to ask for my forgiveness?”

“Yes.” He stands, and begins to pace in front of the fire. “I have been thinking about what you said yesterday, how that loaf of bread from the baker was the first sincere gift you received in Korynth. Such pointed words, and they found their mark. I want you to know that—”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “Just to be clear, you’re not mad at me for . . . anything?”

“No, of course not. I told you, I am trying to apologize,” he says, sounding slightly annoyed.

“Oh.” I lean back in my chair, feeling shaky with relief. “Okay then. Continue.”

“Where was I?” He starts pacing again. “I have not welcomed you to the city properly. I know that. It is just that I thought I was being forced to marry a monster.”

“Excuse me?” Irritation flares in my chest.

He holds up a hand. “Please, allow me to finish. I considered it little better than a death sentence to marry you—”

“A death sentence?” I repeat. “Stefan, if this is your idea of an apology, then—”

“You know, this would go a whole lot faster if you didn’t insist on interrupting every two seconds.”

“All right,” I say, leaning back in my chair again. “But let me know when you get to the actual apology part.”

He shoots me an incensed look and continues. “Try to understand. I have grown up hearing horrible things about the Andewyns, about all Galandrians. That they are liars, barbarians wrapped in fine clothing. That they are gluttonous and swollen with their own vanity. Blind to the fact that their glorious kingdom has begun to decline.” He pauses. “You heard similar terrible things about Kyrenicans, did you not?”

“Dogs,” I say hesitantly. “Many Galandrians refer to Kyrenicans as dogs—but not every Galandrian feels that way,” I add hastily when his gaze narrows. “Just as I’m sure not every Kyrenican holds such harsh feelings toward Galandria.”

Stefan nods. “I am sure you are right. But can you blame me, if I thought that you, the Masked Princess, the most famous girl in your kingdom—indeed, in the whole world—might be the worst of the whole lot? Monstrous, not in your appearance, but in your heart. Many princesses are spoiled. They have been told since birth that the world is theirs for the taking. And I confess, the thought of spending my life with a girl like that was distasteful. But now I realize I was wrong. You are not the Masked Princess, you are far more than that. You are a puzzle to me, unlike any girl I have ever met. And so”—he drops to his knees, reaches for my hands, and heat floods my chest—“I am asking for a second chance. Forgive me, please, for all my unkindnesses? I have been rude, and I am sorry. And I want to ask you, really and truly this time, will you marry me?”

“Yes.” The answer tears from my lips, though I know it’s not me he’s asking, although how can he be asking Wilha, when he has never met her?

My thoughts are tangled, and suddenly, his face is moving toward mine—until his nose bumps against my mask. He laughs and tilts his head and finally, his lips land on my own.

The kiss is soft and gentle, and my arms wind around his shoulders. I let myself be taken away by it, and when he draws back he says, “Will you take off your mask for me? I would love to see your face.” His fingers are fumbling to untie my mask.

“I . . . can’t, Stefan. Not now.” I grab his hands and hold them. I want nothing else. I want to stay here and let him take off the mask and let him look at me. But not when I’m leaving. Not when it will be another girl’s face he sees tomorrow.

“Then, will you do something else for me? Will you allow me another kiss?”

I nod. Wilha will get a lifetime with him. But this moment is mine, this is my good-bye.

He tilts his head. And when our lips touch again, I could swear I smell the sea.

The sea.

Where did Wilha say the passageway opened out to? It was the Lonesome Sea, I’m sure of it. Which means . . . my head snaps away from him, leaving Stefan looking confused.

“Is something wrong?” he says. “Did you not like it?”

“No,” I answer. “I mean, yes, I did. But we have been away from the ball for quite a while.” I smile. “Didn’t you just say everyone came here to see me tonight? We don’t want to disappoint them, do we?”

Stefan grins. “One day you will make a wonderful queen.” He stands and pulls me to my feet. Then he crosses the room, opens the door, and holds it expectantly. “Come. Your public awaits you.”

I turn and with one last glance around the room, I whisper, “I’ll come back, I promise.”

But my voice is so low, I doubt Wilha hears.

CHAPTER 55

WILHA

Bile rises to my throat as I watch them kiss. The words I was about to speak, of the danger Elara is in, of the men plotting by Rowan’s Rock, die on my lips. I quickly duck back into the bedroom, thankful that they are too en-grossed in each other to notice me. But the image of them kissing is burned into my mind.

