The Last Princess (10 page)

“Here.” He handed me a pigeon he’d shot on the way back. “Remember the rules.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

“Please,” he said. “Call me Wesley. And you’re welcome. Now you’d better go by yourself from here.”

He turned away, and I stumbled forward to camp, where Tub was checking the kills everyone had brought
back. I held out the pigeon Wesley had given me. When they saw me, the other girls fell silent. Tub looked at Portia, then back at me.

“You killed a pigeon?” Portia asked, her eyes narrowing.

I nodded.

“Or did Wesley do it for you?” she said with a pointed sneer.

“Here, take it,” I said in defeat, tossing the dead bird at her. She caught it with a look of surprise. “You can have it. I’m not
hungry.”

Later that night I stood in the girls’ bunk, staring down at my bed. The bodies of the two foxes were laid across it, the blood from their wounds staining the dark green blanket.

“A little prezzy,” a voice sliced behind me through the silence. I whipped around as Portia and Tub appeared.

“Do you sew?” Portia asked with a smirk. “I’m looking for someone to make me my fox stole.”

“And
a jacket for me,” Tub added.

I held my hand over my mouth, feeling sick. The dead mother fox and her baby lay on my bed, their bodies smelling sour, tiny black flies crawling in their ears and eyes.

I threw out the carcasses, but the scent of death lingered, rising up around me in the night.

15

I STARED OUT AT THE FIELDS AS THE TRUCKS CARRIED US DOWN
the dirt road leading away from the palace. We had been told we were going on a raid in a village called Mulberry. I hadn’t asked questions. I knew better by now. It had been three days since Portia had left the dead foxes on my bed, and I had mostly tried to stay out of her way since then. The mantra I had made for myself my first
night had become more important than ever.
Stay calm. Don’t ask questions. Be patient.
But I felt her eyes always upon me.

The moon was bright, and I saw windowless buildings surrounded by a high barbed-wire fence. I turned to the soldier next to me. He had bright brown eyes and only looked about fifteen.

“Do you know what those buildings are for?” I asked him quietly.

The boy peered out. “I
don’t know.” He shrugged. “Never seen them before.”

By the side of each building, a giant trench had been dug into the earth and filled with loose soil. I pressed my face close to the glass. Sticking out from the soil, I thought I saw a human hand.

I put my forehead on my knees, feeling sick with dread. This must be where the bodies of the dead prisoners were taken and buried. Were my siblings’
bodies dumped in the dirt pile? Could that have been Mary’s hand, or Jamie’s?

The trucks rumbled over the broken-down highways for miles, then down narrow country lanes overgrown on either side with hedgerows. Suddenly the trucks lurched to a stop, throwing us forward in our seats.

Outside stood a small whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof like a brown cap. The windows of the cottage flickered
with candlelight. A pea-stone path led through the front garden trellis to an arched doorway. There was a small boxwood garden and a stone birdbath. When I saw the red letterbox on the door, I knew exactly where we were.

Sergeant Fax ordered us out of the trucks, then stormed up the path through the garden. He kicked open the cottage
door, sending it slamming against the wall, and ordered his
troops to march inside.

I forced my feet forward, left, right, over the threshold of the home of the two women who had raised me. The first thing that hit me was the scent of tea and toast and tapioca pudding. It reminded me of my childhood. We entered a cozy sitting room where two old women sat in front of a small fire. A gray cat looked up from where she sat nestled on the arm of one of the
women’s chairs.

Even though I hadn’t seen them in years, I recognized Nora and Rita immediately. Not that they would recognize me now, wearing the uniform of the New Guard, with my haunted, hungry face. My heart thudded dully in my chest. They had once bathed me and fed me and read me bedtime stories. Now here I was, pointing a weapon at them.

Their faces were full of confusion as they looked
up, books still open on their laps.

“We have come for the royal crown,” Sergeant Fax bellowed, his thick neck bulging. “We know it has been hidden here.”

My knife slipped a fraction of an inch as my mind raced. Could the royal crown really be here? And if so, who would have given the New Guard this information? The only person who might know was Mary, and she would never endanger
Nora and Rita.
Unless she had no other choice. I turned away, the thought of Mary and Jamie alive but being brutally tortured too much to bear.

