More quickly than I would have thought possible, my family members were the only visitors left in the room. By now, Adele and I had our hands locked together so tightly that I began to wonder if we would ever be able to disentangle our fingers. When the queen looked our way, I felt my entire body turn to stone.
But she was looking at our parents, not us. “And which of you has come with your family to offer some thoughts on my daughter’s future?” she said.
Beside her, Fiona was smiling. “Not the adults, Lirabel,” she murmured, “the little girls.”
The queen’s gaze dropped and flicked between Adele’s face and my own. Her expression softened. “So?” she said, her tone of voice a question. “These small ones are—what are they, then? Safe-Keepers or Truth-Tellers? They seem very young.”
“Sometimes it’s the sort of thing one knows at a very young age,” Fiona answered. She pointed at Adele. “That one is a Safe-Keeper, I believe, and her sister is most assuredly a Truth-Teller.”
“Is that so?” the queen demanded.
Adele nodded. I was too frozen to make even that much of a motion.
“Well, then,” the queen said, “come forward and greet my daughter.”
Adele, of course, immediately dropped my hand and did just that. I followed her more slowly, marveling that even feet made of ice could be forced to walk across a palace floor.
By the time I had arrived beside Arisande and the nursemaid, Adele had lost all her shyness. She was bending down and cooing at the serious little face, and she laughed out loud when the miniature hand reached out as if to touch her. Without even asking permission, she extended her own hand, and the tiny fingers curled around her thumb as if they would never let go.
“She likes me!” Adele exclaimed, glancing over her shoulder to beam at the rest of us. “Do you see that? She likes me! Hello, little princess,” she crooned. “Aren’t you the pretty one? Don’t you look just like your mama? Oh, yes, that’s a lovely smile. Show me that smile again. Oh yes, you like me, you do.”
I was embarrassed for her—such a display!—but I heard the queen and Fiona laugh. “I imagine most people like you,” the queen said, and her voice was far warmer than it had been when she addressed the others. “What is your name, child?”
“Adele. I’m a Safe-Keeper. My family and I are from Merendon.” It must have been the effect of royalty; Adele never volunteered so much information at once.
The queen transferred her gaze to me, and I found that she was not so frightening after all when she smiled. “And your name?” she asked.
“Eleda,” I replied.
She continued addressing me, since all of Adele’s attention had gone back to the baby. “And you and your sister are identical twins?”
I shook my head. “We’re mirror twins. We are the same in every way, except reversed. Even our names are the same, except they’re backward.”
The queen looked much impressed by this small detail, arching her black brows over her dark eyes. “Very clever,” she approved. “And are you close to your sister?”
There were days I hated her and days I wanted to protect her and days I thought she was the most exasperating human being in the entire kingdom. But I could never be less than truthful. “As close as sisters can be,” I said.
She nodded, pleased by this as well. “Cherish her,” she said. “A sister is the finest gift you can ever have.”
Fiona was laughing. “I quite agree.”
By now, Lirabel’s face was open and friendly. I thought maybe she liked children. “So you are the Truth-Teller,” the queen said. “Do you have any comments to offer me about my daughter?”
I assumed what I thought was a more professional expression. “Let me look into her face,” I said, and stepped next to Adele. She moved over to make room for me, but didn’t drop her hand, and so I studied Princess Arisande while she clung to my sister’s thumb and made small nonsense sounds. What can you really tell about a baby, after all? Her face was soft and unformed, and even her smile seemed involuntary, more an attempt to practice moving her facial muscles than a signal of delight at the world around her. But there was a great sweetness in the shape of her head, a lingering contentment in the rhythm of her heart. It was impossible to forecast anything but happiness for such a serene little spirit.
“She will be a loving child and a delightful woman,” I said, and I could tell as the words left my mouth that they were true. “And she will be an obedient daughter. You will certainly have less trouble with her than you do with your son.”
There was a sudden blank silence in the room. It was a moment before I realized that my words had created the chill—and what exactly my words had implied. I felt myself blush a hot and uncomfortable color as I turned to face my queen.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—the words just came out,” I stammered. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. But I couldn’t bring myself to unsay the words, either.
Queen Lirabel’s voice came, thoughtful and far from angry. “Do you even know Darian?” she asked. I shook my head and still refused to look up. “Do tales of him get carried all the way to Merendon?”
“No,” I whispered. “It’s just that—I can tell—he is a difficult young man. He’s wayward, and he’s reckless, and sometimes you despair of controlling him.”
“All those things are true,” she said.
I glanced up at her. She did not look any angrier than she sounded. I continued with a little more strength in my voice. “But he is a good person, too. You don’t have to fear for him.”
She raised her eyebrows again, and then she smiled. “That is most excellent news,” she said. “For sometimes he does make me worry.”
“I think that’s what boys do,” I said. “Make their mothers anxious.”