It is as though I have seen a vision of my future.

What is she thinking, to have let Stefan come into her chambers? Is this supposed to be a signal of some sort? A declaration that she is not switching back?

I’m taking what I can and then I’m leaving, I remember her once saying. At the time, I thought she just meant jewelry. I did not realize she was also prepared to take pieces of my own life with her.

“Will you take off your mask for me?” The words are softly spoken, yet I still hear them. Words I have longed to hear all my life, but they are not spoken to me. Elara has done her job well. Too well. Because when the crown prince wakes up tomorrow morning and it is me wearing the mask, and not Elara, will he find me dull in comparison? Will he smile at me, but secretly wonder where the radiant girl he has fallen in love with has gone to?

“Come. Your public awaits you.”

When I am certain they are gone, I creep into the sitting room and kneel by the hearth. The fire is beginning to die out, so I grab the poker, stew the embers, and add some more wood. I remove my costume mask and hold up my palms, trying to warm myself and thaw the chill that is seeping through me.

I inhale, and work at putting aside the dull ache in my chest. Regardless of what I have just seen, Elara still needs to be warned. The Kyrenican troops need to be alerted, all without anyone learning of the existence of another Andewyn princess.

A slight draft caresses my neck.

“Wilha?” comes a voice from behind.

The sudden noise startles me. But when I turn around, relief floods my chest. “Lord Murcendor.” I rise to greet him.

He removes his checkered gold and black mask, and I see that he is paler than usual.

“Wilha?” he says, sounding slightly confused. “But I spoke with—” He stops as realization dawns on his face. “Elara is here, isn’t she? She is posing as the Masked Princess.”

I nod. “We were going to switch back tonight.”

His eyes take in my dirty dress, tangled hair, and damp bodice. My cheeks grow warm when I read his unusual gaze, for he is looking at me in a way he never has before.

I tug at my dress uncomfortably and glance at the bedroom behind him. “You know of the passageway?” I ask, though of course I realize he must. Yet why he used it or has come here at all, I don’t know. But I don’t have time to wonder. “Can you help me, Lord Murcendor? I need to speak to King Ezebo without him knowing who I am. It is urgent.”

“King Ezebo is beneath you,” Lord Murcendor says. “He is unworthy to even stand in your presence.”

“Even so, I must speak with him. Elara could be in danger at this very—”

“All will be made as it should,” he says. “Please, sit down.” He gestures to the chair behind me.

“I can’t. Not until someone alerts King Ezebo.” I am frantic now, wishing I could make him understand. “We have to find him.”

I move for the door, but he reaches out and grabs my arm. “Sit down,” he says with more force.

The image of Lord Murcendor seems to change. It is as though I have been unknowingly staring at him through a kaleidoscope for a long time, and suddenly, the pieces have shifted, forming a new picture. A suspicion is nagging at me, but I refuse to acknowledge it.

Instead I sit down, hoping with all my heart, that I am wrong.

CHAPTER 56

ELARA

We take our time walking back to the great hall. Stefan stops to speak with several Kyrenican nobles. As the night has worn on, the guests seem to have fanned out around the castle. I should be in more of a hurry to get back to my chambers, and back to Wilha, but Stefan’s hand is warm in mine, and I don’t want to pull away. Not yet.

When we reach the great hall, Stefan turns to me and bows. “Dance with me,” he says.

I hesitate. Wilha made me wait for days before she decided to return to the castle. Why shouldn’t I make her wait, just a little longer?

“Princess, may I have a word with you?” Lord Royce appears, and bows to Stefan. “That is, if you do not mind, Your Highness.”

Stefan blows out an irritated breath. “If you must,” he says shortly. To me, he says, “But before this night is over, we will dance.”

I nod, and after Stefan has left I say, “Yes, Lord Royce?” All around us, masked figures spin and whirl, and I wonder if he is also going to ask me to dance.

“Are you quite sure you have no idea of your sister’s whereabouts?” he asks, surprising me. He uses a casual tone of voice. But staring at his expressionless white mask, it feels as though this is some kind of test. We are game players, each holding tightly to our own hand.

So I decide to play an unexpected card.

“In truth, Lord Royce, I know exactly where she is.” She’s upstairs, hiding.

His ice blue eyes search my own. “Where?”

“I told King Ezebo and Lord Quinlan she stole my jewels, but that was a lie.”

