Princess of the Silver Woods (Twelve Dancing Princesses) (30 page)

“Blessed silver will kill any of the princes or courtiers,” Galen told Oliver. “But in order to kill the king, you must have his true name on the weapon.”

“I could have sworn that I put a bullet into that … that …
bastard
ten years ago,” Lily said as she scraped a long curl of silver from the tip of a twig with one of Oliver’s knives.

“I too,” Galen said gently. “But unfortunately it was after he was king.”

“No, not then,” Lily said, and her frantic hands went still. “I shot him. In the boats, as they chased us over the lake. I shot Parian, who had been my partner, and then I shot Rionin for Jonquil. He fell back into the bottom of the boat.”

“I remember that,” Galen said slowly.

“How did he survive?” Lily looked at Galen, then appealed to Rose and even Oliver, who shrugged uncomfortably. “Illiken was the king then.”

Petunia, sitting next to Oliver, suddenly bolted to her feet. “He
does
have a secret name! I’ll wager it protected him!” She pointed at Oliver. “You heard me, out in the passageway.”

“Alexei?” Oliver had heard her say the name but had had no idea what she was doing. He thought perhaps she was being insulting in Russakan. “His true name is Alexei?”

“His mother wanted to name him Alexei,” Petunia said. “She told me that in her heart, she had always thought of him as Alexei.”

Jonquil made a sound of disgust. “Are you telling me that I’ve been scratching the wrong name on all these sticks?”

“Just put Alexei in front of Rionin,” Daisy said, and began to do so with the sticks in her lap. “Alexei Rionin Under Stone. A very handsome name.”

“Twenty-three years of being my twin and you’re just now starting to use sarcasm?” Poppy looked at Daisy for a long minute. “I don’t think I like it.”

“I don’t think I like
this
,” Jonquil said, fingering the scratches she had made in a silver twig. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“We’re going to seal him inside his precious kingdom as well,” Poppy said. “So it doesn’t matter if he’s dead or not. No nightmares, no shadows in the garden.” She sighed. “Won’t that be a nice change?”

“But what if it doesn’t work?” Jonquil fretted.

“It will work,” Galen said. “Walter and the good frau have spent centuries studying magic. They are certain it will work.”

Oliver saw Lily turn from pale to ghostly white. He got up from the stool he was sitting on, ready to catch her if she fainted.

“The last time they did this, most of them died,” Lily whispered. “Oh, Heinrich!”

Rose and Galen exchanged looks. She knows, Oliver thought. She knows that Galen will not make it out alive. Oliver wondered if he would. He would gladly die for Petunia … he realized that he would gladly die just to stop the King Under Stone and his brethren.

But now Galen was kneeling down in front of Lily’s stool.

“Heinrich will be waiting for you at the gate,” Galen said firmly. “He is to make sure you get out. He won’t be part of the enchantment.”

Lily slumped, putting her shaking hands on his shoulders.

“But
you
will, won’t you?” Pansy’s voice broke on a sob.

“Yes, Pan,” Galen said quietly.

“I don’t like that,” Pansy said.

Galen stood and put his arms around the fine-boned girl, while Rose continued to comfort Lily. Oliver looked away. It was such a private moment; he hated to intrude on it. Galen was beloved by all of the sisters, but the love between him and Rose was so clear and shining that it hurt to look at them, spending their last hours together caring for the other girls.

Oliver got up, pretending that he needed something from the table near the door.

“Put your cloak on,” Petunia said, following him.

Petunia

Petunia looked over her shoulder as she led Oliver out the door. “I left my matches in my room,” she said. “I had better make sure no one’s found them.”

“Be careful,” Rose warned.

“We will,” Petunia said.

“Remember, Pet,” Hyacinth said, “supper is late to night, and we are to go straight to the ball afterward.”

“Yes, yes,” Petunia said as she went out, with Oliver invisible beside her. He had one light hand on her elbow, and she did her best not to put her other hand on top of it. “Honestly, they still treat me like I’m six,” she complained to him after she had closed the door.

