The Spy Princess (15 page)

eleven

S
till, even if Peitar hadn't said much, he had meant every word. I was delighted when he offered to accompany me on my next visit, and those visits soon became a habit. The two of them talked about magic, and about history, and what it meant to lead a kingdom, quoting back and forth from Adamas Dei and other famous writers. I started reading those books, looking for ideas. And I wasn't the only one. Innon began
Our Provident Careers
.

Another thing Peitar and I began to do together was fly late at night, before bed, just to talk. We had years to make up for. I soaked up his stories about his time in the valley with Mother—any stories about Mother, really. We went on to Selenna family history—and, finally, Father. To my surprise, Peitar had some good memories.

He had seen how much Father loved our mother—how he delighted in trying to surprise her, with her favorite foods, with gifts. Selenna House had been filled with music. The garden was her kingdom, and she made it into the paradise I remembered. “You have to realize,” Peitar said, “our father wouldn't look at anyone else after he met our mother. Even though she had no interest in him at all.”

And he talked about his accident for the first time. “You cannot blame Father for this wreck of a knee, no matter what anyone says,” Peitar said, gazing at the scattered stars. “He agreed to postpone my riding and sword lessons to please Mother. And when it happened . . . well, you know how our uncle feels about mages, and withstanding pain. Father would have sent for a healer had I asked, but I lied and said I felt fine. That's what I'd been taught to do, and I could see it made things easier for him. But Mother could see the difference between what I was saying and how I was feeling, and she thought—well, that I was turning into another version of our uncle.”

“No! She couldn't!”

“But she did. I understand it now. It was that mistaken impression, when I was trying so hard to please them all, that drove her out into the garden during that sleet storm when she was already sick.” That final illness had killed her.

A sob wrenched me, and Peitar gripped my arm. “That's why it's important for us always to speak freely to one another,” he said, looking into my eyes. “Not to hide and second guess. There's already been too much damage because of that.”

I thought of my promise. “I'll try.”

Back at Irad House, I wrestled with Adamas Dei's memoirs until my eyes burned. When I went to bed at last, a square of light from Peitar's window painted the trees outside.

• • •

A
WEEK OR
so later came a hot, breathless morning. “Thunder on the way,” Lizana commented at breakfast. “We'll clean the house.”

“Now, how did the one thing lead to the other?” Bren asked, chin in hand.

“You may contemplate it,” she said, “as you mop the upstairs floors. Innon, you will dust. Lilah, you get the floors down here.”

“Foogh,”
I grumbled.

“And you,” Lizana said, pointing to Peitar, “are to drop the studies and go swimming before the weather changes.”

“Yes, Lizana,” Peitar said meekly.

“No books,” she added.

“No books,” he echoed, raising his hands.

And so it was. Innon finished first, then joined Peitar. I was mopping near the front door when a knock startled me. I don't know if it was the foreboding weather or Peitar's increasing concentration on unnamed studies or Lizana's flat voice or all of them, but somehow I knew who it was before I opened the door.

And I was right.

Derek stood there, nearly as thin as Peitar, his face just as weary. His hair had gotten longer, but he clearly hadn't noticed, because he would have been the first to condemn himself for looking like a noble. “May I come in?” he finally asked.

“Oh! Sorry.” I held the door open. “But step carefully. I just mopped.”

He remained where he was. “Is Peitar about?”

“Down at the lake.”

“No, he isn't,” came Peitar's voice, as he landed on the porch behind Derek, who turned with a wary quickness that alarmed me. But then he saw Peitar and relaxed, and so did I.

“You,” he said without preamble, “were right. You were right all along, and I've been a fool. No, worse, for the consequences are worse. . . .”

“Later,” Peitar said in a gentle voice. “Later. Come in.” He led him into the sitting room. Innon followed.

“From the lake we saw someone flying in,” Innon whispered. “I don't know how Peitar guessed it was Derek. Never thought your brother could move so fast. He shot out of the water, straight into the sky!”

Peitar said, “Lilah, I apologize for marking up the floor.”

Just then Bren came hurtling down the stairs. “Derek!”

“Bren, I can't believe how fat you are! This life suits you.”