“A lie? That does not sound like you, Wilha.” Is that a dare I see in his eyes?

“It was Elara’s idea, of course. But the truth is, I gave her the jewels. She intended to book passage on a ship and sail east over the Lonesome Sea. We both believed it was best for everyone if she simply disappeared.” The moment I speak the words, I decide that after I leave the castle, I’ll head further north, up the Kyrenican coastline.

“That is a pity,” Lord Royce counters. “There were things I could have told her. Things your mother wanted her to know, a message she intended Elara to have.”

Finally, he’s showed his hand. This is a dare, plain and simple: Confess who you really are. He’s not convinced I’m Wilha, so he has set a trap. And my mother is the bait.

This is his mistake. I am not so easily caught.

“If I ever see her again, Lord Royce, I will let you know.” I curtsy and turn my back on him.

CHAPTER 57

WILHA

Lord Murcendor gazes at me with his dark eyes. “It kills me to see you here in this castle, in the heart of the enemy.”

“The Kyrenicans are not my enemy,” I say carefully, thinking of James, Kyra, and Victor. “Some of them are quite nice, actually.”

“The whole country is diseased,” he hisses. “They are a plague, one that needs to be wiped out.”

“Wiped out?” Ice creeps through my veins. “What do you mean?”

“Kyrenica has no right to exist, no right to the wealth that Galandria has worked so hard to obtain. If they persist in stealing from us, we have no choice but to send them back to the dust in which they came from.”

A wave of nausea passes over me and my suspicion blooms into confirmation: Lord Murcendor, the man who taught me how to read when others were too scared to come near me, the man who sat with me in the Queen’s Garden, and the man who has been the closest thing I have ever had to an actual father, is also the man who wants me dead.

“You are the one who is sending Lord Quinlan’s men to burn the city down? The one who has come to kill me?” I add quietly.

A man in his right mind might reasonably ask how I know about his plans to burn Korynth, and when he does not, I realize he isn’t.

He doesn’t look to be in his right mind, either, not with the twisted grin he flashes. “They are Lord Quinlan’s men in name only,” he says. “But in every way that counts, they are my men and they have come, as many in Galandria have come, to see my point of view.”

He pauses to stare at me. His eyes are unfocused and his hand looks ready to unsheathe his sword. Truly, he means to kill me.

My stomach roils. All this time, he is the shadowy villain I feared would one day come for me.

But you have beaten him a thousand times before, in your own imagination. The thought comes from nowhere. The ice in my veins seems to melt and is replaced by some-thing else.

Fire.

Does he think I will merely sit still while the tip of his sword pierces my flesh? Does he imagine I will be the good princess I have been trained to be, right up until the very end, too obedient to even raise a weapon in my own defense?

When you are facing an opponent, never pay attention to his words, I remember Patric once saying. Use them to your own advantage if you can, but your attention should be focused only on his weapon.

My eyes stray to the fire behind Lord Murcendor—and the fire poker lying right next to my white and silver costume mask.

“This point of view you speak of,” I say suddenly, “the one you say Lord Quinlan’s men have come to share. What is it?”

Lord Murcendor begins to pace about the room, his hand twitching at the hilt of his sword. “I have spent my life serving the Andewyns. Indeed, as a boy I could see no distinction between the two. By serving the descendants of Queen Eleanor herself, the greatest ruler this world has ever known, I thought I served my truest and only love, Galandria. Yet there comes a time when a boy’s fanciful illusions must collide with the crushing weight of reality. Despite my devotion, it became clear to me that your blood—the Andewyn blood—had become watered down. Diluted by generations of weak men and women, who made even weaker monarchs. And I began to understand that something had to be done to restore the glorious kingdom that once was Galandria.”

While he speaks, I lower myself to the floor and raise my palms, as though I am warming myself. The fire poker is only inches from me. I glance over at Lord Murcendor. His hands are no longer at his side; he is raking them through his hair.

“And then,” he continues, “destiny gave me a most precious gift: your mask. Despite your father’s incompetence as a ruler, his one stroke of genius was to place that mask upon your face, for through the rumors and intrigue of the Masked Princess, a semblance of Galandria’s glory and fame was restored. Peasants from around the world make pilgrimages to see you. Do you know what that alone has done for our treasury? You can imagine my shock and surprise when your father decided to throw it all away. To throw you away by betrothing you to the Kyrenicans, all to avoid a war he is too much of a coward to fight. A war we are sure to win. To lose you is to lose our kingdom’s glory. And I was not going to stand for it. Kings have a way of being persuaded . . . or being assassinated.” He gives a terrifying, twisted grin.

