Spy Princess

Sherwood Smith

Description

12-year-old aristo Lilah asks, Why are the kingdom's magic spells are fading? But her uncle the king only wants a stronger army. Why are the kids outside the palace gates ragged and hungry? But the king keeps raising taxes. Her older brother Peitar, the king's heir, spends more time writing mysterious letters than talking to her. And her father just wants her to learn court manners.Since everyone is ignoring her, Lilah disguises herself and slips over the walls to befriend those ragged kids. She learns that revolution is fermenting, led by the charismatic young commoner Derek. And Lilah is shocked to learn that her scholarly brother is allied with Derek.The revolution ignites into chaos and violence. Lilah and her friends are determined to help however they can. But what can four kids do? Become spies, of course! Chases and disguises, captures and trials lead to a wild climax, with Lilah right in the middle.First published by Viking, and a finalist for the Mythopoeic Fantasy Award, this novel has been completely revised for the Book View Cafe edition.

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Book View Cafe
• Date de parution: 01 septembre 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781611389142
• Langue: English

Extrait

SPY PRINCESS
Sherwood Smith


www.bookviewcafe.com
Book View Café Edition
September 1, 2020
ISBN: 978-1-61138-914-2
Copyright © 2012 Sherwood Smith
DEDICATION
To the memory of that attic room overlooking Lake Arrowhead,the summer I turned fifteen
MAP