“Fat?” Bren looked down at his bony self, amazed and pleased.
“Fat?”

“Are you hungry?” I asked Derek, who was laughing. “Thirsty?”

“Nothing right now,” he replied. “But thanks, Lilah.”

Bren fidgeted impatiently. “What about Deon? And Dirty—” He looked around guiltily, but Lizana was nowhere in sight.

“I don't know about Deon,” Derek said, “which I consider good news, unless I hear otherwise. As for Darian Irad, he still controls Sarendan, for which I have my own lack of control to blame. Leaders of riots don't bring stability.”

“Not everyone turned against you, Derek, ” Bren said, looking appalled. “Not everyone, surely.”

“No, but enough. The farmers are angry that the weavers' guild still exists. Why should the weavers continue to get paid for each piece of work when crop prices rise and fall, and the farmers can't even buy clothes? And the weavers are angry because they can't afford bread. I almost got everyone to agree on a wine tax for rebuilding—everyone except the vintners, the barrel-makers, and the wagoneers.” He rubbed his forehead. “And that was only the beginning.”

“But you did have a plan. You did! The nobles were to pay the taxes, because they're rich. We all agreed to that!”

Peitar said quietly, “Except how can they pay when they're dead, or their holdings looted, their land and homes destroyed, or they've run off to the army at Obrin?”

“So our people are fighting each other?” Bren looked sick at the news of betrayal.

“Not all,” said Derek. “We've still got loyal followers. In fact, many of them are training themselves into a semblance of an army. They learned something, watching Darian's forces carve their way through rioters.”

“So there's going to be a lot more fighting.”

“And they want you as the figurehead,” Peitar said, rather than asked.

Derek shrugged. “I'm on the condemned list anyway. Why not make one more try? Irad has his best commanders spread thin in order to reestablish control. And they have as much trouble as we do trying to find out what's truth, what's false, and who's where.” Then he turned to Peitar. “Help me make a plan for afterward.”

“Why?”

“Because the only one in all this nightmare who made sense was you. I have come to listen for once, and not to argue.”

My brother did not reply. Bren stared at Derek with that betrayed expression, and Innon looked down at his hands. Nobody spoke until Lizana appeared in the doorway. She took Derek's appearance in stride. “I think we might as well begin the midday meal, Innon. Peitar, get out of those damp clothes.”

As we ate, the low sound of thunder got louder. Any time the talk seemed to veer toward Sarendan or Derek's problems, Lizana firmly changed the subject. Bren and I had to clean up, and Derek and Peitar were gone when we finished. “They're planning,” he said angrily. “They're out somewhere making plans, and we're not a part of them.”

“You don't know that,” I replied, but I sensed that it was true.

Before Bren could answer, Innon burst into the room,
Our Provident Careers
in hand. “Listen, I think we need to talk about—”

“They're meeting without us. They don't want our help!” And Bren slammed out.

“Well, I tried,” Innon said.

“I know. And Peitar keeps saying that's he afraid for me—I'm not prepared for war, and all that.”

“Well, you aren't. Neither am I,” Innon said reasonably. “I thought I was, after all those years of fencing lessons, and I thought I'd go for training, but then I heard what happens to the new cadets at Obrin. They have to be foxes for the seniors to hunt—and beat with canes, if they catch you—and you have to endure it over and over until you get tough enough for the real training. And I heard that
before
the revolution.”

“So when we made that promise, you never meant to keep it?”

“No. No, no.” Innon pushed his hair back. “It's just that if we're going to help, we need a way that uses our strengths. It's stupid to think we can help with fighting. It's clearer since I've been reading the brothers. They were always learning what the other side would do. And they didn't use force, they used wit—like the time they discovered that evil baron behind all those attacks on the road.”

I grinned. “You mean we should disguise ourselves as foreign cooks, so we can overhear the secret plans while some baron and his guards believe we're making a fancy dinner? I don't think we'd be very convincing, and even if we were, how would that help Peitar and Derek?”

Innon made a face. “I know, I know. But it's the
idea
, see? They keep talking about using wit instead of strength, and they managed it without anybody getting hurt.”

