PRINCESS ACADEMY

PALACE OF STONE

SHANNON HALE

For my Dinah

A princess in her own right

ContentsChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter Nineteen

Chapter TwentyChapter Twenty-oneChapter Twenty-twoChapter Twenty-threeChapter Twenty-fourAcknowledgmentsAlso by Shannon HaleAbout the Author

Chapter One

The rock-lined road isthe way to workThe rock-lined roadtakes the work awayThe rock-lined road isthe way to takeIf you take that roadaway you’ll alwaystake that way backhomeTake you there andtake you home,there’s nothing butthe rocky road

Miri woke to the insistent bleat of agoat. She squeaked open one eye. Paleyellow sky slipped through the cracks inthe shutters. It was day—the very day tradewagons might come to carry her off. She’dbeen expecting them all week with both askipping heart and a falling stomach.Strange, lately, how many things made herfeel two opposite ways twisted together.

Peder was like that.Miri crept from her pea-shuck mattress

to the window. A figure stood in thedoorway of Peder’s house. She waved,Peder waved back, and those addledfeelings popped inside, her chest light andexcited, her head tight and unsure.

She felt two ways about home too, sherealized, looking out at the few dozenhouses of Mount Eskel, their roofs tracedwhite with dawn light. Her mountain wasbig. The world was bigger.

A noise called her back. Her sister,Marda, was sitting up, and her pa too,stretching and groaning from the ache ofsleep. For them she felt only one way. Andfor them she never wanted to leave.

Miri talked while she helped Mardastack the mattresses to clear the floor, andtalked while she dished up breakfast, andtalked while she led the goats from theadjoining room into the sharp light ofmorning. If she talked, she did not have tothink. Thinking only made her stomach fallfaster.

“Peder’s grandpa says he’s seen morebees this fall than he can ever remember,and that means the winter won’t be toohard, but if it freezes and thaws all the timeyou’ll have ice everywhere, so I think weshould dump more gravel on the path to thestream—”

“We’ll be all right, Miri.” A goat

pushed against Marda’s side, and Mardarubbed its ears. “You don’t need toworry.”

Pa was walking ahead of his girls. Hisback tensed against Marda’s words.

“Pa …,” Miri said. She wanted him tosay that he would be all right without her.

They reached the quarry, a huge bowl ofwhite stone, rectangles of rock jutting atodd angles. Already dozens of villagerswere squaring blocks of linder stonethey’d cut from the mountain and werehauling them out of the quarry. The nearestgroup worked one stone together, singingto keep in rhythm: “Take you there andtake you home, there’s nothing but therocky road.”

Pa halted at the edge. “Expect us forlunch, Miri, so long as …”

Miri finished his thought. So long as thewagons have not come.

Pa hefted his pickax and strode into thepit. Marda followed, turning to shrug atMiri. Miri shrugged back. They both knewtheir father’s temperament.

Miri tied her goats on a slope wherethey could graze, then skipped back downto the house. She picked up a letter fromthe table, as she had each morning since itarrived with the traders in the summer. Theletter still seemed as magical as books hadwhen she’d first learned to read.

She had the letter memorized, but sheread it again anyway. It was from Katar,who had left Mount Eskel for the capitalseveral months before.

Addressing Miri Larendaughter, Ladyof the Princess,

Mount Eskel

Miri,This is a letter. A letter is

like talking to someone who isfar away. Do not show theothers in case I am doing itwrong.

This fall, extra wagonswill go with the traders to bringto Asland any academygraduates who are willing. Youare invited to stay one year. Iknow you, at least, will come. Itis a long trip. Bring a blanketto sit on in the wagon or youwill get a bruised backside.

At harvest, each provincein Danland presents a gift tothe king. As this is the first yearMount Eskel is a province, Iwant our gift to be really fine. Icannot think what we can offer

besides linder. I do not thinkgoats would be quite right.Please tell the village councilthat the linder must be special,perhaps a very large block of it.I do not sleep well with worry. Igrow tired of the mocking waythe other delegates speak ofMount Eskel.

I am anxious for you tocome. There are thingshappening in Asland. I needadvice, but it would bedangerous for me to write aboutit, I think. I hope it will not betoo late by the time you arrive.

This letter is from Katar,Mount Eskel’s delegate to theroyal court in Asland

Miri put the letter back on the table, helddown by a shard of linder—white stonestruck through with veins of silver. Shecould not guess what dangerous mattersKatar wanted to discuss with her, but thathad not kept her from trying to imagine allsummer long. And summer had seemedvery long indeed.

Miri picked up a second letter and couldnot help smiling as she read Britta’slooping handwriting.

Miri Larendaughter, Mount Eskel

Dearest Miri,I am delighted to write to

you! Though I would rather talkto you in person and sit as weused to do in the shade of theprincess academy, watching

hawks glide. At least I havegood news to share. The kinghas invited the academy girls tocome this autumn! Autumn isnot near enough for impatientme, but it is closer than nextspring.

I will brag just a little andclaim credit. I made a verypretty argument that themountain pass might still bestopped with snow in the springand prevent you from arrivingin time for the wedding. Andhow could the princess bemarried without the princess’sladies?

You girls will room here atthe palace. Palace seamstresseswill make you dresses in theAslandian style, so please do

not fear on that account.Also, I have wonderful

news! There is an open spot foryou at the Queen’s Castle, theuniversity I told you about.Studies begin after harvest, soyou see, another reason I ameager to have you here beforespring.

More good news. A stonecarver my father used to hirehas agreed to take Peder intoapprenticeship. Gus will houseand feed Peder in exchange fora year’s labor and one block oflinder.

There will be so much forus to do here. I can scarcelysleep sometimes fordaydreaming! Let the summerfly on hot, swift wings.

Your friend,Britta

Traders came up to Mount Eskel onlyonce each spring, summer, and fall, soMiri had been unable to reply to eithergirl. She had no doubt Katar was goingcrazy with worry about their gift for theking. Miri could not wait to surprise her.

Miri ladled morning gruel into a pot andheaded out the door. Peder had spent thepast three months sweating over the gift.And since his family was short one quarryworker while he labored, the other villagefamilies supported Peder with meals.Today was Miri’s turn. While her pa andsister worked in the quarry, Miri kept thehouse and goats.

She ambled over the rock chippings thatcovered the ground to Peder’s house,

knocking once and letting herself in.“Good morning, Peder,” she began,

stopping when she saw Peder’s father,Jons, standing with arms folded. The moodin the cottage had the bite of winter wind.

Peder slumped onto a stool. “My fatheris reconsidering letting me go to Asland.”

“Not reconsidering,” Jons said.“Decided. You’ve already wasted threemonths carving this thing. Since your sisteris leaving us, you’ll be staying.”

For Peder, quarry work was mindless,endless. He’d been carving bits of linderinto animals and people for years, yearningfor a chance to do it more. Miri wanted toplead with Jons but checked herself,remembering the rules of Diplomacy shehad learned at the princess academy.

“I can understand, sir, why you wantPeder to stay. He hasn’t worked in thequarry since the summer traders came.

Besides, it would be hard on your familyto lose both children for a year.”

“Just so,” he said, squintingsuspiciously. “It’s impossible.”

“I would agree, but in this case, sendingPeder to Asland will be much more usefulfor your family and the village in the longrun. As it is now, after the traders haul ourstone down the mountain, artisans inAsland chip away half of it to makemantelpieces and tiles and such, and theyearn a good living doing it.”

“Exactly!” Peder said, standing up.“Why shouldn’t we do that work here,ourselves? After I’m trained, traders couldbring me orders in the fall, then I’d workthrough the winter and send the carvingsdown in spring.”

“Traders can haul twice as muchfinished stone as rough stone,” said Miri,“which would mean twice as much pay for

everyone.”Jons narrowed his eyes further. Miri

swallowed but asked the final question.“I know Peder will be diligent in his

apprenticeship and do you proud. Will youlet him go?”

She held her breath. She could not hearPeder breathe. Jons turned to look out thewindow.

“Fine,” Jons said with a grunt. Hepaused to lay his hand on Peder’s headbefore leaving.

“You’re amazing!” Peder said, huggingMiri.

He took a step back and smiled as if hetruly loved looking at her face. Then hestarted in on the breakfast.

Why doesn’t he ask? The thought wasso well used it squeaked in Miri’s mindlike dry hinges. She was of age to bebetrothed. Peder seemed to like her and no

one else. Yet he did not ask.Afraid to look at him in case he could

read her thoughts in her eyes, she leanedover the mantelpiece he’d been carving.She traced the images of Mount Eskel andthe chain of mountains beyond, beautifullycaptured in linder.

“It’s smoother,” she said.“I’ve been polishing it.”An unmistakable sound reached them

from outside. They rushed to the windowto see the first in the line of trader wagons,crunching rock debris under metal-rimmedwheels.

Miri was holding Peder’s warm,callused hand. She did not know who hadreached out first.

They ran to meet the wagons, along withmost of the village. Trading began,families selling cut blocks of linder andpurchasing foodstuffs and supplies from

the wagons. In the past, trading day hadbeen an anxious occasion, each familybartering for just enough food to avoidstarvation. But since the previous year,when the villagers were first able to selltheir linder at fair value, trading days hadbecome festivals.

Children danced in excitement overribbons and cloth, shoes and tools, bags ofdried peas still in their shucks, barrels ofhoney and onions and salt fish. Such itemshad always seemed magical to Miri,evidence of fabulous, faraway places.How often she’d daydreamed of cities,farmlands, and endless ocean. Now at lastshe would go. But she did not feel likejoining in the dance.

Peder caught up with his mother to helpin the trading, and Miri sold her family’sstone. Then she went in search of hersister.

“Please come, Marda,” she said, panictightening her throat. Marda was not anacademy graduate, but she knew Brittawould not mind, and the other girls adoredMiri’s gentle sister. “I thought I wanted togo, but I’m scared. I need you. Please.”

“You’re not scared,” Marda saidquietly. “Or you won’t be for long.”

“Marda, I’m serious.”“I’m not like you, Miri. Learning about

all those places and past kings and wars, itmakes me feel like … like I’m sleeping ona precipice. I don’t like that feeling. I wantto stay home.”

“But—”“Pa and I both know you’ll be fine. So

fine, in fact, he worries you won’t comeback.”

“He does?”Marda nodded. “So do I.”Miri shook her head. She could not

imagine staying away forever by choice,but so much could happen in a year, somany obstacles to coming home. And whatdangerous matters did Katar fear? Miri felther chin start to quiver.

Marda rubbed Miri’s back and forced aconfident smile. “A few blinks and you’llbe back. A year’s a small thing.”

Marda’s words reminded Miri of a linefrom a poem she’d read in one of theacademy books, so she said, “No smallthing, a bee’s sting, when it enters theheart.”

“A bee’s sting entered whose heart?”asked Marda.

“It’s just a poem. Never mind,” Mirisaid. She should have known Marda wouldnot understand, and that made her feel aslonely as if she were already gone.

Marda put her arm around Miri, tuckingher head against her own. Miri noticed her

sister had grown taller in the past year. Shewas older than most Mount Eskel girlswho accepted a betrothal, yet no one hadspoken for her. Once all the village boyswere betrothed, no others would comerushing up from the lowlands to take theirplace. And Marda was too shy to speak forherself.

As soon as she returned from Asland,Miri decided, she would be matchmakerfor her sister. And she’d keep teaching inthe village school till every villager couldread, including her pa. She felt bettermaking plans like ropes securing her to hermountain.

The trading hurried along, culminating inthe trading-day feast. Now it was afarewell feast.

Not all the graduates of the princessacademy would be going. Some were keptback at their parents’ wishes; others had

accepted betrothals and did not want toleave. Miri would travel with five girls:Gerti, Esa, Frid, Liana, and Bena. Eachcarried a burlap sack filled with her fewpossessions. Miri clutched her own sack toher chest. The summer had seemedendless, but now that this moment wasupon her, it felt sudden and sharp, a hawkin a hunting dive.

“I’ll write to you,” she told Marda.“Every week. And I’ll send the wholestack of letters with the spring traders. Andthe letters will all say the same thing—Imiss you, and I’ll be home next fall. Homefor good.”

Marda just nodded.Her father approached, his hands behind

his back, his eyes on the ground. Miristepped forward to meet him.

“Don’t forget to butcher the rabbitscome high winter, when the pelts are

thickest,” she said. “It breaks Marda’sheart to do it, and if I’m gone …”

He glanced at her and then away again,frowning into the chain of mountains:brown, purple, blue, and beyond, ghostlygray summits seemingly afloat above theclouds.

“I will come back, Pa,” she said.“I wonder,” he said in his low voice. “I

wonder.”“I promise.”He picked her up, pressing her to his

chest as easily as if she were still a baby.How could an embrace make her feelexquisitely loved and yet heartbroken too?

“I’ll always come home, Pa,” she said.But a shiver of uncertainty had entered

her.Miri sat in the back of a wagon as it

drove away, her eyes taking in every lastimage of home: her house built of gray

rubble rock, the white gleam of lindershards marking the paths, the jagged cliffsof the quarry, and the magnificent, white-tipped head of Mount Eskel.

She felt night-blind and afraid, as ifwalking a path that might lead to sheer cliffand empty air. The lowlands were so faraway, she could hardly believe theyexisted. Once she was in the lowlands,would home seem like a dream too?

She glimpsed Pa and Marda one lasttime before the road bent and, quick as asigh, the village was gone from sight.

Chapter Two

The city of the riverThe city of the bayThe people of thelimestoneThe people of the clay

Miri’s jaw ached from gaping. First,there were the lowlander trees, theirenormous leafy crowns still so vibrantlygreen it hurt her eyes. Next, farmlandsstretched so far they curved with theworld, green and golden. Then the wagonsrolled onto actual streets, past woodenhouses winking with glass windows. Theroofs were made of thatch or tile with the

occasional one of beaten copper—somenew and orange but most a weatheredgreen.

Trying to keep her voice steady, Mirisaid, “So this is Asland.”

Enrik the trader rolled his eyes. “No,this is just a town.”

That night they camped outside the town.Miri looked up from her supper of baconand potatoes and met eyes with a thin girl,chewing on a stick. The town girl did notspeak, just watched Miri with wide eyes.Had she come to see the backward folk ofMount Eskel? Would she run home andmake fun of the way Miri ate? Mirihunched her back and turned away.

By the third day, Miri was accustomedto the rhythm of the journey: woods, farms,town, repeated again and again, theshuddering lope of the wagon constantbeneath her. She rarely gaped anymore and

almost forgot to be afraid until the day theyentered Asland.

The rain began as a mist and thickenedinto annoying pecks on their faces andhands. Soon it was an onslaught, and thegirls huddled together under an oiled clothin the back of Enrik’s lurching wagon.Miri’s stomach squelched.

When Bena made sick noises over theside of the wagon, Miri scrambled forwardand out from under the cloth, into therainstorm.

