The Last Princess (5 page)

Everything around me, the chaos, the noise, the fighting, all fell away as I stared at him in numb disbelief. A pair of hands was gripping my shoulders, pulling me up, away from him, and I tried to shake them off.

“Eliza! Come on!” Mary’s voice awoke me from my trance. She deftly
wove a path through the confusion, pulling me to the hidden servant’s doorway beneath the back stairs.

As we ran for our lives through the hail of bullets flying around the ballroom, I risked glancing backward one last time. The body of our father lay still, his blood as red as the roses strewn across the floor.

7

MARY FUMBLED WITH THE LATCH TO THE SERVANTS’ STAIR, HER
hands shaking. I covered my ears, trying to block out the screams, the sound of gunfire, the crashing of horses’ hooves. Finally she yanked the door open and rushed inside, pulling me sharply behind her.

I followed her up the narrow stair, clutching my gown so I wouldn’t trip. Mary moved with purpose, her quick, sure steps conveying
what I refused to face: She was now the queen of England.

At the top of the stairs we came to a long corridor with Persian rugs and dark wooden moldings, where a row of shaded candles illuminated our way. Somewhere in the
great maze of halls I imagined I could hear Hollister’s army approaching.

On a door up ahead, a string of rainbow-colored blocks spelled out
JAMIE’S ROOM
. I tore the sign from
the door, the thread breaking in my hand, the blocks tumbling to the ground. I had helped Jamie make the sign when he was four years old. I remembered sitting together in front of the fire, drinking hot chocolate with honey as we strung the blocks together. Even though it was after the Seventeen Days, that memory suddenly felt like it was from a different time—so long ago that it was impossible
to reach.

Mary swept past me and pushed open the door. The room was quiet, the pale blue curtains fluttering in the wind. In the dim light, Mary and I rushed over to Jamie’s bed. The covers were pushed back, the bed empty. All that remained was his beloved Paddington Bear.

“They’ve taken him.” Mary’s voice shook with panic. I stared in disbelief at the empty bed. Mary reached for the bear with
the missing eye.

I willed myself to feel something. Even crying would have been a relief.

“What’s wrong?”

Through the waves of my sorrow, I must have imagined my brother’s voice. I lifted my head. In the hazy light I saw
Jamie standing in front of me, wearing his blue-and-white-striped pajamas, his hair messy from sleep.

“Jamie?” My voice broke as I said his name. “Is that you?”

“Who else
would it be?”

“Jamie!” Mary exclaimed, tears running down her cheeks. “Where have you been? You weren’t in your bed. We thought…” She sounded as though she were scolding him, and Jamie stepped back in fear.

“I fell asleep on the window seat,” he started to explain.

“Oh, Jamie, something terrible has happened.” Mary reached out to him, and he ran forward to hug us both. He smelled of children’s
shampoo and cough medicine.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.

“What’s happening?” Jamie looked fearfully from Mary to me.

“Shush.” Mary put her fingers to her lips. Shadows moved across the strip of light under the bedroom door.

“They’re right outside,” I whispered. I took Jamie’s chair from beneath his desk and wedged it firmly under the door handle. I knew it wouldn’t
be enough to stop them, but at least it would slow them down.

“Mary?” Jamie looked at our sister, his eyes flashing with fear.

“We’ll explain everything later,” I answered, surprised at how calm I sounded. “Right now we have to find a way out.” I made a quick mental survey of the room. Fierce red flames danced outside the window, curling inward like hands trying to grab at us. I tried to see
through the blaze to the courtyard below, where the real royal guards were fighting the impostors. Bullets and spears flew through the air. The bodies of dead soldiers littered the cobblestones.

Without warning, an axe blade smashed at the door. The chair I had placed below the handle broke into tiny pieces that fell to the floor like toothpicks.

Mary screamed, wrapping Jamie in her arms as
another axe splintered the wood. The steel blades glinted in the dim light.

“The war hutch,” I whispered urgently. How had I not thought of it before?

Jamie’s eyes lit up. “It leads to the underground tunnels. We can escape that way!” The ancient passage hadn’t been used since the Second World War.

