The Spy Princess

  The night I reached the last page, I closed the book with regret and went downstairs. It was time to think about dinner. Before I could talk with Lizana, the boys flew in through the open windows.

  “What’s the fastest meal?” Bren asked.

  “Bread and cheese,” I replied.

  “No.” Lizana appeared in the doorway. “You’ll eat properly. Now, if you chop potatoes small, and onions and turnips, you can cook them fast on this flat pan, once you’ve oiled it.”

  “Garlic, too.” Innon tossed me a whole head of the stuff.

  Lizana added, “And a dash of wine for flavor! Then—” She broke off.

  I heard the front door open, then close.

  Then a familiar uneven, scraping walk.

  “Peitar!” I cried, and ran to meet him.

  ten

  “Fheg! You’re dripping wet! Where’s your cane?”

  “And I’m happy to see you too, little sister.” Peitar laughed, but his eyes were shadowed, his face more drawn than I’d ever seen it.

  “Here, come into the kitchen so you can dry off.”

  “And some steeped listerblossom would be welcome.” He leaned on my shoulder.

  As soon as Lizana saw him, she handed him a towel. “You’ll have that. And a good meal.” She took over as we set the table, moving about the kitchen in a quick, sharp way I’d never seen before. Under her orders, we got dinner cooking much faster than usual.

  Peitar dropped into one of the chairs with a long sigh. “The king holds Miraleste again.” We all seemed to catch our breath at once. “One morning last week, we woke to find a detachment of the army lined up across the eastern horizon. The people who held the gate melted away, and no one opposed the king’s force.”

  “Did anyone try to resist?” Lizana asked.

  “A few groups. Enough for Uncle Darian to permit reprisals. It’s called ‘reestablishing order.’”

  Bren gave him an anxious look. “Where’s Derek?” Bren asked.

  “He’s as safe as can be expected. We argued once too often, so I came here. He knows where I am—and I’m sure Uncle Darian does, too, but as long as I’m not at the head of a rabble, I think he’ll leave me be.”

  “And he doesn’t know the magic spell,” I said with relief.

  “I hope Deveral fed you,” said Lizana.

  Peitar’s expression brightened. “Splendidly. But it rained on the way. Even with the flying spell, it was a windy, difficult journey, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more glad to see your lights below me.”

  “Derek Diamagan and the rest of the troubles can wait.” She set down a steaming cup. “You need to eat and get yourself warm and dry, and sleep.”

  Peitar obeyed, too. Nothing more was said about Derek or Sarendan or Uncle Darian. Instead, he asked about our time in Delfina.

  Innon gave an account of his new friends and their games on the lake. Then I prodded Bren to talk about drawing, and Peitar asked to see his sketches.

  After cleanup, Bren went upstairs and got a sheaf of papers. He spread them out on the table, making one of those comical faces, part pride and part fear. There was the lake drawing, and others of the garden. They were very good, but his people were better: Seriah at her embroidery, her expression thoughtful; Innon flying with a delighted look on his face; a group of kids playing on the village green. And there were others: wary, angry people from the revolution; Deveral and Lizana, highlighting their resemblance; Derek in his storyteller mood.

  “This,” Peitar said, laying the last one down, “is very good. You have an exceptional talent, Bren—it ought to be cultivated.”

  “Derek thinks that art is only for nobles, and Bren should be a bricklayer,” I put in.

  “That’s not true,” Bren snapped, then said in a lower voice, “Well, not entirely.”

  “More true than not.”

  Peitar gave us a look, and we shut up. “You don’t have to confine yourself to fine art, and even if you did, what’s wrong with making art that anyone can have access to, rich or poor?”

  First Tsauderei, now Peitar—I hoped it would be enough to make Bren change his mind.

  • • •

  THE NEXT MORNING my brother was still asleep, so I visited Atan. She knew much more history than I, but she was as eager to listen as to talk. Like me, she wanted to know why a person did what they did.