“Death would be better than ridingunder there,” she announced. “Death orrain.”

Peder and Enrik shared the driver’sbench, huddled under smaller cloths.

“You’ll get soaked,” said Enrik. Withhis long nose and thin, stooped shoulders,he reminded Miri of a grumpy vulture.

“Already am.” At least the air was

warmer in the lowlands.Peder scooted over, and Miri squeezed

beside him. He pulled half of his oiledcloth around her. Their legs touched.

The rain teased her hair, slitheredthrough her clothes, and lay against herskin. But in the fresh air her stomachsettled, so she hugged her arms and wasglad at least to be looking out at the gray-blue world. She’d fantasized many timesabout her first glimpse of the capital. Herimagination had not planned on rain.

“I’m so nervous,” she whispered toPeder, her teeth chattering.

“You sound it,” Peder said.“No, my jaw’s pounding because it

misses the sound of quarry hammers.”“Or else you’re cold and should get

back under the larger cloth.”“And deprive you of my company? I’m

not so cruel.”

Until that year, no mountain villager hadjourneyed to the lowlands. But so muchhad changed since the priests divined thatMount Eskel was the home of the futureprincess. The court-appointed tutor hadestablished a princess academy there toteach the rough mountain girls to read andto introduce them to other subjects eachshould know in case the prince chose heras his bride. But from the academy books,Miri and the other girls had learned muchmore, including how the village could selllinder for better prices.

Because of the higher profits, everydaylight moment no longer needed to bespent working in the quarry, and Miri hadstarted a village school for anyone whocared to learn. Mount Eskel had beenelevated from a territory to a province ofDanland, the graduates of the princessacademy were named ladies of the

princess, and suddenly the world beyondthe mountain view was no longer afrightening mystery but a place Miri couldvisit or even inhabit.

The rain was softening into a finedrizzle. The low clouds lifted, sunlightmelted the mist, and Miri saw that theywere already in the middle of a city largerthan any from her imagination.

Street after street, gardens and fountains,buildings like giants. The bench beneathMiri seemed to drop away, and she felt asif she were falling through the whole, hugeworld.

Peder pressed his shoulder against hersand opened his eyes wide. She widenedher eyes at him and nodded back.

They crossed a bridge over a river.Houses six stories high crammed thebanks, so tight they presented one greatwall. Each house was painted a different

color—blue, yellow, red, brown, green,rust, turquoise.

“Why is that farmland gray?” Miriasked. Downriver, the buildings stoppedabruptly, bordering a huge empty plain.

Enrik laughed. “That’s the ocean.”“ The ocean?” The lowlander traders

always went on as if the ocean were themost wondrous thing in the world and theEskelites were fools for living so far fromits glory. But it was just a flat, lifeless sky.

Poor Asland, with no mountains, shethought. They have to paint their houses tohave something pretty to look at. Theyhave to marvel over a boring ocean.

The bridge ended, and the wagon veeredaway from the river toward the center oftown and a white stone palace in a sea ofgreen park.

“Linder,” Miri whispered. “It must havetaken a hundred years to quarry all that.”

The other girls were sitting up on theirknees and watching the approach.

“It’s so big,” said Frid.“So are you,” said Miri. It was true—

Frid was dwarfed only by her mother andsix big brothers. “And if it came to a fight,I’d pick you over the palace.”

Frid laughed. “What’s it going to do, fallon me?”

“It’s like a huge piece of Mount Eskel,”said Esa, Peder’s sister.

“Then we should feel right at home,”said Miri, trying to give herself courage.

The wagons entered the palace groundsaround the side through a gate that openedinto a large courtyard.

“The entire village and quarry could fitinside here,” said Peder.

“Indeed,” said Enrik. “Perhaps next theking will make this courtyard a province.”

“Very funny,” Miri said, reaching out to

knock Enrik’s hat over his eyes.An orange-haired girl left a crowd of

people and ran at their wagons. Katarstood taller than Miri remembered, regaleven. Miri recalled the “dangerous” matterof Katar’s letter and looked for a sign thatthey were not too late.

“Did you bring a gift for the king?”Katar said, skipping over greetings. Pederhopped into the wagon that contained themantelpiece and removed the cloth.

Katar nodded. “It’s something at least.”“ I t ’ s beautiful,” Miri said, nudging

Katar with her tone of voice.Katar blinked, looking at Miri, then

Peder. “Oh. Right. It’s beautiful.”“How has it been for you here, Katar?”

Peder asked.“They all hate us, of course. What

would you expect?” Then she whispered inMiri’s ear. “I need to talk to you alone, as

soon as we can.”Miri nodded. The sun had steamed much

of the rain from her clothes, but sheshivered with new cold.

“I would have liked you here yesterdaybut at least it’s not tomorrow,” Katar said.“You’ll have to get settled later. It’s timefor the gift giving. Mount Eskel goes first,since we’re the newest province.”

The king had come out of the palace andwas standing on a dais built in thecourtyard. Around him stood what Miriassumed were his guards and family. Sherecognized Prince Steffan alongsideyellow-haired, redcheeked Britta. Mirijumped up and down, waving, and Brittahappily waved back. Katar glared at Mirito behave. She directed the wagon driverto follow her across the courtyard.

“Your Royal Majesty,” said Katar,bowing to the dais. “The people of Mount

Eskel, in honor of your noble reign, offerour harvest gift.”

The king glanced into the wagon withoutleaning forward. “My first gift from myfavorite mountain. The crown givesthanks.” He lifted his hand in dismissal,and the wagon drove on.

Peder’s hopeful expression stuck to hisface, as if he were afraid any changewould show his hurt. Three months he hadslaved over that stone. It was the greatesttreasure Mount Eskel could offer the king,and yet it was worth no more to him than amoment’s glance.

Miri put her hand on Peder’s shoulder.His muscles were stiff.

No doubt the rest of the provinceswould offer impressive gifts and granddisplays of wealth. Miri readied herself tofeel humiliated once again for being frompoor, lowly Mount Eskel.

A white-haired man spoke to the king.“He’s the delegate from Elsby,” Katar

whispered as she rejoined Miri. “Full ofmines.”

“In years past,” the delegate was saying,“we have honored you with but a handfulof gems. In thanks for your kind attentionthis year—and for the many tributes you’verequested from us—Elsby wishes to honorYour Royal Majesty with the greaterportion of our excavations.”

He pulled the tarp off a wagon andrevealed a heap of loose gravel. Therewas a quiet gasp from the dais.

“What’s happening?” Miri whispered.Katar’s mouth hung open. “That’s

probably the dirt that they dig the gems outof. I don’t understand ….”

Next, the delegate from Hindrickapproached the dais with a dozen others,each carrying a sack in his arms.

“Your Majesty, you have been much onour minds, given the tributes you so oftenrequest. In the past we’ve sent you bushelsof culled grain while always keeping toourselves a substance our workers sweatand bleed to produce. Even now, greatking, twelve wagons heaped with goldendross arrive at your granary.” With aflourish, the delegate and his men upendedtheir bags, and dusty bits drifted onto theking’s boots.

“Dross?” asked Miri.“After the grain is removed from the

wheat stalk, dross is what’s left over,”Katar whispered. “Good for nothing butstuffing itchy mattresses.”

The king was on his feet. He whisperedfuriously with an impressive-looking mandressed in green with black sashes acrosshis chest. Katar said he was Gummonth,the king’s chief official.

“Have any of you come with an honestgift?” Gummonth asked.

The remaining thirteen delegates werewaiting their turn. Miri saw one holding ajug of water; another was in a wagonstacked with cattle bones. Some seemeduneasy while others stared back withdefiant smiles.

A delegate with a jar of wormsanswered the king.

“Of course normally we would presentour beloved monarch with our very bestsilks,” he said. “But the tributes this year—”

“His Majesty has suffered enough of thisfarce,” said Gummonth.

The king started down the dais steps,royal guards gathering around him.

Katar was shaking her head. “I was sodetermined we wouldn’t stick out as theignorant poor folk. And yet we did

anyway. The other delegates planned this,and they excluded me.”

Miri did not completely understand whatwas going on, but she could see theconfused alarm on Britta’s face as she andSteffan followed the king.

A man in fine red clothing approachedthe royal party.

“One last gift, Your Majesty,” said theman. His trousers hit above his ankles andhis jacket above his wrists, as if he’dborrowed the clothes from a smaller man.

“Is that one of the delegates?” Miriasked.

Katar shook her head.“Which province do you represent?”

asked Gummonth.The man said, “The shoeless!” and

pulled something out of his jacket.Miri had never seen a pistol before and

did not know until later that the loud crack

and sizzling light came from the spark ofgunpowder shooting a lead ball down itsbarrel and toward the king’s chest. But theking’s guards knew, and as soon as the manpulled it out, the guards were in motion.One jumped at the king, pulling him down.Others leaped between him and the man inred, while several more shot their long-barreled muskets. A volley of popsscratched the air with smoke and lashedMiri’s ears.

When the smoke cleared, several peoplelay on the ground. All but two stood upagain—the guard who had thrown himselfinto the bullet’s path, and the shooter,downed by the guards’ muskets.

Miri seemed to see it all from far away,and she felt rather than heard herselfscream.

Chapter Three

A queen there was ina palace of breadSing blue, sing white,stay up all nightShe nibbled the wallsand gobbled her bedSing white, sing blue,sing ballyhoo

The folk beggedcrumbs from theirrobust queenSing blue, sing white,she ate all nightShe shared not a

thing until it turnedgreenSo white, so blue, themold it grew

Miri was not the only one whoscreamed.

Guards massed around the royal party,pushing them into the palace. The crowdthat had gathered for the gift giving wasrunning for the gate. The courtyard felt likea cage.

“Inside!” said Katar.The Eskelites followed Katar across

flagstones toward a palace entrance,skirting wide the two bodies on the ground.

A group of guards blocked the doorway,their expressions a study in menace. Katarexplained that she was a delegate and thegirls were all ladies of the princess, but

the guards held tight to their spears.Britta came from inside. She looked

darker, her hair no longer touched bysunlight. Her cheeks, often mottled, flusheda deeper red.

“Yes, let them pass, please,” Britta said,and at last the guards budged.

Tension filled the palace like smokefrom a stopped-up chimney. When Mirihad pictured her reunion with her bestfriend, she’d never imagined gunshots andbodies. Britta signaled Miri, Peder, andthe rest of the girls to follow her down acorridor and into a large room. She shutthe door and locked it.

Miri could no longer hear the clamorand calls from outside. Peder was besideher, their arms touching. Britta shut hereyes. Gerti, the youngest of the girls, wasvisibly trembling. Miri guessed that noneof them was ready yet to talk about what

had just happened.She cleared her throat. “So, is this

where we’ll be staying?”Gerti took a breath and looked around,

seeming relieved to have a distraction.The room reminded Miri of how they

had slept at the princess academy, all thegirls in one open chamber. But thatchamber had been bare. This one hadcarpets on the floor, mattresses on woodframes, and curtains hung from the ceilingso each girl could dress and sleep inprivacy. The fabrics were colorful,patterned in florals, stripes, and swirls.Miri supposed it was meant to bebeautiful, but she found it jarring.

“Yes, this will be home for the nextyear,” said Britta. “Please try not to worry.I’m sure we’re safe in here. The guardswill take care of everything. Is this all ofyou? We won’t need as many beds then.

My room is just across the hall.”“We will live in the actual palace?”

said Liana. Her dark eyes were wide,taking in the scene with pleasure.

“I thought the palace was made oflinder,” Gerti said, brushing the creamlimestone wall with her fingertips. Herfather was head of the village council andbuilt like a bear, but his daughter was moreof a bird—thin, fair, and likely to sing.

“Only the king’s wing,” said Britta.“We’re in the south wing. There arestrangely strict customs—that only theroyal family may live inside linder walls,servants and guards can spend no morethan eight hours inside before having torotate to another section of the palace, thatsort of thing.” She shrugged. “Crazylowlanders.”

Miri laughed, and Britta smiled at her.“Katar,” said Britta, “I thought you

would want to stay with friends from homewhile they’re here, so I had your thingsmoved from your room in the delegates’wing.”

Britta smiled, sure she had done right,and did not seem to notice Katar’shesitation.

Katar had never had friends, though Miribelieved any cruelty on her part in the pastsimply stemmed from unhappiness.Perhaps now that she had left Mount Eskeland the father who had never loved her,she might be ready for friendship.

“You can have my things brought intoo,” said Peder, throwing himself on thenearest bed. He groaned as he sank into thesoft mattress and rolled onto his side.

“Um … I don’t think boys are—” Brittabegan.

“Don’t mind me!” Peder pulled ablanket over his head.

Miri did not know how he could evenpretend to nap. She could barely keep frompacing.

“Don’t worry, Britta,” said Esa. “We’llkick him out before night. Off to your fancyapprenticeship, big brother.”

She nudged Peder’s shape under theblanket. Peder made an exaggeratedsnoring noise.

There was a knock at the door, and Miristartled. A voice called out, and Brittaopened it to an official.

“I guess with all that’s happened thereare bound to be meetings.” Britta sighedand met eyes with Miri. “I’m sorry this hasbeen such a strange welcome. I am happyyou’re all here!”

As soon as Britta left, Katar grabbedMiri’s wrist and pulled her to thechamber’s seating area. Miri hesitated atthe soft, long benches Katar called “sofas.”

Surely something so fine was not meant tobe sat on like a common stool. But Kataryanked Miri down beside her.

“Oh!” Miri said, cozying in. “I have afeeling this sofa and I will become goodfriends.” Katar glared, and Miri pretendedshe did not notice. “That man shoutedsomething about ‘the shoeless’ before—”

“Before he tried to shoot the king.”Katar explained about bullets andgunpowder, as well as the classes inDanland. “Nobles are the landowners.Commoners pay tribute to the nobles, whoown the land they live on. Some commonermerchants and artisans are well off. But thepoorest of the commoners—the farmers,laborers, and servants—are called the‘shoeless.’”

Miri supposed that she and everyonefrom Mount Eskel were consideredshoeless as well. “What does it mean that

he tried to kill the king for the shoeless?”asked Miri.

“I guess it means that it’s begun,” Katarsaid. “It’s what I wanted to talk to youabout.”

Katar glanced across the room, but theother girls were busy claiming their bedsand investigating wardrobes full ofclothing.

“Revolution,” Katar whispered.Miri had never heard the word before,

but it gave her a cold kind of thrill.“Some commoners came to me after I

arrived here in the spring,” said Katar.“Even though I’m a delegate, they thoughtthe daughter of a quarry-worker might besympathetic to the shoeless. Things havebeen rough for the shoeless the past fewyears. The king keeps demanding highertributes from the nobles. In turn, the noblestake higher tributes from the commoners on

their lands. The shoeless must give somuch of their crops and income to thenobles, they fear starvation. When peopleare afraid, Miri, they do crazy things.”

