Jenny Lundquist - The Princess in the Opal Mask

“As it happens, Elara and I saw the girls’ teacher today.” Mister Ogden, who, up until now has seemed content to silently drain his goblet, suddenly rouses himself.

“What?” Mistress Ogden frowns, caught off guard and clearly not happy he has changed the subject. But she doesn’t let it phase her. “You mean Mister Travers?” she asks, feigning interest. “However is he?”

“Well, it was quite strange,” Mister Ogden begins, and relates what happened at the Draughts of Life.

“Where do you suppose they were taking him?” Serena asks once he’s finished.

“Perhaps he was a convict,” Mister Blackwell speaks up. “Many criminals flee Allegria, hoping that the farther they get from the Crown, the surer they will be able to evade the justice that is due to them.”

“A criminal?” Serena says. “I wouldn’t have taken Mister Travers for a criminal. But then he didn’t grow up in Tulan. I wonder why he chose to settle here?”

Outwardly I give no sign that the conversation troubles me. But inwardly I feel faint and my stomach churns. A possibility I hadn’t considered earlier enters my mind. Why would an outsider choose to settle in Tulan, a small, insignificant village, unless he had a very good reason for doing so? To what lengths would a hunted man go to protect his family? If he’d had a daughter, would he hide her? Would he have gone so far to deliver her to an orphanage, only to find her later when he thought he would be safe now?

Is Mister Travers my father?

Mister Blackwell turns his dark gaze to me. “Did you see him in the tavern as well? Did he say anything to you?” His words seem casual enough, as though he’s just making po-lite conversation. I’m considering my answer, weighing each word carefully, when I notice something that makes my blood run cold.

The large opal ring on Mister Blackwell’s pale hand. Exactly like the one the man in the carriage wore.

Mister Blackwell is the man who had Mister Travers taken to Allegria? And yet just a few hours later he sits here, acting as though he’s only just arrived in Tulan, in the shabby carriage we’ve always greeted him in, not the royal one bearing the Andewyn coat of arms.

“Did you see him?” Mister Blackwell repeats.

My face becomes still. “I never noticed him until the guards arrived. I was talking to my friend Cordon the whole time. What will happen to him in Allegria?”

Mister Blackwell’s face is a veil of shadows in the flickering candlelight. “If your schoolteacher is in some kind of trouble, he will be put in prison to await trial.”

Mistress Ogden grabs my hand and squeezes it. Hard. I know I should drop it and steer the conversation back to what she really wants. But what I want is answers. Mister Travers knows something about my mother and somehow, I need to find him.

And suddenly, it occurs to me that I can.

“Well, I suppose there is no use talking about it anymore then,” I say with a wave of my hand. I turn to Mistress Ogden and give her such a look of sunny adoration that she seems momentarily confused by my sudden change in attitude. “I know things are difficult, Mother”—I force myself to choke out the word—“But isn’t there some way we could go to Allegria? I so want to see the Masked Princess.”

The confusion on her face vanishes, and it’s replaced by a look of approval. I know she hates me. But I think a small part of her grudgingly respects me for learning to be somewhat of the performer she herself is.

She shakes her head before smiling sadly. “I’m sorry, but tickets to the masquerade are just impossible to get.” She turns to Mister Blackwell. “Aren’t they?”

“Actually,” Mister Blackwell says, “many of us in Allegria were given invitations. Perhaps the orphanage could sponsor your trip to Allegria, as well as provide you with tickets.”

“Why Mister Blackwell, that would be just lovely.” Faster than I’ve ever seen her move, she reaches across the table and snatches the four tickets and bag of worthings Mister Black-well holds out. From the look in her eyes, I can tell she thinks she’s gotten the best of him.

Yet as I listen to them speak, I’m not so sure. He knows more about Mister Travers than he is letting on. And he just happened to have exactly four tickets to a ball that’s supposed to be nearly impossible to get into? I look at Mister Blackwell, at his shadowed face, unreadable black eyes, and his opal ring glinting in the candlelight. I can’t help but wonder if it hadn’t been his plan for us to travel to Allegria all along.

I don’t care about the Masked Princess, or her masquerade ball. But if Mr. Travers is still in Allegria by the time I arrive, somehow, I’m going to find him.

WILHA

The gardens surrounding the Opal Palace are famous for their beauty. My favorite has always been an apple orchard known as the Queen’s Garden. Off limits to everyone but the royal family, it is located on the southwestern end of the palace grounds. Interspersed between the trees are white stone statues of every ruling queen of Gal-andria, from Eleanor the Great to my mother, Queen Astrid. Next to my mother’s statue is an empty space, which is to be filled once a new queen is crowned.

It is a place I come to when I need to be alone, away from the whispers and the rumors. A place where, except for the guards keeping watch along the garden’s wall, the only eyes that see me are made of stone.

A weak spring sun shines upon my mother’s statue, and I try to find within her stone face some resemblance to myself. There is no law in Galandria, with its rich history of strong queens, decreeing the crown must pass to the firstborn son. No law saying that I, as the eldest, cannot be the crown princess of Galandria and one day have my own statue in this garden, right next to my mother’s. Yet I have always known, from the time such thoughts could enter my head, that my brother Andrei would one day rule Galandria. That the next statue to grace the Queen’s Garden will be of Andrei’s wife.

A breeze stirs up, sending blossoms swirling from the apple trees, and for a moment it seems my mother’s statue weeps pink flower petals. Her lips are pressed together. Her hair is coiled on her head, her chin is raised, and her arms are at her sides. She looks strong, as though she could stare down an entire army by the sheer force of her will.

I see nothing of myself in her.

It is several minutes later, when I am staring at the empty space where a statue of me will never be, that I hear something behind me. I turn, and see Lord Murcendor approaching. He wears a thick emerald green robe identifying him as a member of the Guardian Council.

Lord Murcendor’s appearance is oft-putting to many. His sleek dark hair, pale face, and grave manner make others uneasy. But they do not know him like I do. As the Guardian of the Opal Mines, and therefore the protector of Galandria’s wealth, the safety of the Andewyn family rests heavily upon his shoulders.

“You called for me, Your Highness?”

“Please do not call me that,” I say. “Not today.”

“Very well, Wilha.” He pauses. “The last time I saw you, you were sitting here as well.”

“I have a training session with Patric soon,” I reply, touching the lightweight red velvet mask I am allowed to wear during our lessons. “Besides,” I motion to my mother’s statue, “I wanted to look at her while I still could.”

“I see.” Lord Murcendor settles himself on the bench next to me. “Your father told you then?”

I nod, and the tears I have been holding back the last few days start escaping. Lord Murcendor waits patiently for me, as he always does. “Father says I serve Galandria by marrying the Kyrenican crown prince,” I say when I regain my composure.