I stopped but didn’t look at him. I kept my eyes on the ground in front of me, afraid he could see how nervous I was by how hard I was breathing.
“Bring me back a pastry, would ya?” he asked.
I nodded and continued on my way, faster this time, convinced they’d notice I was almost running and come after me. But they didn’t. I was home free once I made it to the stairwell.
The king’s chambers were in the opposite wing. I’d have to go up the stairs, then all the way across to the other side. There was no way Jinky would be in the bath for that long. But I just had to see it through.Ask forgiveness, not permission.I’d heard that phrase somewhere.
First I needed the key. The king’s chambers were always locked.
Ayo was in charge of almost everything, from staff to schedules, so he absolutely, definitely had keys to all the rooms in the palace. Hopefully he kept the keys in his office, off the kitchens. I knew his schedule; he was in the dining room organizing dinner service. I had a little time before then.
I scurried up the stairs and all the way down the halls, barely able to breathe but not willing to stop either. I found Ayo’s keys hanging on a hook and sneaked out of the office, through thekitchens, and bounded up the stairs that led to the king’s chambers. I was careful to keep as quiet as possible. If anyone was alerted, it’d be hard to explain what I was doing there.
Finally, I turned down the King’s Hall. I’d made it.
Portraits of Biringan’s former rulers lined the walls. Making my way down the hall, I noticed how the kings’ and queens’ clothes changed over time. The older portraits had much more elaborate headdresses and necklaces, along with warrior masks.
It struck me that these were all my great-great—et cetera—grandparents. The last portrait was of my father. I stopped to look at it more closely. It didn’t look like the photos I’d seen. In the painting, he was serious, stern, and looking off into the distance, wearing a regal barong Tagalog and a crown of palm leaves. Next to him was another king, who looked a lot like my father, only older, with white hair and a beard. King Paolo IV, according to the plaque. There was another of King Paolo with a woman who looked like him. At first I thought it was his wife, but the placard named her as his sister.
There was no time to examine the paintings further. I’d already taken too long. I continued to the chamber door and checked back down the passageway behind me. No one was there, and I heard no one approaching. So I took out the key ring.
Next problem: Which key? None were labeled, but they were all different—gold and brass and silver, light and hefty, plain and decorative. I looked at the doorknob. It was made to look like a shiny silver sirena, her pose resembling those mermaids on the front of pirate ships. Her tail made up the curve of the door handle. I looked back at the keys. The head of one of the larger silver keys matched the sirena’s tail.
I slid it into the lock. It fit perfectly. One quick turn—andclick. Unlocked.
I put the key ring back in the cloak pocket and turned the knob. It creaked a bit. I paused; it sounded so loud. But all was still behind me. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Silent as a tomb. I could hear my own breathing. I found a torch on the wall and lit it so I could see.
I made my way across the room, careful not to knock anything over or bump into something. With my luck, one of the giant vases would crash to the ground and draw the attention of about a hundred guards. The king’s grand desk sat right in the middle of the room, still strewn with papers and writing utensils. There was a high-backed gold chair behind it, and two comfortable sitting chairs in front of it, for guests. There was another table by the window to the right, and on the left, another group of seats, which looked like they were made from wooden branches, arranged around a large round table that seemed to be made from the trunk of a massive, ancient tree.
There were tapestries woven with gold and silver thread hanging on the walls, each representing important events in Biringan’s history. The one on the wall behind the king’s desk depicted his coronation. Then I realized the one to its left, where an older king with white hair stood next to a young prince, was of my father and grandfather, whose portraits I’d just seen. And finally, on the tapestry to the right, I saw my father as king with a baby on his lap. Me.
I had no idea this existed. All this time, he had this hanging in the room where he conducted so much official business. He looked at that every single day. He never forgot me. Me. His daughter.
Tell her the truth.
If I was reluctant before, or felt like I just didn’t belong there, something clicked into place right then. This was not only where I belonged, it was my destiny. And my responsibility.
Still awed, I crept to the desk. Another thing occurred to me: This was where he was found. Sitting right there at that desk. In that chair. It sent a shiver down my arms.
Something crunched under my shoe. I looked down and gasped, jumping back. Some kind of beetle. Gross.
Then, to my horror, I saw them—tons of them. Beetles. Dead beetles. Some living ones crawling among them. All over the floor around the desk. And on the desk. They were also on the windowsill.
No wonder nobody wanted to come in here. This was an infestation. I heard a sound then, of the door opening. Someone was coming inside! Frantic, I looked around for somewhere to hide.
The only place was under the desk. With the bugs.
Still, braving some dead beetles was preferable to facing off with whoever was about to catch me snooping around in here.
I hurried behind the desk and crouched beneath it, conjuring all my inner strength to ignore the crunching beetles under my feet and the fact that the bottom of my dress was spread out all over them. It was hard not to gag. I put my hand over my mouth and tried to keep my breathing quiet.
Footsteps entered the room.
I held my breath. If I lost any control whatsoever, I’d probably give myself away. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure the intruder could also hear it.
The person stepped cautiously, slowly. One creak at a time, a dull thud against the old wood plank floor. A crunch.
Please leave, just go away,I prayed silently. What did they want? Didn’t they realize that no one was here? Unless they’d seen me come in and waited for the right moment to ambush me, all alone...