“Like that man in the courtyard.”Katar leaned closer. “These rebels want

me to pledge my loyalty to the commonercause and be a spy among the delegates.”

“Did you agree to spy for them?” Miriasked.

“No! I said I’d think about it and haveavoided them since. If the king’s officialseven suspect I spoke with such people, Icould lose my place as a delegate. Orsomething worse—like my head.”

“Don’t talk to them,” said Miri,suddenly afraid. “Avoid them.”

“I do. But they send me messages; theywait for me outside the Delegate Housewith questioning looks. I don’t thinkthey’re bad people. Just desperate. And

probably half starved.” Her voice quietedeven more. “You and I both know what itfeels like to go to bed hungry.”

Miri nodded. Hunger ran through herchildhood like a string through a beadnecklace. But surely Katar wasexaggerating about the poor of thelowlands. How could anyone go hungry ina land of such abundance?

“What we did last year—what you did,Miri—that was revolution. Turning thingsaround. You said just because things hadalways been one way didn’t mean theycouldn’t change. You persuaded the villagecouncil to refuse the traders’ terms andfight for fair value. That was pretty brave.”

Miri blinked, too surprised by acompliment from Katar to say anything but“thanks.”

“The gift giving is a tradition as old asDanland, but today the nobles used it to

mock royalty. The nobles still pay theking’s tributes—they don’t dare opposehim and his royal guard. But the anger mustbe spreading if even nobles are refusing tohonor the king. And one commoner with apistol tried to overthrow him entirely.” Sheshuddered and rubbed her arms as ifpretending she were simply cold. “Maybehe acted alone, or maybe there arethousands like him, uniting. I wish I knew.Things are pretty good for Mount Eskelright now. If the commoner cause isdoomed, joining them against the king isnot a good idea.”

“And if it’s not doomed?” Miri asked.“If they overthrow the king and create a

new government? Then Mount Eskel hadbetter be on their side—and quick. We’retoo small to stand alone. We must be onthe winning side, or we’ll get squashed.I’d rather not see our fathers hanged as

traitors of either side.”Miri shook her head. “Whenever our

academy tutor or the traders talked of thelowlands, they made it sound so perfect.”

“Nothing’s perfect,” said Katar. Shepicked up an orange pillow and tucked itunder her arms. “I figured at the Queen’sCastle you’re in the best position to meetpeople outside the palace and figure outthe situation.”

“So it’s too dangerous for you to be aspy, but that’s exactly what you want me todo?”

“I’m a delegate,” Katar said. “Theking’s officials would notice if I wentslinking around commoners.”

“Fine, I’ll learn what I can.”“Carefully. Don’t tell anyone what

you’re doing—even Britta, all right?”Katar looked down, playing with thetassels on the pillow. “This may shock

you, but I’m not eager to attend yourexecution.”

A new thought shivered in Miri. “Wait… Who owns Mount Eskel?”

“What?”“You said only nobles own land, and

there haven’t been nobles on Mount Eskelfor hundreds of years.”

Katar looked at the ceiling, as if thewhite molding held the answer. “I guessthe king owns it all.”

“If commoners pay tribute to theirlandowners, why haven’t we had to pay theking?”

There was a burst of laughter so suddenMiri jumped to her feet in alarm. Bena andLiana had pushed Peder out of the bed andonto the floor. He in turn leaped on Liana’sbed, clinging to it and laughing as the girlstugged at his ankles.

“So, are you two betrothed?” Katar

asked.“No,” Miri said shortly.“Ohh.” Katar smirked, one eyebrow

raised, and she looked altogether more likeher old self. “It appears I stumbled upon atopic of conversation even more dangerousthan revolution.”

Chapter Four

Open sky, cat’s-eyeHoney drop, treetopFlag stripe, plum ripePipe smoke, ancientoakPine knot, moon shotRose bed, raven’shead

The carriage had windows of glass, butthey were shut, curtains drawn. Miri felt asboxed in as she had huddled under thecloth in the back of Enrik’s wagon. Butthese seats were covered in red velvet, andshe rode beside her best friend.

“I really don’t think I’m in danger,”Britta said. “That poor man yesterday wascrazy. Besides, he’s …” She paused.“Still, Steffan wouldn’t let me come outwith you unless I promised to keep thecurtains closed. I hope you aren’t feelingill.”

Miri put her hands to her stomach andmade an exaggerated grimace. “The eggbread I had for breakfast was so delightful… ulp … I think I’ll take another look at it….”

“Just mind you do not sully my dress,your ladyship,” Britta said, sitting upprimly and using a mock high voice. “It isthe very latest from Morland.”

“You mean to say,” Miri said in anequally pinched tone, “in Asland it is notfashionable to decorate your gown withyour breakfast?”

“You must think us so backward, my

dear.”“Shocking indeed!” Miri smiled, but she

could not quite forget. “That guard … Heknew he might be killed, yet he put himselfin the path of the bullet.”

“To save the king.” Britta briefly shuther eyes. “That’s the oath the royal guardsswear when they enter service.”

Miri nodded, but she actually did feelqueasy, and not just from the jostling of thecarriage. She wanted to ask Britta aboutthe stirrings of revolution, but Katar’swarning silenced her.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure the king and hisofficials are taking care of any problems,”said Britta. “What matters is you are here!I’m sorry to rush you off, but we’ll have allyear together, and I knew you wouldn’twant to miss the first day at the Queen’sCastle.”

Miri parted the curtain a slit, squinting

past her own reflection in the glass to seewhat waited beyond.

The carriage was starting onto a bridge.The river split in two around a rockyisland where a red-brick building rose, thetop peaking into towers roofed in the now-familiar green copper.

“The Queen’s Castle,” Miri said softly.The name alone delighted her. Surely all

the knowledge of the world was containedinside. If only she could learn it, she couldteach the others at home, and at last MountEskel would have the same advantages asthe lowlands.

Miri started to open the door before thecarriage had completely stopped.

“Wait!” Britta said. “It’s bad manners tofall to your death on your first day!Besides, you’re supposed to wear theseover your dress. They’re your scholarrobes.”

“What’s a scholar?”“Well, you are. A person who wants to

know things, whose job is to learn.”Miri pulled her arms into the wide

sleeves and did up the hooks in the front.The robes were pale blue, the Mount Eskelsky in the morning. A crown and an opendoor were embroidered over her heart.

Britta gave her a cheek kiss and wishedher well. “The carriage will return for youat the end of the day. Go learn for all ofus.”

Miri knew Britta meant the sentiment inkindness, but the words felt heavy. Golearn for all of us. For the other academygirls, for her family, for all of MountEskel. As well, she needed to meet othercommoners and find out for Katar if it’d besafer to join in their cause or to stick withthe king. Miri could not let anyone down.

I won’t, Miri promised herself.

The robes were thick and long, made tocover clothing and keep it clean, not to bepretty. And yet as Miri walked through themassive wooden doors into the stone entry,she felt as beautiful as she had in a gown atthe princess academy ball. She, little Miriof Mount Eskel, was an Aslandian scholar.

And apparently she was one ofthousands.

The castle teemed with people in robesjust like hers in a dozen different colors.She stared. And stared. So many! And somany gray heads. She smoothed her ownbrown hair. She’d noticed Aslandian girlsoften wore their hair down, so Miri hadnot braided hers that morning. It feltstrange hanging free.

A group in orange scholar robes jostledher in passing, so she moved out of theway. A scholar in brown bumped her, andshe scurried into a corner. Her toes curled

in her boots; the thuds of her heart wereachy. She let her arm hang at her side andpretended her sister was holding her hand.

An older boy in blue robes stood whereMarda was not. He glanced over and Miriwinced, waiting for him to remark that shelooked too young to be a scholar. And thenshe’d have to explain that she was not asyoung as she seemed, just short, thank youvery much. But perhaps she was too youngafter all. Perhaps there had been a mistakeand she’d be kicked out and—

“The robe colors represent differentcourses of study,” said the boy.

“Oh. I didn’t know.”“You have that first-day look in your

eyes. It hasn’t been long since I rubbed thatsame look out of my own. I arrived lastyear, full of hot powder and ready to learn!And then I stood in that very spot, waitingfor someone to tell me what to do.”

“And did someone?”He shook his head. “Everyone was too

busy being scholarly. If you don’t mindskipping the part where you wander thiscastle aimlessly, you can follow me.”

She looked him over as they walked.His hair was so pale it seemed more whitethan yellow, and he had a good face with aprominent mouth. She was not sure whyshe noticed his mouth.

“Um … Does light blue mean novice?”she asked.

“Precisely. Every first-year scholarwears open sky, as they call it. Cat’s-eye,”he said, nodding toward a clot of green-robed scholars, “indicates a focus onteaching.” He taught her the chant thatnamed all twelve fields of scholarship.“Once you reach master status, you wearraven’s head—the black robes.”

“Ha,” Miri said, and then wished she

had not.“What’s funny?” he asked.“Nothing. I was just thinking, clearly the

masters are the smartest. This pale bluewill show every smudge, but if the mastersdon’t wash their black robes, no one willnotice.”

“Until you are downwind from one,” hesaid, fanning his nose.

Miri smiled. Perhaps scholars were nottoo serious to laugh.

“How long does it take to become amaster?”

“Twenty years or so.”“Twenty …” She felt her heart plummet.

How could she possibly learn enough inonly one year? “Wait … If you were herelast year, why are you still wearing blue?”

“I didn’t finish the year out, so I amstarting over,” he said, and something inhis voice told her he did not want to talk

about it.They made their way up more stairs than

Miri had imagined possible, at lastarriving in a chamber of gray stone tiles,wood-paneled walls, and narrow windowsoverlooking the river. Three dozenscholars in open-sky robes milled about,and Miri was relieved to see a couplenearly as young as she. The sole blackwearer in the room, a man of white beardand hair, raised his hand. Everyonequieted.

“I am Master Filippus. You are eitherbeginning your scholarship at the Queen’sCastle or you are trespassing. If your nameis not on my list”—he lifted his paper andmade a throaty whine—“I will be forced tosend you to the Green for summaryexecution.”

Miri thought he was teasing. He had tobe teasing. No one laughed.

“You will tell me your names, and I willcheck you off the list.”

Master Filippus waved his hand at thenearest scholar.

“Hanna Wengerdaughter of Elsby,” shesaid.

Master Filippus peered at his paper.“Mmm, your name is present and so itappears you have avoided the ax. For now.Next.”

After the first dozen names andprovinces, Miri lost track. The older boyshe’d met was called Timon of Asland.His name she would remember.

She was gazing at a painting above thefireplace when Timon nudged her. It washer turn.

“Oh. I am Miri Larendaughter of MountEskel.”

The master’s eyebrows twitched; hewas interested in something at last. “Our

first student from Mount Eskel. Mmm …And where did you do your preparatorystudies?”

Miri blinked. “My preparatory studies?”“Which schools did you attend

previously?”“Oh, the only school there was. The

princess academy.”Now everyone seemed interested. Miri

smiled nervously, afraid they might havemistaken her for Britta.

“I was just one of the girls there,” sheexplained. “Not the princess. I mean, noneof us were princesses, obviously. But Iwasn’t who Prince Steffan chose for hisbride. He chose Britta, so now she’ll bethe princess. Not that I mind. I mean … um…”

Shut it, Miri, she told herself.“A graduate of the princess academy,”

said Master Filippus. “Tell me, did you

study more than just Reading?”“Oh yes, we studied everything.”“Everything?” He blinked slowly, his

lips pursed in scorn. “I’m not acquaintedwith that subject. Is Everything a scienceor an art?”

“Um, I mean, we also studiedCommerce, Diplomacy, Geography, Kingsand Queens, Poise, and Conversation—”

Someone snorted, and Miri blushed.Perhaps real scholars did not bother withPoise and Conversation.

“That is a good beginning,” said MasterFilippus.

Beginning? What other subjects couldpossibly exist?

“Of course, in order to graduate to tutorstatus, one must also have a basis inMathematics, Science, Engineering, Law,Music and Art, Astronomy, History, Logic,Rhetoric, Theology, and Ethics.”

“What is Ethics?” she asked. In truth shehad never heard of several of the subjectshe’d named, but she’d already forgotten theothers.

“Ethics …” He turned his gaze to thepainting above the mantel. “I notice yourattention is drawn to this work of art.”

Miri nodded. Before coming to Asland,she’d seen only one painting and hadprized it almost as much as her six books.Now it seemed inconsequential. Thispainting was not only larger but morevivid. It showed a girl pouring milk from ajug and looking out the window at thenight, and yet Miri felt as the girl must befeeling. That her home was small and safe.That the world out there was huge andscary, but it called to her. Would the girlstay home and keep pouring milk? Orwould she leave?

“It is one of the few surviving works of

the master painter Halstein. Notice the waythe candlelight outlines the girl’s cheek,mirroring the shape of the milk pitcher andthe curve of the moon. Perfection.”

“Yes,” Miri agreed.“Now, imagine the Queen’s Castle

catches fire. Besides yourself, there is onlyone other person in the building—aconfessed murderer of a child, chained inthe dungeon. If you save the murderer, hewill not harm you but will live theremainder of his life in another prison, andthe painting will burn. If you save thepainting, the man will burn. Which wouldyou choose—the murderer or thepainting?”

The painting of course, was Miri’s firstthought. But suspicious that she wasmissing something, she just said, “Thepainting is irreplaceable ….”

“And so is the man,” said the girl

Hanna.And with that began a debate so rapid

Miri could scarcely note who said what.“The painting inspires, but the man

kills.”“Unlike the painting, the man is alive

and so has endless potential for good—”“Or evil.”“The painting gives us beauty.”“Beauty isn’t a useful commodity.

Simply calculate what’s worth more: thepainting or the work the man can do.”

“Oh, it’s always about gold and silverwith you. What about right and wrong?”

“Who has the right to weigh the value ofany person?”

“Is any object of greater value thanhuman life?”

“He nullified his life by choosing to endanother’s.”

“And that, Miss Miri,” said Master

Filippus, raising his hand to quiet thevoices, “is Ethics. The science of right andwrong.”

“It’s an impossible question,” Hannasaid.

“As impossible as life itself,” saidTimon.

It did not seem that impossible to Miri.Once a thieving bandit had tried to kill her.He was dead now, and Miri was not sorry.Besides, the painting was beautiful.

They spent the rest of the morning onMathematics, and though Miri worked hardwith her slate and chalk, she kept glancingat the painting. The ethics question seemedto hang in the air before her, a dust motethat she could not quite catch in her hand.

At the end of the day, Timon fell inbeside her on the stairs going outside.

“You aren’t lodging at the Queen’sCastle?” he said. “I live in town too. We

could walk together.”“Well … there’s a carriage waiting for

me.” She tilted her head, letting her hairslide over her face. Only the wealthy hadcarriages, and Miri felt like a fraud ridingin one.