“They probably always will,” Oliver offered in a whisper. “I know it drives my brother Simon wild, but I just always see him as a four-year-old swinging a wooden sword at the trees.”

There was no further talk until they reached her room.
Oliver unfastened the cloak but left it over his shoulders just in case.

“I know why too,” Petunia said, picking up the threads of their conversation. “You’re used to looking out for Simon, and you always will look out for him. Especially because he’s like me.” She made a rueful face. “He’s not afraid of being a bandit, and I’m not afraid of this.” She waved a hand around at the tatty black furnishings.

“You’re not?” Oliver looked at her in amazement.

“I know I should be,” she confided, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I really should. But you have to understand: I came here almost every night of my life from the time I was two until I was almost seven. This was like an extension of my home. They might say mean things, and when I was ill I didn’t always
want
to come, but no one ever hurt me directly. And, even though I know now that he’s horrible, Kestilan is very handsome, and when you’re six and a handsome prince wants to dance with you … can you help being flattered?”

Oliver sank down in a chair, staring at her.

Petunia closed her eyes, wishing she hadn’t said a word. She’d thought that perhaps he’d understand, considering his own unusual upbringing. Her governess had been fond of the saying “familiarity breeds contempt,” but to Petunia familiarity had bred a strange sort of comfort. The clothes were slick and strange, the food tasted like it had been sprinkled with ashes, but she had known Kestilan far longer than she’d known Oliver. Longer than she’d known Galen, even, and he was as dear to her as if he had been born her brother.

She dared to look at Oliver. He was nodding slowly.

“I can see that,” he said. “Did you know, we never told Simon why we went out wearing wolf masks until he was twelve years old? My mother was afraid that he would see it as a game, or worse: a normal way to earn a living.” He nodded again. “And he would have. But you’re really not afraid? Even now?”

“I guess I’m a bit … spoiled about it, I suppose is the word. Everyone tells me not to worry, that it will all be fine.” She shrugged. “Just like last time. Galen killed the King Under Stone, we locked the gate, and we were safe.” She couldn’t help but grin at him. “It is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me. Even more exciting than being abducted by you.

“Galen and Rose got married that summer,” she went on. “It was terribly romantic.” She shrugged again. “Honestly? I’m having a hard time believing that it won’t happen like that again. Galen will work some magic. We’ll seal the gate and go home. Poppy and Daisy will have a beautiful wedding.”

Oliver got up from his chair and came over to the bed. He sank down beside her and put his arm around her waist. She leaned her head on his shoulder.

“It
will
be all right,” he told her. “You shouldn’t be afraid. After to night it will all be over. You will be home, getting ready for Poppy and Daisy’s wedding. I promise you that.”

“And you’ll have your earldom back,” Petunia said with total confidence.

“I wish I felt as certain,” Oliver said.

She pulled away from him. “You will,” she said. “It was the King Under Stone who took it from you, to give to the grand duchess.”

He gaped at her.

“She just told me,” Petunia said. “I didn’t know his influence reached so far, but I should have. If he can cause wars and kill our suitors and make it so Mother and Rose and Lily … so that they couldn’t have children.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away. “Then it was probably no great feat to destroy your earldom.”

“I promise to get you safely home,” Oliver repeated, sounding shaken. “And I promise that I will get my father’s lands back.” He clenched his fists.

His promise hung in the air for a few heartbeats while they sat together in silence.

“Oliver?” Petunia asked after a time. “Are you afraid?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not afraid.”

Petunia didn’t know if it was true or not, but it sounded true. “Thank you,” she said.

He leaned around, and her heart started to thump. He was going to kiss her.

But before he could, there were voices in the corridor. He leaped to his feet and fastened the cloak. A moment later, Olga came in, looking sulky. With her was the tall court lady, a triumphant expression on her face.