Mary grabbed the bedspread and an armful of Jamie’s sweaters. We ducked into Jamie’s closet and
moved toward the back wall, moving our hands over the wood in the darkness, searching for the hidden latch.

“I found it!” Jamie cried out excitedly. Even through my fear, I felt a swell of pride.

The hidden door slid open to reveal a small pulley elevator, a dumbwaiter designed to lower us to the safety of the tunnels below. The three of us barely fit in the compartment, sitting with our knees
pressed to our chests. I reached to turn the pulley.

“My medicine,” Jamie said suddenly.

My hand tightened on the ropes. Jamie wouldn’t survive long without it. Mary slid open the latch and slipped out into the bedroom. I peered through the crack in the doors.

“They’re not inside yet,” I said, my heart racing.

Jamie hurried out after her before I could stop him. “I’ll get it. I know where
it is.”

“Hurry. Please hurry,” I whispered after them.

Just as Jamie stepped into the dark room, an enormous crash sounded. The soldiers had broken down the door. I hurried from the dumbwaiter, peering through the opening in the closet doors.

Mary held Jamie’s hand and pulled him protectively behind her back. The large oak door had fallen in, knocking the lamps to the floor with a crash. Four
guards marched in and grabbed them both.

Mary kicked and hit, fighting off the guards with every
ounce of her strength. But then another one grabbed Jamie, shoving him to the ground and pressing a sword to his throat. Mary stopped resisting. She risked a single, meaningful glance over her shoulder, as though willing me to understand, before turning carefully back to the guards.

I knew what she
meant—she wanted me to escape. I looked at the dumbwaiter. If I stayed, I would be taken captive with them. But how could I leave?

“Where’s the other one?” the guard who seemed to be in charge yelled at Mary. She stood there silently, biting her lip. “Answer me!” When she still said nothing, he raised his fist, hitting her across the face. Blood splattered from her mouth.

“Search the room,”
the captain ordered, directing his gaze at a guard who stood in the doorway. The younger guard began looking through Jamie’s things, overturning blankets and peering under the bed. “Start with the closets,” the older guard directed gruffly.

I stepped backward through the hanging clothes, crouching down in the corner. There was no time to slip back into the dumbwaiter. I scrambled around silently
for something to use as a weapon, but all I could come up with was a shoe.

The younger guard opened the door and pushed aside the rows of coats and clothes, the metal hangers chiming together, the fabric swaying. Then he saw me.

He stopped, gun in hand, as we stared at each other. His dirty blond hair fell across his forehead in messy curls, and his green eyes gleamed. I sucked in my breath.

He lowered his gun and stepped backward, disappearing behind the clothes.

“It’s empty,” I heard him call out to the other guards. He closed the closet door, leaving me surrounded by blackness once more. “Check the back staircase.”

I heard the sound of the guards hurrying from the room, their footsteps heavy in the hallways.

I sat frozen. Had he seen me or not?

I stumbled out of the closet in
confusion. Jamie’s bedroom was rapidly filling with black smoke. The curtains had erupted in a massive blaze. Tongues of flame shot inward on the breeze, starting small fires in the bedroom.

“Mary! Jamie!” I cried, moving through the smoke-filled room. I was still clutching one of Jamie’s sweaters and held it over my mouth to protect my lungs. In just a few seconds, the flames had spread to Jamie’s
bed, to the carpet, to the plush cushions on the floor. Flames teased at my hair. I smothered them with a sweater, but the ends of my hair were singed.

“Mary! Jamie!” I cried again, but the only sound was the flames crackling as they engulfed the room.

They were gone, and I had no choice but to leave too.

I raced back into the closet. The air was clearer here, and I took a deep, shuddering
breath as I climbed inside the dumbwaiter and pulled the lever.

When I reached the bottom, I clambered out awkwardly and set off racing down the tunnel, my feet splashing in puddles of water. It was so dark that more than once I almost ran into a wall before skidding to a frantic stop. Cobwebs broke across my face and bats fluttered around me. I smelled smoke and began to panic. The tunnels hadn’t
been used in more than a hundred years.

Then a tiny pinprick of light appeared in the distance, growing bigger and bigger until I realized it was a small metal rectangle. The escape hatch.