“Are you staying far from here?”“At the … the palace.”He blinked. “You are a courtier?”“Um … I’m a lady of the princess?” she

said as if she were not sure.“I see.” He hesitated and then walked

ahead of her toward the bridge.Miri watched him go, feeling a failure

as well as a fraud. How could she hope tolearn anything for Katar? She could notexactly say to Timon, “Lovely weather, Ilike your shoes, and by the way, can youtell me about the revolution?” She might aswell holler at the city: “Everybody whowants to get rid of the king, raise your

hand!”Suddenly two children came at Miri.

They were very thin, about five and sevenyears of age, and their feet were bare. Withbony hands they seized her robes and madea raspy, keening noise.

“A quint, please, be kind,” said the littleboy.

Miri knew from her reading that a quintwas a unit of money. “I don’t understand.You want a coin?”

“A quint for me, a quint for my sister, orone for us both, be kind, a quint for usboth, be kind.”

Miri had no coins, neither heavy goldnor light copper, and she told them so, butthey kept gripping. She gently tried toremove the boy’s hand, and he resisted, hisvoice getting louder.

“A quint, a quint, be kind,” theyrepeated over and over, eyes wide but

without hope.Miri told them firmly to let her go, she

tried to push them away, but the childrenpressed harder, backing her against a gate,their hands gripping like hawk talons. Shecould smell their hair and clothing, sorancid it stung her nose. Their voicessawed at her, relentless. “A quint, a quint,be kind …”

Then Timon was there. “Here,” he said,giving each child a small silver coin.“Now go on.”

The children clutched the coins withboth hands and ran, disappearing into thetraffic on the bridge.

Miri felt like crying. “I told them Ididn’t have any, but they wouldn’t believeme.”

“They’re used to people saying no. Ifyou haven’t eaten in a day or two, hungermakes you desperate. And there are far too

many poor and desperate in these streets.”“Poor? But this is Asland.”“There are poor in Asland, Miri. Didn’t

you know? There are poor everywhere.”Katar had said the shoeless often went

hungry, but until seeing the children Mirihad not quite believed it.

Then Miri recalled the thin girl from thetown on their journey. The way the girl hadwatched Miri eat. How she had gnawedthat stick. Her bony legs, her bare feet.Miri’s throat felt tight. She wished shecould go back to that moment, say hello tothe girl, share the meal.

“No, I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” she said,both to Timon and to the girl in hermemory. “On Mount Eskel, almost all ourfood came from the lowlands—I mean,from Asland and the rest of Danland. Iguess I thought there were endless moundsof food here.”

“Plenty of people in the lowlands dojust fine,” Timon said. “But too often thechildren of farmers starve while the noblelandowners grow fat. When the changescome—”

Timon stopped. He looked around, as ifto see if anyone else had heard him.

“I shouldn’t have said … I didn’t mean—excuse me.” He started to go.

Changes? Did she dare ask? She startedafter him, but fear pushed against her, andit seemed to take an hour just to catch himon the bow of the bridge.

“Timon, wait. Yesterday at the palacesomething happened.”

He turned back. “You mean the attempton the king’s life?”

Miri stepped closer and whispered, “Ifthere are changes coming, I’d like to knowmore. I’d like to help.”

Timon’s eyes brightened. “Truly? But

—”“I’m staying at the palace, but I’m not

one of them. I hope you will trust me.”She’d promised Katar. And now the

memory of that thin girl goaded her on.“I can’t speak freely,” he said, “but …

I’ll talk to you as soon as I can. There ismuch happening.”

His icy blue eyes flashed, and he smiledat her. Miri found herself smiling back. Atickle in her stomach slid up to her heart.Timon knew things, Miri was certain, andfor the first time she wondered if perhapsthe unknown changes to come might bewonderful.

Chapter Five

A quint, my lord, aquint for some grainA quint for the rent, aroof from the rainA sip of hot soup tofill empty spaceAn old wool scarf towarm my face

So what did you do today?” Miri asked,entering the girls’ chamber. She posed inthe doorway, in case they wanted a goodlook at her scholar robes. No one glancedup.

“ W e sewed,” said Bena. She was

wearing her brown hair unbraided as well.It hung long to her waist and made her lookeven taller. “Ladies of the princess help inthe wedding preparations, whichapparently means sewing.”

“And spinning,” said Esa.“How much thread does a wedding

need?” Gerti asked, incredulous.“I miss the quarry,” said Frid with a

sigh. She was holding her hands out whileEsa wrapped them with yarn. “I misshitting things.”

Liana lay on her side, accentuating thecurve of her hip. “The servants bring usfood. We don’t even wash our plates.Being a princess’s lady actually meanssomething. We have rank.”

“I’m surprised Britta couldn’t get moregirls into your special academy,” saidBena. “She is the betrothed princess.”

Miri removed her robes and looked

around for Katar, eager to tell her about theconversation with Timon. Katar was gone,but Inga, their gray-haired chaperone, gaveher a smile full of wrinkles. Inga sat on thesofa, neither sewing nor spinning. Justwatching. Her king-appointed task was tokeep an eye on the girls, and it seemed thatwas all she meant to do.

“I’m sure Esa would like to attend theQueen’s Castle,” said Bena. “And Iwouldn’t mind, if you would know. Insteadof sewing in this room all day—”

“And spinning,” said Esa.“And eating food the servants bring us

as ladies of rank,” said Liana.“I thought something smelled rank,” Miri

mumbled.“What?”“Nothing, Liana.” Miri sat on the floor

and tossed a pillow in the air. “I learnedsome stuff today I didn’t know before. If I

tell you about it, then it’s almost as if youattend the Queen’s Castle too.”

“I want to hear,” Esa said, turning so shecould see Miri and still use Frid’s handsas a spool. Esa’s left arm, injured in aquarry accident years before, hung limp ather side.

Miri recounted Master Filippus’sintroduction of the different subjects. Butwhen she got to Ethics and a paintingversus a prisoner, the girls began to argueso passionately two palace guards stormedin.

“We’re fine, really,” Miri told thebewildered guards. “Which is more than Ican say for that murderous prisoner if Fridgets her hands on him.”

“He killed a child.” Frid was on herfeet, gesturing with yarn-wrapped hands.“And you’re talking about freeing him!”

Esa touched her arm. “It’s just a made-

up story.”Frid’s face was wide open—all eyes,

mouth, and flexed nostrils. “Why? If I weregoing to make up a story, it wouldn’t beabout someone killing children. It’d beabout cutting blocks of linder and being sostrong I could lift them over my head. Andit would be funny. All stories should befunny.”

One of the guards scratched his beard.“So you girls are all right?”

“You may go,” Liana said with a waveof her hand.

Supper came, and Miri asked Inga if shecould go eat with Britta. Inga nodded as ifshe did not care one way or the other.

In Britta’s chamber, there were severalwardrobes painted as brightly as the riverhouses, and an enormous bed stuffed withfeathers and dripping with blankets, but noBritta. Miri sat on the floor and had begun

to eat her fish and potato cakes when thedoor opened.

“Miri!” Britta caught Miri around hershoulders and knocked her back onto thecarpet in a running embrace. “I almostforgot you were here and when I saw you, Ihad that happy jolt all over again. Isn’t thatwonderful? How was your first day?”

“Amazing! And a little daunting.” Shetold Britta about the grand castle, oldMaster Filippus, Timon of Asland. “Hehas hair so pale it’s almost white. He’sonly a little older than we are, but he talkslike a master scholar sometimes, I guessbecause he’s read so many books. Oh, doyou think you could get Esa into theQueen’s Castle? And maybe Bena too? Ihate to ask for Bena—she can be such apain sometimes—but she seemsinterested.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I wish I could.”

“That’s all right.” Miri thought of whatBena had said. Shouldn’t a princess beable to do such a thing? Miri smiledweakly at Britta and wished she couldmake the smile stronger. “Um … How’sSteffan?”

“He’s well. I think he is, anyway. I onlyget to see him at meals, with his motherand father sitting there watching us, and theoccasional chaperoned walk in thegardens, and … and …”

Britta pressed her hand against hermouth and took a sharp hiccup of a breath.

“Britta!” Miri put an arm around her.“Don’t be sad. What did I do?”

“I’m sorry, nothing, I’m fine.” Brittapushed the heels of her hands against hereyes. “It’s just all so much. The duties andthe worries and the way the king and queenlook at me, and my father is at court too,looking at me, everyone looking at me.

Except Steffan. I’d never been in Aslandwith Steffan before. Perhaps he is alwaysso distant around his parents. Or perhaps… he does not feel for me what I feel forhim.”

“I don’t believe it. He adores you. Thatwas very clear when he came to MountEskel.”

“I thought so too. Maybe he changed hismind. And I don’t know what to make ofthe attempt on the king’s life and all thewhispers and frowns and … never mind. Ijust want to be glad you’re here.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m here, even if I’m notsure where here is. Asland isoverwhelming.”

“I don’t worry about you a bit. Youknow, you would be a better princess. Theking and queen would have approved.”

“Yes, indeed,” Miri said, pursing herlips dramatically. “Their most Royal

Highnesses long for a girl who knows abilly goat from a nanny and the businessend of a soup ladle.”

“I mean it.”Miri shook her head. “Britta, you’re

being silly. Steffan chose you and that’sthat.”

Besides, I have Peder, she thought.Don’t I?

Miri went to bed that night surroundedby the slow breathing of the other girls, hercurtain pulled so she could read bycandlelight without being seen. It was thefirst day in a long time that Miri had notseen Peder. And it was the first day shehad known Timon.

Autumn Week Six

Dear Marda,

I have been in Aslandnearly a week. There are still atleast five months until traderswill carry my letters to youalong with the barrels of saltpork and bags of onions. But Iwant to talk to you now. I wish Icould quarry-speak all the wayfrom Asland.

Each day a palacecarriage drives me to theQueen’s Castle, where I takemy studies. I am glad of thecarriage. I dare not edge asingle toe onto a busyAslandian street. Are yousurprised that I am such atrembling baby?

There are so many thingsto learn at the Queen’s Castlemy head hurts. And even more

things I am supposed to learn,and those scare me some. I feellike a tiny bug, and the world isa hungry bird looking down atme.

I have not seen Peder infive days as he is only free atweek’s end. Britta says Gus’sstone-carving workshop is closeenough to walk to, but then Iwould have to enter the streetsof Asland. The ones that terrifyme to trembling. Are youlaughing at me yet? I hope so.

I do not see Britta much.She is very busy preparing to bea princess. I do not see theother girls much as I am in mystudies all day. How cananyone be lonely in a cityseething with people? If you

were here, you would poke meand tell me I am doing a fineimpersonation of a grumpy oldbilly goat.

I miss you. I miss Pa. Iwonder if I was wrong to come.Perhaps when it is time to sendthis letter, I will feel much,much better. That is hard toimagine. It is easier to imaginethat you are here. It is easier toimagine rain is honey andstones are bread.

If you have not guessedyet, this is from your tremblingbaby of a sister,

Miri

Chapter Six

‘Tis I, my sweet, yourrough-and-ready manWell hid by night tobeg your fine whitehandThough king ofbandits, draped inchains of goldI’m poor in love andsuffer grief untold

In Asland, most people did not wake atdawn. Even the poor were rich in candlesand fuel. They could afford to light a houseafter sundown and stay up late in the

evening, window after window golden andflickering. Miri was in awe of thehomemade sunshine of candles andkerosene lamps and hearths fat with woodand flame. Such a luxury to be awakewhile the sun slept, and then to ignoredawn and sleep while the world lightened.

I’m an Aslandian now, Miri thought.I’m richer than morning.

The girls woke slowly, stretching intheir beds like cats in a patch of sunlight. Itwas week’s end, and Miri did not have torush into a carriage.

Their chaperone, Inga, shuffled in.“Wake up, girls. His Majesty the kinginvites you to the royal breakfast.”

Katar sat up. “The king? When?”“Now,” Inga said.There were several gasps, and then the

room was all squealing girls scramblingfor dresses and stockings and shoes,

rubbing water from pitchers on their facesand underarms, and elbowing for space atthe mirror.

Inga hastened them down severalcorridors to the threshold of the king’swing, where guards asked the password.Inga gave it and motioned the girlsforward, but no one moved. The walls,floor, and even the ceiling were made ofpolished linder, rich as cream. Miri couldfeel the stone surrounding her, a kind ofsilent hum, a subtle vibration that lifted thehairs on her arms.

Gummonth, the chief official,approached, telling them to hurry along.But the girls just stared, mesmerized.Never had any of them been completelysurrounded by linder, and Miri wastempted to see if quarry-speech workeddifferently here.

The people of Mount Eskel used quarry-

speech to communicate in the quarry,where clay earplugs and deafening malletblows made it impossible to hearinstructions or shouts of warning. Miri haddiscovered that quarry-speech movedthrough linder and communicated withmemories, not words—the speaker’smemory nudging the same or similarmemory in others.

“It’s as if we’re inside Mount Eskel,”Esa was saying.

“I miss home,” said Gerti. “I even misssleeping beside the goats.”

Miri quarry-spoke of the academy tutorrunning terrified through the village,chased by a particularly saucy nanny goat,an event Miri knew the other girls hadwitnessed. It was more like singing in hermind than thinking, the way she silentlypoured the memory into the linder. Usuallyonly a quiver in her vision accompanied

quarry-speech, but this time the memoryburst into Miri’s mind so full of color andmotion that for a moment she seemed tolive it again.

The girls inhaled sharply, apparentlyexperiencing the heightened quarry-speechas well, and then they laughed. Gummonthlooked around in vain for the cause of thehilarity. That made the girls laugh harder.Only people of Mount Eskel were able touse quarry-speech, though by the end of heryear on the mountain, Britta had seemed torecognize faint sensations.

Gummonth looked over them with adead-eyed expression. “Bumpkins andpeasants. I am made to bow to the childrenof goats.”

The girls frowned, straightening dressesand smoothing hair. Miri had thoughtGummonth a handsome, striking man, butnow she noticed his sour mouth, his

pinched voice. As the girls followed afterhim, Miri sniffed her braid just to makesure she did not smell goaty.

They entered the royal breakfast room,where King Bjorn and Queen Sabetperched on high-backed chairs before adining table.

“Your Royal Majesties,” saidGummonth, “the ladies of the princess.”

“Hm?” The king was spooning creamand raisins onto a dish of rye bread. “Yes,all right.”

The queen barely glanced up from hertea. She had dark hair and skin as pale asparchment.

The academy girls sat at a tableopposite Britta, Steffan, and othermembers of the court. Britta waved at Miriand then quickly resumed a ladylikeposture.

There seemed to be enough food for a

village. Miri devoured a pecan-encrustedfish, and oat porridge with several globs ofhoney. The king and queen did not look atthe girls. They did not look at each other.No one spoke.