Surprisingly, Rita smiled at Sergeant Fax, then at the soldiers circling the sitting room. She wore a matching lavender sweater set and trousers. A carved wooden cane leaned against the arm of the sofa. Framed pictures of friends and family hung on the walls. I recognized
the one of Mary and me at the pond in Hyde Park, having a picnic.

I stepped back behind the line of soldiers so they would have less chance of seeing me. I cast my eyes downward and stared at the oval woven rug.

“I am very sorry, sir, but I cannot give you the Windsor crown,” Rita said calmly. “I do not have it, and even if I did, it is not mine to give away.”

“I don’t know if you heard me
correctly,” the sergeant repeated, his words falling like bricks. “I said, hand it over.”

Rita smiled serenely and stood, holding her thin hands clasped in front of her. Nora glanced up at her, a worried look in her eyes.

“Quite possibly it was you who did not understand my reply. I said, I am very sorry, but I am afraid I cannot give you the crown. But I can offer you a nice cup of tea, and
I just baked a batch of cheddar scones.”

A muffled snicker went through the room. I could even see Wesley, who stood by the door, trying not to smile.

A shot rang out, followed by a scream. Sergeant Fax had shot the cat perched on the arm of Nora’s chair. Blood was splattered all over Nora’s hands and face. My stomach clenched.

“Enough chattering! Give me the jewels now! Or you’ll end up like
the cat.”

Nora began to shake uncontrollably. Without thinking, I pushed my way forward to help her, but Wesley grabbed my wrist to stop me.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, in his sergeant’s voice, and I took a deep breath through my mouth, calming myself.

Rita stared back at Sergeant Fax, the fireplace burning quietly behind her.

Nora looked up at her. All the color had drained from her face and
tears were running down her cheeks. “Please, Rita, give them the crown,” she said softly. She seemed unable to move. She sat there in her chair, letting the cat bleed to death beside her.

Without speaking, Rita did as Nora asked. She walked as though in a trance to the bedroom, where we heard the sound of a safe being opened. A moment later, she returned carrying a carved wooden box with a silver
keyhole. I almost
laughed out loud. The symbol of my father’s rule had been hidden in a small wooded cottage with only two old ladies for protection. I wondered if my father had moved the jewels when he realized just how powerful Cornelius Hollister was becoming, imagining that no one would think to look for them here.

Sergeant Fax tore the box from her hand, taking the key and unlocking it.
He scanned the inside compartments, pulling out the main treasure, the Windsor coronation crown, which Hollister would need to proclaim himself king.

But first he would have to end the Windsor line of succession.

Fax raised his gun, aiming it at Nora’s head. Nora closed her eyes. “Good-bye, Rita,” she whispered. The skin on her eyelids was as thin and wrinkled as tissue paper.

I pictured myself
taking the knife from my belt and slitting Sergeant Fax’s thick neck. As he lay dying, I would tell him that his leader, Cornelius Hollister, would never wear the crown, that it would never belong to him.

“Stop!” a voice said firmly, and Sergeant Fax turned his head. Wesley pushed his way roughly through the crowd of soldiers. Sergeant Fax lowered his gun, looking at him.

“Let’s not waste the
bullets on them, Fax. We got what we came for.”

After a long, tense pause, Sergeant Fax nodded, and the soldiers turned to file out of the house, following Wesley’s lead.

The troops marched through the cottage door, stomping along the winding pea-stone path. I marched in line, following them, when someone grabbed my shoulder.

Sergeant Fax gestured to an oil painting of lush green woods and
a waterfall. “Take that painting from the wall.”

“Me?” I asked dumbly.

“Yes, you!” His crimson face was so close, I could feel his spit land on my cheek and winced in disgust.

“Yes, sir,” I said, saluting him.

I turned toward the painting. From the corner of my eye I could see Nora, still sitting in her chair. It was as though she had been petrified, turned into a marble statue.

