Spy Princess

By Sherwood Smith

12-year-old aristo Lilah asks, Why are the kingdom’s magic spells 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 young adult fantasy has been completely revised for the Book View Cafe edition.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book View Cafe
• Release date: Sep 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781611389142

Sherwood Smith

Sherwood Smith started making books out of paper towels at age six. In between stories, she studied and traveled in Europe, got a Masters degree in history, and now lives in Southern California with her spouse, two kids, and two dogs. She’s worked in jobs ranging from counter work in a smoky harbor bar to the film industry. Writing books is what she loves best. She’s the author of the high fantasy History of Sartorias-deles series as well as the modern-day fantasy adventures of Kim Murray in Coronets and Steel. Learn more at www.sherwoodsmith.net.

Book preview

MAP

Sarendanmap

PART ONE

Friends

IF  YOU visit Selenna House, the first thing you see are the broken gates. Weeds grow all around. You go up the broad graveled drive that used to be raked every day, but now is full of holes and more weeds.

Then you come to the fountain, which still spouts four streams of water, for the magic spell on it will probably last another hundred years. You think, whose idea of art is this, flying babies and cats and other sentimental footle? Well, let me tell you, that fountain hides secrets.

But you don’t know that, so you look at the house. Its forty tall windows—twenty-four upstairs, sixteen downstairs—are now mostly broken, like a big grin with missing teeth. Fire blackens the walls, and if you go inside, you see where the great silver and crystal chandelier once hung—now just a dangling chain—and the grand stairways on either side of the hall that curve upward to a landing littered with animal nests and ashes and broken bits of furniture. 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 the floor before they were swept by slam justice.

Oh, I’m sure you’ve heard about that, but not what actually happened.

I am here to tell you the real truth, because I—Lilah Selenna—was there.

ONE

I GLANCED at my time-candle. It hadn’t burned down any farther since my last check. If only the sun would hurry! Because a person’s first adventure had to begin at midnight. Wasn’t it that way in all the best records of adventures? All day long in my house, the servants roamed around minding everyone else’s business. In full 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 the wide cedar-lined drive that led to the high, guarded gates.

Beyond those gates was Riveredge Village. The only glimpses I ever got of Riveredge were as our carriage, surrounded by armed guards, jolted through on our way to and from the royal city. The houses were falling apart. The boys and girls my age—dirty, ragged, and sullen—stared at the carriage, and I stared back. Of late the stares were more angry than sullen, a girl my age even spitting as we rolled by.

One day, that same girl yelled something at me. One of my father’s outriders veered his horse just enough to club the girl with the hilt of his sword.

That girl— I exclaimed.

Worthless, Lilah, my father snapped. Sit properly. Remember your 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 I knew was a warning.

I didn’t want warnings, I wanted answers. She sounded mad. Is she mad at us, Father? At me? Why?

No reason, child. They are merely lazy and disobedient.

But—

My father, His Highness Oscarbidal Selenna, Prince of Selenna, pursed his mouth in disapproval. That filthy rabble is not a matter for your concern. His courtly drawl had shortened to irritation. Your duty is to 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 on my own.

Not that Peitar treated me the way Father did. Far from it. But Peitar was moodier than ever. I assumed his bad leg pained him, because he stayed in 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 asked him why the villagers looked so ragged, and did we have anything to do with that.

His answer? Politics, Lilah. Let that subject lie while you can. I am very much afraid.... He looked away. There’s little we can do at present. 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 since I’d discovered her amazing life, I’d been glad of those long, tedious lessons learning Sartoran. Even though it was no longer spoken at court, all the most interesting histories seemed to be in that language.

Lasva had written, The easiest disguise is to assume a role that no one would expect. From man to woman, or woman to man—though these are not always possible for all people, and are very hard to maintain. The next easiest is to change status, but again it is hard to maintain, for it is not only our clothes but our manners and mode of speech that divide us from the other tiers of society. Be observant, my young sisters reading my words! And pay 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 hands more or less my size. My father didn’t like servants—even stable boys—wearing stained or ragged clothes, as it lessened our prestige. If something got ruined it 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 wait longest for the cap.

Last year, the risto boys had all worn soft cloth caps. When the fad passed, those caps were handed off to the servants. I waited patiently until Peitar’s cap—given to his favorite among the stable boys—had found its way 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, made certain 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 to lie neatly. It always looked messy, and made me hot, and I longed to cut it all off, except nobles had long hair, and that was that.

I braided it tightly and wound it around my head, tucking the ends tightly under. I’d practiced many times, and had finally gotten it to stay.