“I see what you mean—and I'm thinking about ways to help, too. I just haven't figured out how, yet.”

“Neither have I,” he admitted. “Anyway, since there's no stopping Bren from flailing around in that storm looking for Derek and Peitar, I'm going back to the brothers. At least they make me laugh.”

“And we'll keep on thinking,” I said.

I went upstairs to record Derek's arrival—and realized how long it had been since I'd written in my book. Lightning flared outside, and rain drummed against the roof as I wrote. Afterward, I stretched out on my bed and wondered what Peitar and Derek were talking about, and fell asleep watching the silvery runnels on the windowpanes.

twelve

I
woke to find a note on my desk in Peitar's slanting hand, and ran downstairs. The boys were in the kitchen.

Bren didn't even look up. “You know, then.”

“They're gone.”

“Sneaked out without letting anyone know. So what now?” Innon asked.

Wit instead of strength.

Bren was rubbing his thumb back and forth along the edge of the table. Chalk made a moon-sliver under his nail. Bits of dreams and old ideas and my talk with Innon flitted through my mind, gathering like moths to a light.

And there it was.

“We can use wit,” I said slowly. “Because we don't have strength. Just like Innon said. Slam justice can work.” I looked at the boys. “I know what to do.” Wonder—excitement—anticipation—it all came spilling in. “I
know
what we can do!”

Bren hunched his shoulders. “Don't say we ought to mind our own business.”

“Not going to. What we are going to do,” I said, unable to sit still because I couldn't contain my excitement, “we—we are going to become . . .” I took a deep breath. “We are going to become the Esalan brothers.”

The boys stared at me like I'd sprouted antlers.

“Hoo!” Innon gave a sudden laugh. “That's it. That's the kind of thing I was trying to think up!”

“We're going to become men?” Bren asked, looking skeptical.

“Not men, thieves!”

“Thieves?”

“Yes,” I said. “Thieves of
information
. Remember what Derek said, that both sides have trouble finding out what's really going on? He and Peitar need to know my uncle's plans so
they
can plan. And we're going to find out, because nobody ever pays attention to kids. We'll go to Miraleste. . . and we'll become spies.”

“Spies,” Bren whispered. “It's perfect. But I don't see how.”

“You haven't read the book,” Innon said. “They lay it all out—we could practice some of their tricks. Use their tools. See if it works. We'll have to be extra careful, because we can't be discovered by
either
side, but I have an idea.” He lowered his voice. “If we get in trouble we can't get out of, because none of us are good at swords, we knock 'em out with Lure.”

Bren asked. “What good is that? There's no Lure flowers anywhere in Sarendan.”

“We can harvest the ones here at the lake, and take them along with us.”

“We'd knock ourselves out, too,” Bren said. “That stuff is dangerous.”

“Here's something I never told anyone. I know that I promised Lizana to stay away from the Lure. And I meant to! But I kept using the smell as the place to turn around when I was swimming, and guess what? I was able to get closer to that end of the lake each day. You
can
get used to Lure, at least a little bit. I think I could hold my breath, grab some flowers, and put them into something where the smell doesn't get out. We'll take that along.”

“I think it might work,” I interrupted. “Listen! We'll
be
brothers! Innon, you cut your hair. With old clothes, nobody would recognize you. As for me, no more Lilah Selenna. I'll cut this off.” I held up my braid. “And turn into Larei.”

Bren jumped up.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To read that book!” he yelled, and pounded off to the library.

• • •

T
HE FIRST PERSON
we needed to fool was Lizana, and the easiest way was to pretend that everything was a big game.

We tried to catch one another sneaking in and out of the house, using the Esalans' tricks of observing from a distance how much you could or could not see from a window or door, and how to keep people from noticing you. Innon got his friends to help, and I recruited Dawn, and we used their houses, too. After all, we'd have to go to a lot of unfamiliar places.

We made sure to discuss our plans only while flying, or at the lake, or the far end of the garden, and we started making up code words and signs in case we had to communicate in public.

At the end of the first week, Bren had gotten to the part in
Our Provident Careers
where the brothers came up with their name. There were three of them, and they signed their “work” with their initials,
SLN
, which became “Esalan.” He wondered aloud what we'd call ourselves.