“You?” I gasp, forgetting about the fire poker. “You were behind the attack in Eleanor Square?”

“My men were ordered not to kill anyone in the royal family, merely to injure. And educate. I had thought with the king injured, with the evidence of Kyrenica’s wickedness on display for all to see, the Guardians would come to reason and cancel the treaty. But I underestimated their stupidity. They would rather believe that Lord Finley’s men were responsible, even though we had captured most of them by the time of the attack. And so, when it was determined that you were still to go to Kyrenica, I made a decision.”

Pay no attention to his words, I remind myself and inch closer to the fire. “And what was your decision?”

“Surely you did not think I would allow the Kyrenicans—those diseased, filthy dogs—to have you? No, I would rather see you dead than married to a dog. Your sacrifice was almost too high a price, yet I considered it a testament to my faithfulness that I was willing to pay it. And so, I decided the Masked Princess would have to die—at the masquerade, murdered in the Strassburgs’ own castle. My men were tasked with recruiting Kyrenicans. Worthless as they are, I knew if we paid them enough, we could hire them to burn their own capital down. It would have both Kyrenica and Galandria clamoring for war, and your father and King Ezebo would finally be forced to act.”

His gaze strays from my face and travels down my dress. “Though perhaps, when the city burns, Kyrenica will finally rise up, and I will not have to part with you after all.”

“What do you mean?” My hand closes around the poker. I raise it and stir the embers of the fire, my arm shaking.

“Seeing you now, ripening into a beautiful woman, I wonder if I have been too quick to deprive myself.” He crouches down next to me, his long hair drapes over my shoulder, and his fingers graze my cheek. “Perhaps the Masked Princess does not have to die in the castle. Perhaps, instead her dear advisor saves her from being assassinated by a Kyrenican soldier.” He leans close and whispers, “And the Masked Princess, moved by his devotion, insists upon marrying him.” His hand travels up my arm and revulsion slides down my spine as he brings his lips to my cheek.

“No,” I say, clutching the fire poker. I spin away from him and jump to my feet. I have made it around the armchairs, but he moves faster than I anticipated and blocks the door.

“What did you say?” His eyes narrow.

“I said no.” I raise the fire poker. It is not nearly as sturdy as a sword, but it will have to do.

“Now Wilha, what do you think you are doing? Be reasonable. Be a good girl, and put that down.”

“No.” I move into position, just as Patric taught me.

He looks at the poker and seems to be amused. “This is supposed to be your makeshift sword? You’re not even holding it correctly. You should have paid more attention during your lessons.”

I ignore his words and instead watch his body. His feet have turned sideways. His hands are at his sides, but it does not look as though he means to draw his sword. Perhaps he doesn’t consider me enough of a threat?

Just as he lunges to my right, I quickly slide to my left.

“Why so jumpy, Princess?” His grin has vanished, and he doesn’t seem amused now. “Put that down. In less than an hour’s time, Korynth is going to burn. You cannot stop that. But you can save your own life.”

I shake my head. “I would never marry you.”

He cocks his head. “You would marry a Kyrenican dog before you would marry me?” There’s a dangerous edge to his question.

“I thought you were my friend,” I answer. “You have always been my friend.”

“Indeed, I have been the greatest friend the House of Andewyn has ever had, and I have served her truly. Now, it is time the Andewyns serve me.”

He lunges right, but I had read his intention, and slip out of his grasp.

“Wilha, I cannot allow you to marry a Kyrenican.” He extends his hand. “But I can offer you a good life with me. A life befitting who you are.”

I shake my head and keep the poker pointed at him, trying not to be distracted by his words. “No.”

“Then,” he says, his voice quiet with resignation, “you will have to die.”

He draws his sword and lunges. I block him once, and then twice, but far too late, I realize Patric was right. I never learned how to properly attack. The minute I advance toward Lord Murcendor, he knocks the fire poker from my hands. Then he grabs my arm and forces me to my knees.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he says, and presses the tip of his sword to my throat. “After all these years that I have cared for you, it is destiny that we should be together.”

I don’t have the strength or the skill to beat him. But I do have the power to say no. The power to die on my own terms, instead of living on his.