I ran to the latch and reached up, pressing my hand against the metal surface. But it was stuck, rusted shut from decades of disuse. I took a few steps backward, summoning my strength with a running start,
and threw all my weight against it. The hatch broke open and I climbed out into the night.

I gasped for fresh air, but there was none. Everything was choked with smoke. I turned to look up at the palace, flames crawling like vines up its stone facade. Hollister’s soldiers were swarming over the grounds, destroying everything in sight, shooting at people as they tried to flee.

I scanned the garden,
looking for a way to escape. My eyes fell on the rose beds I had planted with my mother, which had been empty and barren since the Seventeen Days. A sound blasted the air like a gunshot. All glass in the palace windows was exploding outward. I ducked and covered my head with my hands as clear shards fell around me like razor-sharp hail. Then I stumbled on something and fell forward. Lying across
the walkway was a small, warm pile of fur.

“Bella!” I cried, touching her chest. Her throat had been cut and her breathing was shallow and slow.

Bella looked up at me. She tried to nuzzle my hand as I stared down into her wide, brown eyes. “I’m sorry,” I told her helplessly. I lay my head down on the damp ground, wrapping my arms around her. The puddle of blood spread on the stones. “I’m sorry
I couldn’t protect you.” I felt Bella’s last labored breaths and looked up at the muted stars, the smudge of moon.

I heard the heavy footsteps and harsh voices of guards searching the palace garden.

Let them catch me
, I thought,
let them kill me here.
My mother was dead. My father was murdered. My brother and sister were as good as dead. They had even taken my dog from me. The weight of my sorrow
fell on me heavy as a lead blanket.
I closed my eyes as I lay with Bella, waiting for them to find me and kill me too.

But instead of the cold barrel of a gun or the sharp blade of a sword, I felt a sudden softness, a wing brushing against my cheek. I touched my hand to my face, thinking I must have already died, that I was with my mother again. Then I heard a soft whistling and opened my eyes.
Perched on the charred remains of the rosebush sat a small bird.

“Blue?” I whispered, still half-thinking I was imagining it.

He whistled back and then flew away into the smoke-clogged night sky.

Blue was a baby blue jay who, against all odds, had survived the Seventeen Days. Mary and I had heard his chirping and found him still alive, surrounded by the dead bodies of the other chicks, the
body of their mother spread out protectively over the nest. I had picked him up, warming him in my hands—he had been so frightened, his heart beating so fast in his tiny body.

I had made a nest of straw and dug worms from the soil, crushing them and feeding them to him every few hours. I kept him safe in a box until he grew stronger. Then one day, while I was holding him, he opened his wings
and flew out of the palm of my hand. He seemed so happy, almost surprised that he had wings and could fly.

I thought of Blue’s joy at discovering he could fly, and something inside me made me stumble to my feet. I got up and numbly moved into the hollow of one of the last trees in the garden.

A group of soldiers rushed through the garden, passing the spot where I had been mere moments before,
trampling Bella’s tiny body. They carried torches, their steel-spiked boots shining in the light of the flames. At the palace entrance, another soldier opened fire on a woman running for her life, and she fell to the ground with a shuddering moan. It was Margaret, one of our maids. I screamed silently, closing my hands in fists so tight that my fingernails drew blood.

I wanted to close my eyes
but refused to let myself look away. Soldiers were still looting the palace, taking weapons, food, whatever they could carry. They had even found the last remaining tanks of oil. The palace servants, the guests, everyone who hadn’t been killed was being tied up and blindfolded, then loaded into the backs of canvas-covered trucks. The terrorized screams of the prisoners rose up in the night air.
The soldiers ignored them and filled the tanks of the trucks with the oil they’d discovered. The words scrawled on their sides shone in the light of the dancing flames:
THE NEW RULER HAS RISEN
.

The trucks pulled out of the gates, the soldiers on
horseback following close behind. Then I saw him—his golden hair shining, his hand raised in victory as he rode away from the charred remains of my home.

I was alive. My life had been spared, and it could only be for one reason.

I had to kill Cornelius Hollister.

8

MY LUNGS ACHED AS I WALKED ALONG THE DESERTED HIGHWAY
.