Then I pulled out the cap and the clothes, which were good and wrinkly, as well as dirty from their stay on the rag pile. I hadn’t put them through my cleaning frame. From everything I’d heard, no one had cleaning frames in the village anymore.

The tunic fit fine, but the knee pants were much too big. I tied them on with one of Peitar’s old sashes. Last I fitted the cap over my braid.

Then I looked in the mirror, and laughed.

It is easiest for the young to disguise, Princess Lasva had said. Those who have not yet started the adult contours have more freedom of choice. It was true!

As a girl, I was nothing to look at. Which made me an equally ordinary boy. Under the cap, the tilted eyes and bony face that I’d inherited from my father seemed more fox-like than ever. These were common enough 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 the window, climbed out onto a branch of the argan tree, and shinned down fast from long practice. As soon as I hit the ground I eased through the ferny border near my brother’s windows.

When I was out of sight of the house, I dug my fingers into the clean-smelling loam, then rubbed it over my neck, face, arms, and legs. Ever since my sixth summer, I’d taken off my shoes to run barefoot through the garden, and kept it up until the first snow. My feet were tough.

I let my eyes adjust to the darkness as I breathed in the fragrant air of late spring. Above me, clouds glowed like a ceiling of silver cotton, rendering the garden and house into silhouette. The brightest light shone dim and golden from the windows of the guard houses at either side of the big gates, far to the south.

I looked around, giddy with triumph. The one good thing I’d inherited was my father’s night vision. I’d thought everyone had it until the time I woke up hungry, slipped downstairs without lighting a candle, and discovered Peitar stumbling around near the kitchens. Though I knew him immediately, he didn’t recognize me—but once I spoke, he laughed, and said my eyes glowed just like a cat’s.

I ran toward the south wall between the guard houses, then stopped in dismay. The wall was a lot higher than I’d remembered. How to get over it?

A tree, of course. I found a huge, spreading oak with one great branch that extended beyond the wall. I was about to hoist myself up when a 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 to stay and have fun? he taunted.

Got lost. I could tell from his quick speech that he was a villager, and tried to pronounce my words the same way he did.

They’re all over that way. Except the hatchlings. Went home. 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. Swipe it 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 the ristos? When I shrugged defensively, Or is it your mother counts?

No mother, I said. Father couldn’t care less. Only the— I remembered that villagers didn’t have governesses or servants.

The—?

Never mind! I snapped, afraid of being discovered.

The boy flung up his hands. You sure do get riled! What’s your name?

Larei. You?

Bren. He scowled. I’m named for a risto, so if you hear t’other name and use it I’ll smash you a good one and grind you into the dirt. Sometimes my cousin says it when she’s mad.

The stable boys talked to each other like that. It meant that the speaker was upset about the thing in the threat. What’s the name? I won’t use it, I added, but so I know.

Sharadan.

Wondering why Bren’s mother had picked the name of an especially obnoxious family at court, I only nodded.

Anyway, Breneos is my dad’s name. He said I could use it, too. Ma’s snobbishness might get me into trouble.

I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I was glad that he was so talkative. So, you hate the family in the palace? I asked.

Bren laughed. Where you been?

In my house. Sick. Long time. Most of my life.

So that’s why I don’t know you. Your dad is what, one of the farm hands, lives out east o’ the village?

I shrugged.

Bren waggled his fingers. Want the whole story?

At last! And I didn’t even have to figure out how to ask! Yup.

He let out a happy sigh. Derek said we ought to recruit, and I never thought I’d get the chance. See, Riveredge used to be a good market town. Used to be lots of ’em in Selenna. But King Dirty Hands wanted more taxes, on top of the prince’s, and double taxes made those who could move do it.

Extra taxes?

Bren snorted. "Yup. On top of the bread tax from Dirty Hands’ grandfather. So a lot of the guilds and merchants moved out of Selenna, which used to be like a little country all on its own. Did you know Riveredge used to be a town?"

Peitar had told me that much. Now it’s a village, most of it falling down.

All that’s left are people who work for Prince Greedy. Or don’t have skills enough to get away. And Prince Greedy still collects taxes, even with the drought going on now two years. Derek says the taxes are supposed to be against times like this, so there’d be food, and for hiring the Blue Guard, and for renewing the magic spells. Like our cleaning frames, and the wands to get rid of animal droppings.

I know that much, I said.

Well, the taxes go straight to the prince’s belly. Or his brats, Honor Fluffbrain and Honor Cripple. Or get wasted on his fancy wigs. And the rest go to the king, who’s got a gigantic army, even though there’s no danger from outside.