“No,” I say.

He presses the blade deeper to my throat. I feel a sharp flash of pain, and a warm trickle slides down my neck.

There is a strange buzzing in my ears. Lord Murcendor stares at me, his eyes darkening with desire, his lips slightly parted, and I imagine he is looking at me—at the Glory of Galandria—one last time before he kills me.

In the end, my family’s wealth was not enough to stand between me and the blade we all hoped would never come. So many times I have wondered if the queens of Galandria past, though long dead, could somehow see me. And if they have watched over me, have they been pleased with the life I have lived? And when I pass into their realm, will they welcome me as a fellow Andewyn traveler? Or will they deem me weak, and unworthy of them?

Lord Murcendor raises his sword above my chest. The room starts to spin, and the buzzing grows louder. Behind him, in a swirl of iridescent powder blue, I see a hazy shape grabbing the satchel off the table.

“History,” Lord Murcendor says, breathing heavily, “will judge me as the man who restored glory back to Galandria.”

Just as he begins to lower his blade, his features contort and his face whitens.

“History,” comes Elara’s voice, “will judge you as a madman.” She raises a dagger coated with wet blood and stabs him—for the second time, I think—and Lord Murcendor falls away, striking his head on the table.

CHAPTER 58

ELARA

I just killed a man. The words pound in my brain, insistent like a hammer. I just killed a man. I stabbed him with my dagger when his back was turned. The knowledge sends me to my knees, and I clamp my hands over my ears.

“Elara? Elara, are you all right?” Wilha is at my side, though she seems far away, and I stare at her through the black spots that dance before my eyes. She is damp and dirty and smells like the sea. “Elara, take a few deep breaths and listen to me.”

I just killed a man. I’m floating away, being carried along by the wave of dancing black spots that beckon me into the darkness.

“Elara, I need you. I need you to stay with me.” Her voice is soft and warm. I reach out and tether myself to it like a child clutching a kite.

I watch Wilha, seemingly quite calm. She steps over Lord Murcendor and pours a cup of tea from a silver pot, and thrusts it into my hands. “Drink this, Elara. There is something I need to tell you. . . .”

“I killed him.” I can hear my voice, but it doesn’t sound like my own.

Wilha is bending over Lord Murcendor. “I don’t think he is dead. . . . It is difficult to tell with his cloak. But his wound doesn’t appear to be very deep. Perhaps he is unconscious from hitting his head?”

I sip the tea and slowly feel the wave turn. It carries me away from the darkness and back toward Wilha. The black spots dissolve, and strength returns to my arms and legs.

She grabs my arm and gives me a shake, “Elara, I need you to listen. Lord Murcendor is not the worst of our problems.”

“What?” I look at Wilha straight on, and realize that despite her calm voice, she looks panicked. “What do you mean?”

Wilha takes a deep breath. “He is planning to burn the city.”

All of those old buildings. So flammable. So easily destroyed. That’s all I can think of once Wilha finishes relaying the conversation she overhead.

“The city will burn fast,” I say.

“What do we do?” She turns questioning eyes on me, and I realize this is my problem to solve. She has carried the message, but the decision to act must come from me.

“When did you say they were to start?”

“At midnight, when the fireworks begin.”

I look at the clock above the fireplace. “That’s less than an hour from now. Stefan must be told so he can send guards to the docks, but the streets are packed with people and carriages,” I say, thinking fast. “You said the passageway leads directly to the beach by Rowan’s Rock, and that the men are camped out near there?”

Wilha nods. A plan is beginning to form and I start calculating how little time we have if we are to prevent the city from burning.

I finish the last of the tea and stand up. “I’m going to alert Stefan. You’ll be okay here alone?”

Wilha hesitates, glances at Lord Murcendor’s body, and nods.

“Good. Have the passageway open and torches lit when I come back.”

The great hall has the air of a good party which has nearly reached its end. Candles burn low in the chandeliers and tired laughter mixes with the opening strains of a waltz. Many of the partygoers have removed their masks. Their once-crisp appearances are now rumpled and wilted.

“Finally you come!” Stefan says gaily, detaching himself from a group of men. His eyes stray to my mouth, and I can tell he’s thinking of our last kiss. “Now we shall have our dance.” He leads me to the dance floor, too merry to hear me protest. He pulls me close and whirls me around. “This is where you belong,” he says, beaming.

