The Spy Princess

  “Servants’ stairs,” I muttered. And, to Derek, “Stay close.”

  Down the hall. Open the narrow door just under the stairs—and we were in!

  We raced up to my floor, and I opened the door a crack. No one in sight. I grabbed Derek’s sleeve, pulling him toward my room. Then came the clack of Father’s shoes right below us! I opened the door and shoved Derek inside.

  “Lilah?”

  Shock panged through me. I peered over the landing. My father stood below, holding his whiskey glass. “I thought I heard someone in the library. Was that you, child?”

  “I wanted a book.” I held it up. “Don’t come near, Father, I’m still sick!”

  My father frowned. “There’s a dangerous criminal in the house. Though he’s under lock and key, I want you to keep to your room. Who is that with you?”

  I turned my head, wildly, reaching for excuses.

  Lizana stood in the doorway, holding a tray. “Lizana,” I said gratefully.

  “Good. She can stay with you until morning, when we’ll be rid of this villain.”

  He went back to his meal, and Lizana and I closed ourselves in my room, where Derek stood, his clothing rumpled and torn, bruises over one eye and on his jaw. He handed Lizana the curtain cords. “Maybe they will think I escaped by magic if they don’t find these.”

  “Good thinking,” Lizana whispered. “Now, children—”

  “Children?” I gawked at her

  “To me, Derek’s just a child. Put this on, young man.” She held out the cloth she’d carried under my dinner tray.

  Derek shook out the gray fabric, and grinned. “A dress!”

  “You are going to be Merilda, the downstairs maid. She’s going to be very, very ill, and must go home. You can’t make it over the wall tonight,” Lizana explained. “It’s too well patrolled. You need to leave while the storm is at its worst. No one will want to get a thorough drenching just to examine a sick maid.”

  Derek pulled the gown over his clothes. Lizana handed him two balled-up rags to stuff down the front, and then wrapped a shawl around his head, hiding his hair.

  “Stoop a little,” she said. “Small steps. And straighten that bosom! You have one side up and the other escaping into your armpit!”

  I smothered my giggles as Derek struggled to reshape his front. Then, under Lizana’s eye, he practiced walking. Once, he looked at me and minced across the room, sashaying like any noble girl at a ball, his wrists arched as if he held a fan—shoved his drooping bosom back into place—waggled his hips around.

  I had to bite my pillow to keep from howling.

  “That’s enough. Children!” Lizana whispered, but she was smiling.

  “I make a handsome lady, don’t I?” Derek fluttered his eyelashes.

  “Terrible!” I wheezed. “T—t—”

  “You’ll do. Come along,” Lizana said crisply as she checked outside my door.

  Derek hunched his shoulders, flipped an end of his shawl at me, and followed Lizana, his steps slow and small. I admired the way he managed to seem shorter and older.

  When they were out of sight I gulped down my food, then recorded Derek’s rescue.

  seven

  Nothing happened for the next few days, other than a series of storms that kept me inside. Just as well, for as far as Father knew, my cold was lingering on, and I wanted to visit Bren and the kids and brag about rescuing Derek.

  On the first nice morning, Peitar appeared at my door. “We’re leaving tomorrow for Miraleste.”

  “Tomorrow!” I sat up in bed. “Then I’ve got to go to the village!”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “I’ve got to say good-bye.” And tell them what happened to Derek.

  “All right,” he said at last. “I’ll ask Lizana to use my old dodge with Father. It used to buy me a day of freedom when I needed it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A supposed ‘special medicine’ that will make you sleep all day, but you’ll waken on the morrow completely recovered.” He spoke with that funny tone that was half mockery and half something harder to define. A little like sadness, maybe regret. Then it was gone. “Be careful. Father was exceptionally angry about Derek’s escape.”

  Soon I was in my Larei clothes, in the garden. Extra guards had been posted, pacing slowly in the hot sun as they looked for anyone who might sneak in. But I was patient. When they were out of sight, I got over the wall and ran until I reached the old bridge. As I crossed, I noticed a group of people farther up the banks scrubbing at clothes and laying them on rocks or the sparse grass to dry. It was horrible that no one had cleaning frames.

