Palace of Mirrors by Margaret Peterson Haddix Read Free Book Online

I’ve sought forgiveness, I could trot right back to my bed and sleep peacefully the rest of the night. But I think of the dark path home, of the effort I made coming down here, of the danger lying in wait for me. I don’t want to lie to Harper anymore.
    “No,” I say.
    “Listen, Eels,” Harper says, with a harsh laugh. “People have been making fun of me and my harp all my life. I’m used to it.”
    “But
I
haven’t,” I say. “Have I ever said so much as one word to—”
    “You did this morning,” he says sulkily.
    “And that was the only time, right? I’m sorry. Like I said, I had my reasons.” I draw in a shaky breath. “That’s what I came to tell you. My reasons.”
    “Okay.” Harper shrugs. “What are they?”
    I shift positions, turning to face him. I’m still practically reclining on the cow, which isn’t exactly the best location for announcing, “I’m the true princess.” I decide to start with background.
    “Remember, years ago, how the king and queen were murdered?” I say. My voice shakes a little bit. I always feel a little bit weird about this part of my story. “Murdered” is such a brutal word. But calling my parents “the king and queen” makes them sound remote and distant, like all my other long-dead royal ancestors. I don’t have a singlememory of my parents, so I don’t really miss them. My earliest memories are of Nanny and Sir Stephen—Nanny and Sir Stephen and Harper.
    I swallow hard.
    “And remember how the assassins couldn’t find the baby princess? So she was saved from being murdered too?”
    “Yeah, sure,” Harper says. “Princess Desmia.”
    “No,” I say. “Not Princess Desmia.”
    I wait, because there’s a chance that Harper might jump up and say,
Aha! I knew it all along! It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the real princess, right? I could tell—it’s so obvious!
Because I know I’m supposed to be in hiding, but shouldn’t there be something about me that’s so completely royal and regal and, well,
special
that people could figure out everything if they tried very hard?
    Harper just sits there with a blank, slightly confused expression on his face.
    “Desmia’s a fake,” I say. “A decoy. They just tell people she’s the princess so the real princess will be safe. In case the assassins come back.”
    Now Harper’s eyes narrow into a concerned squint.
    “Uh, Eels?” he says. “You should be real careful about who you say that to. I mean, not that I would tell on you, but I think that’s, uh, treason or something. You’re not allowed to say anything bad about the princess.”
    I realize I’ve forgotten to swear Harper to secrecy, tomake him promise that he won’t ever tell anybody else what I’m telling him. I guess I don’t have to. I already know I can trust him.
    “Harper, listen. I know this might be a little . . . surprising. But I’m telling you the truth. Desmia isn’t the true princess. I am.”
    Harper’s expression doesn’t change. He still looks concerned and confused. He blinks a few times, befuddled. Then his face clears. He groans and slaps his hand against his forehead.
    “Eelsy! I can’t believe it! My mam put you up to this, didn’t she? Don’t tell me you’re going to start nagging me to go to that music competition too. All that talk about how those people in the capital are no better than us . . . I have to admit, this one’s pretty creative. You could be a princess as easily as Princess Desmia, and I could be the royal harpist as easily as . . . as my father went off to war and became cannon fodder.” His voice sounds strangled.
    “Harper—”
    “I didn’t think you were on her side, though. Good one, turning my own friend against me.” He laughs, bitterly. “But it’s not going to work. Hear that?” He throws his head back like he’s planning to scream at the top of his lungs, loud enough for his mother to hear him inside the cottage. “It’s not—”
    For the second time tonight, I