Then Miri noticed the mantelpiece overthe hearth.

“Oh! Mount Eskel’s gift!” she said.“Peder, the boy who did the carving, willbe so happy to hear you had it installed.Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Katar kicked Miri under the table.Should she not have spoken? But it wouldhave seemed rude not to acknowledge thekindness.

Though perhaps not as rude as kickingsomeone, Miri thought, rubbing her ankleand glaring at Katar.

The king frowned, his beard bristlingaround his lips, and he waved a spoon atGummonth. The official stooped and

whispered to Miri, “You are not to addressHis Royal Majesty. Ever.”

Miri felt the heat of shame burn her face.She watched the king dribble fish broth inhis beard and wondered for the first time ifDanland actually needed a king.

After breakfast, the academy girlsaccompanied the king and queen to thechapel for services and then to the palacetheater. On a stage, a troupe of actors inextravagantly colored costumes enacted aplay about forbidden lovers: a noble girland a bandit king. Miri knew her mouthhung open, and she did not care. It was themost enchanting thing she had ever seen.

I hate bandits, she reminded herself.But she could not help cheering the

bandit in the story, with his expressiveeyes and lavish words. She squeezed herarms, anxious for the lovers to triumphover evil.

When at last the noble and her reformedbandit wed, Miri had to stifle a happy sob.She spied the royal couple in the first row.The queen stared at some point above thestage. The king snored.

Britta came to find Miri at the end of theplay.

“I’m sorry this has been so formal anddull—”

“Dull? That play was … was …” Sheexhaled grandly, lacking better words.

A tall boy with dark hair and a squarechin came up beside Britta, his armsbehind his back, his face impassive.

“Speaking of formal and dull …” Mirishook her head. “Now, Steffan, don’t tellme you’re working on your imitation of astone column again.”

“It’s good to see you, Miri,” he said, hismouth finding a smile. “I hope you’ve beenkeeping out of mischief. For once.”

“None to be had in Asland,” she said,playing at a haughty tone. “This place isjust so boring.”

He knocked her with his shoulder, andshe knocked him back.

“Let’s get into mischief together, shallwe?” Britta said, hooking arms with Miriand Esa. “I’ve been dying for the week’send so we could finally—”

“Lady Britta?” An official in a greendress approached. “If your ladies areavailable, then we should begin fitting youfor your trousseau.”

“That is mischief I’m not fit to tackle,”said Steffan, nodding farewell as hedeparted.

“Trousseau?” Miri whispered.The official started to walk and clearly

expected the girls to follow. “Lady Brittawill need a ball gown, a chapel gown, anda marriage gown, as well as receiving

gowns …”In Britta’s chamber, the seamstress

unrolled fabrics and went over the stylesof sleeves and trains and skirts andbodices. The Mount Eskel girls stared.How could there be fourteen differentkinds of skirts?

“Traditionally, the ladies of the princessdo the lace-work on the marriage gown,”said the official.

“Um, we’ll be helpful if Britta needs astocking darned,” said Miri.

“Or a block of stone quarried for herwedding,” added Esa. “But lacework …”

The seamstress clicked her tongue.“Then we won’t take up any more of

your time,” said the official. She usheredthe girls out. Miri caught Britta’s forlornexpression just before the door shut.

“What is lacework?” said Frid.They’d started back to the girls’

chamber when Katar pulled Miri aside.“Learn anything?”“Not yet,” said Miri, “but I met someone

who might help me.”“Hurry. If enough commoners are

serious about making change, who do youthink they’ll come for after the king? Thedelegates, that’s who. And then the rest ofthe nobles. If the commoners will succeed,Mount Eskel needs to side with them rightaway, or we’ll be taken for royalists andtossed onto the fire with the rest.”

“And I’m somehow supposed to find outon my own?” said Miri.

“I told you, I’m a delegate,” Katar said,annoyance in her voice answering Miri’sgrumpy tone. “And do you really trust theother girls to keep—”

Katar straightened. Gummonth wasstrolling down the corridor, shouldersback and chin up, sure of his importance.

No, Miri decided, he was definitely nothandsome.

“So many Eskelites,” he said. “It doesmake one ponder. I don’t think the king hasever received a tribute from your people.”

Miri froze, still as a mouse under ahawk’s shadow. She heard Katar hissunder her breath.

“I must check the books. Surely MountEskel has a hefty debt to pay. DelegateKatar,” he said, nodding as he walkedpast.

“Lord Gummonth,” Katar said, as if hisname tasted like moldy cheese. As soon ashe was gone, she cursed.

“How much tribute could the king take?”Miri whispered.

Katar slumped against the wall. “Asmuch as he wants. A common tribute is agold coin per person.”

Miri thought of the two gold coins her

family kept wrapped in her mother’s oldshawl. At least once each day, she andMarda would unwrap the red shawl andmarvel at the coins, beautiful as tiny suns.They’d never had money before this year.Coins meant hope, coins meant safety.

The threat of the tribute made the palacefeel like a cage, and her longing to be withPeder sharpened into a keen ache. Miritold Inga she was going for a walk and ranoutside.

Her fear of what Gummonth might dodisplaced her fear of the city. Britta haddescribed the way to Gus’s workshop.Hoping she remembered, and with a deepbreath before the plunge, Miri entered thestreets of Asland.

When she was not killed instantly, hermind returned to churning over tributes.What if two gold coins were not enough?Would the officials demand a goat as well,

or even all five? No more milk and cheese.No more meat during a hard winter. Evenwith goat milk, some families nearlystarved before spring.

“Watch it!” yelled a man, reining in hismount just a handsbreadth from tramplingMiri.

Miri bolted to the nearest building andhugged its wall. Her legs wobbled as ifafraid the ground beneath her would giveway.

She took a shaky breath and continuedon, determined to keep focused. Therewere a few more near misses withcarriages, but she was mostly unscathedwhen she found the entrance to Gus’sworkshop, a narrow alley between agrocer’s shop and a potter’s. Down thepassage she discovered a small courtyardhedged by other buildings. Cluttered withstone blocks, heaps of rock chippings, an

open shed, and a small square house, theworkshop was like a slice of home hiddenin the middle of the city. Despite the fearthat tributes and thoroughfares had rattledin her, she could almost relax.

Gus was a stout man, his forearms thickwith muscle and his belly thick with fat.Miri tried very hard not to stare. She hadnever seen that much fat on a person.

“Umph,” he said when she introducedherself, and he nodded in the direction ofPeder on the other side of the shed.

Peder was leaning over a table,examining an intricately carved block ofgray stone. Miri stood behind him.

“Whoa, did you do that?” she asked.Peder spun around.“Miri! Cough or something before

sneaking up. You’re like a she-wolf inwinter.” He straightened his filthy apron.“It’s Gus’s work. He’s very good.”

“He’s not the only one. The kinginstalled your mantelpiece in the royalbreakfast chamber!”

“Oh no,” Peder groaned.That was not the reaction Miri had been

expecting.“I’m so embarrassed, Miri. I had no

sense of proportion, no understanding ofscene movement, no depth.”

“Oh,” said Miri, not sure what that allmeant. But he seemed so disheartened, shedid not want to burden him with worriesabout lost savings and goats. Besides, theking could not really be so cruel as to roband starve an entire province, could he?

Peder rubbed the stone with a cloth. “Ineed to work harder.”

He evidently meant to work harder rightthen, because he got to it, sweeping uprock chips and hauling a stone slab ontothe worktable. Miri could not help but

notice how Peder’s muscles flexed as helifted the stone. She felt her own arm, sureher muscles lacked the same definition.The hair on his arms was paler than hissun-soaked skin. The hair on his head wasso curly, when he slid a piece of chalkabove his ear, it stayed.

Twice she tried to renew theconversation, but he answered herquestions briefly or drifted off mid-sentence, distracted by his work. After atime she wandered into the shed. She founda sock stuck with a needle, a hole halfdarned. She lay back on a pile of straw,finished the job, and started on anothersock, idly singing a quarry song. Pederpicked it up, and they sang together whileshe sewed, he carved, and the dimAslandian stars began to throb in the sky.

Autumn Week Ten

Dear Marda,I never imagined how

many people there must be inthe world. Every day hundredsof people with no names crossmy path. Well, I suppose theyhave names, I just do not knowthem. Then again, perhapsnameless lowlanders spend allday walking in circles just tomake the city look busy andconfuse poor little mountaingirls.

I hope you laugh at that. Imiss making you laugh.

I have made friends with alowlander, and he has a name:Timon. He has read hundreds of

books and sailed to three othercountries. Each morning for thepast few weeks, he has waitedfor me under a tree near thepalace, and we walk together tothe Queen’s Castle. Yes, Ifinally learned to navigateAsland’s streets! I suppose thewalk is fairly long, but it seemsshort because our conversationis always longer.

When I asked ourchaperone, Inga, if I could walkto the Queen’s Castle instead ofride in a carriage, sheshrugged. She does not seem tocare much where we go or whatwe do. I thought I would enjoysuch freedom, but it makes mefeel lonely.

Timon has invited me to a

Salon night. “Salon” is a fancyword for “room,” though I donot know why lowlanders needfancy words for things. Weshould call our cottage“Laren’s Palace” and the goats“mighty horned ones.”

Timon told me that onSalon nights nobles invitescholars and artists into theirfancy rooms to talk. I think Iknow what we might talk about,and so I am nervous. Somethings, I am learning, aredangerous even to say.

Should I go, Marda?I want to invite Peder, but

he is always so busy. I willanyway. All I can do is keepgoing to see him until he asksme to stop pestering him for

good. Right?This is from your very

fancy sister, who does have aname,

Miri

Chapter Seven

No small thing, abee’s stingWhen it enters theheartNot so benign, thegrowing vineWhen it tears stoneapart

Miri sauntered into the thoroughfare.She’d made her way through thelabyrinthine streets many times over thepast few weeks, and that gave her a littlebit of swagger. She stopped for anoncoming carriage just in time. A loose

cabbage caught beneath its wheel andshredded.

At least it wasn’t my head, she thought.In Gus’s stone yard, Peder was marking

a slab with a piece of chalk. She clearedher throat.

“She-wolf creeping in,” she whispered.“Hello, Miri,” he said without looking

up.“Hello.” She waited. She was wearing a

yellow silk dress, a lace shawl, and a fur-lined cloak, her hair painstakingly curledbeneath a feathered cap. Lately she wasoften surprised at how good wearing cleanand pretty clothes made her feel.

“I didn’t expect you tonight,” he said,squinting at his drawing and then rubbingout half with his thumb.

“I came with an invitation.”She waited again. She was wearing a

silk dress. Her hair was curled.

“Right now? I—” He looked up. “Oh.You look … fancy.”

She smiled.He smiled.She smiled even broader.“How do girls do that …” He twirled a

finger beside his head. “The curly thingwith the hair.”

“We heat an iron rod in the hearth andthen wrap a lock of hair around it. It takesforever, but some of us aren’t as lucky asyou.” She ran her fingertips through hiscurly hair. She could feel the heat of hisscalp and pulled back, tucking her handsagainst her sides.

“Timon, another scholar from theQueen’s Castle, invited me to meet somepeople at a noble lady’s house. Will youcome?”

“Maybe. I …” Peder looked at the dirton his hands, wiped them on his apron, and

then yawned against the back of his hand.“I’m so tired, Miri.”

She felt her shoulders slump.“It turns out that being an apprentice

means carrying water and stone and wood,and sweeping and cooking and doingeverything except carving. After Gusfinishes his work for the day, he lets mepractice on his spare stone, so I stay upcarving till after midnight and I feel like Ibarely sleep at all before I’m up for morefetching and carrying ….” He yawnedagain. “Sorry.”

“All right. I’ll see you at week’s end?”He nodded and stooped back over his

stone. As she walked away he called out,“You do look pretty, Miri.”

And with that, her step had more springthan swagger.

Miri found the red-painted house Timonhad said was Lady Sisela’s, though it

seemed impossibly large. She tapped onthe door, ready to flee, but a man inservant’s black opened it and seemed toexpect her. His hair was a dusty gray, andhe leaned on a cane.

“They are in the Salon. Right this way.”The entry floor was tiled in linder—

brilliant white with pale veins of green.Miri dragged her toe along it in a kind ofgreeting.

She tensed her stomach before the Salondoor and tried to prepare her face, lest shegape. The preparation was in vain.

The walls were papered in exoticpatterns, the floor inlaid with polishedtiles of blue, reddish orange, and cream.Deep-green plants grew in pots (inside thehouse!), and there were so many sofas andchairs Miri did not dare count. How coulda regular, non-king person live in all thatrichness?

Someone was playing a cart-sizemusical instrument Miri learned later wasa piano. The song was just ending as sheentered. The couple dozen listenersapplauded, so Miri did the same, hopingthat was right. She could not see Timon.

Miri wished for Marda or Peder besideher and leaned against the papered wall asif to blend in. But a woman seated near thepiano was looking at Miri, her dark eyeslightly outlined in black paint. Her backwas perfectly straight and a large whitefeather shone startlingly bright against herblack hair.

“Good evening,” said the woman.Was Miri supposed to introduce

herself? “Um … I’m Miri Larendaughter.”She paused, trying to keep her voice fromsqueaking. “Of Mount Eskel.”

Everyone was quiet, the thick kind ofquiet that seemed to buzz. And then those

nearest Miri arose and bowed or curtsied.It was clearly a mockery, Miri knew. No

one curtsied to a Mount Eskel girl. Theirprincess academy tutor had been clear—Aslandians would consider Eskeliteslower than servants. Miri almost preferredthe prattling insults she got from Gummonthand others at the palace. Anger and shamesurged inside her, and she wanted to shoutthat she was just as good as any of them,but all she could do was run.

She ran past Timon, who had enteredbehind her. She ran past the startledservant. She was almost out the front gatewhen Timon caught up.

“Are you unwell?” he asked.“I’m fine, don’t worry.” She forced

herself to slow to a walk as she stalked outthe gate. She was already despising herselffor leaving so easily. What a pathetic spy,she thought. How quickly she had failed

Katar, and Mount Eskel too.“You seem upset.”You seem pushy , she thought, but only

said, “I get tired of being put in my placeagain and again. You were kind to inviteme, but I understand. I’m an ignorantmountain girl who’s trying to be aprincess’s lady.”

He kept beside her as she hurried downthe walkway. “But you don’t understand,Miri …. The way they stared, and thosewho bowed, you thought—”

“They’re making fun of me.”“No, Miri, they’re not. Truly. We know

what you face in this confused andlopsided kingdom. But in the house of LadySisela, you will always receive the respectyou deserve. Miri of Mount Eskel. Lady ofthe academy. You are honored here.”

Miri stopped. Timon’s smile was slightand tinged with a frown, afraid she would

not believe. She wished she could, but sheshook her head.

