Palace of Lies (23 page)

“Hold on! I'll be right back!” she called over her shoulder as she shoved her way out.

We all looked at one another and shrugged. None of us understood what was going on. But Herk went over and held the door open behind Mrs. Smeal.

Now I could see a man hitching a pair of horses to a wagon.

“—promise it won't delay you more than another hour,” Mrs. Smeal was saying to the man.

The man lifted his hands in resignation.

“No skin off my nose,” he said. “And I know you'll keep nagging me until I say yes, anyway, so I might as well start with that.”

Mrs. Smeal hugged him, and then came racing back toward me and the others.

“You don't have to walk all the way to the capital, after all!” she announced joyfully.

“Yes, we do,” I countered, sounding just as stubborn as Ella and Jed. “If that's where Ella and Jed are, then . . .”

How could I explain without giving away that we were from Suala?

“I'm not trying to stop you from going to the capital,” Mrs. Smeal said, her eyes dancing. “It's the walking part you don't have to do. Because the wagon driver who brought our supplies yesterday is going back that way, anyhow. You can ride in style and be there the day after tomorrow!”

Riding “in style,” was a
bit of an exaggeration, considering that we were sitting in the open air in the back of a rough wooden wagon. Budley, the wagon driver, had the odd habit of chewing on dried leaves—maybe it was a Fridesian custom? But every time he'd had enough of a particular dried leaf, he spat it out in a huge glob. During my first moments in the wagon, I'd learned that ducking was a good idea whenever I heard Budley start to clear his throat.

But the others and I were all freshly scrubbed—Herk's face was actually pink under all that dirt he'd been carrying around. And we were wearing fresh new clothes that Mrs. Smeal had insisted would have just gone to waste otherwise. Two weeks ago I would have sneered at my new pink cotton dress as too simple and peasant-like. Definitely beneath me. But it didn't smell like sweat, and it didn't have smears of dirt and ash on it, and it was soft against my skin. . . . Right now it felt like the most luxurious item I'd ever worn.

And we had sandwiches stuffed with thick slices of roast chicken and a pot full of cooked beans and a whole sack full of raspberry tarts and enough bread and cheese and potatoes and grapes to last us not just to the Fridesian capital, but for two or three days afterward.

“Heaven,” Janelia murmured beside me. “We have died and gone to heaven.”

“No, we haven't,” Herk corrected. “I'm too
clean
. In my heaven, there's going to be a lot more dirt.”

“But all the girls in the Fridesian capital will fall in love with you, looking so clean,” Tog said.

I met his eyes and looked away. I'd spent practically every moment of the past two weeks in his company—and he'd seen me screaming and sweating and limping and covered with nearly as much dirt as Herk. But ever since we'd climbed into the wagon together, I felt strange just sitting near him. Cleaned up, he didn't look like a beggar boy anymore. He looked . . .

Royal?
My mind suggested.

No, that wasn't it. But I didn't know how to describe it, even to myself. I felt funny just trying.

“You want to impress the ladies in the capital, you need to stop calling it ‘the Fridesian capital,' ” Budley the driver said, turning around from the front of the wagon. “Like there'd be any capital besides Fridesia's! Best you just call it by its name, Charmeil.”

He made the word roll off his tongue so elegantly that
for a moment I forgot he was old and fat and balding and prone to spitting plant juices.

“Shaar-may-eeell?” Herk repeated, drawing out all the vowel sounds.

The driver winced.

“Where are you people from?” he asked. “I've never heard anyone talk like the four of you before!”

I put my hand over Herk's to make sure he didn't blurt out the truth.

“We've moved around a lot,” I said. “I guess we picked up some odd accents.”

“I'll say!” the driver said, shaking his head. “So you're, what, itinerant basket weavers?” He nodded at the pile of reeds Janelia had placed beside us.

I had to hold back a snort. I was glad that Tog answered for us: “That's probably the best way to describe it.”

Budley flicked the horses' reins to get them to move a little faster.

“Well, any friends of Ella and Jed's are friends of mine, too,” he said. “You may not have encountered many swell types like I have, but I'll tell you, not many of them are like Ella and Jed. Sure, he's a lord and I guess she's a lady, but they still treat people like us like . . . like we're practically equal or something. Most swells act like I might as well be a horse or a cow.”

For a moment, I was afraid I might choke on my roast chicken.

I treated servants like they might as well be horses or cows,
I thought.
That's kind of how I saw Janelia and Herk and Tog at the beginning of this trip.

I thought about how most of my sister-princesses were always friendly with the servants. I'd thought the other girls just needed to learn how to act royal.

It's not fair if they're the ones who died while I got to live,
I thought.

As long as we sat in the wagon, I couldn't talk with Janelia, Tog, and Herk about our plans for once we reached the Fridesian capital—
No
, I corrected myself,
Charmeil
—because we couldn't risk Budley overhearing. So we feasted and wove baskets and slept. Once or twice Tog or Janelia offered to take the horses' reins so the driver could sleep.

I told myself we needed to rest up before Charmeil. But the empty sky above us started seeming frightening to me again. I had to bend my head forward and concentrate on weaving basket after basket to block out the fear. But I couldn't weave constantly. And every time I closed my eyes to sleep, my mind began racing with questions.

What if we can't find Ella and Jed?

What if Cecilia and Harper don't show up for the treaty signing?

What if I can't rescue any of the other sister-princesses?

I always tried to stop that thought from continuing, but sometimes a worse one sneaked in anyhow.

What if they were all dead from the very start, and this whole trip has been for nothing?

And then there were more.

What if even Janelia and Tog and Herk give up on helping me?

Even if I get my throne back, what if I'm all alone on it—again?

What then?

We arrived in Charmeil late
on a Friday afternoon. If I had counted my days right, the treaty signing was scheduled for the following Tuesday, and Ella and Jed's wedding had been intended for the following weekend.