“Here is your new maid,” she announced.

“I’m supposed to be a princess,” Olga said.

Petunia felt her skirts move just a little and heard the
scrape of a boot. Oliver was under the bed again. She wondered if he was going to peek while she dressed for the ball. She found that she wouldn’t wholly object.

“Olga, don’t be stupid,” Petunia said. “Haven’t you figured out by now that everything they say is a lie? They only brought you here because there are no real servants. So stop sniveling and help me dress.”

The court lady went off with a bray of satisfied laughter.

Olga yanked Petunia’s cloak off and threw it on the bed, then began to rip at the fastenings of her gown. Petunia felt like a chicken being plucked for dinner.

She twisted away. “I know this is a riding gown, but it’s
mine
and I’m going to wear it to night anyway. I just need you to help me with my hair.”

“You’ll look like a fool,” Olga said.

“Stop being rude and listen to me,” Petunia retorted.

“I don’t want to listen to you,
Your Highness
,” Olga growled.

“Prince Grigori and his grandmother live in a chalet across the lake,” Petunia said as though Olga had not spoken. “Prince Grigori wanted to marry me, but I refused.”

“So you’re saying that I can have the prince, since you’ve cast him aside?” Olga sounded even angrier at Petunia’s proposition.

“What I’m saying,” Petunia said with icy patience, “is that you can sulk until they have you beaten, or you can make the best of things. You love Grigori, do you not?” Silence. “Then I’m telling you that you have an opportunity here, if you choose to take it.”

“What makes you think he’ll even look at me?”

Olga sounded so vulnerable that Petunia pitied the girl, despite her duplicity.

“I did everything asked of me,” Olga said. “I kept open your window so the princes had a better chance of reaching you. I spent all night in the cold of the forest, helping Prince Grigori with the spell to create a rosebush in winter. And still I am but a servant!”

“Don’t worry,” Petunia assured her, “I rejected him in such a way that he’ll never look at me again.”

“Poor Grigori,” said Olga with a sigh.

“Yes,” Petunia said, her voice flat. “Poor Grigori.”

Once she had her hair put up, Petunia sent Olga to see if her sisters needed assistance and made her own way to the dining room. She couldn’t have said anything to Oliver without Olga overhearing, but she supposed she would see him soon enough. He and Galen would stay hidden until it was time for the ball, and then they would begin their plan.

Just thinking of it made Petunia’s hands sweat, and she didn’t want Rionin to see her nervousness. But Rionin was not at dinner, and the princes were too moody to pay attention to anyone. When Blathen threw down his napkin, they all sighed in relief.

He held out an arm to Poppy, who put her hand on it as if nothing pleased her more than to accompany him to the ballroom. Stavian snarled at his brother, snatching up Hyacinth and moving to the head of the line. Then Kadros and Violet took their place behind Stavian and Hya, which made
Blathen’s expression sour further. Daisy went quickly to Tirolian, looking frightened as they joined the line, and Iris shuddered as Derivos clasped her arm. Lilac and Talivor, Pansy and Telinros went to their places, and at last Kestilan reached Petunia. She joined him as Rose, Lily, Jonquil, and Orchid formed ranks behind. The sisters looked odd in riding gowns, standing beside the princes in their faded silk, and the mood was chill as they entered the ballroom.

The same music. The same dances. Petunia could not count the number of Midnight Balls she’d seen. Most of them she’d been too young to remember. She tried to feign boredom, but the knowledge that Oliver might be there somewhere, along with Galen, kept her on edge.

Added to that, Kestilan was paying her special attention. She gritted her teeth. There could not have been a worse time for Kestilan to decide that he truly loved her.

“Petunia,” he said, looking down at her with what she assumed was his version of cow’s eyes. “We’ve known each other so long,” he said.

“Yes,” she replied crisply. “Since I was two years old.”

“And you were such a small girl then,” he went on.

“Yes, I was
two years old
,” she repeated.