The Spy Princess Read Free

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.”
    â€œYes, 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.
    â€œGood 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.
    â€œYou don’t have to feign illness. You’re as healthy as I am.”
    â€œYou aren’t healthy—”
    â€œSo everyone tells me,” he retorted. “I’m crippled, not sick. Though I admit I use that when I have to.”
    â€œI hate it when you sound like Uncle.”
    â€œI 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?”
    â€œI met some villagers sneaking around, and—” I stopped short. “Wait,
you
want to explore, too?”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œWorking together? How? On what?”
    â€œFirst 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.”
    â€œI 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?”
    â€œYes.”
    My insides felt as if someone had