Splinter & Ash, page 7
“Hazel and Melisande.” Melisande was nearly twelve. Her sister Hazel was ten. Their parents were frequent visitors to the theater, where the afternoon would take place, and the girls loved its acrobatics shows. They were both ardent archers, with Melisande outshooting most of the squires. “Did you ever meet them?”
Ash felt Splinter shake her head. “Mama only brought me to court a few times. She preferred to visit the palace scribes. I met the Labannes’ son, because he was Anders’s best friend growing up, and Briar of Divon, because Mama loved to visit their forest estate and we were forced to play together. But never the Maronnes.”
Ash hesitated. “At dinner, Mother said she knew you’d serve me loyally. That she expected no different from Evana’s children. What did she mean?”
Splinter’s hands stilled. “Mama translated texts for the palace scribes. She studied with them when she was younger.”
“Ferisian texts? Was she a spy too?”
“Old texts, she said. Stories and documents from centuries past. She showed me once. The words and the letters were jumbled, like a puzzle. . . .” Splinter’s voice drifted off.
“But why . . .” Ash stopped herself when Splinter quietly sniffed. Why would the queen have anything to do with translators? Why did she remember Evana as loyal? It was a mystery she intended to solve.
For now, she changed tactics. “What about your uncle? Did he take you to court?”
“Uncle Elias preferred to keep me home.” Splinter sniffed again and laughed. “He probably thought I would embarrass him.”
Ash’s heart clenched. “I’m sorry—”
“I’m not,” Splinter said immediately. “I don’t know how to mingle. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. My suggestion is to challenge both of them to a shooting match, and if you win, they have to be your friends.”
Ash elbowed her. “That’s not how that works.”
“Isn’t it?” Splinter giggled. “And I was going to try to make friends with all of the squires.”
“All of the squires?”
“Maybe not Lucen.” Splinter tied a leather band around the braid and tugged it in place. “There, now you look like a princess from any of the old stories. And everyone wants to be friends with a princess, right?”
Ash got up to admire herself in the mirror. She tried to look serious. “Is that why you’re here with me?”
“Of course.” The corner of Splinter’s mouth pulled up into a smirk. “Bragging rights. It’s the only reason, your highness.”
Ash laughed, and the rest of the day didn’t seem so intimidating.
The royal carriage pulled up outside the theater. Ash toyed with the silver rings around her fingers.
On the cushioned bench opposite her, Queen Aveline had pushed the curtains of the carriage open far enough that a sliver of light reached through, and she’d spent the whole journey staring out at the city, lost in thought.
When the horses came to a halt, she patted Ash’s knee. “I know you are worried, my love. But you’re doing the crown a service.”
Ash grimaced. “But what if I can’t protect you? What if I fail you?”
The queen blanched. She leaned in close and for a moment focused all of her attention on Ash. “Adelisa, you’re my daughter.” She tugged at Ash’s moss-green skirt. “Our crown comes with the responsibility to keep Calinor safe. From intruders and traitors, from outside and within. It’s why we fight, not just at the northern border, but at court, to keep whispered lies and venomous words out of people’s hearts and minds, and in Haven, where hunger and poverty are as deadly as any war. This is the duty given to us, and as long as you try your hardest to fulfill it, you could never fail me.”
Before Ash could say or do anything more than nod, the doors of the carriage opened and the driver bowed to the two of them. “Your majesty, your highness, we’ve arrived.”
Queen Aveline’s fingers brushed Ash’s cheek as she rose and made her way out. “Thank you, Lilyn.”
She straightened the long coat she wore over her dress, and Lambelin—who’d stood on the footboard outside of the carriage—offered her an arm. Ash heard the whispers and gasps from the crowd that had gathered to watch the parade of nobles enter the theater for the afternoon of entertainment.
Splinter appeared in the doorway in her formal wear. She’d ridden along on the footboard too, and despite having her hair in a tight bun, several locks had sprung loose and framed her face wildly. “Are you ready?” she asked. “Remember, everyone wants to be friends with a princess.”
