Free The Princess Trap by Kirsten Boie Page B

true?”
    Liron put his finger to his lips and listened. “No, everything seems to be in order here,” he said into his phone, and looked around. “The clock on the gatehouse is working, and if it’s not a generator they’ve … So it’s just in Holmburg? I see, the cables across the dam. In that case I presume there’s no chance of the king making his speech on TV tonight.” He nodded. “Right, as soon as possible,” he said. Then he closed his phone.
    “Dad!” Jonas insisted.
    “Someone’s cut the power supply to Holmburg,” said Liron. “There’ll be no electricity till the lines are repaired. And today’s the day when Magnus was going to make a speech asking both north and south to be patient.”
    “You think it’s them?” said Jonas.
    Liron shrugged his shoulders. “Everyone will say it’s the rebels,” he said wearily. “But how many people knew about Magnus’s plans?”
    “Well, the TV people did,” said Jonas.
    Liron nodded. “Indeed, you’re right,” he murmured. “And who is in control of them, I wonder … Come on. Let’s go. Von Thunberg doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
    He beckoned to Carlson. The chauffeur stamped out his cigarette and pulled his key from his pocket.
    “Wait!” said Jonas, grabbing his father’s arm. “You never answered my question. Are you still in contact with the rebels?”
    Liron looked at him. “Nahira is an old friend, not just the rebels’ leader,” he said, gently loosening his son’s grip. “You know that, Jonas.”

T he car traveled almost soundlessly through the summer haze. Even on South Island, there were narrow back roads winding their way up and down the countryside, through endless stretches of forest or between thick hedges, behind which the cornfields waited to be harvested before the first thunderstorms flattened them. Here and there you could still see the odd wild rose among the foliage — a white speck amid the dappled green — occasional poppies and clumps of chamomile. Sitting in the back of the car behind closed windows, Perry could imagine the scents and the summer atmosphere in a boundless silence so still that you could hear it.
    He pulled his cell phone out of his coat pocket. Every summer he had to go to the von Thunbergs’ garden party, and the weather was almost always as hot as today. He leaned back in his seat and searched through the photos on his phone.
    He found what he was looking for. She would be there. That was the only reason why he hadn’t protested when his father had called to say he’d be sending a car for him. Malena would be there.
    Maybe I’m just jealous of the von Thunbergs , thought Perry. Their perfect lives and perfect parties on perfect summer days. Maybe I should just admit it: I don’t like them because I’m small and weak and I suck at sports — and everything else, for that matter. And now Dad’s sending me to a military academy and I’ll fail there, too. He’d rather emigrate than go there.
    He looked at Malena’s photo. He’d taken it when watching the girls play a game of volleyball a few months ago. It was from a distance, of course. It would be way too embarrassing if anyone found out, let alone her! In fact, it was only because he knew it was her that he could actually identify her — raising her arms up in victory after the game. As if she wasn’t the least bit tired and there was nothing in the world that was too big for her to tackle. He ran his fingertip over the display, outlining the figure behind the glass.
    She’d be at the party — she was there every year. Even when he was just a little boy, he’d dreamed about her: the motherless princess, as beautiful and as friendly and as smart as a fairy-tale princess. Yeah, right. Wake up, Perry , he thought. Those kind of dreams were OK as long as you didn’t keep thinking they might come true.
    Maybe, right from the start, that had been one of the reasons why he’d made friends with Jonas. Jonas had grown up with