  We got so involved in discussing whether JaJa the Pirate Queen was a real person or a story (and if she was real, which of her adventures were true), that I forgot the time—forgot even that Peitar was in the valley—until I had to go back to Irad House.

  That reminded me of something Tsauderei had said. After dinner, I caught Peitar alone. “Rested?” I asked.

  “Much better, thank you.” Peitar raised his eyebrows. “Why? You have some nefarious scheme afoot?”

  “Come with me tomorrow, to meet someone.”

  “I visited Tsauderei today, if that’s who you mean.” I shook my head. “I want to spend some time at the lake. A swim without having to watch for danger will be a rare treat.”

  “Somebody new. Someone who reads a lot of the books you do, and talks about the same things.”

  He raised his hands in mock surrender. “You win. But afterward, the lake.”

  Peitar wasn’t a fast flyer, but it was clear that it was easier for his entire body; like Bren, he was more graceful aloft. As we gained height, he lifted his head and the summer wind tangled his hair, and his face relaxed so much that, for once, he really did look nineteen.

  “Is Uncle Darian really after you?” I asked as soon as we were high above Irad House.

  “Probably. Yes. I wish I knew why.”

  “Ugh! What’s to wonder about? He called us traitors!”

  “That was said in anger. I don’t believe he believes it. Remember when I talked to him the day of the revolution, when we were locked in the garrison? He was most angry that I was friends with Derek—and that I didn’t tell him of Derek’s plans. But he hadn’t yet read my letter.”

  “How did he get the letter? Bren said he threw it away!”

  “He threw it in the garden, and one of the king’s men found it and gave it to Uncle Darian after he was freed. He probably didn’t like seeing my opinion of his failings, but he’d also have seen that I’m against violence—that I refused to have any part in the uprising. He knows I can’t lead a pony cart, much less an army. In short, I am no threat to anyone. Yet once he retook Miraleste, he sent people to hunt me down. I think it’s because our interview was interrupted. Sometimes I think I ought to let them get me, just so we can talk again. But what if he decides to silence me forever?”

  I said in my calmest but firmest voice, “You have to promise you won’t let him get you. Promise!” And when he hesitated, I said, “Oh, Peitar, it’ll be scary enough when we go back, without my thinking that you—”

  “Not we,” he said quickly. “You can’t go back, Lilah. I couldn’t do anything, knowing you were in danger.”

  “You can’t make me stay here.”

  His voice was so soft I almost didn’t hear it. “I can.”

  “A threat?” I cried. “Peitar—”

  Then there was no time for speech, as we came in for a landing near Hermit House. He straightened up with an effort and faced me. “I could ask Tsauderei to amend the magic so that you cannot leave the valley. Lilah,” he added quickly, almost desperately, “I believe in your courage and your good intentions. One of the best days of my life was when I caught sight of you sneaking past my window. It’s a real gift that we can talk this freely. But Sarendan is in a state of war, and you don’t have the training or the resources to survive it.”

  “You don’t, either.”

  “I know,” he said ruefully, “and I almost didn’t survive.
”

  “What? You didn’t tell—”

  “I see a house. Is someone inside? Let’s go meet your friend, shall we? Ugly stories can wait.” I had to give up—for now.

  Atan answered the door, which meant either that Gehlei had seen us coming or Tsauderei was there, for they never relaxed their vigilance.

  “This is my brother, Peitar,” I said, and to him, as he looked at her with interest, “This is the person we call Atan. Her existence is a secret outside of the valley.”

  “I will tell him everything later,” Tsauderei called from within. “Good thought, Lilah,” he added.

  The house smelled of herbs and honey and wax, as they were making candles. Atan clearly noted the way Peitar walked, but she didn’t recoil,or stare—she just turned her attention to him.

  “How nice to meet you,” she exclaimed, and showed him to a chair. “Though truth to tell I’ve been apprehensive, for Lilah and Tsauderei describe you as a real scholar.”

  Peitar smiled. “Not even remotely, I’m afraid.”