Honor Fluffbrain? Heat prickled my face. What about defending ourselves against the evil warriors of Norsunder?

Bren snorted again. Everyone talks about them, but they never come.

They destroyed Sartor, I said.

Bren snorted even louder. "But that’s over the mountains! They won’t come here. Nobody’s crossed those mountains in generations, Derek says. King Dirty Hands is building that army to use against us, Derek says. Because people are tired of being hungry. And in some villages, where the spells have run out and haven’t been renewed, things are not only falling apart but filthy. It causes disease. Everyone knows that."

I said softly—because in Polite Company you don’t mention it—Even the Waste Spell is running out?

No, Derek told us that’s a universal, Bren said. But what’s the good of getting rid of your own waste by magic when animals foul the streets, and we have to bathe and wash dirty clothes in the same rivers we drink from, and so we foul the water?

Ugh.

We’re tired of a king who doesn’t do anything but collect taxes and make ready for war. No one helps us. He laughed. So here we are, to help ourselves. Slam justice, that’s what it’s called!

I forced a laugh as well, wondering what they were there to help themselves to. Then he pointed at a plum tree. "I didn’t believe it until I saw it myself. They really do grow food as ornament here, he said with loathing. And on the other side of the wall people sleep hungry at night!"

He plucked viciously at the plums, cramming some in his mouth and flinging others against the nearby trees.

I was thinking that it would make more sense to carry some back to the hungry people, but again I was afraid to speak.

Crashing bushes and the light thud of footsteps were followed by a high voice. Bren?

Here! With Larei.

Larei? Who’s that? A girl appeared, braids swinging. Two smaller boys with her. Phew, it’s hard to get about in this dark. We found an orange tree, right near the stream. A stream! All for no one, and we only have the one well left for the whole village! She hefted an apron full of oranges.

Bren began adding plums to her pile as the girl continued, Where are the others? Went hatchling on us, huh? Just as I thought! Well, we saw someone lurking round the house, and we yelled ‘Down with tyranny!’ and ran. Fun! Where you been? Her voice was wonderful, high and clear, like a singer’s.

Here, talkin’ to Larei.

Never saw you before, she said, coming close to me. She was small and skinny, the shape of her face like Bren’s.

"I never saw you before," I retorted, my heart thumping hard.

The others laughed.

Larei lives out on one o’ the east farms, Bren said. Larei, that’s my cousin Deon.

She’s the one who met Derek first, Bren added. And those are my brothers, Tam and Tim.

The younger boys bobbed their heads.

Like to meet Derek, I said. Maybe now I’d find out who he was.

Is he coming to the village? Bren asked his cousin.

T’morry night. If the scummers don’t get him first. Deon jerked her chin in the direction of the walls, where the guards patrolled.

Bren turned eagerly my way. We meet him at the bridge, when the moon comes out. If it’s cloudy, we wait for the next night, unless he says. Can’t see if the Selenna scummers are sneakin’ up on us if it’s too dark.

 Don’t need to overwork the gallows. Deon was grim. They already get more customers than most traders, these days.

I tried to sound casual. Don’t suppose you tried to talk to the risto brats?

The others laughed.

"Try seeing if they’ll talk to us, Deon scoffed. Only time their precious highnesses breathe our putrid air is when they ride by in their fancy carriage down Prince Street when they go off to visit the king."

Better them than me, Tim said in a low voice.

All the others agreed. I did, too. I mean, I knew what my uncle was like!

Be at the bridge at moonrise day after tomorrow. Bren thumped me on the shoulder. "You’ll meet Derek then, and he can tell you lots more. And maybe we’ll hear some real news."

I’ll try to be there. If I can get away from my dad. ’Bye.

I ran into the garden, only glancing back once. Sure enough, Bren was following, and I heard the others blundering along behind him. They wanted to see where I lived.

I laughed to myself. I knew the gardens too well for that to be a problem, and soon lost them.

Once I’d climbed to my room, I stashed my disguise under the mattress, jumped through the cleaning frame, pulled on my nightgown, and threw myself into bed. The most I’d dared hope for was a walk around the village to see the buildings up close. I hadn’t thought to meet anyone at all, much less someone my age.

This adventure was going to be easy.

TWO

I WAS soundly asleep the next morning when my governess came in.

Lizana was middle-aged, stout, and very, very smart. She’d been my mother’s maid, and had taken care of me since I was born. I woke up to find her eyeing me suspiciously.

Oh, I don’t feel good, I mumbled.

Lizana’s brows lifted. She was used to sickness. Peitar was sick all too often.

I’ll brew the fever medicine. At the doorway, she turned back. Now, you lie there and rest. His Highness wishes to talk to you.