Now Fiona laughed aloud, and the queen’s smile grew wider. “And girls are not always so easy either,” Fiona said. “But I am glad to hear that Arisande will be a docile child.”
The queen looked over at Adele, who was reluctantly freeing her hand from the baby’s grip. “And have you formed any secret impressions about my daughter that you will take home and keep to yourself for the next twenty years?” Lirabel asked.
Adele smiled and nodded. “I do wish I could know something, though.”
“What is it?”
“I wish I could know her secret name.”
“Adele!” I exclaimed, for her request was even more shocking than my comments. The queen looked taken aback, but the woman beside her was smiling.
“I think that’s a secret you can be trusted with,” Fiona said, and she motioned my sister forward. When Adele was close enough, Fiona leaned over and whispered in her ear. Adele nodded solemnly—and then, when Fiona whispered something else, nodded again. Then Fiona sat back in her chair, and Adele stepped away.
“Thank you very much for coming,” the queen said, reverting to the formal tone she had used when she spoke to the others. I knew that our audience was over. “I’ve enjoyed your visit very much. The footmen will see you out and bestow a small gift on you.”
“It was our pleasure,” I said, curtsying in tandem with Adele. Our parents—who, all this time, had remained motionless across the room—now came hurrying up to collect us. They made their own bows and curtsies, and we were almost immediately out in the hall. One of the footmen closed the door behind us. The other handed each of us a small velvet box that we were probably supposed to wait to open until we were out of the palace and back in our rented rooms. But neither Adele nor I had such patience. We pulled off the tight-fitting lids and then oohed at the treasure revealed inside—a small, hand-painted miniature of the sleeping princess Arisande. It was hung on a red cord and intended to be worn as a necklace, although of course such a thing was too fine ever to be paraded in public. It would go in a locked cabinet and be brought out on special days, and worn, perhaps, around the house for five minutes at a time before it was reverently returned to its place of safety.
&nb
sp; I received the pendant five years ago, and I have it to this day, its condition as pristine as the hour I got it. I imagine I will have it till I die.
CHAPTER THREE
Over the next two years, the folk of Merendon gradually began to turn to my sister and me when they needed a Safe-Keeper or a Truth-Teller. There were others who provided such services, for Merendon was a fairly large city and its many souls had much need of both frankness and discretion. But we were popular both because of our location—in the heart of the business district—and our novelty. Who could resist the allure of seeking help from a set of twins? And we never disappointed. I gained a reputation for being fearsomely honest, while Adele grew more watchful and close-mouthed with every passing year.
You have to understand, sometimes these traits worked against us.
Adele became quite recalcitrant in school, for instance, often refusing to answer teachers’ questions about math or literature because she considered her opinion to be “a secret.” I continued to infuriate my fellow students by virtuously reporting cheaters and liars. Nonetheless, we each had our share of friends. The young girls all wanted Adele as their confidante, so they could pour out their silly tales of adolescent love and betrayal. The boys relied on me to impartially referee games and honestly determine who had won a race.
All our classmates knew us and accepted the skills we had to offer. It was outside of the schoolhouse that we sometimes got into trouble. Or others got into trouble because they could not tell us apart.
I remember one incident from the summer we were thirteen, when we had gone to the dressmaker’s shop to get fitted for Summermoon dresses. My mother was standing with me in the back room as Lissette, the shop owner, pinned me into the shell of a lavender frock. Adele was wandering through the bolts of saffron and indigo in the front. I heard the door open, and a few people exchanged greetings. Then I heard a woman say, “Are you the Truth-Teller?” and my sister reply, “Yes.”
If I have failed to mention it before, let me just say here that Adele hid a wide streak of mischief behind her demure demeanor. Whereas I find it impossible to tell a lie, Adele finds it fatiguing to tell the truth. It was entirely typical of her to make such a response to such a question.
I jerked away from the dressmaker’s fingers. “I have to go,” I said, trying to pull the half-finished gown over my head. “Someone needs me in the shop.”
Lissette and my mother each clamped their hands around me. “You stay right here,” my mother said. “We’ll be done in just a minute.”
“But you don’t understand—Adele—someone has asked for me—”
“Adele will do just fine,” my mother said calmly. “You hold still.”
And though I tried to squirm away, I couldn’t break free without tearing the dress—and it really was a lovely dress. By the time I was able to step out of the purple frock, don my own clothes, and hurry out into the front room, the only people there were Adele and the shop assistant.
“Who was that?” I asked my sister. “Who was here?”
She gave me an innocent stare from those wide eyes, one green, one blue. “No one was here. Just me.”
I stamped a foot. “I heard someone come in. You told her you were me.”
“Oh,” Adele said. “I can’t tell you what she said.”
I turned to the assistant, a colorless girl a year or two older than we were. “Did you see who it was whispering to my sister a few minutes ago?”
The girl nodded, uninterested. “It was Widow Norville. I didn’t hear what she asked about, though.”
I looked back at Adele, my face full of surprise. “The Widow Norville? I’ve never spoken to her in all my life.”