  Bren must be at the guardhouse. The idea of going there was scary, but I had to trust my disguise. I loitered slowly toward the stable. Several of the guards stood about in the shade—and there he was, on the other end of the porch, busy cleaning horse tack.

  I kicked some pebbles, and he looked up. I walked on by, and heard him say, “Gotta go get some grub. Be back later!”

  “Just see that you do,” came a lazy reply. “You’ve got more work awaiting you, brat.”

  I kept walking. Bren caught up, his face red. “Larei,” he gasped. “Looking for Derek? Because he’s—”

  “Gone, I think to Miraleste,” I finished. “He got caught, but then he got rescued.”

  “He did?” Bren’s eyes widened. “How?”

  My moment had come. “I did it,” I said, striving to sound casual instead of proud. “Secret passage in Selenna House.” Now let him think I wasn’t any good, or trustworthy!

  Bren whistled. “Nice work. How did you manage that?”

  “He was talking to someone and got caught. They locked him in the cellar, and there’s a secret passage out. Derek did assign me to spy at Selenna House,” I finished defensively, because Bren was eyeing me with far more question than admiration.

  His face cleared. “That he did. So did Prince Greedy get steamed?”

  “Oh, yes. He was boiling! Now he’s taking u—uh, them to Miraleste.” I could have kicked myself. What was wrong with me?

  “Them?” Bren asked, and he made that crook-leg sign. “Lord Cripple and Lady Fluffbrain?”

  I bit my lip. “Yes. So what have you learned?”

  “Nothing. They think kids are as smart as rocks, so they talk a lot, right in front of me. But it’s all just stupid blabber about gambling, drinking, and what they do when they have free time. Not a hint about secret plans or anything interesting.”

  “They might not know any.”

  “My aunt sent Deon to the capital—remember, Derek asked her? So once Prince Greedy and his brats are gone, will you be coming here to help?”

  “Can’t.” I fumed at myself for not thinking everything through.

  “Can’t? Why not?”

  “I’m . . . going along. I have my job, after all!” There was a silence. So much for bragging, I thought. It’s never as good as you think it’s going to be. Not if it causes questions you can’t answer. “Maybe I’d better go back.”

  “Don’t. Let’s find the others and have a game. I’m sick of doing all the guards’ worst chores, and it’s too muggy for spying anyway.”

  “You can just go?”

  “Sure.” Bren shrugged. “It’s not like they actually hired me. All I get is dinner scraps.”

  He knew where all his particular friends were to be found, at the other end of the village. We played a complicated game whose rules kept evolving. Running, hiding, capture and rescue, silly dares—the day sped by. As darkness fell, the smaller kids headed home. I left reluctantly.

  How awful that I had found friends at last, just in time to leave them. And for Miraleste, which I hated. I had no friends among the children of the courtiers. How could I? We never
acted normal, not with all the grown-ups worried about position, and tattling servants, and, above all, the cold, watchful gaze of my uncle, the king. Peitar told me that we kids were pieces to be moved about on the game boards of the adults, though we hadn’t a notion of what the game was, nor its rules.

  One New Year’s Week they’d forced us to prove our courtly manners by talking exclusively in Sartoran. Though the court fashion for speaking exclusively in Sartoran had ended three generations before, when Sartor was taken by Norsunder, it was still considered important to know the language, so Sartoran lessons were part of my training to become a lady.

  A lady! And ladies got betrothed. I kicked at some rocks. To have to wear some horrible dress, all stiff with ribbons and gems and whatnot, and stand there for everyone to stare at, next to some arrogant bore I’d probably loathe on sight! Ugh!

  Everything seemed so unfair. As I trudged home, my spirits sank. I couldn’t even enjoy the triumph of rescuing Derek. I hopped the wall as usual, the clouds and the darkness so thick that the sentries couldn’t see far. When I reached my room, Peitar stuck his head in, his anxious face relaxing when he saw me. “I’m glad you’re back,” he said.