  Tsauderei snorted.

  “Steeped leaf? It’s real Sartoran leaf,” she added. “One of the few benefits of the time-freeze is that we still have some that’s a century old.”

  He still looked confused—then his eyes widened, and he turned to Tsauderei, who nodded and chuckled softly. It was as if I could watch Peitar working it all out.

  Atan put a few spoonfuls into a pot and poured in boiling water, sending a wonderful fresh scent through the room. She said, “We were just talking about the breakup of the empire. I hadn’t known—had you?—that it wasn’t just Sartor, but Colend and the Land of the Venn that broke up, or were broken, at about the same time, and we wondered if it was coincidence. . . .”

  And there we were, launched right into history. The talk was way over my head, but I found it interesting to listen as they veered from theories to people—how the Dei family always seemed to be somewhere close by, if not involved in kingdom-changing events—and how personalities could alter the course of entire nations.

  Not once did Peitar go distant. In fact, he’d never been so expressive for so long a time. At one point, he and Tsauderei had a long debate about why Norsunder had attacked only certain kingdoms.

  “All we truly know about the Norsundrian command is that they exist outside of time, so they have the leisure to watch plans unfold over centuries. And from the old records, I believe they like the hunt, the game, the subtle twist of a dagger, and not the bludgeon.”

  Atan poured out more steeped leaf. “No,” she said. “Sartor was bludgeoned.”

  “But that was an underling’s plan,” Tsauderei countered. And then, to Peitar, “Some of my colleagues in Bereth Ferian do not like my pursuit of our enemies through records, but I maintain we’re going to have to understand them if we’re to defeat them.”

  “Naturally I agree, since it was you who taught me.” Atan laughed.

  Peitar put down his cup. “I wish you could talk to Derek. Maybe he’d listen to you.”

  “Why? I’m full of reading and not a trace of experience. Your friend would probably dismiss me as another hot wind gusting through the eaves.”

  “No.” Peitar hesitated. “At the least, he might consider that slam justice is another form of tyranny.”

  “Slam justice,” she repeated. “I admire the Esalan brothers tremendously, but I don’t believe that there really is justice outside the law.” Tsauderei glanced from one to the other. Atan went on thoughtfully, “But what if the law doesn’t promote justice? Another topic for debate! Are you tired of debate?” She laughed and rose to her feet. “Tsauderei and I sometimes spend half the day in debate when we should be practicing magic—or so he says, if I’m not sufficiently diligent. Meanwhile, I seem to have let the pot go dry. Shall I fix some more?”

  Peitar stood. “No, thank you. I promised someone I’d go to the lake.”

  “Do return, if you have the time. I already have a mental list of records with which to arm myself against our next attempt to solve the world’s problems.”

  Tsauderei said to me, “Hold him to that swim.” He pointed at Peitar. “Then you come visit me.”

  We didn’t talk at all on the flight back. When we landed outside Irad House, I saw the old lines and pain in Peitar’s face again, and blurted out, “Isn’t Atan wonderful? Don’t you like her?”

  “Very much,” he said. And that was all—though usually he had a lot more to say, and even a few quotes to throw in.

  eleven

  Still, even if Peitar hadn’t said much, he had meant every word. I was delighted when he offered to accompany me on my next visit, and those visits soon became a habit. The two of them talked about magic, and about history, and what it meant to lead a kingdom, quoting back and forth from Adamas Dei and other famous writers. I started reading those books, looking for ideas. And I wasn’t the only one. Innon began Our Provident Careers.

  Another thing Peitar and I began to do together was fly late at night, before bed, just to talk. We had years to make up for. I soaked up his stories about his time in the valley with Mother—any stories about Mother, really. We went on to Selenna family history—and, finally, Father. To my surprise, Peitar had some good memories.

  He had seen how much Father loved our mother—how he delighted in trying to surprise her, with her favorite foods, with gifts. Selenna House had been filled with music. The garden was her kingdom, and she made it into the paradise I remembered. “You have to realize,” Peitar said, “our father wouldn’t look at anyone else after he met our mother. Even though she had no interest in him at all.”