“I know,” Adele said cheerfully. “She doesn’t usually talk to people like us.”
“What did she want?”
“She had a question. I gave her an answer. You don’t need to be concerned.”
And that was all she ever said about it.
I spent some energy trying to determine what the Widow Norville could have wanted to ask of me. Though I never could say definitively, I eventually assumed she had wanted some information about old man Haskins, who had recently lost his own spouse and clearly had been trying to find himself another one. Maybe Widow Norville wanted to know if he was a kind man; maybe she was asking if he was really as rich as he seemed to be. The answers to those questions, in order, were yes and no, and so I would have told her. I have no idea what Adele said to her, but three months later the two of them wed, and from that day on they seemed to be very happy together. My guess was that Adele had somehow obtained secret information about old man Haskins—that he harbored a great fondness for the widow, perhaps, and that he was desperately lonely—and she used this information to tailor her reply to the Norville woman. Though I greatly disapproved of her methods, I could hardly fault her results. And, as I would come to realize time and time again, even if I could not trust Adele’s truthfulness, I could trust her good heart. She would never deliberately see someone come to harm. If she lied, it was with a purpose, and usually toward a good end.
I, of course, never lied, even with those motives.
From time to time, people would approach me on the street or in the market square and ask me if I was the Safe-Keeper. “No,” I would always reply quite roundly, and then they would beg my pardon and back away and go off in search of someone a little more discreet. But sometimes they failed to pose the question the right way, and then they got a different kind of counsel than they bargained for.
For instance, Joe Muller came up to me one day as I waited for my sister outside the bakery and said, “I need to talk something through with someone,” he said. “Do you have a minute?”
“Certainly,” I said.
He hesitated, running a hand through his thinning brown hair as he attempted to formulate his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about buying the old Windemere place,” he said. “I might buy some sheep and see if I can get a little flock going. Karro said he’d ship the wool for me at cost for the first two years, and then I’d pay him double for two years. I haven’t told anyone about it, because I know Ralph Haskins is thinking about buying the place, too.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Are you mad?” I demanded. “There are more sheep farms near Merendon than there are boats in the harbor. If you’re going to buy the place, that’s fine, it’s a good property, but think of something else to do with it. And never make any deal with Karro or anyone that means you have to pay twice the going rate at any point in the future. Can’t you do basic math? You don’t have to worry about old man Haskins, though. He doesn’t have enough money to buy the Windemere place. I don’t think anyone does but you. You can probably get a better price than the one you were offered.”
Joe stared at me with his mouth hanging open. It was a full minute before he was able to speak again. “I guess you’re not Adele,” he said at last.
“No,” I said in a huffy voice. “I guess I’m not.”
Now he began to smile. “But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. So you don’t think I’m much of a businessman, do you? But you approve of the Windemere property?”
“I think you should be a little more careful about the deals you make,” I said, a bit embarrassed and trying to repair some of my damage. “But I do think you should buy the Windemere place.”
“What should I pay for it? What’s it worth? And what should I do with it if I don’t run sheep?”
We talked over his options for a few more minutes, until Adele came out of the bakery carrying a bag of bread. “Hello, Joe,” she said with a quick smile. “Were you looking for me?”
I surmised that they had had some conversation in the past when he mentioned he might want to confide some of his business decisions to her.
He was grinning broadly now. “No,” he said. “I think your sister has helped me figure it all out. Thanks, girls. I’ll be in touch.”
Adele watched him thoughtfully as he walked away, the
n turned her head so she could inspect me. I couldn’t keep the smug expression from my face. “I suppose you gave him some good advice,” she said at last.
“I suppose I did.”
I expected her to be irritated, but that was the thing about Adele. She never seemed to feel such uncharitable emotions, or else she knew how to hide them. “Good,” she said. “Let’s go home.”
For the most part, the residents of Merendon did not make the same mistake that Joe Muller and Widow Norville had. They did not want to risk talking to the wrong sister. Most people realized pretty quickly that they could not simply ask “Are you the Truth-Teller?” or “Are you the Safe-Keeper?” because Adele was capricious and I wasn’t always around to give a straightforward answer. After some trial and error, the townspeople settled on one particular question that seemed guaranteed to net the appropriate response: “Is it safe to tell you a secret?” Adele always answered yes to that, and I always answered no. I believe strangers who were sent looking for us were also told to use this password, and I know our parents generally warned their overnight guests to ask us something of the sort before they began to pour out their hearts. So after a while we had fewer incidents of mistaken identity and interesting conversations at cross-purposes.
Those who knew us really well, of course, had no need to ask meaningful questions to try to determine who we were. Our mother, for instance, never got us confused, not once, not for a second. Our father would sometimes start to speak to one of us, hesitate, study her face more closely, and then continue on or change his tone, depending on how right he had been in his first impression. Every once in a while, Adele tried to fool him, but he was never caught for more than a minute or two.