Using her cane to stabilize herself, Ash stepped out and blinked against the bright winter sun. People were gathered around the theater—a cylindrical stone building with tall stained glass windows and a thatched roof—and they all stared at her. Merchants in woolen coats. Guild apprentices in long aprons. A handful of girls in patched dresses, kicking up the snow around them and giggling. A teenage boy Lucen’s age, who kept his hand on a dog’s rope collar. The spotted mutt was skin and bones, and the boy did not look much better. His hand sneaked into the pocket of one of the merchants, and he pulled out a shiny silver coin.
A girl with long curly hair and piercing slate-gray eyes, roughly Ash’s age, grinned at Ash and disappeared into the crowds.
And then Ash was ushered in by the guards. Once she crossed the threshold, she traded in the bright and loud outside for a shadowed and louder inside. From the reception area, where servants in the colors of the Labanne family took their coats, she could see the grand salon where the nobility gathered. A wooden stage graced the north end of the room, and high tables brimming with teas and cakes and biscuits were scattered throughout.
Lambelin took the queen’s coat and handed it to a young man in a light brown tunic with purple trim, while Splinter took Ash’s coat and gave it to a slender woman wearing pants and a lilac shirt with a light brown baldric across her chest.
A herald cleared his throat and announced, “Her Majesty Queen Aveline and Her Highness Princess Adelisa.”
The salon fell silent. Everyone present bowed low.
The queen clapped her hands and laughed lightly. “Please, continue!” And sound once more swelled around them. The queen swooped down toward Lady Labanne, who stood in the center of the room, talking to the theater troupe she patronized, while Lord Labanne chatted with the knight captain who’d called Ash fragile on the night of her party. He looked as sour and unpleasant as he had then. Lord Labanne clapped his shoulder and laughed.
Ash hung back, as she had been ordered to. Lord Lambelin had reminded her several times that it would look suspicious if she immediately singled out the girls.
Splinter took up position near the wall, where long velvet drapes covered the rough stone. Whispers followed them both.
“Our sons are dying at the border, and the queen doesn’t care. All she does is spend money on shelters, mingle with commoners, and scorn our traditions for freaks like her.”
“Back in the old days, the crown was powerful and trustworthy. Now look at it.”
“The queen needs to be reminded where the real power lies.”
“I think it’s quite innovative.”
“You would. And look at her, she is so fragile.”
Ash spotted the elderly lady and her grandson who’d been kind to her at the masked ball, and veered away from them. She paused near one of the tables filled with treats and tried to look lost while she scouted out the position of the girls. It didn’t involve much acting, and soon enough other nobles were drawn to her like ants to honey.
“Poor thing, this is too much for you,” a middle-aged lady with flowers in her hair and shimmery paint on her eyes told her. “Can I pour you some tea? Fetch you a chair?”
Ash declined both offers, but the woman insisted she wanted to do something for “an unlucky child such as yourself,” so Ash asked her for some biscuits. As soon as the woman’s back was turned, she slid them—plate and all—into a big potted plant.
A gray-haired gentleman, his skin so white it was nearly translucent, walked by. He regarded her over thin gold-rimmed glasses and scolded her for entertaining such folly as a girl as squire and bringing shame to the crown.
Ash bit her tongue to keep from snapping back at him and telling him Splinter wasn’t a girl at all, and she would entertain any squire if she so pleased. In her peripheral vision, Splinter mimed gagging.
The first visitors were followed by a lord and lady whose names Ash didn’t catch, who spoke at length about investments in trade and the future of seafaring and whether she would mention them to the queen. And then, by Lord Idian, who simply took up position next to her and munched a slice of cake.
“My grandmother mentioned you might need rescuing, your highness,” he said, by way of explanation. “It would hardly be honorable of me to refuse.”
She smiled at him. “I’m okay, I’m just . . .”
