the subject. When he doesn’t immediately answer I add, “You expect me to become the figurehead of your treasonous plot. I don’t think it’s too much that I understand why this is important to you.”
“Your brother has inherited your father’s lavish tastes. Every night he throws grand parties for the nobles, while resolutely ignoring the plight of the poor. Yet, unlike your father, who acknowledged he needed the wisdom of the Guardian Council to properly rule, your brother listens to only one voice: Lord Murcendor. There are many who believe he is the true king in everything but name.”
“But if I agree to this and we are successful, would you become king in everything but name, while I stood in front of you, little more than a puppet queen?”
“I want only what’s best for this kingdom, Elara. That no longer includes your brother.”
He asks everything of me. And for once, I want a Guardian to do something for me.
“I will consider it.” He opens his mouth to protest, but I press on. “That’s the most I can offer. You would not want me to make a hasty decision when there is so much at stake. I swear to you, I will give your offer its due consideration. And I promise to give you an answer—after you do something for me.”
“And what would that be?”
“I want to see the brother you expect me to depose. I want to see for my own eyes how Wilha fares. I want you to get me inside the Opal Palace,” I say.
What I don’t say is that I also want to pay a visit to the Opal Palace’s library and find my name, and whatever other secrets my mother may have left for me.
Chapter 20
Elara
A ndrei’s lavish tastes work in our favor, and Lord Royce easily secures an extra invitation to one of the royal court’s nightly masquerades. As I put on the purple-and-silver costume mask Lord Royce found for me, I steel myself for a long night ahead. I have two things I must accomplish. I need to find the Opal Palace’s library and, just as important, I want to speak to Wilha and hear from her own lips how she’s being treated.
I’ve also decided I need to tell her what Lord Royce is asking of me. Because if I agree to his plan, Wilha will inevitably be affected.
“Who did you tell them I am?” I ask Lord Royce as our carriage rolls through Eleanor Square.
“My niece, Alinda.” He pauses and turns to look at me. “I’m taking an awfully big risk for you, Elara. Do not make me regret it.”
The Opal Palace shines with golden light, and I can’t help but gasp as the carriage rumbles past the gates. Set against the dark, starless night, it glows like a beacon.
“How many candles does it take to light up the palace like that?”
“Thousands,” Lord Royce says curtly. From behind the goblin mask he wears I can’t tell if he’s irritated by my question or by Andrei’s extravagance.
I glance back at the gates, where several beggars have gathered to watch the palace guards admit the guests invited to the masquerade. “How many worthings does it cost?” I ask.
“Cost means very little to Andrei.”
The carriage rumbles to a halt in front of the steps lead ing up to the palace. The royal official posted at the entrance recognizes Lord Royce and greets him.
“This is my niece,” Lord Royce says, presenting him with two tickets. “She is a baker in the city.”
“Your niece, of course.” The official gives Lord Royce a knowing smirk and waves us through. “I have a few nieces myself.”
We follow the faint strains of music and a line of guests, all dressed in fashionable clothing and glittering costume masks, streaming down a wide, mirrored hall. A painted door carved with gold leaf opens, and we’re inside.
The Grand Ballroom is the largest room I’ve ever seen. It shimmers with ornate crystal chandeliers and white curtains that billow from arched windows. One whole wall is lined with tables laden with platters of Galandrian delicacies: apple tarts drizzled with cinnamon and honey,
“Your brother has inherited your father’s lavish tastes. Every night he throws grand parties for the nobles, while resolutely ignoring the plight of the poor. Yet, unlike your father, who acknowledged he needed the wisdom of the Guardian Council to properly rule, your brother listens to only one voice: Lord Murcendor. There are many who believe he is the true king in everything but name.”
“But if I agree to this and we are successful, would you become king in everything but name, while I stood in front of you, little more than a puppet queen?”
“I want only what’s best for this kingdom, Elara. That no longer includes your brother.”
He asks everything of me. And for once, I want a Guardian to do something for me.
“I will consider it.” He opens his mouth to protest, but I press on. “That’s the most I can offer. You would not want me to make a hasty decision when there is so much at stake. I swear to you, I will give your offer its due consideration. And I promise to give you an answer—after you do something for me.”
“And what would that be?”
“I want to see the brother you expect me to depose. I want to see for my own eyes how Wilha fares. I want you to get me inside the Opal Palace,” I say.
What I don’t say is that I also want to pay a visit to the Opal Palace’s library and find my name, and whatever other secrets my mother may have left for me.
Chapter 20
Elara
A ndrei’s lavish tastes work in our favor, and Lord Royce easily secures an extra invitation to one of the royal court’s nightly masquerades. As I put on the purple-and-silver costume mask Lord Royce found for me, I steel myself for a long night ahead. I have two things I must accomplish. I need to find the Opal Palace’s library and, just as important, I want to speak to Wilha and hear from her own lips how she’s being treated.
I’ve also decided I need to tell her what Lord Royce is asking of me. Because if I agree to his plan, Wilha will inevitably be affected.
“Who did you tell them I am?” I ask Lord Royce as our carriage rolls through Eleanor Square.
“My niece, Alinda.” He pauses and turns to look at me. “I’m taking an awfully big risk for you, Elara. Do not make me regret it.”
The Opal Palace shines with golden light, and I can’t help but gasp as the carriage rumbles past the gates. Set against the dark, starless night, it glows like a beacon.
“How many candles does it take to light up the palace like that?”
“Thousands,” Lord Royce says curtly. From behind the goblin mask he wears I can’t tell if he’s irritated by my question or by Andrei’s extravagance.
I glance back at the gates, where several beggars have gathered to watch the palace guards admit the guests invited to the masquerade. “How many worthings does it cost?” I ask.
“Cost means very little to Andrei.”
The carriage rumbles to a halt in front of the steps lead ing up to the palace. The royal official posted at the entrance recognizes Lord Royce and greets him.
“This is my niece,” Lord Royce says, presenting him with two tickets. “She is a baker in the city.”
“Your niece, of course.” The official gives Lord Royce a knowing smirk and waves us through. “I have a few nieces myself.”
We follow the faint strains of music and a line of guests, all dressed in fashionable clothing and glittering costume masks, streaming down a wide, mirrored hall. A painted door carved with gold leaf opens, and we’re inside.
The Grand Ballroom is the largest room I’ve ever seen. It shimmers with ornate crystal chandeliers and white curtains that billow from arched windows. One whole wall is lined with tables laden with platters of Galandrian delicacies: apple tarts drizzled with cinnamon and honey,
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