The Opal Crown Read Online Free

down a flood of irritation. Does she spare no thought whatsoever for our father?
    Elara glances at me in the mirror and our gazes hold. “All he was to me,” she says sharply, as though she has read my mind, “was the man who sentenced me to life with the Ogdens.”
    “He could just as easily had you slaughtered in your cradle,” I burst out, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Many men would have and not spared it a second thought. His efforts were—”
    “His efforts were far from sufficient,” she says. “So wipe the disgust off your face.”
    “But do you not feel any—”
    “There’s nothing wrong with how I feel! And who are you to lecture me? Fennrick was dead to you the moment you decided you no longer wished to be Wilhamina Andewyn. That was a choice you made, not me.”
    My tears continue to fall and I nod miserably, for I know she’s right.
    Elara sighs, picks up a small embroidered handkerchief, and hands it to me. “Here.”
    While I wipe my eyes, she reaches out and touches my shoulder awkwardly, and I know she’s trying to be a sister—something that doesn’t come easily to either of us.
    “Thank you,” I say.
    She smiles sadly, and I wonder if she’s thinking, as I am, what it would have been like if we’d been allowed a whole childhood of small moments like these.
    I return to my stitching, repairing the damage Elara has done to her own dress.
    “Apparently you had a stable full of your own horses,” Elara says, breaking the silence. “What breeds of horses did you own? And what was the name of your favorite horse?”
    “Thoroughbreds, mostly. And her name was Hadley.” I yank out a stitch that looks a bit crooked. I had hoped we could avoid this part of our visit today.
    It galls me that Elara—while staunchly refusing to claim any kinship with the Andewyns—simultaneously feels she has a right to every detail of my life in Galandria, and has quizzed me exhaustively on my likes and dislikes, my memories, and what occurred on the days I attended court. She’s asked me many questions about Andrei (though since we were raised separately, I can rarely answer them). Once she even went so far as to inquire about Patric and the exact nature of our relationship.
    It was the only time I refused her an answer.
    “What about the last time you saw Andrei?” she says. “When I pretended to be you, that last night in the Opal Palace, he did not attend your farewell dinner or come to say good-bye. If I need to write him a letter, I want to know how you parted.”
    A memory surfaces of the last time I saw Andrei. The impassive look on his face as he watched our father writhe in pain. “If Father dies, does that mean I get to be king?”
    “I do not remember the last time I spoke to him,” I say, concentrating on my stitching. “The memory escapes me.”
    “Have you given any thought to our last conversation?”
    “Must we speak of this now?” I finish stitching and thrust the dress back at her. “Here.”
    “You didn’t want to speak of it a few weeks ago. You know we can’t both continue living in Korynth. It’s dangerous, and if we’re not careful, we’ll get caught. One of us needs to leave the city.”
    “Fine, then. Why don’t you leave?”
    “That’s impossible and you know it. The Masked Princess—and soon-to-be member of the Kyrenican royal family—belongs here in the city. You, on the other hand, are free to settle wherever you like.”
    “I have a life here.” I force myself to add, “A life I am happy with.”
    “As do I—a life you asked me to assume. But I can’t live it, not the way I want to, with you still here in the city. One day I shall have to take this mask off. And when I do, don’t you think someone is bound to notice that I look exactly like the local seamstress? What then? Stefan keeps asking me to take it off.” She sighs. “I refuse him only because of you.”
    “Does it matter to him at all that you are a Galandrian and he is a