Within a very short time high-heeled shoes clacked on the wood-patterned flooring on the landing, and my father walked in.

For the first time, I tried to see him the way the villagers did, a heavy man wearing a purple velvet suit with lace at throat and wrists. When he went out, he wore an old-fashioned wig of long, curling red hair, but inside the house it was only his own hair, coarse hair much like mine, except gray on top. Inside or out, his features were most often pinched with irritation.

He pulled over one of my dainty chairs and sat down carefully, then observed the gold-edged buckles on his shoes with a thin smile of approval.

Lizana reappeared with a tray. Then she bowed and moved back to stand silently against the wall.

His Highness lifted his nose. Be gone. You know I dislike servants hovering about when I talk to my children. My father spoke in the court drawl that had been popular for years—until my uncle came to the throne.

Uncle Darian never drawled. Nor did he wear wigs.

Lizana walked noiselessly out. I could see her listening just beyond the open door.

Lilah, child, this illness is most inconvenient, my father began. I was going to tell you at breakfast today that in two weeks we depart for Miraleste.

To the capital! That meant the royal palace. And my uncle, the king. My stomach knotted in dread.

Why?

Father’s thin brows met in a line above his broad face. You are a good child most of the time, Lilah, but this inquisitiveness is most unbecoming. You must curb that habit. Well-bred children are polite and obedient. Suffice it to say that we make the journey for your benefit.

Yes, Father, I said in my well-practiced Polite and Obedient Voice, though I burned with indignation—and with questions that I knew would not be answered. As usual.

Good child. He rose, twitching the satin edges of his cuffs. Sleep well.

Yes, Father.

As soon his heels had clacked down the stairs, I hopped out of bed and inspected the tray. Broth with egg beaten into it, and a bitter, nasty willow-bark decoction, suitable for fever and ache. The latter I dumped out the window. I hoped it wouldn’t poison the trees.

The broth I drank as I wondered why we had to go to the capital. And why should I be well? The dread was even stronger than the questions.

Next came the uneven rhythm of Peitar’s step. That was a surprise. He entered, leaning heavily on his crutch as he always did after climbing the long stairway. His face seemed bonier than ever, set in an expression of hard-won patience.

From where I sat I could see us framed in my mirror, in some ways so alike—the tilted eyes and sharp chin and angled cheekbones—and so different. I was built more like my father. Peitar was just over medium height, thin, dark-haired, brown-skinned, and slender in build. Like our mother had been. Like Uncle Darian.

I shuddered, and moaned, trying to sound sick.

Peitar said, You don’t have to feign illness with me. You’re as healthy as I am.

You aren’t healthy—

So everyone tells me, Peitar retorted. I’m lame, not sick. Though I admit I use that when I have to.

I hate it when you sound like Uncle.

Peitar smiled. I saw you sneak past my window last night, Lilah.

I sat upright. You know?

Peitar’s smile made him look younger, more like his nineteen years. Yet the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Are you going to tell?

He shook his head, still smiling. Ah, little sister, how I’ve wished to do the same! What did you find?

I met some villagers sneaking around, and — I stopped short. Wait, you want to explore, too?

I kept that to myself until I saw you climbing down past my window. We’re too good at hiding our real selves, I suppose. He paused, as if making up his mind about something. But we’ve been fooling one another when, perhaps, we should be working together.

Working together? How? On what?

First tell me what you found out, and what you think of it.

I have loved my brother ever since I was tiny, all the more intensely after our mother died when I was two. He was the one who had given me interesting books, like Princess Lasva’s, when Father insisted Lizana keep my lessons to fine handwriting and courtly manners once I’d mastered reading and writing. Peitar had done it with Lizana’s unspoken approval, too, answering all of my questions about Lasva Dei and the adventurers I admired, and practicing Sartoran with me. I trusted him more than anyone—until he’d stopped answering my questions.

I told him about my meeting with Bren, what he had said and what I had answered. Peitar listened, and when he didn’t look angry or shocked, I finished, So I ran back here, and I was trying to figure out a way to get over the wall before moonrise tomorrow, and meet this Derek person.

I wonder.... Peitar tightened his hand on his crutch. I wonder if you ought to meet Derek. The problem is, it’s almost impossible to separate him from dangerous circumstances, even just to talk.

More surprises. "Dangerous? Wait, wait! You know Derek?"

Yes. My insides felt as if someone had dumped me out the window along with the medicine. Tell me about Derek! I want to know what’s going on.

I’ve known him for years. Ever since we were more or less your age. Lilah, he wants to raise Sarendan in revolution.