 
PART ONE Friends
IF YOU visit Selenna House, thefirst thing you see are the broken gates. Weeds grow all around. You go up thebroad graveled drive that used to be raked every day, but now is full of holesand more weeds.
Then you come to the fountain, which still spouts fourstreams of water, for the magic spell on it will probably last another hundredyears. You think, whose idea of art is this, flying babies and cats and othersentimental footle? Well, let me tell you, that fountain hides secrets.
But you don’t know that, so you look at the house. Its fortytall windows—twenty-four upstairs, sixteen downstairs—are now mostly broken,like a big grin with missing teeth. Fire blackens the walls, and if you goinside, you see where the great silver and crystal chandelier once hung—nowjust a dangling chain—and the grand stairways on either side of the hall that curveupward to a landing littered with animal nests and ashes and broken bits offurniture. A row of rooms opens off it.
That door down at the left end? My rooms.
It’s cleaner downstairs, because the last tenants swept thefloor before they were swept by slam justice.
Oh, I’m sure you’ve heard about that, but not what actuallyhappened.
I am here to tell you the real truth, because I—LilahSelenna—was there.
ONE
I GLANCED at mytime-candle. It hadn’t burned down any farther since my last check. If only thesun would hurry! Because a person’s first adventure had to begin atmidnight. Wasn’t it that way in all the best records of adventures? All day longin my house, the servants roamed around minding everyone else’s business. Infull dark, everyone else would be asleep, and I could get used to my disguise,and learn my way about the village.
Outside my corner window grew a silvery-leafed argan tree.Visible through its leaves was the fountain in front of the house, circled by thewide cedar-lined drive that led to the high, guarded gates.
Beyond those gates was Riveredge Village. The only glimpsesI ever got of Riveredge were as our carriage, surrounded by armed guards, joltedthrough on our way to and from the royal city. The houses were falling apart. Theboys and girls my age—dirty, ragged, and sullen—stared at the carriage, and Istared back. Of late the stares were more angry than sullen, a girl my age evenspitting as we rolled by.
One day, that same girl yelled something at me. One of myfather’s outriders veered his horse just enough to club the girl with the hiltof his sword.
“That girl—” I exclaimed.
“Worthless, Lilah,” my father snapped. “Sit properly. Rememberyour manners.”
I sneaked a peek at my older brother Peitar, whose thin,tired face didn’t change, except for one quick glance in my direction that Iknew was a warning.
I didn’t want warnings, I wanted answers. “She sounded mad. Isshe mad at us, Father? At me? Why?”
“No reason, child. They are merely lazy and disobedient.”
“But—”
My father, His Highness Oscarbidal Selenna, Prince ofSelenna, pursed his mouth in disapproval. “That filthy rabble is not a matterfor your concern.” His courtly drawl had shortened to irritation. “Your duty isto learn court manners. I’ll have to find a suitable betrothal for you soon.”
With that threat, I gave up on my father. I’d ask Peitar.And if he disappointed me, as happened more often these days, I’d find out onmy own.
Not that Peitar treated me the way Father did. Far from it. ButPeitar was moodier than ever. I assumed his bad leg pained him, because he stayedin his rooms reading and writing not just all day, but far into the night.
One night I managed to get him alone after supper, and askedhim why the villagers looked so ragged, and did we have anything to do with that.
His answer? “Politics, Lilah. Let that subject lie while youcan. I am very much afraid....” He looked away. “There’s little we can do atpresent.” Then he fell into one of his abstract moods.
So I decided I had to find my answers on my own.
First, I needed a disguise.
I got my idea from Lasthavais Dei the Wanderer. Ever sinceI’d discovered her amazing life, I’d been glad of those long, tedious lessonslearning Sartoran. Even though it was no longer spoken at court, all the mostinteresting histories seemed to be in that language.
Lasva had written, The easiest disguise is to assume arole that no one would expect. From man to woman, or woman to man—though theseare not always possible for all people, and are very hard to maintain. The nexteasiest is to change status, but again it is hard to maintain, for it is notonly our clothes but our manners and mode of speech that divide us from theother tiers of society. Be observant, my young sisters reading my words! Andpay attention to detail....
I decided to disguise myself as a village boy.
It took some time.
The clothes were easiest to get, as there were four stable handsmore or less my size. My father didn’t like servants—even stable boys—wearingstained or ragged clothes, as it lessened our prestige. If something got ruinedit went to the rag pile, which I made part of my daily walk for half a season,resulting in a shirt one day, and some knee pants another. I’d had to waitlongest for the cap.
Last year, the risto boys had all worn soft cloth caps. Whenthe fad passed, those caps were handed off to the servants. I waited patientlyuntil Peitar’s cap—given to his favorite among the stable boys—had found itsway to the rags just the day before.
Now it was tucked under my mattress, and I was at last ready to go exploring.
Just before the midnight bells, I got out of bed, madecertain my curtains covered the windows, then lit a single candle.
First, my hair. I yanked a brush through my long, heavy,reddish-brown mane. It was much too coarse to be beautiful, and too thick tolie neatly. It always looked messy, and made me hot, and I longed to cut it alloff, except nobles had long hair, and that was that.
I braided it tightly and wound it around my head, tuckingthe ends tightly under. I’d practiced many times, and had finally gotten it tostay.
Then I pulled out the cap and the clothes, which were goodand wrinkly, as well as dirty from their stay on the rag pile. I hadn’t putthem through my cleaning frame. From everything I’d heard, no one had cleaningframes in the village anymore.
The tunic fit fine, but the knee pants were much too big. Itied them on with one of Peitar’s old sashes. Last I fitted the cap over mybraid.
Then I looked in the mirror, and laughed.
It is easiest for the young to disguise , Princess Lasvahad said. Those who have not yet started the adult contours have morefreedom of choice. It was true!
As a girl, I was nothing to look at. Which made me anequally ordinary boy. Under the cap, the tilted eyes and bony face that I’dinherited from my father seemed more fox-like than ever. These were commonenough features in Sarendan, and I’d borrowed the name of a former stable hand,now in the Blue Guard: Larei.
The one problem was my clean skin. Remember the details! My first appointment would be with the dirt in the garden.
It was time to go.
My palms were sweaty. I wiped them on my knee pants, opened thewindow, climbed out onto a branch of the argan tree, and shinned down fast fromlong practice. As soon as I hit the ground I eased through the ferny border nearmy brother’s windows.
When I was out of sight of the house, I dug my fingers intothe clean-smelling loam, then rubbed it over my neck, face, arms, and legs. Eversince my sixth summer, I’d taken off my shoes to run barefoot through thegarden, and kept it up until the first snow. My feet were tough.
I let my eyes adjust to the darkness as I breathed in thefragrant air of late spring. Above me, clouds glowed like a ceiling of silvercotton, rendering the garden and house into silhouette. The brightest light shonedim and golden from the windows of the guard houses at either side of the biggates, far to the south.
I looked around, giddy with triumph. The one good thing I’dinherited was my father’s night vision. I’d thought everyone had it until the timeI woke up hungry, slipped downstairs without lighting a candle, and discoveredPeitar stumbling around near the kitchens. Though I knew him immediately, hedidn’t recognize me—but once I spoke, he laughed, and said my eyes glowed justlike a cat’s.
I ran toward the south wall between the guard houses, thenstopped in dismay. The wall was a lot higher than I’d remembered. How to getover it?
A tree, of course. I found a huge, spreading oak with onegreat branch that extended beyond the wall. I was about to hoist myself up whena taunting voice startled me. “What’s the matter? Turn hatchling?”
I jerked my hand down. “Huh?”
“Runnin’ back home?”
I made out the form of a skinny boy my age. “Too cowardly tostay and have fun?” he taunted.
“Got lost.” I could tell from his quick speech that he was avillager, and tried to pronounce my words the same way he did.
“They’re all over that way. Except the hatchlings. Wenthome. Are you one?”
I wasn’t about to admit where home was. “I’ll stay.”
“Right, then. Come along.” He stepped closer, peering at me.“You don’t sound like anyone I know. Who told you about the run?” His face was thin,with eyes slightly less tilted than my own. “Like that cap,” he added. “Nacky. Swipeit from a risto?”
“Yup.”
He gave a nod of approval as we walked. “How old are you?”
“Twelve and seven months. You?”
“Months? Twelve this season. So you count the days, like theristos?” When I shrugged defensively, “Or is it your mother counts?”
“No mother,” I said. “Father couldn’t care less. Only the—” Iremembered that villagers didn’t have governesses or servants.
“The—?”
“Never mind!” I snapped, afraid of being discovered.
The boy flung up his hands. “You