  And he talked about his accident for the first time. “You cannot blame Father for this wreck of a knee, no matter what anyone says,” Peitar said, gazing at the scattered stars. “He agreed to postpone my riding and sword lessons to please Mother. And when it happened . . . well, you know how our uncle feels about mages, and withstanding pain. Father would have sent for a healer had I asked, but I lied and said I felt fine. That’s what I’d been taught to do, and I could see it made things easier for him. But Mother could see the difference between what I was saying and how I was feeling, and she thought—well, that I was turning into another version of our uncle.”

  “No! She couldn’t!”

  “But she did. I understand it now. It was that mistaken impression, when I was trying so hard to please them all, that drove her out into the garden during that sleet storm when she was already sick.” That final illness had killed her.

  A sob wrenched me, and Peitar gripped my arm. “That’s why it’s important for us always to speak freely to one another,” he said, looking into my eyes. “Not to hide and second guess. There’s already been too much damage because of that.”

  I thought of my promise. “I’ll try.”

  Back at Irad House, I wrestled with Adamas Dei’s memoirs until my eyes burned. When I went to bed at last, a square of light from Peitar’s window painted the trees outside.

  • • •

  A WEEK OR so later came a hot, breathless morning. “Thunder on the way,” Lizana commented at breakfast. “We’ll clean the house.”

  “Now, how did the one thing lead to the other?” Bren asked, chin in hand.

  “You may contemplate it,” she said, “as you mop the upstairs floors. Innon, you will dust. Lilah, you get the floors down here.”

  “Foogh,” I grumbled.

  “And you,” Lizana said, pointing to Peitar, “are to drop the studies and go swimming before the weather changes.”

  “Yes, Lizana,” Peitar said meekly.

  “No books,” she added.

  “No books,” he echoed, raising his hands.

  And so it was. Innon finished first, then joined Peitar. I was mopping near the front door when a knock startled me. I don’t know if it was the for
eboding weather or Peitar’s increasing concentration on unnamed studies or Lizana’s flat voice or all of them, but somehow I knew who it was before I opened the door.

  And I was right.

  Derek stood there, nearly as thin as Peitar, his face just as weary. His hair had gotten longer, but he clearly hadn’t noticed, because he would have been the first to condemn himself for looking like a noble. “May I come in?” he finally asked.

  “Oh! Sorry.” I held the door open. “But step carefully. I just mopped.”

  He remained where he was. “Is Peitar about?”

  “Down at the lake.”

  “No, he isn’t,” came Peitar’s voice, as he landed on the porch behind Derek, who turned with a wary quickness that alarmed me. But then he saw Peitar and relaxed, and so did I.

  “You,” he said without preamble, “were right. You were right all along, and I’ve been a fool. No, worse, for the consequences are worse. . . .”

  “Later,” Peitar said in a gentle voice. “Later. Come in.” He led him into the sitting room. Innon followed.

  “From the lake we saw someone flying in,” Innon whispered. “I don’t know how Peitar guessed it was Derek. Never thought your brother could move so fast. He shot out of the water, straight into the sky!”

  Peitar said, “Lilah, I apologize for marking up the floor.”

  Just then Bren came hurtling down the stairs. “Derek!”

  “Bren, I can’t believe how fat you are! This life suits you.”

  “Fat?” Bren looked down at his bony self, amazed and pleased. “Fat?”

  “Are you hungry?” I asked Derek, who was laughing. “Thirsty?”

  “Nothing right now,” he replied. “But thanks, Lilah.”

  Bren fidgeted impatiently. “What about Deon? And Dirty—” He looked around guiltily, but Lizana was nowhere in sight.

  “I don’t know about Deon,” Derek said, “which I consider good news, unless I hear otherwise. As for Darian Irad, he still controls Sarendan, for which I have my own lack of control to blame. Leaders of riots don’t bring stability.”