“Allow me to show you?” he said.He held out his hand, and she took it

before realizing that she had never heldany boy’s hand besides Peder’s. On MountEskel, girls often held hands while walkingtogether, but when a boy and girl heldhands, it was a sign of attachment.

Perhaps in the lowlands it’s just casualcourtesy, Miri thought, letting Timon leadher back inside. His hand was warm, hisgrip firm.

The others smiled as she entered, as ifnothing had happened. The pianist wasplaying again, the music erasing anytension. The dark-haired woman gesturedfor Miri to sit and introduced herself asLady Sisela, the mistress of the Salon.

“I’m sorry I was rude,” Miri said. “Ididn’t think I belonged here. For one thing,

I’m …” She looked around. Only Timonand Hanna from the Queen’s Castleseemed near her age. “I’m small.”

“‘No small thing, a bee’s sting,’” Siselaquoted.

Miri marveled that Sisela would cite apoem as if she assumed Miri were well-read enough to know it. And in fact, shedid! She’d spoken that very line to Marda,though her sister had not understood.

Miri added, “Not so polite, an Eskelite,when she runs from your Salon.”

Several in the room laughed. Sheblushed again, though this time the burn feltwelcome.

“The linder in your entry is beautiful,”Miri said quickly, talking over herembarrassment. “It’s very old, the oldestkind quarried on Mount Eskel.”

Lady Sisela nodded. “This house wasbuilt before the kings kept all linder for

themselves, even while paying those whoquarried the stone the barest fraction of itsworth. That is, until recently—when youyourself, I believe, learned its true valuefrom books at the princess academy andbartered for better prices.”

“You know about that?” Miri asked.“The happenings of Mount Eskel may

not reach many ears, but we in this roomhave been very interested. You started a …well, a revolution, and your villagechanged for the better.”

“We could use a little revolution here,”Hanna said.

Someone shushed her, and Hanna bowedher head, mortified. Miri realized theymust be afraid to speak freely in front ofher, a stranger and a palace resident.

“We were elated last year when thepriests designated Mount Eskel as thehome of the next princess,” said Lady

Sisela. “Surely we would have the firstcommoner princess in the history ofDanland! But instead the prince chose theonly noble girl at the academy. How did anoble come to be on Mount Eskel?”

Hesitant to talk about Britta, Miri said,“She lived there … before the academy.”

“I see. Miri, I, too, am a graduate of aprincess academy.”

“Really?”Lady Sisela nodded. “I danced with

King Bjorn when he was a prince, andwaited to hear if he would choose me. Hedid not. At the time I was heartbroken.”

The lady put a hand to her heart andswooned tragically. Miri smiled.

“He was charmed by Lady Sabet—beautiful but quiet and a little dull witted,I’m afraid.”

“Clearly you’re not quiet or dull wittedenough for him,” said Miri.

Lady Sisela laughed. “Bless you, youwise thing! But years go by, as they tend todo, and now that I see what Bjorn hasbecome, I’m entirely grateful for mynarrow escape. Bjorn is … Well, surelyyou’ve met him by now. What is youropinion of our king?”

The room was quiet, everyone watchingMiri. Her mouth felt dry. If she was tolearn more for Katar, she had to convincethem she was on their side.

“He eats large breakfasts and fallsasleep during plays,” Miri said.

There was a hushed sound of relief asmany in the room exhaled. Timon stoodbeside Miri, a hand on her shoulder, as ifclaiming her as one of their own. The touchwas gratifying. She continued.

“I expected the king to be like the headof our village council—the biggest, thestrongest, the first and last at work each

day. But King Bjorn—does he doanything?”

“Besides grow fat off the labor of theshoeless?” said Timon.

“It is a shame. What marvels a rulercould accomplish.” Lady Sisela’s smilehinted at secrets and possibilities. “IfBjorn had married someone like me oryou, Miri, instead of his pretty, dull-witteddoll, Danland’s changes might come fromwithin the palace itself. We could enter agolden age! Ah well. In the end, I marrieda fine man, even if he was a noble.” Shesmiled to show she was teasing, but thenher smile faltered. “He opposed the king’stributes and was executed.”

“Oh!” Miri covered her mouth with herhands.

“It was some time ago. The heartache nolonger grips me, but I cannot forget. I neednot explain justice to a fellow academy

graduate. You and I, we are sisters of akind, aren’t we?”

“I hope so, Lady Sisela.”“Call me Sisi. No title, not from your

lips.”Miri had no memory of her mother, but

at that moment she began to imagine, evento hope, that she had been a lot like LadySisela.

Clemen, the lanky, thin-nosed pianist,transitioned into a more rousing song. Acouple of the women sang about thedowntrodden workers of Danland,repeating the chorus: “We will march thiskingdom down, we will break the goldencrown.”

“‘The Shoeless March,’” said Clemen,trilling out the last notes. “A compositionfrom Rilamark.”

Lady Sisela said, “Miri, are youfamiliar with the news from Rilamark?”

“It’s the kingdom east of Danland,” Mirisaid as if spouting information for a test.

“Not a kingdom any longer,” Hanna saidhappily.

This time no one shushed Hanna, andMiri suspected she had been taken intotheir trust.

“The people of Danland know what theking allows them to know,” said Timon.“The only legal news journal is the one hisofficials write. But the master scholars inthe Queen’s Castle exchange letters withthe university in Rilamark.”

“Just months ago, Rilamark was akingdom like our own,” said Lady Sisela.“A monarch in a crown ruled in richeswhile millions of commoners went hungry.Now Rilamark is a nation governed by itsown people, no king or queen to rob themof their goods. At the harvest giving, evenDanland’s nobles showed they tire of our

king.”“That’s good, right?” Miri said. Surely

nobles had more power than commonersand a better chance of making change. “Ifthe nobles and commoners work together,we could make sure Mount Eskel—and anyprovince—didn’t have to pay heavytributes—”

“The nobles don’t care about us,” said awoman in servant’s black.

“It’s true, Miri,” said Timon. “Nobleshave done next to nothing to improve thelives of the commoners on their lands. Allthey care about is their own wealth andpower.”

“But …” Miri looked at Lady Sisela,who was clearly a noble herself.

“Even I will attest to that,” said LadySisela, raising her hand.

Some in the room chuckled.“We here have taken a solemn pact to

educate the shoeless,” said Lady Sisela. “Itis in their power to transform this kingdom,if only they believe it. Hope spreads likewildfire. We shall follow Rilamark’sbrave example. We shall create a nationruled by the people, where everyone hasthe chance to thrive.”

As Lady Sisela was speaking, Clemenbegan the march again. Some shouted “ForDanland!” and “The Shoeless!” Somedanced, merry just at the idea of thechanges to come.

Miri swayed, full of the rhythm andtempted by the gaiety. Again emotionswrestled inside her—joy with anxiety,eagerness with shyness.

Britta. What would happen to her if thepeople really did topple the king? Brittadid not seem that attached to Steffan’sfather or too concerned about being aprincess. Perhaps Britta and Steffan would

be happier giving up the duties of royaltyand living in Lonway. Still, the thoughtmade Miri uneasy, and she glanced at thedoor.

But Lady Sisela put her soft hand onMiri’s cheek, leading her gaze back. Hervoice was low and only for Miri’s ears.

“I knew, the moment I saw you, that youare a girl of much power, Miri of MountEskel,” she said. “Having you on our sideis an honor.”

“Thank you. I mean, the honor’s mine.I’m just happy to be here.” Miri felt a timidgiggle tickle her chest and forced herself tokeep it down.

They talked and ate and sang for hours,it seemed. Yet it was still night when Miristepped outside, as if time had paused.Rain had fallen. Glass lanterns hung fromlampposts, kerosene-powered flamesflicking gold into the air, sprinkling amber

starbursts into puddles.Timon asked to walk her home.Not home, she reminded herself. To the

palace.A man and woman with feathered caps

nodded at Miri and Timon as they went by.A man in black stepped aside to let thempass.

“I thought only scholars wore uniforms,”Miri said, “but everyone in Asland seemsto. Some wear black—”

“Servants,” said Timon.“Why do master scholars wear the black

of servants?”“Scholars are meant to be servants to

all.”“I see. Some men wear flat caps and

brown jackets.”“Commoners,” said Timon. “The

women wear the same flat caps but with—”

“Knit shawls? Other women have laceshawls and feathered caps.”

“Nobles.”Miri shook her head. “Poor nobles,

dressing in bright colors. If they were assmart as master scholars, they’d choosenice stain-hiding black.”

“Nobles aren’t concerned about washingtheir own delicate fabrics.”

“Of course, the servants do it for them.Noblemen wear feathered caps … andswords too, right?”

“Yes, because they have the right to usethem.”

“Wait … What am I wearing?” sheasked.

Timon stepped back to inspect heryellow silk dress and lace shawl, preparedfor her by a palace seamstress. Miri couldfeel his gaze on her as if it were a windthat blew.

“You, Lady Miri, are dressed as thenoble that you are.”

I’m a noble now? The realization madeher strangely uneasy. She noticed Timonwas wearing a flat cap, no feather, nosword. He placed her hand on his arm andcontinued to walk.

“All graduates of the princess academywere named ladies of the princess, a titleof nobility. Your father and sister,however, remain commoners. If your sisterwore your clothes in Asland, a noble couldemploy his sword.”

“What? You can’t mean that!”“You see why so many in this kingdom

yearn for change,” he said.“And what do you yearn for, Timon?”“I want a country where all have the

chance to succeed, regardless of who theirparents are,” he said, his voice warming.“I want freedom to speak my mind without

fear of execution. I want to live in a nationof possibilities, not a kingdom where thenoble-born get richer and the poor getpoorer.”

Her heart beat harder as he spoke, andshe scolded herself. She was supposed tobe a spy, not jump into a dangerousmovement with people she barely knew.Her pulse was pounding in her temples,and she rubbed at her brow.

“Do you ever feel like you’re learningtoo much too fast?” Miri asked. “My skullfeels like a goat-bladder balloon blown uptoo tight.” She peered at him from underher hand. “You don’t know what a goat-bladder balloon is, do you?”

“I don’t!” he said pleasantly. “Here issomething you can teach me. I’m sureyou’re an excellent teacher.”

She was about to tell him that she wasthe teacher in the village school, and that

whenever the boys got to daydreaming, shewould say something silly to get theirattention, such as “The first king ofDanland was Dan the Hearted, and thesecond was his son, Jons Herring-Breath”or “Lowlanders will pay us high prices forMount Eskel’s treasured goat hair, whichthey sprinkle on potatoes” or “And that’swhy we wear underpants on our heads.”

But before she could speak, he bowedover her hand and kissed her between hersecond and third knuckles.

She forgot her words.“I very much hope you will be a regular

at our Salon nights, Lady Miri,” hewhispered.

He kissed her hand again and left. Noone had ever kissed her hand before.

Probably just another lowlandercustom, she thought.

Her heart pulsed in her vision now, and

it took her a few moments to look aroundand realize she was at the gate to thepalace.

She wandered through the darkcorridors, her head still popping-tight, herhand now tingling. She wanted to talk tosomeone about Lady Sisela, “The ShoelessMarch,” and Timon. Perhaps Britta wasstill awake? She held up her fist to knockat her door and then stopped.

The king was Steffan’s father. WouldBritta feel required to tell him? Better,perhaps, to follow Katar’s advice andkeep it to herself until she knew more.Besides, Lady Sisela’s husband had beenexecuted just for saying he disapproved ofthe king’s tributes.

Some ideas were safer left unspoken.

Autumn Week Twelve

Dear Marda,Each morning I wake, eat,

dress, and run out to meetTimon. We walk to the Queen’sCastle, where I study all day. Iget back to the palace just intime for supper and “Miri’sSalon.” That is what the girlscall our evening chats, when Iteach them some of what Ilearned that day. And then Istudy till I fall asleep on mybooks.

I am sorry to report that Iam the dullest scholar in all ofAsland. I have had so littleschooling compared to theother students, I have to worktwice as hard to keep up. WhenBritta is free, she helps mestudy. Her worried face relaxes

when I enter her room.I should attend another

Salon night. Katar pesters meto learn more. But when would Igo? Besides, their talk scaredme some. I wish I were as braveas you think I am. Maybeeverything will work outwithout my help. I hope so.

I worry that much of myletters makes no sense to you,Marda. I do not want to thinkanything separates us but thedistance itself. I do not want tobecome someone you would notunderstand.

Your dull and bewilderedsister,

Miri

Chapter Eight

Melted salt, drenchedairRocking ground, fishlair

Master Filippus marched down thewalkway, the scholars in blue robessurrounding his black robes like the iris ofan eye. He lectured on the classification ofvegetation, but Miri suspected the focus onNatural Science was just a ruse to getoutside. Even master scholars couldappreciate a sunny winter day.

Soon the ocean rose into view. Miricould see now that its waters did not pour

like a river or stand like a pond, but wereconstantly moving in great heaving bursts.And it was huge!

Miri pressed her lips together,determined to be grumpy. Liking the oceanseemed a betrayal of Mount Eskel. Bothcould not be magnificent.

As they neared the dock, MasterFilippus’s lecture turned to Commerce.

“Fish account for a third of Danland’ssustenance. The sunny shores of Fuskaprovince give us salt, salt preserves thefish, salt fish is carted to all parts ofDanland, and no one goes hungry.”

Miri shook her head. Some salt fish didmake it all the way to Mount Eskel. Evenso, Miri and Marda had spent many nightscurled up in bed, their knees and armspressed to their middles, as if pushingagainst the hunger would make it go away.

On the docks, mountains of crates

awaited shipping. Merchants boughtarriving goods to resell in their shops.Nets full of fat fish lay on ship decks.Seagulls circled, their cries rising aboveall other noises, a high, carefree harmonyto the melody of work.

“Well, Miri?” Timon said. “Still thinkthe ocean is dull and overrated?”

“When compared to my mountain, ofcourse,” she said, embarrassed that shehad confessed that opinion on one of theirwalks. “But the ocean is becoming moreinteresting.”

“Would you like to get a closer look?Perhaps from a ship’s deck?”

“Well, yes, but … we couldn’t, couldwe?”

Timon just smiled. He went to a nearbyship and returned a few minutes later.

“Master Filippus,” he said, “if youwish, that captain there is willing to take

us all for a short sail.”The master agreed and the scholars

climbed aboard. Miri passed Timon as heshook the captain’s hand, and she heard thecaptain call him Master Skarpson.

A smaller boat helped tug the ship freeof the harbor. Sailors scrambled aroundthe deck. The sails lifted, and the shipcharged into the open water faster thanMiri would have thought possible. Shestood at the foremost spot, holding on tothe railing and breathing in the cold seaspray. What would Pa think to be on aship, skipping across water as big as thesky? How would Marda look, her hair fullof wind? Miri’s imagination failed her.She could not seem to remember theirfaces.