I can feel everyone’s eyes on us, so I smile brightly. Causing panic will not serve my purpose.

As we dance, I stand on my tiptoes and bring my lips to his ear, as though I want nothing more than to whisper sweet nothings. “Stefan, you must listen and listen well,” I say, keeping my smile in place. “A handful of men are camped out near Rowan’s Rock. They plan to set fire to the city at midnight. It is their intention that by destroying Korynth, they will force Kyrenica and Galandria into war.”

Stefan goes rigid. He glances quickly about the room and continues dancing, his arms tightening around me. “And you came by this information, how?”

I hesitate. “It was Lord Murcendor who told me. The men are acting on his orders. His actions are in no way sanctioned by King Fennrick—by my father,” I force myself to say. “Lord Murcendor is unwell, he tried to attack Wil—me—and—”

Stefan stops dancing. “He attacked you? Where is he? If he has harmed you in any way, then I swear I will—”

“That won’t be necessary,” I interrupt. “He’s dead.”

Stefan steps back and stares at me with an appraising look. “Dead? How, exactly?”

“By my own hand,” I snap impatiently, not caring that this in no way sounds like the actions of Wilhamina Andewyn.

“If he’s dead, then where is his—”

“We can deal with him later! You need to send guards to the docks now, before it’s too late.”

He looks at me a moment longer before nodding. “I will alert the guards. Until this is over, I would like for you to return to your chambers.”

I smile, in what I hope looks like serene obedience. “Of course, my lord. That is exactly what I planned to do.”

CHAPTER 59

WILHA

I press my thumb to the embedded opal and the wall slides back. I grab a candle from a table and venture yet again into the passageway, and light the first two torches I come upon.

When I return to the bedroom, I slump to the ground and lean against the bed, my heart hammering in my chest.

By now James should have left the Sleeping Dragon and will be making his way to the castle gates, safely away from the docks. But what of Victor and Kyra? What of Galina? What of the hundreds of other people who live near the docks? People who may not have enough time to escape if the men are not stopped and the fire starts.

A fire started by men from my own kingdom, for the express purpose of pushing Galandria and Kyrenica into war. All these years, I have heard Kyrenicans called dogs. But now, more than anything, I find I just want to see them saved.

From the sitting room comes the sound of anguished moaning.

I freeze and my fingers move to my cheek, where Lord Murcendor tried to kiss me. My breath starts to come in ragged gasps.

Soft thuds sound from the sitting room, followed by the click of a door opening, and then closing.

It is a while before I can make myself stand up and creep over to the sitting room. Yet when I do, I discover that the place where Lord Murcendor had laid is now empty, his abandoned sword the only evidence that he was ever in the room.

CHAPTER 60

ELARA

When I fling open the door to my chambers I find Wilha staring at the empty spot where Lord Murcendor’s body should have been.

“Where did—I thought he was dead?”

“I never said he was dead,” she replies, white-faced. “I said—”

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll deal with it later. Grab his sword, we’ll need it.” I hurry into the bedroom. Wilha follows be-hind me, carrying the weapon. The passageway is open and a gaping black hole beckons me. I grab a cloak and pull it around me.

“What exactly do you plan to do?” she asks as we step into the tunnel.

“We’re going to try to buy the Kyrenican guards some time.” I lift a torch from its mount in the passageway.

“How will we do that? We can’t stop them all with just one sword. We are outnumbered, and they have more weapons.”

“But we have words. And we have legends and rumors. Put them together, and you have the most powerful weapon in the world.”

When the tunnel wall slides away, I’m greeted with a blast of fresh, icy air. Wilha points to the edge of the cave.

“The men are just below there, at the base of the cliff. When I left there were about ten of them with more due to arrive.”

I hand her my torch and creep to the edge. Rowan’s Rock rises up in the distance, proudly battling the tide. To the north, the docks are eerily quiet. Deserted sailboats are tethered to port, and they float quietly on the water, like ghost ships. From far away I hear the sounds of laughter and carousing. It seems that anyone who’s still awake at this hour has moved to the west side of the city toward the castle.

Down below on the beach several men, about twenty in all, stand around a campfire and listen to another man that I believe is Garwyn. He carries a torch and seems to be giving instructions.

From the west I hear a screeching, whistling sound, followed by a loud pop! Fireworks are exploding in the sky. Facing away from the castle, I can’t see them, but the men below turn toward the cliff to watch, and I draw back further into the cave. I don’t want to draw their attention. Not yet.