But if the wedding date changed, anything else might have changed too,
I thought, looking around anxiously at the strange houses and stores of Charmeil. It wasn't as if I had seen that much of my own country's capital except for the palace, Janelia's basement, Madame Bisset's prison house, and the other houses around the palace courtyard. So I didn't have much to compare. But Charmeil looked as if it was trying too hard, with too many decorative sconces on its walls, too many lacy-looking wrought-iron fences around its trees, too many pointless frills on its women's dresses.

Janelia and Tog were looking around just as silently as me. Herk, meanwhile, commented on everything.

“Can you imagine climbing that fence?” he asked. “Do you think I could stand on that point at the top? And why are all the men wearing hats that make them look ten inches taller? Or do their heads really go up that high?”

Budley didn't even try to answer Herk's questions. He just threw out his arms and proclaimed, “Welcome to Charmeil! You could travel the entire world and never see a finer city!”

I was pretty sure I'd heard Budley say that the refugee camp was the farthest place he'd ever traveled from Charmeil. So how did he know? But I decided not to point this out.

“What if the Sualan capital is nicer than Charmeil?” Herk asked, before rest of us could stop him. “Huh? Did you ever think of that?”

“You mean
Cortona
?” Budley asked, pronouncing the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Piffle. I've talked to soldiers coming back from the war. Up in Suala, people pretty much just live in pigsties.”

“But that's not—” Herk began.

“—any way to live,” Tog interrupted.

“No. Of course not,” Budley agreed. “Why else do you think they're giving up on the war? It's not like
they
could ever defeat
us
.”

Behind the driver's back, Tog put his hand over Herk's mouth.

“I'm sure everyone will be glad to have peace again,” I said, and even though I was trying to talk with more of a Fridesian accent, I felt for a moment as though I was back
in the Palace of Mirrors. I spoke with the same modulated voice I'd always used there, the one that hid all signs of anger, annoyance, or fear.

Budley glanced at me in surprise. It was almost as if, for the first time since I'd stepped into his wagon, he suspected I might not be the simple peasant he'd been told.

“Enh,” Budley said, shrugging. “You know how those royal types never seem to stay out of wars for long. I think they get bored. I expect we'll be fighting Domulia next.”

Janelia flushed as if she was the one fighting to hold back anger now.

“But don't you think it matters?” she asked. “Don't you think children should grow up knowing their fathers, wives should be able to live with their husbands for years and years—not just long enough for them to always be getting killed in some war?”

“Sure,” Budley said, shrugging again. “But you know it doesn't matter what
I
think.”

Budley let us off at a street corner not far from the Fridesian palace. We all shook hands and thanked him, but something had changed when we were talking about the war. Now he just seemed glad to be done with us.

Even after he flicked his reins at the horses and they trotted on, the others and I stood still for a moment.

Does everyone else feel as foreign and out of place as I do?
I wondered. Even though we were surrounded by a bustling crowd and tall buildings with frilly spires that mostly blocked
out the sun, I was starting to get the empty-sky feeling again. I remembered how foreign dignitaries always looked so impressive arriving at the Palace of Mirrors: dressed in their fanciest clothes, riding the showiest steeds, accompanied by large entourages.

I had none of that. I was on foot once again; if I had to walk very far, I'd probably start limping. Tog, Herk, and Janelia hardly counted as an entourage. And, now that we were in the city, my simple cotton dress no longer felt luxurious just because it was clean. Now it seemed like a sign around my neck announcing,
I'm poor! Maybe even a beggar! Cross the street to get away from me!

Then I felt Tog slide his hand into mine.

“You're not going to tell anyone who you are until after you talk to Ella and Jed, right?” he asked.

My mind cleared.

“No,” I said. “I'll need Ella to help me get the proper clothes, first thing.”

I was careful not to say “royal clothes,” but people in the crowd were glancing oddly at us anyhow.

What if someone here knew what a Sualan accent sounded like?

“And you think the best way to find Ella and Jed would be . . . ?” Janelia began in a hushed voice.

It would have been easy to let this question panic me. But I kept a firm grip on Tog's hand and answered calmly, “Jed works at the palace. So we'll go over there, and . . .” I
remembered that there'd undoubtedly be guards. Even that didn't deter me. “If we wait outside, surely eventually we'll see him going in or out.”

I thought of the odd letter Mrs. Smeal had shown me—the letter announcing that Ella and Jed's wedding was off. It hadn't said anything about Jed changing jobs.

And it would have if that had changed too
, I told myself.
Right?

“That could work,” Janelia said, patting my back. I couldn't tell if she truly believed that or was just trying to sound encouraging.

She seemed to be glaring a bit at Tog, then looking pointedly at my hand clutched in his.

Tog didn't let go, and I didn't pull away.

He's just helping me for now,
I thought.
Just as it was acceptable for him to touch my bare knees when he was saving my life from the angry villagers, the rules are a little different right now. Because we're in enemy territory.

We walked toward the palace square and soon came to a broad boulevard full of carriages. I remembered Ella's story of coming to a ball at the Fridesian palace and paying a driver to make it look like she'd come the whole way by carriage rather than walking. I was glad I wouldn't have to attempt a charade like that. But I wished my own plan involved something a little faster than standing around waiting until we spotted Jed.

“You know,” Herk said, coming up behind me. “If the palace guards here are like, um,
others
, uh, someplace else—you
know what I mean?” He was being so careful not to say,
back at the Palace of Mirrors in Suala
. “Then maybe one or two of them might be nice, and they might answer questions about Jed or even take him a message. I could go talk to them.”

My heart beat a little faster at the thought of Herk with his poorly disguised Sualan accent actually talking to a Fridesian palace guard.