The Spy Princess

  Mirah said with quick sympathy, “You’re just a child. How could you—”

  “I should have remembered,” I said in a fierce, wavering voice. “No matter what age I am.”

  It’s strange how you can recall every detail of one memory, but other parts are gone. I remember the exact pattern of the embroidery on the cushions in my father’s parlor, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you how I got down to the garrison courtyard.

  But somehow I did, and no one noticed me.

  By standing on tiptoe, I caught a glimpse of the carriage as it arrived. In desperation, I dropped to the ground and crawled through the crowd until I reached the front.

  The guards kept the onlookers back as the carriage door opened. First Derek appeared, his clothes torn and blood-splattered. His hands had been tightly bound behind him, and his ankles were chained. His mouth was puffy; one eye was swollen shut. Guards twice his size force-marched him through the archway into the garrison prison.

  Then came Peitar. He was unshackled, and though he was guarded, no one touched him. There were no bruises, no signs of violence.

  The biggest guard offered his arm, and if there was a kind of irony in the gesture, there was none in Peitar’s weary smile, his quiet word of gratitude, which everyone heard because, though the garrison court was packed, no one spoke. They started toward the prison, and my inability to do anything to help him made me furious.

  Then Peitar paused. He lifted his head and scanned the crowd.

  And our eyes met.

  I knew our eyes met because his expression changed. Did he recognize me? Or was he not sure? Instinct, and my fear for us both, made me do what I did next.

  I brought my hand up in the crook-leg sign.

  Peitar’s face shuttered, and the guards closed in, blocking him from view.

  Just after the heavy doors clanged shut, the whispers began. Fierce, low whispers, like a wind through a forest—guards, servants, nobles, merchants.

  I stared at that iron door, still on my hands and knees, my eyes blurring with tears of shame for making that awful sign, self-hatred for having forgotten all about Therian, and above all, grief.

  • • •

  WHEN I REACHED the street below ours, someone grabbed my arm, and I whirled around.

  Bren glared at me. “Why are you blubbing? Do you want everybody in the city to hear you?”

  “It’s my fault,” I cried. “The Buckets got—”

  “Shut up,” he whispered. “Shut up.” A few adults turned to look at us. “Quiet. We heard. We know.”

  I tried to get control of myself as we returned by a tortuous route to the hideout, where Deon was silent, for once, her lips white with rage.

  “It’s all over the city,” Innon said. “Everyone knows they got them during the night.”

  “It’s my fault. It wasn’t Flendar who was the danger, but someone called Therian. I heard my uncle say it, that Therian was to keep track of Flendar, but I forgot.”

  “None of the adults knew, either.”

  “But I heard it. I should have told them, but I forgot.”

  Innon shrugged. “Who says they would have done anything different? Look. It happened. We just have to figure out what to do. That’s why we formed the brothers.”

  “That’s right.” Bren smacked his fist into his hand. “We’ve got to rescue them.”

  Deon turned on her cousin. “How?” Her lip quivered.

  “We can’t do it alone. . . .” he began.

  “So we get Deveral to help,” Innon said. “Remember what he told us?”

  “Deveral,” Deon breathed.

  I gave a great, shuddering sigh. “I forgot about Deveral.”

  “So did I,” Bren admitted. “But Innon didn’t. That’s why there’s four of us. We’re all good at something. Look. Me’n Innon are the best riders. We’ll find horses and go to Diannah Forest. You two keep watch on things here.”

  “But they’re going to kill them tomorrow!” wailed Deon.

  Innon said, “I overheard at least three separate rumors that there’d be a trial first.”

  “That’s what Mirah said, too. They’re being kept in the palace garrison until the trial.”

  “Then we have time. But not much.” Innon started stuffing things into his pack.

  “So let’s get going.” Bren rose. “Our first problem is finding horses.”

  Deon said, “How about Fionah Blereus? Ask Camos, who’s always at Five Points, selling his mother’s pies. Tell him I sent you, and you’re a messenger for the Sharadan brothers. He’ll tell you where she lives now.”

  “You two take the magic bread bag,” I said. “I can get food from the kitchens.”

  Innon’s voice was calm, but his hands were shaking. “We’ll go through the gate with the market crowd.”

  “Stay safe,” Deon called as they descended the ladder, at the same time I said, “Be careful.”

  “Maybe I’d better make sure Camos believes Bren. Then I’ll start my spying with the Red Raven.” And, after giving me a measuring look, she raced off.

  I was alone with my guilt. I knew what Deon’s look meant: she was trying not to blame me for Derek’s being caught. I kicked the wall—and Tsauderei’s ring knocked against my ribs. The ring! Why hadn’t I remembered it when the boys were there? We could all have gone to Delfina for help.

  Since I’ve ruined everything, maybe I’d better use it, I thought miserably.

  I pulled it out, held it as I’d been shown, and said the words.

  • • •

  A TERRIFYING WHIRLWIND took hold of me, then abruptly let me go. When the dizziness passed, I found myself sitting on a hassock.

  The cool, clean air, the windows overlooking the lake—I was in Tsauderei’s house!

  “Lilah.” The mage sat in his chair.

