The Spy Princess Read Online Free PDF Page A

trust.”
    Deon’s frown vanished. “You don’t mean to
work
for those court scummers. You mean to spy.”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I mean. While you are working.”
    She danced around. “A spy! A palace spy! I’ll go tell Ma I changed my mind.”
    â€œAnd that’s all for this time,” Derek said.
    â€œTell us a story,” Bren demanded. “About one of your adventures.”
    The others drew close, and Derek mused for a moment. “I had a real close call up at Obrin,” he finally said. “I was meeting Obrin Leader, and she nearly got nabbed because her horse went lame. So it was raining, and there we were . . .”
    As the tale spun out, I began to wonder if Derek spent all of his time running from Uncle Darian’s considerable army. And I noticed the parts that he emphasized. Not his own deeds, but the people who worked together to keep their information secret, to protect each other. He made it sound so exciting—hidden codes, everyone with secret jobs, all loyal to the cause. By the end, Deon, Bren, and his brothers were grinning, breathing fast. Me, too.
    Derek said, “I’ll be back when I can. I’ll want full reports. The kingdom is counting on you, not just me. So do your jobs, and remember to keep practicing your reading and writing.” He clapped Bren on the shoulder, brushed his hand over Deon’s head, and flicked Tim’s ear. He sent a smile my way, then took the reins of his horse from Tam.
    As soon as he rode off, Bren yawned. “I’m desperate hungry. Even boiled beans will taste good.” But he gave me a funny look.
    I ran off, looking back frequently. No one followed.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    N EXT MORNING, I took a bath and came out to the welcome smells of hot oatcakes and eggs. As I ate I thought about what had happened—and that’s when the Idea struck me. I would write everything down.
    But how? I couldn’t ask Father for paper, much less a blank book. He’d demand to know why, as paper was expensive. I could ask Peitar, who wrote a lot of letters—but it was clear to me now that he needed every sheet. Writing letters was as important to him as being able to escape out into the garden was for me.
    Well, maybe it was a bad idea. Derek had talked about the importance of keeping secrets, and if I wrote everything down, what happened if the wrong person read it?
    Books . . . my eye strayed to the shelf above my ladylike desk, which mostly held old lesson books. Then my eye was caught by the gleam of gilt—the binding of a volume I’d never opened.
    On my last Name Day, my bossy Great-Aunt Tislah had sent me a set of court fashion drawings as a hint about what a young lady in my position ought to concern herself with. The right-hand pages of the small, thin book were illustrated, with the name of the court and the particular fashion lettered below. The left-hand pages were blank.
    Blank pages! And who would ever think to check a fashion book? Not even Father’s nosy, disapproving valet. If he did . . . supposing I used some code words? No one would know what it was about. They’d think I was talking about clothing and court.
    I opened to the first drawing, smoothed the page opposite, and dipped my pen. Using my tiniest handwriting, I put in everything I could think of, from the way my father admired his new shoe buckles while dropping hints about my future to Peitar’s tense forehead when he was thinking, Deon’s quick movements, Bren’s way of turning into knots and angles when he was worried. At first I made up code words, but by the time I finished half a page, I realized I wasn’t using them. So I started abbreviating and drawing tiny pictures as symbols. Just as I finished, there was a knock at the door. I hurriedly put the book in a drawer.
    Peitar entered and smiled absently at me. “How was your day in