“I've been thinking about it ever since I read the book,” said Innon. “How about the Sharadan brothers?”

“I
hate
my stupid name!” Bren protested. “Why not our initials?”

“Our initials sound stupid, too.” Innon waved him off. “You just don't like being named after a noble family. But it points the finger away from us.”

“It might get the Sharadan family into trouble,” I said.

“So? They were terrible governors as well as snobs. If King Darian sends spies after them—if any Sharadans are even still alive—so much the better, because then the king's spies won't be searching for
us
.”

“It sounds good, but you'll have to decide, Bren, since it's your name.”

“Well, put that way, it's a slam.”

Innon said, “If that's decided, our next job is to get tools, and practice.”

“And learn our way around the city. Derek told me and Deon to do that, but I wasn't there long enough.” He turned expectantly to me.

“I don't know Miraleste. All I ever did was ride the coach in and out.”

“I know some of it,” Innon said. “We can learn our way around when we get there.”

“As for tools, I'll ask Tsauderei,” I said. “I'll tell him it's for a game.”

First I went to visit Atan, because I hadn't seen her all week—and it gave me time to work on what I'd say to the mage. I hadn't meant to tell her anything, but when she asked how I felt about Peitar going back to Miraleste— Tsauderei had told her—out it all came.

She listened closely, and at the end said, “I do wish there'd been a chance to meet Derek. He sounds fascinating.”

“Oh, he'd probably snarl about your being a noble,” I grumbled.

“Yes, I look like such a delicate princess,” Atan retorted good-naturedly, flicking the frayed hem of her work shirt. “Oh, Lilah, this is tough. But if I were you, I'd do exactly the same. I think the Sharadan brothers and getting information are fine ideas—and if it becomes dangerous, you can return here, and Derek and Peitar will be none the wiser.”

“Except if they actually see us.
That's
what worries me. A disguise will fool other people, maybe even my uncle, but if Peitar saw me, he'd know right away, and Derek would recognize us all. Maybe the boys could become girls, except then they have to worry about climbing in dresses, and if I'm a Sharadan sister, I'm right back to looking like me. . . .”

“Do you think Peitar and Derek will stay in Miraleste, then?” Atan asked.

“Well, won't they? If they've got to spy around and start another government, they'd have to be there, right?”

She looked straight through me, thinking. It was just like Peitar. “Well,” she began, “from everything I've read, the easiest way to shipwreck a government is to capture the leaders.” She got up and paced, her fingers braiding up her hair with the quick, absent expertise that comes of doing something every day, for years, without a mirror. “Still, I don't think Peitar is going to be in Miraleste. Derek's first plan didn't work. So I think Peitar will want to visit all of Derek's old leaders, one by one, and talk to them about a new plan. He might even take the risk of speaking to those he knows among the loyalists. Yes.” She nodded. “He would. I think your brother has more courage than most, because he has to face danger with no weapons but his wits. Just like the famous brothers.”

“So you think he'll be traveling around the kingdom?”

She finished braiding her hair. “Yes. Weaving a . . . a tapestry, you might say, of mutual consent, one person at a time. Which gives him authority without ever using force.”

“But if he talks to loyalists, they could tell Uncle Darian.”

“Yes. It's a big risk. But can't you see him believing it worthwhile to try?”

“Oh, yes.” The Sharadan brothers now seemed like a children's game. I said in a rush, “So you don't think
my
idea is stupid?”

Her answer was surprising. “Come.”

She led the way outside, and instead of talking did the magic, and we took off.

I had never seen Atan fly before. It was clear she was well practiced. We soared westward, over rocky chasms and gorges so deep their bottoms were lost in shadow, even though the afternoon sun was strong on our backs. The farther west we got, the more desolate the mountain terrain became. There was an intense feeling of brooding ugliness.

Before long, we saw untouched stretches of snow, and the peaks where the great gryphs nested. Magic protected us against what had to be bitter cold. Gray clouds loomed closer and closer, and then we were in them. Atan veered close and took my hand. We landed on rocky ground. Cold fog fingered my clothes and hair with dank thoroughness.