  “Uncle Dirty Hands got Peitar,” I said. And then the tears came again.

  Tsauderei waited until I got the worst of it out, then said, “Talk. Fast.”

  I told him everything—from when we’d first arrived in Miraleste to the boys going to Deveral. It all came out in a jumble full of hiccupping and backtracking. “So you have to use your magic and go get him out! Get them both! You can do that, can’t you?”

  “I can,” he said. “But I don’t think I should.”

  “Why?” I cried.

  Tsauderei gazed out his window at the serene blue lake. “I’ve lived a long time,” he said in a musing tone. “A very long time. But I suspect this is going to be one of the most difficult decisions I will ever have to make.”

  He faced me. “But I’ve made it. I am going to send you back, because your brother would never forgive me if I pulled him out now—and I could.” He smiled at my expression. “Oh, yes. A relatively easy spell, for there are no wards over the palace—and that’s the main reason I must not. Your uncle would redouble his efforts to block mages from returning to Sarendan, even if he had to give in at last to Norsunder to do it.”

  “No,” I cried. “You can’t. You have to save Peitar!”

  “Lilah. Consider this. While your brother was here, I offered to perform some spells to ease his hip joint and repair his fractured knee. Yes. I can also do that,” he added wryly, at my noise of surprise. “It’s complicated magic, and it would take time. Given enough time, in fact, I might be able to restore the knee. But he refused.”

  I sniffled. “He did?”

  “Twelve years he’s endured those mis-healed joints, but he refused. He did not want to risk having Darian see him whole and remember us mages. We will have to let that trial go on. And your brother will face your uncle.”

  I was crying again. “But he’ll kill Peitar. I know he will.”

  Tsauderei shook his head slowly. “Perhaps he’ll c
onsider . . . No,” he said somberly, “it’s likely he’ll make the decision to do so. Oh, Lilah, can’t you see how terrible it is for each of them? But we have to let them talk it out, even if that has to happen at a public trial, because they both follow the law as they see it: one the literal law, and the other the spirit of the law.”

  I jumped to my feet. “So you’re just going to let Uncle Darian kill Peitar!”

  “No. You didn’t listen.” Tsauderei jabbed a finger at me. “We have to stand aside—for both their sakes. However. There are things I can do. You say the boys are on their way to Deveral?”

  “Yes.” Hope gave me the strength to stop crying.

  “Well, then. Let me think, and do some covert checking around. In the meantime, the plans you four made are good. Stick to them. I think you are doing a fine job. In fact, an excellent one.”

  Before I could say anything more, he added, “And if we do manage to get through this . . . mess, you will be a great aid to your brother. Yes, yes, you made mistakes, but you’ve learned from them. I fear Peitar inherited far too much of the Irad passion and vision, and he needs a good dose of the practicality that you got from your Selenna forebears.”

  And then he sent me back.

  seven

  I didn’t tell Deon what had happened. I could imagine her saying, So what’s the powerful mage going to do? Nothing? And she’d get angry all over again.

  In the long, weary days before the trial we roamed the streets listening, but all the rumors contradicted one another.

  Many were about the Sharadan brothers. Gossip had made us into a great gang, spilling out gold like water, especially because Deon and I also kept ourselves busy by working our way down the list of people who needed help. The only other thing that cheered her up was when she heard someone whistling “The Weaver Maid” as a patrol rode by.

  The rest of what I overheard was about the trial, and Derek and Peitar. They had been killed already; they were being tortured each day; they had surrendered and revealed all their supporters; they had escaped. How I wished that the last was true.

  We were able to fill our days with activity, but the nights were restless, and we often wondered when Bren and Innon would return. On the fifth night, when there was no sign of them and we were wild with exhaustion, we deliberately did what Innon had done by accident—we dosed ourselves with Lure. One flower was enough to put us both out.

  It seemed like a good idea until we woke with upset stomachs, dry mouths, and pounding headaches. As I crushed the spent blossom to dust, I felt sorry for our victims—except that horrible Liseon Alafio, whom, at least, we’d never seen again.

  Two days later, I went to the palace.

  As soon as we were safely alone, Mirah said, “You shouldn’t be here!”

  “Everyone thinks I’m Larei the spit-boy,” I said. “And I need to know what’s going on.”

  “The trial is tomorrow.”

  “I have to see it. I have to.”

  Mirah was clearly unhappy, but said, “All right. But as a page, you understand? With someone safe. And you must stay here tonight.”

  “The entire city will be under close guard,” Lexian added. “The guards have orders to arrest anyone carrying weapons. The criers are spreading the word this afternoon.”

  The tension in the kitchen was worse, with people arguing in fierce whispers, then breaking apart if anyone else walked by.

  Thankfully, Mirah made sure that Lexian and I worked far from the other help. We polished silver, and he tried to distract me with talk of how he wanted to apprentice as a silversmith, the different types of silver and the patterns along the handles, and how the pieces were made. He meant well, but it didn’t work.

  The horrible day finally ended. I had supper in Nina’s room, where I was to sleep.