“Getting used to the beehive?” He nodded his understanding. “I wouldn’t be here if not for the old lady, but it’s not as intimidating as it seems. Amid all the bluster, many do support the queen. You need to find the right people. And perhaps a few companions your own age.”
He held out his hand. She hesitated only briefly.
“Have you met Hazel and Mist Maronne?” Idian gently pulled her along. “Let me channel some of my grandmother’s busybody instincts and introduce you.”
“I don’t believe I have.” Ash’s heart skipped a beat. This introduction was the point of the entire afternoon, but she’d expected it to be more complicated. Besides, if Lord Idian knew the Maronnes well, was he part of their conspiracy? Was that why he was kind to her? What if the girls had come here with the same goal she had, and Lord Idian was helping them?
She rubbed her nose. This was what her mother had meant when she’d told Ash and Splinter she couldn’t trust anyone outside of the family. It made Ash’s head and her heart hurt.
The Maronne girls stood in front of the stage, where two acrobats were setting up supplies for a performance. Both sisters wore similar bronze dresses with sensible sandals, though Hazel wore her thick black hair in a long braid, while Melisande had her hair cut short.
“Hazel! Mist!” Idian called out.
Melisande—Mist—spun around. “Lord Idian! I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“The grand matriarch decided for me.” He smiled and indicated Ash. “May I present to you both . . . Her Highness Princess Adelisa? She’s new to the city.”
The girls curtsied, and Ash tried to remember everything Lambelin had taught her. To remain calm and focused. To make them trust her. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Hazel and Melisande Maronne are two of my archery students,” Lord Idian explained. “And talented ones too.”
Unwittingly, he’d given Ash the perfect opening. “I love archery! I practiced with my aunt’s weapons master when I lived at her estate. He helped me carve my own bow.”
Idian bowed to the three of them. “Clearly you’ll have much to discuss. Girls, keep the princess away from all the sweet-talking nobles, please. Let’s give her time to adjust to the city before we all make a terrible impression.”
“It may be a little late for that,” Ash murmured.
Hazel, the younger of the two, giggled. “Mother makes us go to these events, but we’d much rather be on the archery courts,” she confided while Idian took his leave. “Especially Mist. She hates this.”
“I don’t hate it,” her older sister argued. “It just seems pointless to me. I don’t get why grown-ups think talking to each other for hours is fun. Especially not when they end up spinning tales to one person and then they have to lie to another and then a third person comes in with another lie. I’d rather settle everything with bows.”
Against the wall, Splinter gave Ash a subtle thumbs-up.
“I wouldn’t mind that,” Ash said.
Hazel frowned. “Don’t your braces get in the way of shooting?”
Mist jabbed her sister in the ribs. “You can’t say that,” she hissed. She ran her hand through her stubbly hair. “I’m sorry, highness. My sister doesn’t have a filter.”
“Please, call me Ash,” Ash said. “And I don’t mind. I’d rather people ask than that they assume.” They’d done that all her life, or at least as long as she could remember. The carriage accident that had killed Ash’s father had also killed the driver and the queen’s companion. Both the queen and Ash had faced many months of recovery.
Brother Nivanil, master of the royal physicians, had given Ash star amulets to ease the pain. But her body had never fully healed. Or at least, that was how Nivanil explained why the princess’s joints kept snapping apart. The physician’s assistant had once offered the opinion that Ash’s illness was inherited, but since no one else in the royal family dealt with these afflictions, that theory was soon dismissed.
It was a star blessing, people said, when they thought she couldn’t hear—or if they didn’t care—that the kingdom still had a whole and healthy prince.
“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Hazel said softly.
Ash wiggled her fingers. “The braces help me. I can’t shoot a bow for hours at a time, but I can manage a few rounds.”
Mist touched the silver bands that Aunt Jonet’s blacksmith had designed for her. “They’re beautiful.”
“I wouldn’t know what to do without them,” Ash admitted. But as soon as the words left her lips, she felt the weight of them.
Lord Lambelin had told her, “Keep your conversation casual. Don’t give away anything that you wouldn’t want an enemy to know.”