“That was the signal for them to start,” Wilha whispers urgently.

“I know.”

I’m standing at the edge of a moment. The instant the first act of war is committed. Or the instant I prevent it. Don’t I know how one choice, one moment, can echo across time? Eleanor Andewyn dropped the First Opal. Aislinn Andewyn chose to betray her twin. The ripples of both these women’s actions continue on today in my own life. And here now is another moment. A hundred years from now, how will it be remembered?

I think of the book Queen Astrid gave me. I still can’t reconcile myself to the fact that I’m an Andewyn, but I can understand this: Maybe the book was intended to be more than a feeble parting gift from a mother who gave me away. Maybe in its truest sense she intended the book to be a guide, something to help me set the course of my days. In this moment, maybe I can draw strength from Eleanor’s story, the peasant girl who became a queen, and hope that her courage and determination will pass on to me.

“Light them!” Garwyn calls to his men, and they all step forward, each man producing a torch of his own. When the last torch has been lit, the men turn toward the docks.

As loud as I can, I yell, “Men of Galandria! Why have you come to wreak havoc upon my city?”

The men stop. They look up toward the cliff, and I draw back into the cave. I don’t want to be seen, not yet. For now I prefer to be a voice in the darkness.

“Who said that?” comes Garwyn’s voice.

I don’t answer, and in the silence another man replies, “It came from there—from the cliffs. I told you I heard something earlier. Maybe it’s the spirit of Queen Rowan herself.”

“Don’t be a superstitious fool,” Garwyn retorts. He raises his voice. “I say again, who said that? Show yourself.”

“Stay back,” I whisper to Wilha. I flip the hood of my cloak up and step slightly forward. “Men of Galandria! Why have you come to wreak havoc upon my city?”

“There is someone up there—look. I see a shadow!”

“I know your plans,” I call down to the men. “I know you mean to destroy this city and bring war to this land and to your own homeland. Yet what you cannot know, what you couldn’t possibly know, is that the man who gave you this order is dead.”

Silence meets my cry. And then, “She’s lying. Moran, go up there and shut her up.”

“I’m not going up there. What if it really is Queen Rowan’s ghost?”

I step back and whisper to Wilha. “Give me his sword.”

Wilha hands it to me. My arm immediately drops to my side and the sword clanks to the ground. “This is heavier than it looks,” I say, cursing.

In the torchlight I see Wilha smile. “I know.” She picks up the sword again—seemingly with ease—and as we stare at each other it occurs to me that maybe I’ve misjudged this quiet girl. The same girl who, now that I think about it, somehow managed to scale the cliff to reach this cave. The same girl who fled the castle and learned to survive in the city on her own, something I wasn’t so sure I could do.

“I hid the letter from Patric in one of the velvet boxes,” I say suddenly. “It’s there waiting for you when . . . this is all over.”

“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.

Dawn’s early rays peek through the castle windows by the time I enter my bedroom. When I open the blue velvet box to take off the mask, I find a letter tucked inside. Not Patric’s letter, but another, also addressed to the Masked Princess. I quickly open it, all thoughts of removing my mask forgotten.

Dear Elara,

Tonight you saved the city from an unimaginable fate. Indeed, your actions may well have saved both Kyrenica and Galandria from an unnecessary war. I know you do not consider yourself an Andewyn, and for this, I cannot blame you. Yet in you I see so much of our ancestors. Indeed, far more than I have ever glimpsed in myself.

You say you have no name, so I beg of you, take mine. For in these last several days you have worn it with more grace and vigor than I ever have. Take my name and build for yourself the life that should have been yours sixteen years ago. Become the Masked Princess. I have seen you and Stefan together, and it is clear he has claimed your heart and you his. Someday we will meet again, and on that day I hope you will forgive me for choosing a life outside of the castle.

Somewhere in your heart you must see that this is the logical end to this matter.

Wilha finishes the letter without a signature. Fitting for someone who has just walked away from her identity. I stride to the sitting room, start a fire, and sink into the armchair, considering her words.

For all Wilha’s persuasion, she forgot to mention there is still a peace treaty, still a war that would very likely be fought if I choose to leave. But despite all this, Wilha has made her decision.

Now I must make mine.

I read the letter one more time and then I rise. I toss it into the fire, where it curls and blackens, turning in on itself. Until there is nothing left but ashes and embers.