  I sighed. “Oh, Peitar, I shouldn’t have gone. I did so many stupid things—”

  He looked worried, and I hastened to say, “Nothing life-threatening. But I’m going to miss them all, so much! Oh! Deon got sent to the palace. New job. Do you think I can be Larei and find her?”

  Peitar shook his head. “No, Lilah. It was risky enough here, and the palace is far better watched. If Uncle Darian catches you . . .”

  “Ugh.” I shuddered. “I forgot for a moment about him.”

  “Don’t. Don’t ever forget him. And we don’t want to do anything that can jeopardize Derek or any of his people.”

  The door opened, and Lizana came in with my dinner. “Good,” she said when she saw me, then nodded at Peitar and left.

  “That reminds me,” I said once we were alone. “If Derek overthrows our uncle, and I hope he does, is he going to be the king?”

  “I don’t know. There’s a lot to happen between now and then.”

  “I think I’ll take my Larei clothes along. So when the gang yells things at our carriage tomorrow, I can pretend to be Larei and it won’t feel so horrible.”

  “Only if you take care never to let anyone but Lizana see those clothes. Now eat and get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.” And he was gone.

  I frowned at all that steaming food on the tray, and decided I’d take a bath first. I was beginning to unlace my tunic when a voice squawked, “Ulp! Lady Lilah! No!”

  I froze. The branches thrashed outside my open window, and Bren landed on the sill. “You followed me! And you were listening at my window!”

  Bren’s expression was a peculiar combination of triumph and embarrassment and fear and curiosity. “I had to!” He sounded strangled. “You’re a girl,” he added.

  “I never would have guessed,” I snarled.

  “You’re really a Selenna. A noble, and you dressed like . . . You didn’t tell us.” He sounded more perplexed than angry.

  “You said you’d never make friends with us ‘scummy nobles.’”

  “But this is different!”

  “How was I to know? That’s what you said.”

  “You let us call you all those names. . . .”

  “Look. Just take back what you said about Peitar. Including doing that awful thing with the fingers.”

  Bren mumbled, “I know it’s stupid. Derek told us it was.”

  “Then why do they do it?”

  “Because your brother will never be a leader. He couldn’t fight a duel or lead an army in—well, uh, that’s what the grown-ups say.” He stopped, his face the reddest I’d ever seen.

  “Well, duels are stupid, and Lasva the Wanderer said that all wars do is make messes that other people have to clean up. And, by the way, some of the servants here are Derek’s friends.”

  Bren stared down at my carpet. “Never again.” He looked up. “If you’ll—”

  “If you’ll—” Forgive me. He didn’t want to say the word any more than I did. I nodded.

  And we shook on it. We were still friends, then.

  Bren took a long breath as he looked around. “This is quite a room.”

  “Oh, you should see my father’s suite. Mine’s plain compared to his.”

  He shook his head, but I could tell he wasn’t really thinking about my father’s fashionable furnishings. “Will you take me along? I want to help spy in the capital. I think the guardhouse is a waste of time.”

  I motioned him inside, and he stepped on my carpet as if eggs were squishing between his toes. I tried to hide my grin. “We’ll have to ask Lizana.” I pulled the summons bell.

  Bren noticed the alcove, where Lizana had left a cool bath waiting.

  I said, feeling very awkward, “My cleaning frame is in there, too. Want to use it?”

  He shook his head quickly, obviously as uncomfortable as I. “No. Nobody at home has one, and they’d notice.” Then he glanced at my untouched supper, and away.

  “Help yourself. I’m not hungry. And no one will know.”

  Bren’s cheeks were soon bulging.

  Lizana appeared, her brows lifting when she saw him. “He wants to come with us,” I said. “To Miraleste. I was hoping he could. It would be good to have a friend.”

  “What about the guardhouse in the village?” she asked.

  Bren looked surprised that she knew. “Tim can take over.”