I felt her
eyes on me as I made my way across the room to the wall behind the sofa. The greens and blues came into focus and I realized it was the waterfall and the old wide trees where we would practice our dives back in Scotland. The picture seemed to come alive as I stared into it; I could feel the breeze, smell the grass, hear the rush of the water falling and our voices as we swam and dove from the cliff.
“Hurry up!” Sergeant Fax shouted at me, and I grabbed the frame, taking it down from the hook as his troops ransacked other
parts of the cottage, grabbing the table and chairs, dishes, anything they could carry.

I turned from the wall, facing Nora. She stared at me curiously, as though she recognized something, a part of me, but could not place it.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, glancing back to make
sure Sergeant Fax wasn’t listening, then fled.

Inside the truck, the soldiers broke open bottles of liquor they had stolen. They sang the anthem of the New Guard, retelling moments of the siege and of other raids while passing around the bottles and cheering as if stealing from unarmed old ladies was some heroic feat. Refusing the scotch when it came to me, I took one last look back. The small
house with the thin wisp of smoke from the chimney looked like a page from a children’s picture book.

I dug my fingernails into my palm, just to remind myself I could still feel. I had harmed the kindest women in the world, women who were like second mothers to my siblings and me after our own mother had died.

The truck rattled along the dirt and stone roads. The moon was dim in the sky, the
stars faded. The miles and miles of fields stretched out like the sea. I felt hollow and empty, unable even to cry.

A noise above me yanked me out of my daze, and I looked
up to see Wesley slide into the seat beside mine. “Polly,” he said, an edge to his voice.

“What do you want?” I asked angrily, turning away to hide the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes.

“I shouldn’t have had to
stop you tonight. Don’t you know how dangerous it is to disobey an officer?”

I heard my breath as I inhaled and felt the night air cool and damp in my lungs. Why would I cry now? After everything that happened tonight, why now? I felt myself almost give in, but I clenched my fists and held my breath, reminding myself how much I hated everyone in the New Guard.

“I can’t believe what they did
to…” I caught myself before saying their names. “What makes Sergeant Fax think he can treat people like that, killing their cat, taking their possessions?” I was shaking with disgust.

Wesley glanced around the truck to make sure no one was listening to our conversation. He put his arms on my shoulders, steadying me. “Polly, one step out of line and it’ll be your head, don’t you see? I’m trying
to help you,” he whispered as the trucks came to a halting stop.

We disembarked in front of the palace gates, where Portia, Tub, and some of the higher-ranking officers were waiting to unload the more valuable items we had taken from the cottage. Wesley nodded at them as he stepped away, heading
toward his squadron to lead them to their bunks for the night. But Portia stood there, her eyes like
darts as she stared straight at me. The way an owl might perch on a branch, still as a statue, eyeing its prey.

16

WHEN I WALKED INTO THE DORM I KNEW RIGHT AWAY SOMETHING
was wrong. All the girls except for Vashti were gathered in a circle in the center of the room, but there were no cards in sight. The air felt thick with a strange sense of anticipation.

“I’m really beginning to wonder about you,” Portia announced, speaking slowly, as if every word were a candy she wanted to savor. “You haven’t started
my fox stole yet—and I don’t even think you know how to sew. You can’t clean. Your accent switches back and forth from Scottish to posh Londoner.” She said the last in a high-pitched, nasal imitation of my voice, and everyone laughed. Then her voice dropped an octave lower. “Honestly, I don’t know what
Sergeant Wesley sees in you. He’s slummed around with recruits before, but not like this.”

I stood still, without even shifting my weight or glancing away for one second. My heart hammered in my chest.

Tub came to Portia’s side. “Are you a spy from the Resistance?”

Portia rolled her eyes, then walked forward to take my chin in her hand, turning my face so I was forced to look her in the eye. “I doubt she’s smart enough to be a spy. This is just a stupid girl who can’t even follow simple
orders.” Everyone laughed again. She leaned in close, grabbing my chin tighter, leaning to whisper in my ear so only I could hear her. “Tell me why you’re here.”

“I’m here to fight for the New Guard,” I said loudly.

“Are you really? Then why did you hesitate when you were face-to-face with a Resistance fighter on Death Night? Are you pro-Resistance or just a coward?”

“I’m here to fight for
the New Guard,” I repeated, my face stony, impassive.