“What net catches your thoughts, Miri?”Timon asked, standing beside her. He kepthis balance without holding on.

“Home,” she said.He nodded. “And when you were home,

did you think about Asland?”“You’re right! If I were a cart, I’d dream

about pulling a horse.”“I’ve missed you at Lady Sisela’s. I

hope we didn’t scare you away.”“Not at all. Sorry, I’m just … busy.”“You didn’t …” Timon tugged on his

thumb. “You didn’t tell your princessfriend about us? Sisela and the rest, theyare good people, and I’d hate to see any ofthem hauled to the Green.”

“No! Of course not. Your secrets aresafe with me. I admire you. All of you,” sheadded, afraid she’d sounded too personal.

“Thank you.” He looked at her long. Hisnose and cheeks had turned red in the briskair. “I told Sisi we could trust you. Wespeak of you often.”

“You do?” The thought made Miri’s

stomach feel funny, but in a mostly pleasantway.

“She is surprised the prince did notchoose you. I … I am as well.” Timoncleared his throat. “I never understoodhow this noble girl came to be on MountEskel. Wasn’t she from Lonwayprovince?”

Miri’s gaze was lost in the waves. Theship’s rocking was lulling, and she spokewithout thinking. “She came up a fewmonths before the academy. We thoughtshe was an orphan with relatives on MountEskel.”

“You mean she tricked you?” saidTimon. “She lied?”

“Oh! I shouldn’t have said that. Youhave to understand, Britta and Steffan werefriends as children. As they grew older,Britta realized she loved him and believedhe loved her too. It’s not fair that two

people who love each other can’t wed!Even so, Britta never would have come toMount Eskel if her father hadn’t forcedher.”

“And how long had you been friendsbefore Britta admitted she wasn’t anorphan?” Timon held on to a rope, hisknuckles white. “How long before sherevealed she went to your mountain so thatshe could rob from you the right to be theprincess?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. She was sureSteffan would be appalled to see her there,and she hid from him at first.”

Timon shook his head at the sky. “I’mtired of nobles seizing whatever they want.Why should birth determine worth? Youare better than she is, Lady Miri of MountEskel, with a title you earned and thehands”—he lifted her hand and touched herpalm, nodding as if satisfied—“the hands

of an honest laborer.”His fingers traced the calluses on her

palm. It had never occurred to her that acallus was a thing to be proud of. Her heartbumped like a fly against a windowpane.

The wind blew her hair back andbillowed her blue robes. Salt spraytouched her lips; sunlight lay on hercheeks. The heaving rhythm of the deckbegan to feel familiar to her legs, and sheconsidered Timon, as once she had onlyconsidered Peder.

Don’t take the ocean lightly , shethought.

Timon was still touching her palm.“Just calluses,” she said, hoping he

could not feel her rapid heartbeat in herhand. “I take care of our five goats, yousee, and they pull on their ropes ….”

He smiled. “I’d like to see the kingmanage five goats at once.”

The image made Miri laugh. “Or evenmilk one nanny.”

“It’s a skill, as noble as any.”“I wouldn’t say noble exactly, but since

you said it first, I won’t argue.”“Aha! There you go being noble again!”She smiled demurely. “You should see

me in a feathered cap.”“Indeed, you come from a noble place,

Miri—noble in the truest sense. I wish Icould see your mountain.”

“It’s the most beautiful place on earth,”she said simply.

He nodded. He was rubbing warmth intoher cold fingers. Should she pull her handaway? Should she stop blushing? Yes, shedecided, she should definitely stopblushing.

“Have you chosen a topic for yourRhetoric paper? Why not write about theacademy and the princess? Perhaps

recording the events will allow you to seethem in a new way.”

“Maybe I will, Timon Skarpson.”He let go of her hand. “What?”“I heard the captain call you that. Skarp

is your mother’s name? Who are yourparents?”

“Merchants,” Timon said shortly.“Merchants of what?” she asked. His

reluctance made her even more curious.“We buy goods and ship them between

provinces and countries.” He hesitated.“This is one of my parents’ ships.”

Miri looked around. All that wood andrope and sail-cloth must cost a fortune.“One of? How many ships do they own?”

Timon pressed his lips together.“Twenty-two.”

Miri allowed her mouth to hang openand then pressed her chin up with her handto close it. Timon smiled as if against his

will.“I was afraid of what you’d think of me

if you knew I was—”“Ridiculously wealthy?” she said.

“Swimming in gold coins?”He shrugged. “We pay tribute to the

noble who owns the land we live on, thesame as all commoners. Still, the wealth ofthe sea has been good to my family. Myfather is determined to make so muchmoney the king will be forced to offer hima noble title. He thinks I’m a fool to fightfor change.”

“He’s wrong,” Miri said, feeling certainof the words.

Timon’s smile seemed grateful. “Lastyear I tried to sell one of his ships and usethe money to help families whose tenementwas destroyed in a fire. He sent me back tothe Queen’s Castle because he didn’t knowwhat else to do with me. If I don’t turn into

a reformed, obedient boy, he’ll ship me offto the far-flung territories to see how muchI like the poor once I become one.” Helaughed. “But I don’t care, Miri. Somethings are more important than one person.Lady Sisela showed me that. I don’t wantto live a comfortable, small life. I want tochange the world.”

They were returning, sails down. Agroup of people had amassed on the dock,and even from the ship’s deck, Miri couldhear angry voices.

As soon as the gangplank hit the deck,Timon said, “Come on.” He grabbedMiri’s hand and pulled her along.

Merchants mobbed together, grumbling.An official in green clothes was affixingpieces of paper to large earthenware jugs.One paper blew free and stuck to Miri’sboot. She picked it up. It read: Claimed intribute for the king.

“Now he’s taking cooking oil,” Timonsaid, shaking his head.

“The attempt on his life spooked the oldboy, that’s what I think,” said a nearbymerchant, nearly as short as Miri and witha fuzzy brown beard. “He keeps enlargingthe royal guard—and claiming more tributeto afford them.”

“He can take whatever he wants?” saidMiri.

“He’s the king,” the merchant said.“Why, he’s nothing more than a bandit,”

she said.“They’re bandits and robbers, the lot of

them,” the merchant agreed.“The king already claims a portion of all

grain and meat brought into Asland,” saidTimon. “If he takes oil too, the oilmerchants will raise the price of what’sleft over. The rich can afford to pay morefor oil, much as they’ll resent it. It’s the

shoeless who can barely afford bread as itis. I doubt the king even cares that hisgreed causes starvation.”

“If anyone stole something on MountEskel—even the head of our villagecouncil—my pa and his friends would tellhim to give it back or else.”

“The king has his own army,” saidTimon.

“Well, it’s time someone told him tostop being a bandit.”

Timon’s eyes lightened. “You’re right,Miri. It’s time.”

He ripped the paper off the nearest jarand crumpled it into a ball.

Miri held her breath. She had not meanthe should get himself arrested. What ofSisela’s husband? Instinctively, she triedto quarry-speak. Stop. A common warning,but there was no linder underfoot to carryher message, and anyway his lowlander

ears would not hear it.Timon ripped off another paper. “No,”

he said.Two soldiers stood with the official,

their silver breastplates and tall stiff hatsmarking them as members of the royalguard. One had noticed Timon. Frowning,he approached. Miri covered her mouthwith her hands.

Timon grabbed at all the tribute noticeshe could reach, saying “No! No!”

Both soldiers were nearly upon Timon.One was drawing his sword.

Then the short, bearded merchant said,“No.”

Another joined. Another. The soldierhesitated.

“No!” Timon said again, and with that,the general despondency flashed intoanger. The merchants moved closer toTimon and began to chant “No, no,” as they

ripped the notices. The soldiers took a stepback.

To Miri, never had any word seemed sopowerful. And dangerous too. What wouldhappen if she joined in? Would the officialrecognize her from the palace?

“No,” Miri breathed, not moving herlips.

The chant was nearly a song, a“Shoeless March” kind of thrummingmusic that got inside her head, slid downinto her muscles, and made her want to dosomething.

“No,” Miri whispered, thinking of twogold coins in a shawl and five goats thatlifted their heads at the sound of her voice.“No,” she said, imagining how the tributeswould impoverish her entire village.“No!” she said, because never had she feltso powerful. She was not one person; shewas a crowd. She belonged to the mass of

bodies and voices, strong in number,united in purpose. Two soldiers wereinsignificant compared to thirty merchants,and the scholars and sailors now lendingtheir voices too. Who could stop such aforce? And what outcome would not beworth joining in?

“No!” Miri shouted. “No!”The official and his soldiers were

backing away. The crowd closed in,tossing papers and shouting. The officialran as if afraid for his life, the soldiers onhis heels.

The mob’s shouts turned joyous, andstill they called out, pumping their fists andchanting that powerful word. Miri did notwant the moment to end. She felt tall andstrong, as if she and this mob could movetogether like a giant, striking down anyobstacles, remaking the whole world.

As soon as the official disappeared

around a corner, the chanting broke intocheers, and merchants and sailors andscholars alike thumped one another onbacks and shook hands. Timon pulled Miriinto his arms, spinning around. The worldseemed so large, and yet Miri felt so mucha part of it.

Trade resumed, with merchants buyingthe oil and loading it onto their carts to sellacross the kingdom. Master Filippus couldnot rally the scholars into any semblance ofa group and released them for the day.

Miri found herself walking on her toesas if the wind were tugging her up, up intothe sky. Timon laughed with delight.

“It’s begun!” he said. “When one voiceshouts, dozens will join. Thousands! Realchange comes soon, Miri. So soon.”

He kissed her on each cheek, then tookher hands and kissed them too, as if so fullof fervor and happiness he could speak in

nothing but kisses.Lowlanders kiss hands an awful lot,

Miri thought, feeling as if she, too, couldkiss the whole world.

Timon continued on to Lady Sisela’s togive her the good news, and Miri went toPeder’s.

Her head was aswim with words like“no” and “change” and “soon.” The wordsfelt heavy and good, like a hammer in thehand. She could not wait to tell Katar thatthey need not worry. The commoners hadstarted the revolution, and surely acommoner government would not demandtribute from the shoeless of Mount Eskel.Miri would no longer have to spy. Shewould join them and help change Danland!

Miri walked to Gus’s and found Pedersharpening tools. He startled when he sawher, dropping a chisel. It bounced againstthe spinning whetstone and flew off in

another direction.“You forgot to cough!” he said.“Sorry.” She coughed.“Your sneakiness is dangerous. Next

time that chisel will lodge itself in myhead.”

“Now, Peder, there’s plenty of stonearound here for carving. No need topractice on your own face.”

He stroked his chin. “You’re right, myjaw is already chiseled to perfection.”

She agreed, but she felt too silly to sayso aloud.

“Some things happened at the docktoday,” she said, her stance bouncy. “Theking was going to claim jugs of cooking oil—just take them, like a common bandit—but people shouted and refused to givethem up.”

“Really? I didn’t think anyone could sayno to a king. At least he’s not taking stuff

from Mount Eskel.”“But he might. He robs all the other

provinces.”“Robs?” Peder wiped his brow with his

sleeve and got back to sharpening.She still had not told him about

Gummonth and the tributes, but it was hardto talk about such important things to hisback.

“I’ve been coming up with a new planfor when we go home,” Peder said as heworked. “If I get good enough, I could trainothers, and the lot of us could carve allthrough winter. Everyone could have achoice of occupation besides just thequarry. And with increased profit, MountEskel could prosper, you know? Not justget by. Someday we could be the verycenter of fine stone craft in the kingdom.Lowlanders would come to us to learnsculpting!”

He turned to smile at her.“Yes, that’s a good idea,” she said.“Why aren’t you more excited? This is

exactly the kind of plan that usually makesyou hop about.”

“Sorry, I’m just distracted. There’s somuch going on in Danland, more problemsthan I ever dreamed of when we werehome.”

“I guess that’s true. But we can’t worryabout everyone. Even you can’t change thewhole world.”

He said it lightly, as if to goad her into asmile, but she could only shrug. She wasdefinitely not going to tell him about thethreat of tributes now.

She left him to his work and started backto the palace, scanning the streets for anygathered mobs, listening through the bustleof traffic for chants of “No, no!” Nothingseemed changed. Nothing besides Miri

herself.She tensed at the palace entrance, but the

guards accepted her password withouthesitation. Perhaps news of the riot at thedocks had not spread that far. Perhaps noone knew she’d been involved at all. Shefelt relieved and yet a little disappointedtoo.

When Miri entered the girls’ chamber,they gathered for Miri’s Salon.

“Liana, we’re starting,” Esa said.Liana stayed on her bed, her feet resting

on the headboard. “I. Don’t. Care,” shesaid through gritted teeth.

Bena rolled her eyes. “She’s been in amo o d all day. We had tea with someancient courtier, and she made the mistakeof saying Liana was almost as pretty as hergranddaughters.”

“Must be hard for her, being in Aslandwith so many other girls,” Gerti

whispered. “On Mount Eskel, she wasalways the prettiest.”

“I can hear you, you dolts,” said Liana.“Go on, Miri,” said Esa.“Today I … Today we …” Miri

stopped. What if one of the girls mentionedMiri’s involvement to someone else? Theacademy girls were no longer isolated intheir room, sewing and spinning. Thewedding official had seemed displeasedwith their work and stopped bringing themtasks. And lately Inga spent much of hertime sneaking around outside after a tall,gray-haired gardener, so the girls could doas they pleased.

Liana and Bena often visited courtiers intheir palace apartments, eating dainty foodand gossiping.

Frid had made friends with the workersin the palace forge. They called her“mountain sister” and let her pound red-hot

steel on the anvil.A palace musician had overheard Gerti

singing to herself in the garden and invitedher to sit in on symphony rehearsals. Theywere delighted with her ability toimprovise songs—a common activity in thequarry—and asked her to sing to theirmusic. A young man gave her a six-stringed lute, and Miri joked it had becomeher third arm.

Gerti clutched the lute now, gentlyplucking the strings as if unaware of heraction.

“Some people believe noble titles causeharmful divisions—” Miri startedcautiously.

Now Liana sat up. “I love being a noble.Anyone who doesn’t is stupid.”

You’re stupid, Miri wanted to say, butstopped herself. A rule of Rhetoric: Attackthe argument, not the person.

But Liana’s comment filled Miri withmore unease. What was safe to say?

“Um … This week Master Filippusintroduced us to Rhetoric—the art ofcommunicating. He said if you learn therules, it’s easier to explain your thoughtsand persuade others. The basics includelistening, expressing your own opinion assuccinctly as possible, offering storiesinstead of lectures, and allowing silencefor consideration.”

Sometimes talking about communicatingwas easier than actually doing it.