And she’d done just that.
She breathed in hard. “Anyway . . . will the acrobats start their performance soon?” The young men had hung a hoop from the rafters of the theater, and they’d set up a long beam raised by two standards. They were unpacking a case full of balls and batons.
“It’s the same performance every few months,” Mist said dismissively. “You should come visit us sometime. We could shoot together.”
Ash’s mouth was dry. “I’d like that,” she said. She hoped her voice didn’t sound as hollow as she felt. “Perhaps you could come to the royal practice courts too.”
Hazel clapped her hands in delight, and Mist grinned. “We’d love that.” Mischief glinted in Mist’s eyes. “Your squire could join in too. I know most people here are old-fashioned and don’t approve, but I think it’s beautiful. About time those grumpy old knights realized far more of us want to join their ranks.”
The fierce words made Ash smile despite herself. “Perhaps she will.”
“Good,” Mist said. Next to her, Hazel mouthed along when she said, “I love outshooting everyone.”
By the time Ash and Splinter got back to their rooms, Ash’s head was spinning. She’d spent the rest of the afternoon with Mist and Hazel. The two girls had folded her into their conversations and their observations. They joked about the other nobles, they’d made her laugh, they watched the acrobats’ tricks together, oohing and aahing, and they dashed through the backstage area of the theater, where none of them were allowed to be. Ash had loved it.
“Come with me?” she asked quietly when Splinter had changed into her nightclothes.
Splinter yawned. “Sure.”
Ash grabbed the lantern that stood on the small side table by the door and led the way.
One of the things she loved most about the palace was that it had been rebuilt so often that entire hallways had disappeared or been restructured. Rooms had been torn down and redesigned, leaving hidden nooks and crannies everywhere. When she was still tiny, Uncle Lam had taught Lucen and Ash to play hide-and-seek in the palace’s dustiest secret passages. One day, while scouring the royal wing, she’d found a forgotten staircase leading from her father’s office.
Now Ash entered the room and made straight for a windowsill decorated with stone leaves. The office itself had long since been stripped of the prince consort’s personal effects, but it was brimming with gifts that Queen Aveline had received from state visitors. Glass baubles. Beautiful paintings. Silver candelabras. Gold cups. Even a small doll carved out of gemstones that were held together with fine silver chains.
She located the lever to open the passage, and when one of the bookcases swung open, Splinter gasped. “Amazing.”
“I used to hide in here when I didn’t want to go to my lessons.”
Splinter raised her eyebrows. “Good to know.”
“Don’t you dare.” Ash nudged her. “You’re going to be a knight and a hero one day.” She slipped into the passage. The air was freezing cold around her. The stone floor was smooth and slippery. It was exactly as she remembered.
She raised the lantern high. “Isn’t it beautiful? There are so many passages throughout the palace, but this one is my favorite.”
“It’s dark.” Splinter squinted. “Are the passages protected?”
“The tunnels connecting to the outside are all barred and gated,” Ash reassured her. “And Uncle Lam told me the guard patrols the others.”
Splinter nodded solemnly. “Good.”
“This one doesn’t go anywhere, though. It’s caved in. This is all that’s left.” Ash sat on one of the worn-down steps. It was quiet and protected, and she could leave the world and the war outside. “I wanted you to see it because it’s safe. From bullying squires and from conspiracies. It’s ours.”
To Ash’s horror, her breath hitched and her eyes welled up.
Splinter sank down next to her. “Ash? Did something happen at the theater?”
The whole afternoon flooded back to her. Every comment. Every detail. The sugary smell of the cakes. The scornful words of the grumpy old man. Mist’s laughter. The acrobats’ pirouettes. “I like them. And I’m so scared.”
“What are you afraid of?” Splinter asked gently.
Ash searched for the words.
“Not of . . . I’m afraid for my family. Mother wants me home because she trusts me, but I don’t know how to help if I can’t tell the difference between nice and dangerous. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. Or to anyone.”