  A thunderstorm struck very late. I thought of Deon, alone, waiting for the boys. What if they were lost in that weather? I couldn’t stay in bed and went to Mirah’s room, where she was talking quietly, urgently, with Nina, Lexian, and Halbrek.

  The steward was saying, “. . . no one’s permitted near them, outside of the king’s personal guard and Captain Leonos. He spoke to Lord Peitar when they were first brought in, but hasn’t mentioned what they talked about. None of us dares ask, lest we make him suspicious.”

  “They haven’t done anything to Peitar, have they?” I remembered what had happened to Bernal the day the revolution began. And Peitar’s voice, A reminder of the price of high politics.

  “Timeos reports they haven’t,” Halbrek said quickly.

  Mirah pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “We all must get rest.”

  • • •

  IN THE MORNING, the heat was worse than ever.

  “Eat, Larei,” Mirah said as soon as I had stepped through the cleaning frame. She indicated Halbrek, busy at his breakfast. “You are assigned page duty today. You’ll go early to learn what must be done.” Early to get into place for the trial.

  But I couldn’t eat. Instead, I waited for Halbrek. After he had finished, he led me not to the great judiciary chamber, but to a servants’ corridor outside the throne room.

  “Here?” I asked, confused. “The trial is here?”

  He spoke softly as he handed me a royal page’s tunic. “The king said that it’s easier to guard, which is true, but that might be only one reason. You have read your history. Think about the past.” I guessed that this was his way of telling me that he was as worried about the trial as I was. “Your duty station is up here.”

  I followed him up the narrow stairs to the second of the wall alcoves. Halbrek looked down at the assembling guards, and the servants sweeping and arranging chairs on the throne dais. I had not been here since the days after the revolution. “The original purpose of the throne room was for the king or queen to sit in judgment over the nobles, the monarch’s oath-sworn representatives. As the years went by, and the balance of power swung back and forth, these alcoves were sometimes used by the guard to keep control over those below. At other times, they belonged to this or that great house, whose leader sat here with a private guard, a kind of check on each other and on the crown.”

  Why was he telling me this? I listened, hoping to hear about some law that would keep Peitar safe.

  “Your brother and Diamagan will be there,” Halbrek said, pointing to the alcove closest to the dais. Four sentries stood alert and ready where my brother would soon stand, arguing for his life. “Arrows will be trained on them. And on the crowd below. But none will be on us up here.”

  His voice was flat, as though his words carried special meaning.

  Anguish cramped my middle as I looked at the rest of the great chamber. Most of the old banners had been restored. Otherwise the room was bare, except for the dais, now lined with fifteen high-backed, cushioned chairs a step below the throne.

  “The king decided against a military trial,” Halbrek continued “There will be a jury added to the three judiciaries: three army commanders, three guild representatives, and six nobles, all chosen by the king.”

  “Chosen to judge against Peitar and Derek.”

  “Probably true. Yet it could have been just the military, which would be a harsher process. His army leaders certainly clamored, but the king stood against it.”

  I was thinking, Derek started a war, but Peitar didn’t. He never lifted a sword. And Uncle Darian knows it.

  A step and a faint ching! made us turn. Timeos entered, tall and imposing in his war gear, complete with helmet, bow, and gauntlets. He didn’t even seem to see me. His face was pale. “Pirlivah guards the access,” he whispered, so quietly Halbrek had to lean forward. I remembered Timeos’s sister was a guard, too.

  “And?”

  “Galtos got the message to him, and he said no.” That “he” couldn’t be my uncle. I su
spected it did not mean Derek, either. “He said if we commit treachery, he will not take the throne.”

  Halbrek winced as if he’d been struck. “I wish I knew what was in his mind. Both their minds.” And then he hurried out.

  Timeos looked down at me, his expression kindly. “You’re here as runner. The other three guards assigned here are not partisans. If they send you to fetch food or drink, you must obey instantly. Can you do that?”

  “Of course.” I swallowed. “Timeos. What was Halbrek talking about? Did someone talk to my brother?”

  Timeos stared downward, his expression bleak. “Our plan was for me to shoot the king if the trial is declared against us. I would have done it, had Lord Peitar said yes.”

  I was stunned, thinking, How easy! Why hadn’t I thought of that?

  My fierce triumph lasted about a heartbeat, because I knew what would happen afterward: another riot, maybe even worse than the revolution. And Timeos certainly would not have survived.

  But Peitar had refused to allow it. He was sending a message that his life was less important than the law. Tsauderei was right—not that it gave me any comfort. Because there was one thing I was sure of: the adults were just as scared, and felt as helpless, as I.

  And they were just as ready to do something desperate.

  eight

  The three guards crowded in, and after one glance ignored me. I crouched down so I could see through the railings. Timeos stood next to me, purposely blocking me from their view.

  The oldest one said to Timeos, “Stinking mob! You should see ’em. Crowds outside the city gates going clear down to the lake road. Selah and her troops drew riding duty. All day in the hot sun, poor mutts.”

  “Just as bad on the palace gates,” said the second. “Half the city is standing outside the walls.”

  “Other half ran off to the countryside to hide,” said the last.

  “Or to join Diamagan’s soul-rotted brother. I heard they’re forming up somewhere out there. They mean to attack us.”