  “Your mother—”

  “My mother would be happy if I went to Miraleste.” Bren grimaced. “She’s a real—”

  “Snob,” I finished, remembering what she’d named him.

  “She’d love it if I got a job there. And I’d be one less mouth to feed.”

  Lizana pointed at me. “You. Get to sleep.” She turned to Bren. “You go back down that tree, get out, and make it right with your family. Tell them you’ll draw footman pay, though you’ll start as a page. That ought to help. At dawn, be at the kitchen entrance. Go in the gate, all nice and legal. I’ll have the proper clothes waiting for you.”

  Bren finished my dinner and licked his fingers clean before he climbed out the window.

  eight

  A trip to Miraleste meant my hair had to be washed, perfumed, and wrapped in curling rags. I endured it without my usual whining, happy at the prospect of allies in the scary rectitude of the royal castle.

  The next morning I made sure that my Larei clothes were secretly packed, along with my fashion book, before I sailed out in my heavy linen-silk traveling gown. As I approached the stairs, someone came from the other direction.

  I stopped. Bren and I stared at one another.

  He was respectably outfitted in a Selenna servant’s gray-and-blue long tunic, knee breeches, and hose, though they hung on him—there had been no time for alterations. In contrast, the shoes must have been too small, because he winced at each step. His mop of brown hair had been skinned back and tied into a tiny puff at his nape.

  He was usually all bony angles, but now he stood stiff and straight as wood slats, his expression uneasy. “You sure look different.”

  “So do you,” I said.

  He wrinkled his upper lip. “If I think of it as a disguise, it’s not so bad. Except for these shoes. And there’s pay, which will help at home. Anyway, since I’m now Lord Peitar’s official page, I was sent to tell you the carriage is waiting.”

  “Father?” I asked, in a whisper.

  “In his own carriage,” Bren muttered with a hasty look around the open entry hall. “In case the medicine didn’t work and you still have that cold.”

  Relief! Now the journey would be enjoyable instead of boring.
br />   Wearing a formal gown meant I had to reduce my normal walk to tiny court steps. I minced down the stairs to the front entry, Bren following in the correct place, stiff and self-conscious. When my father emerged from his wing, resplendent in his velvet traveling suit and his very best formal red wig, he didn’t give Bren a second glance.

  Soon we were off. Bren, as Peitar’s page, rode with us. He ran his hands over the satin cushions. “This is nacky,” he exclaimed, launching back and forth between the windows so he could see the view from both sides.

  “You’ll get tired of the scenery soon enough,” I warned. “Especially since Father won’t let us out, even at the posting houses when they change horses.”

  “Why not?”

  “He always says they don’t cook well, but I think it’s because we don’t pay well.”

  “But you—he—everyone knows the Selennas are rich!”

  “It looks it, but we really aren’t.” I looked at my brother. “Ugh, Peitar, you explain.”

  “There are levels to being rich, Bren.” Peitar sat back. “It’s true we have a fine house, but we inherited it. The furnishings . . . everything is old and carefully repaired. We have plenty to eat, but that’s because it’s from our home farms. The tax money really does all go to the Blue Guard—and most of them are training with the army. We pay for them, but they aren’t here.”

  “But all that velvet, the lace, and that wig!”

  “It’s true our father dresses well, but those suits are strictly for court. And he hasn’t ordered a new one in years.”

  I laughed. “As for the wig, that’s left over from the queen, our great-great-grandmother, who was a Selenna. Her red hair was famous, and when she got old, she wore red wigs. So everyone at court wore red wigs. Uncle Darian hates wigs, and curls, so all the men his age, especially the army-mad ones, just tie their hair back. But Father sticks to his wig because it’s a Selenna privilege.”

  Peitar pulled his travel desk from the shelf below his seat. “I have to finish some letters,” he said.

  I wished that I’d thought to carry my fashion book, but I didn’t have anything new to report—getting my hair tormented into proper curls didn’t count. The book and my Larei clothes were somewhere in the baggage coach. When we got to Miraleste, Lizana would make sure that none of my uncle’s servants unpacked my things.