A knock sounds at the door, and I hurry to open it before Milly awakens. Stefan enters the room. His eyes droop with exhaustion.

“The guards can find no trace of Lord Murcendor in the castle, or in the city. They will continue to look, of course, but I fear we may not find him. Lord Quinlan has sent several pigeons bound for Galandria. He seemed eager that your father should know of Lord Murcendor’s actions. Indeed, that was what he wanted to speak to you about in private earlier. One of his men saw Lord Murcendor in the city yesterday speaking with Garwyn, and he was troubled when Lord Murcendor did not report it to my father.”

“Where is Lord Quinlan now?” I ask.

“Packing. Both he and Lord Royce mean to leave Korynth at once. As it was some of his own men who joined with Lord Murcendor, Lord Quinlan in particular is anxious to return to Galandria and explain these events to your father in person. Both he and Lord Royce have asked to speak to you before they leave, but I told them I myself would convey their well wishes.” He pauses. “After what happened with Lord Mur-cendor, I am not eager for any of your father’s advisors to meet with you.” He sighs. “Unless of course you wish to?”

I hesitate, remembering Lord Royce’s words: “There were things I could’ve told her. Things your mother wanted her to know. A message she intended Elara to have.”

I don’t think Lord Royce knows anything. If my mother gave me up so easily, I doubt she had anything to say to me, other than giving me the book. And even if she did, I’m not sure I care. Not after she decided I was worth so much less than Wilhamina.

Nevertheless, the temptation to speak to him is strong. Just, I think, as Lord Royce intends. I imagine him not very far away, waiting for me to come to him. Waiting for me to play into his hands.

He’ll have to keep waiting. The farther I stay away from the Guardians, and Galandria all together, the safer I’ll be.

“No,” I say. “I have no wish to speak to them.”

Stefan nods and reaches for my hand. “You are the most wondrous woman I have ever met. Do you want to tell me exactly how you managed to appear on that cliff at just the right moment tonight?”

“A woman can’t give away all her secrets. Surely you must know that,” I say with a bat of my eyes.

He pulls me close, cups my chin in his hands, and whispers, “I look forward to a lifetime of learning your secrets.” His lips meet mine and a thrill passes over me, split into equal parts of joy and fear. Joy that he wants me.

And fear that he will find out my biggest secret.

But I push those thoughts away and give myself over to the kiss. It’s me he wants, and me he will marry, the only twin he has ever known. And if I have to trade one name for another, does it really matter? Because standing on that ledge and addressing those men as the Masked Princess didn’t feel like deception. It felt like the righting of so many wrongs.

“I meant what I said earlier. I intend to make a new start,” Stefan says when we pull apart. “I intend to put aside our families’ differences and love you.” He traces a finger down my mask. “Loving you, I suspect, will not be a difficult thing to do.” His face is hopeful and expectant, and I know he wants me to return his sentiments.

Instead, I bring my lips to his for another kiss. Of all the words in this world, love is the most powerful of them all. It’s a word I can’t say. Not yet, anyway.

Not until I know it comes from the deepest, most sincere place in my heart.

CHAPTER 63

WILHA

The masquerade lasts until dawn. When a servant ushers the remaining guests from the great hall, I rise up from the corner I have been hiding in to join the crowd that is now streaming out the castle.

The streets of Korynth are damp and dirty from a night of reveling. Several men are passed out near the castle gates. Empty bottles of ale and half-burned candles litter the cobblestone streets.

I pass a couple slumped together on a wooden bench. The girl wears a simple, powder blue dress and a lavender costume mask. Instinctively, I change direction and turn north, set on a new destination.

When I reach the Broken Statue I kneel down, my eyes almost level with Queen Rowan’s stone gaze. I remove my white and silver mask and tilt my head to the wind, enjoying the feel of fresh, salty air on my face.

Queen Rowan’s broken, beheaded statue stares at me silently. For once, I don’t think she is judging me to be unworthy of the Andewyn name. I think she is watching, curious to see which path I shall take.

“No matter where I go,” I whisper to her, “I will always be an Andewyn. Always.”

I leave the mask at the foot of the statue. Then I rise and turn eastward, and head for home.

I don’t know what will happen today, or the next day, or the day after that. I only know, for the first time ever, I have the chance to choose the life I want to live.

And for right now, that is everything.