two

I was sound asleep the next morning when my governess came in.

Lizana was middle-aged and stout, and very, very smart. She’d been my mother’s maid and had taken care of me since I was born. I woke up to find her eyeing me suspiciously. Usually I was the first one awake.

“I think I have a fever,” I mumbled. I meant to sneak out as Larei again, and the last thing I wanted was bed checks!

Lizana’s eyebrows rose. She was used to sickness. Peitar was sick all too often.

“I’ll get the medicine.” At the doorway, she turned back. “Now, you lie there and rest. His Highness wishes to talk to you.”

Within a very short time shoes clacked on the landing, and my father came in.

I tried to see him the way the villagers did: a heavy man wearing a purple velvet suit with lace at throat and wrists and an old-fashioned wig of long, curling red hair. His features were pinched with irritation. He pulled over one of my dainty chairs and sat down carefully, then examined the gold-edged buckles on his shoes with approval.

Lizana reappeared with a tray, and His Highness lifted his nose. “Be gone. You know I dislike servants hovering when I talk to my children.” My father spoke in the court drawl that had been popular for years—until my uncle came to the throne.

Uncle Darian never drawled. Nor did he wear wigs.

Lizana set the tray down and left.

“Lilah, child, this illness is most inconvenient,” my father began. “I was going to tell you at breakfast today that in two weeks we depart for Miraleste.”

To the capital! That meant the royal palace—and my uncle, the king. My stomach knotted. “Why?”

Father’s brow furrowed. “You are a good child most of the time, Lilah, but this inquisitiveness is most unbecoming. You must curb the habit. Well-bred children are polite and obedient. Suffice it to say that we make the journey for your benefit.”

“Yes, Father,” I said in my well-practiced Polite and Obedient Voice, though I burned with indignation—and with questions that I knew would not be answered. As usual.

“Good child.” He rose, adjusting the satin edges of his cuffs. “Sleep well.”

As soon as he had clacked down the stairs, I hopped out of bed and inspected the tray. Broth and medicine: from the smell a bitter, nasty willow-bark decoction, suitable for fever and ache. I dumped the medicine out the window. I hoped it wouldn’t poison the trees.

The broth I drank as I wondered why we had to go to the capital—and why I should benefit. The dread was even stronger than the questions.

Next came the uneven rhythm of Peitar’s step. That was a surprise. He entered, leaning heavily on his crutch as he always did after climbing the long stairway. His face seemed more drawn than ever, set in an expression of hard-won patience.

From where I sat I could see us framed in my mirror, in some ways so alike—the slanted eyes and sharp chin and angled cheekbones—and in some so different. I was built more like my father. Peitar was just over medium height, dark-haired, and light in build. Like our mother had been. Like Uncle Darian.

I shuddered and did my best to look sick.

“You don’t have to feign illness. You’re as healthy as I am.”

“You aren’t healthy—”

“So everyone tells me,” he retorted. “I’m crippled, not sick. Though I admit I use that when I have to.”

“I hate it when you sound like Uncle.”

“I saw you sneak past my window last night, Lilah,” he said mildly.

I sat upright. “You know?” Peitar’s smile made him look younger—more like his nineteen years. Yet the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you going to tell?”

He shook his head, still smiling. “Ah, little sister, how I’ve wished to do the same! What did you find?”

“I met some villagers sneaking around, and—” I stopped short. “Wait, you want to explore, too?”

“I kept that to myself until I saw you last night. We’re too good at hiding our real selves, I suppose.” He paused, as if making up his mind about something. “But we’ve been fooling one another when, perhaps, we should be working together.”

“Working together? How? On what?”

“First tell me what you found out, and what you think of it.”

I have loved my brother ever since I was tiny—all the more intensely after our mother died when I was two. He was the one who had given me books to read after Father had forbidden Lizana to continue my lessons. He’d done it with her unspoken approval, too, telling me all the details about Lasva Dei and the adventurers I admired, and he also practiced Sartoran with me when Lizana was busy. I trusted him more than anyone—but then he’d stopped answering my questions.

I told him about meeting Bren, what he had said, and what I had answered. Peitar listened, and when he didn’t look angry or shocked, I finished, “So I ran back here, and I was trying to figure out a way to get over the wall before moonrise tomorrow, and meet this Derek person.”

“I wonder . . .” Peitar’s hand tightened on his crutch. “I wonder if you ought to meet Derek. The problem is, it’s almost impossible to separate him from dangerous circumstances, even just to talk.”

More surprises. “Dangerous? Wait, wait! You know Derek?”

“Yes.”

My insides felt as if someone had dumped me out the window along with the medicine. “Tell me! I want to know what’s going on.”

“I’ve known Derek for years. Ever since we were—oh, not much older than you are now. Lilah, he wants to raise Sarendan in revolution.” Revolution?

“Why? How?”

Peitar’s forehead puckered with worry. “He wants to right the wrongs he sees about him. We both do. He thinks the way is through violence, and I’m not so sure. But then I sit here in safety.”

“Safety!” I repeated in scorn.

Peitar’s lips twisted. “To those outside the family, it seems our lives are nothing but plenty and bliss. The plenty I will grant, but the bliss—well, you know as well as I. Derek doesn’t know, nor do his followers, what life is like here, or in Miraleste, for us.”

“Can’t you just tell him?”

“It’s not that simple.” He looked distracted, and I wondered if he was going to get lost inside his head as he often did. Then he blinked. “As for how, those children in the village are to be a part of it, just as countless ordinary people in towns and villages all over the country will be a part. On a given signal they will attack the local authorities. Like us.” Peitar indicated himself, me, and then downstairs, where Father sat in his rooms.

“Attack? But people might get hurt!” I exclaimed.

“Yes. Yet too many think it’s a game. Not all. But some think it’s impossible that any real harm could happen to them, because their intentions are good.”

“What can we do to fix things?” When he hesitated, I said, “Not telling me doesn’t stop me from worrying. Nobody answers my questions. That’s one of the reasons why I dressed as Larei, to find out! And why are we going to Miraleste, anyway? Father said it was to benefit me. What did he mean?”

“Lilah, I think it’s to arrange a marriage for you.”

“Ugh!” I exclaimed. “You’re not betrothed, so why should I get stuck with it?”

“I’m not because . . . more politics.” Peitar looked away. “Though I might be forced into it, if . . . oh, if things don’t change.” He met my eyes. “If it helps, you and your intended will decide when the marriage actually takes place. So if you want, it could be ten years. Or twenty, if you’re deft—you will probably have the higher rank, so you’ll have more say. You just need to be diplomatic.”

“But I’ll still be betrothed. Some fun if he’s a snob, and most of those court boys are snobs. And what if Uncle says I have to live with the boy’s family? At least if he joins ours, I can stick him in the farthest room and pretend he isn’t here.”

Peitar grinned. “None of that has to be decided now.” He struggled to his feet. “Maybe you should go into town—but go during the day, if you think your disguise will hold. Far too many of those children are roaming around with nothing to do and little to eat. Talk to them. Listen to them. I’ll invent a cover for you. The threat of contagion ought to keep Father away. Just come back as soon as you’ve met Derek. We’ll talk tomorrow morning.”

He left. I stared after him, in wonder.