Atan stood motionless. Then she raised her hand and spoke soft words, and wind swept down from the peaks and drove the clouds away in a boiling, ghostly mass. It lifted our hair and made our clothes snap and flap, but Atan stared straight down so I did, too.

The ground fell away toward parched meadowland that shimmered strangely, vanishing in a grayish haze.

“Sartor,” I breathed. The world's most ancient kingdom.

“The very eastern end,” she answered. “I'm not much older than you, not in real time, but very soon I am going down into that land to free it.”

As we watched, the clouds churned and a shaft of strong golden sunlight struck glints in the rock below. The flash lasted the space of a breath, but Atan smiled in a way that echoed it, and said, “I'm glad we came.” The smile turned rueful. “But Tsauderei does not like it, and I have responsibility for you as well. Come.”

On our flight back, she said, “You asked if I think you're wrong to try, and I say no. But like I said, I've no experience. Talk to Tsauderei, Lilah. He's very experienced, very smart, and very powerful.”

I agreed, though secretly resolving not to
tell
Tsauderei—only to get him to use his magic to procure us our tools.

Gehlei was waiting when we returned. She frowned, seeing the direction from which we had come. The last Landis heir was hedged about by those who loved her most, just as I was, yet she was determined to fulfill her vows.

I flew on to Tsauderei's, but the closer I got, the more scared I felt. I wanted his advice, but what if he forbade us to try our plan? Maybe he'd even use some spell, like Peitar had threatened, to keep us from leaving the valley. I circled overhead, imagining his questions and my answers until I felt ready to face him.

Tsauderei was in his usual seat by the window. When I came in, he eyed me. “What have you done that you shouldn't, or what haven't you done that you should?”

I tried to sound casual. “Oh, we've invented a game that needs tools, and we don't know where to get tools here.”

“Tools?”

“Yes.” I gave a practiced shrug. “Little hooks, for opening things—”

“Like lock picks?” Tsauderei asked, his brows winging upward.

“Well, I suppose, though I don't know what those look like.”

“And you want these tools, kind of like lock picks, for . . . what?”

“This game,” I repeated.

His eyes narrowed. “Lilah.”

One question, and I'd already ruined everything! “Are you too busy for a visit? If you are—”

“You'd better give it to me straight, or I'll be forced to heed Peitar's rather unnecessary request and tie you three down.”

“Unnecessary?” I repeated warily.

“Necessary only if you do something stupid.” Tsauderei gave me a grim smile, folded his arms, and sat back. “Convince me that you aren't doing something stupid. Lying to me,” he added, “would number among the things I'd consider very, very stupid.”

I fingered the scraggly end of my braid. I studied cracks in the paint on the windowsill. Then I addressed the air just beside his ear. “What would be stupider?”

“Let's just set lying as the floor, shall we?”

“Well, I hope that means that you'll listen, then. Because here's our real idea.” I laced my fingers together, took a deep breath, and told him everything. When I finished, my heart was pounding.

Tsauderei stroked his beard and looked out the window for a while. “And you have been practicing to be spies?” I described our “games,” our hand signals and coded language. He took it in. “How would you get your information to Peitar and Derek?”

“Bren says that there's someone on the kitchen staff who used to be Derek's main contact in Miraleste. If they're still there, we could get messages to Derek.”

“That's good thinking. But your uncle is back at the palace, you know. What if he gets his hands on you?”

“I'm going to make sure he doesn't know who I am,” I said. “I'm going to be Larei.”

“If—I say
if
—you are convincing, and he caught you and didn't realize who you were, he'd condemn you to a common criminal's death. Youth won't stay his hand, not now. He's far too angry.”

“I don't care. I mean, I do care—very much. About staying alive, I mean. Not about
him
. And, anyway, that's why we'll have the Lure, in case we do get cornered.”

“We'll talk more about the Lure in a moment. Lilah, have you considered the other alternative? That if your uncle sees you, he'll know who you are?”

I shivered. “I'll have to make sure he doesn't.” Then I said cautiously, “You're acting as if you might agree with us.”