Revolution? Why? How? I jumped to my feet, turning in a circle as I wrung my hands. So many questions piled up in my head that my brain had completely frozen.

Peiter said seriously, He wants to right the wrongs he sees about him. We both do. He thinks the way is through violence, and I’m not so sure. But then I sit here in safety—

Safety! I repeated in scorn.

Peitar’s smile twisted. To those outside the family, it seems our lives are nothing but plenty and bliss. The plenty I will grant, but the bliss...well, you know as well as I. Derek doesn’t know, nor do his followers, what life is like here, or in Miraleste, for us.

Can’t you just tell him?

It’s not that simple. Peitar looked distracted, and I wondered if he was going to get lost inside his head like the Peitar I was used to. But then he blinked. As for how, those children in the village are to be a part of it, just as countless ordinary people in towns and villages all over the country will be a part. On a given signal they will attack the local authorities. Like us. Peitar’s thumb turned toward himself, me, and then downward toward the floor, where Father sat in his rooms.

Attack? But people might get hurt, I exclaimed.

Yes. Yet too many think it’s a game. Not all. But some think it’s impossible that any real danger could happen to them, because their intentions are good.

What can we do to fix things?

When he hesitated, I said, Not telling me things doesn’t stop me from worrying. Nobody answers my questions. That’s one of the reasons why I made my Larei-disguise, so I could find out things!

Peitar leaned his forehead against his hands, then straightened up. Look, we’ve been talking a long time. I think the reason we’re going to the capital is to arrange a marriage for you.

Ugh! I exclaimed—softly, but very, very feelingly. Remembering my mother’s sad eyes in the portrait downstairs, I added, "I hate the thought of marriage. You’re not betrothed yet, so why should I get stuck with it?"

I’m not because...more politics. Peitar looked away. Though I might be forced into it, if...oh, if things don’t change. He looked back. If it helps, you and your intended will decide when the marriage actually takes place. So if you want, it could be ten years. Or twenty, if you’re deft. You will probably have the higher rank, so you’ll have more say. You just need to be diplomatic.

"But I’ll still be betrothed. Some fun if he’s a stinker, and most of those court boys are stinkers. And what if Uncle

Reviews for Spy Princess

[wealhtheowwylfing · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Lady Lilah is only twelve years old, but she is lonely, discontented, and curious: why do the village children shout and throw things when her carriage goes by? Lilah disguises herself as an urchin boy and stumbles into becoming part of the revolution. Various shenanigans ensue.

This book just made me feel tired. I love the world (shared with the Wren, Inda, Court Duel serieses) but everything else felt two degrees removed from reality. I didn't feel anything for any of the characters, and they didn't seem believable, either. Maybe this book was just too simplistic for me to enjoy--certainly it's aimed at a *young* young adult audience.

[readinggeek451 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Lilah is caught up in a revolution against a repressive king--her hated uncle. But things are not as simple as they seem.This is part of Smith's Sartorias-deles story cycle, and better than most of the YAs in that cycle. Add half a star if you're under 13.

[wrightja2000 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Great for middle grade readers and a rare find- an action adventure book with a girl as a main character and no romance! I love that there is not a hint of romance anywhere in the whole book.

[francescaforrest · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Lilah, the young niece of tyrannical King Darian, slips away from her stately home to play with the ragged children she's only ever seen from her carriage, and in short order gets involved in the revolution that's brewing--one in which her principled brother plays a key role. But revolutions are messy affairs, and what started as a lark and adventure turns out to have grave personal consequences.

What's wonderful about this story is how it lets a reader really feel what it would be like to be on the streets, right at the scene, for something as tumultuous-exciting-horrific-scary as a revolution, what it would be like to live through not only the storming of palaces, but the chaos afterward. Sherwood Smith has done a remarkable job in making the scene real and yet not so desperately grim that a reader won't enjoy it. There are complicated questions here: how do you win loyalty? How can you hold a nation together? They're gracefully handled in a tale that keeps up a high level of excitement the whole way through.

For me, the peak of excitement was the trial of Lilah's brother Peitar for treason. It's a wonderful instance of the drama of ideas, made all the more so because during the course of the book King Darian has been revealed as actually a quite interesting person, not a cardboard villain by any measure. But there are plenty of high-action episodes for those who like their drama more active--most notably the exploits of the Sharadan Brothers, a Robin Hood-esque set of siblings from past history whose personae Lilah and her friends take on to aid the cause of the rebels.

I think the book can appeal to a wide age range, and I can really imagine siblings reading it together and enjoying it. If my own kids were younger, I can well imagine reading it to them.