Winter Week One

Dear Marda,You must be thigh-high in

snow. My mind knows it iswinter, yet my eyes cannot

believe it. Although I countsome lowlanders as friends, Ihave to admit they are a flimsylot. A breeze rises from theocean, and all shiver as if icerain were falling. Nobles goabout in thick fur coats. And theshoeless … well, they put onshoes, if they have them.

Today was amazing.Something bad was going tohappen, but then someone tooka stand and dozens joined him.I want to be one of thosepeople. The standing ones.

I have been afraid lately,too afraid to talk to anyoneabout it. Afraid that all thechanges on Mount Eskel wereuseless. That things will soongo back to the way they were,

the linder sales buying barelyenough food for survival,nothing extra for warm clothingor better tools, every momentworking, no time for the villageschool or making music oranything. Like that, or worse. Ihave been afraid. But today Iwas not.

It feels good, Marda, notto be alone, to be surroundedby people who want and thinkthe same as I do.

I should be asleep but mythoughts blaze, and I do notwant to douse them yet. I am sofull of hope and ideas I mightfloat right off my bed.

Ships are bigger thanhouses and yet they sail withthe speed of the wind and the

power of a hundred horses. Irode a ship with Timon today.He noticed my callused handsand thought they werebeautiful.

This is from your very sillybut always hopeful sister,

Miri

Chapter Nine

King Dan sat on hisstallion fierceSwords did slice andspears did pierceBut in a tree upon thefieldPerched a small,keen-eyed blackbirdAnd the blackbird didnot singNo, the blackbird didnot sing

Miri’s sleep was fragile that night. Therhythmic snores of the other girls mimicked

a slower chant of “No, no …”In the morning, Miri dressed and left

without breakfast. She passed the cornerwhere she usually met Timon, her feet tooimpatient to wait. She weaved betweencarts and carriages, wagons and horses,feeling as sleek as a ship on water. Changewas coming, and she was part of it.

Surely all the scholars at the Queen’sCastle would be readying for the nextaction. Revolution. What an exhilaratingword. She wanted to ring it like a bell; shewanted to pound it like a piano. Shewanted revolution to be a song she couldsing so loudly all the world would hear!

But at the Queen’s Castle, the scholarsin blue were gathered in their room asusual. No changes in sight.

“An interesting experiment yesterday,”Master Filippus said when Timon enteredlate, his shoulders stooped. “The will of

the people versus the king. History showsus several examples of the common peopleattempting to overthrow the crown. Eachfailed.”

“But it worked at the docks,” Miri said.“People said no, and the official ran off.”

“The royal guard visited merchants lateryesterday afternoon and seized jars of oil,”Timon said, slumping into a chair. “No oneprotested.”

“It’s exciting in the moment, mmm?”Master Filippus said, his eyes half closed.“But you, my hasty young scholars, forgetHistory. You must study the past to knowwhat will work in the future.”

Miri rubbed her face. She’d felt sostrong yesterday as part of that mob, but ithad been a false strength after all. One daylater, nothing had changed. There was stilla king who could take whatever he wanted—jugs of oil, wagons of grain, two gold

coins wrapped in a shawl. She glared atthe girl in the painting. What was sheabout, gawking at the moon while pouringprecious milk? If she did not pay attention,she would spill it. Stupid girl.

Master Filippus took the class down tothe Queen’s Castle library, lecturing asthey walked.

“Yet one must study carefully to uncovertruth. For example, Dan the Hearted,beneficent first king of Danland? Youknow the stories of his wisdom andcompassion.”

Miri nodded with the others. She hadgrown up singing “Dan and the Blackbird,”in which the king stopped a battle to save ablackbird’s fallen nest.

“Such stories are likely myths. Theactual records we have from Dan’s timereveal nothing more than his skill inwarfare. In fact”—Master Filippus

hummed a little laugh—“one historianclaims he was called Dan the Heartedbecause he wore his enemies’ heartsaround his neck.”

Miri was about to say “ugh,” but they’dentered the library, and she could donothing but stare in wonder.

Once she’d thought all the knowledge inthe world was contained in the princessacademy’s thirteen books. Now she facedthousands. She wondered if she shouldcurtsy as if she were entering a chapel.

Filippus directed them to select avolume of history, read it, and write apaper questioning some part of thehistorian’s account.

“Choose a history of a province otherthan your own,” he said. “That will not bea problem for you, Miri, as Mount Eskelhas never inspired a historian.”

He led them to the History section, and

Miri searched the shelves, eager to provehim wrong. Perhaps just a general volumeof Danland history would have a sectionon Mount Eskel? But she found nothing.

All the others except Timon hadselected their volumes and gone off toread.

“You’re upset,” said Timon. “Perhapsthere’s no record in this library, but surelyMount Eskel keeps its own history.”

“Until the princess academy, we had nobooks. No one could read or write.”

“History can be found outside books,”he said, his smile hopeful. “In graveyards,for example, you can find names anddates.”

“We don’t bury our dead. We wrappeople in their own blankets and lowerthem into the Great Crevasse. There are nograve markers. There’s no means to markthe passage of time at all, except empty

quarries abandoned by previousgenerations. Our only history is holes.”

Timon had no response but to lay hishand on her shoulder before turning away.

She paged through various books but felttoo discouraged to choose one. Accordingto this library, there was no Mount Eskel.

Tragedy, she thought, a word she hadlearned only the week before.

She had seen a play with Britta, anotherstory of two lovers kept apart, this time abrave soldier and a girl who was betrothedto another. Expecting this play to be likethe first and end with marriage andlaughter, Miri was stunned when thesoldier was slain and the girl died of abroken heart.

“Oh,” Britta had said as the curtainclosed, “I didn’t know it was going to be atragedy.”

It’s just a story , Miri had reminded

herself that night, curled up in bed andcrying over the lovers.

She felt similarly struck now, her bellycramped, her head heavy. Tragedy.Because no one on Mount Eskel hadlearned to read or write, their history waslost forever.

She realized Master Filippus was at hershoulder.

“Having trouble selecting a volume?” heasked.

“There are so many,” she mumbled.“Well I know it. I’ve read them all.”“Really? How long did it take?”“Mmm, half of my life. One must, to

reach master status.”Miri swallowed. She had less than a

year left in Asland. The weight of all shedid not know felt like a boulder on herback.

“It is a shame you plan to go home after

the summer. With just one more year youcould become a tutor. Cat’s-eye greenwould become you, Miri of Mount Eskel.”

“Just one more year?” she asked.He nodded. “Or stay two years, don the

honey-drop robes, and become the firsthistorian of Mount Eskel. You have a keenmind. One day you could wear raven’shead.”

She was glad when he walked away.His compliment did not cheer her. Rather,she felt even more pressed down by thatboulder, the heaviness of impossibleexpectation.

Still determined to find something abouther home, she turned to the massiveLibrarian’s Book on its pedestal. Thelibrarians over the years had cataloged thecontents of every book in the library. Shelocated a mention of Mount Eskel in aroyal treasurer’s account book, over a

century old, and she hunted down thevolume.

I find not a record of linder’sstrange history, so I relate herewhat others have spoken. Twohundred years past, workerswere recruited to quarry a lindercache on Mount Eskel. The stoneminister reported to the king that“working with linder has alteredthe people,” though the detailsremained mysterious.

King Jorgan abolished thestone-minister post, leaving theEskelites to fend for themselves.Only the hardiest of tradersrisked the trip up the cursedmountain, lured by the promiseof reselling the stone to the kinghimself, who began building a

linder palace.When I was a lad, a common

game named one child theEskelite. If the Eskelite touchedanother child, he or she becameinfected and turned into amonster. It seems to me childrenno longer play this game. Peopledo forget to fear Mount Eskeland the poisons of raw linder.

Poisons? Surely not. For much of herlife, Miri had breathed in linder dust anddrunk stream water white with it. Besides,if past scholars believed linder wasdangerous, then why did the kings buildtheir palace from it? Clearly the royalswere not afraid of the stone.

Miri replaced the book on the shelf.There was no reason to believe the

account. Still, her stomach felt full ofstones, and when she tried to read a historyof Lonway province, she could barelyfocus on the words.

Winter Week Three

Dear Marda,Today was a rest day. Esa

and I spent the morning withPeder. At lunch the girlsgathered for Miri’s Salon, and Ireviewed what I’d learnedabout Logic. Logic teaches thattruth can be reasoned out usingproof and careful thought. Wecan rid ourselves of emotionsand rely on solid argumentsinstead.

Esa said, “My ma says

truth is when your gut and yourmind agree.” I nodded butreally I was ashamed. Surely athousand years of scholarsknow more than Esa’s ma. Still,I am ashamed that I wasashamed. Marda, I hope youare not ashamed of me forbeing ashamed. If so, shame onyou. Or on me? Which islogical?

After chapel, Britta and Isat beside her fire and talkedfor hours. It eased myhomesickness for you some.When Britta says Steffan’sname, her eyes change. I wantto say they glow, but they donot light up like embersflickering with quiet fire.

I am trying to choose

words carefully, you see.Master Filippus lectured on theimportance of word choice inour Rhetoric lesson. Words canfall hard like a boulder loosedfrom a cliff. Words can driftunnoticed like a weed seed on abreeze. Words can sing.

So no, Britta’s eyes do not“glow” exactly. They widen, Iguess, as if she is so full of thethought of Steffan, her headcannot contain it and tries tomake more room. He iseverything to her. And I thinkshe is everything to him.

Peder works very hard. Ido not think I am everything tohim.

I am eager to return toLady Sisela’s, but I am nervous

too. For one thing, everyonethere is so clever. Do they thinkme dull? Perhaps I shouldassure them that our goatsenjoyed listening to me forhours on end. I am certain theirbleats meant “Do go on, Miri,darling. You are immenselyentertaining.”

Your immenselyentertaining sister,

Miri

Chapter Ten

All hail brave KingBjornAll hail our noblekingHe is alwaysvictoriousCongenial andgloriousEver meritoriousAll hail our daringking!

Miri and Peder sat on the straw in Gus’sopen shed. Last visit, Esa had come too.Miri had been impatient for next week’s

end and time alone with Peder, but nowthat she was here, the only news theyshared was silence. He seemed too tired totalk. Her own head ached, stuffed full ofHistory and tributes and kings. Twice thatweek she had spied Gummonth at thepalace and slinked off in the oppositedirection, afraid that if he saw anyone fromMount Eskel he would remember his threatto seek their tribute.

Miri opened her mouth to spill all herworries on Peder. But instead she yawned.

A tickle on her tongue made her choke.Peder had stuck a straw into her openmouth. Miri harrumphed and scootedfarther away, yawning again despiteherself. Peder threaded one straw intoanother, and another, creating a piece aslong as his arm. He wiggled itthreateningly before her face.

She gasped with fake shock and made

her own extended piece of straw. It waslonger than Peder’s and she managed tostick it in his ear. He hit hers away withhis and they began to battle, beating eachother’s straw swords into pieces andremaking them, both their faces earnest,until Miri could not help it any longer andlaughed out loud.

The sound broke the game. Peder lookedat her. He reached out, and she thought hemeant to grab her straw or perhaps yankher hair as he used to when they werelittle. But he put his hand behind her headand, leaning forward, pulled her face tohis. He kissed her. One long, slow kiss. Atfirst she felt nothing but shock, but he heldhis mouth against hers long enough for theheat from her lips to melt down her neckinto her middle and out into her fingers andtoes.

He let go. She opened her eyes, wide

now. She became aware of the city noise,dim and hollow in their little courtyardlike an echoed mountain shout, and she feltshy, as if all of Asland were watching. Butthey were alone.

“My ma used to say ‘Miri’s laugh is atune you love to whistle,’” he said quietly.“Only your laugh always made me want todo something besides whistling.”

Miri stared. She was sure he would runoff now, as he had after the first time he’dkissed her—a cheek kiss at the springholiday, sudden and soft.

Peder stared back, perhaps waiting forher to flee too. Such a kiss was tooremarkable to go unnoticed, too much totalk over, too lovely to let fade away.

They both stared. Neither ran.At once, both began rebuilding their

extended straws and they renewed thefight. Peder laughed this time. And Miri

understood the impulse to kiss the lips thatlaughed.

Miri stayed with Peder for the rest of theday, mostly not talking at all. Next toPeder, in that quiet courtyard of stone, shefelt so close to home she could almostsmell snow behind the breeze.

At dinner hour Gus sent Peder back towork and Miri away. She let her feetwander with her thoughts, and the farthershe was from Peder the less sure she feltabout anything. Part of her longed to getlost in the crooked streets of that endlesscity. The longing frightened her.

She thought of the villagers in thecoming spring, excited to hear the traderwagons approach, anticipating goods andletters but instead meeting officials whodemanded all their savings. She imagined

Marda’s face when they took the goldcoins, and Pa’s when he realized he couldnot fight this kind of bandit. Miri’s heartached.

How could she face her family again ifthe king’s tributes reduced them to povertyworse than before? Even Katar creditedMiri for changing Mount Eskel, but thetributes would undo anything she’d done,and she had no idea how to prevent it.

Perhaps if Peder realized how uselessshe was, he would not like her at all.

She pulled her shawl around her, moreaware of winter as the sun plunged into thehorizon. She had to do something. She hadto figure out if change really was coming toDanland, and how to help it along beforeGummonth had a chance to send officialsup the mountain.

Timon would be at Sisela’s that night.Miri’s hair was not curled, her dress was

not her best, but she suspected no one atthe Salon would think less of her for it.

The same gray-haired servant openedthe door to Miri and walked her to theSalon, his cane rapping the linder floorstones. Miri smiled at him and felt warmlytoward Lady Sisela, who kept the elderlyman on despite his limp. Miri knew enoughof the lowlands now to suspect othernobles would have let him go.

When Miri entered the Salon, a womanwas reciting a poem about rabbits andsquirrels defending their offspring byoverthrowing a bear, which was supposedto be metaphorical and quite dramatic. Butevery time the woman intoned the line“The rabbits roused and the squirrelssqueaked,” Miri had to hold her breath tolock down a laugh. The thought of laughingreminded her of Peder. She touched herlips.

When the poem concluded, Sisela arose.“Tonight, dear friends, instead of just

speaking fondly of the poor, let us again goto them.”

They did not have to walk far to find theshoeless of Asland. One block away,wooden tenements grew like weedsbetween brick-and-stone buildings. Theymade their way through apartment afterapartment, leaving baskets of food alongwith leaflets questioning tributes and theking.

The families looked worn and sleepy,usually crammed in one room, theirbedding on the floor, where rats ran. Noclean mountain air, no comforting snufflesfrom goats, no beauty from a chain ofmountains springing away into forever.

“Thank you,” said a man, taking Miri’soffered basket. “We had no lunch break atwork. I could eat the basket and all!”

“But today is rest day,” said Miri.“Bless you,” he said. “There’s no rest

day for factory workers.”Even on Mount Eskel, where each block

of linder sold was one stone away fromstarvation, the quarry workers had taken arest day. She could not imagine endlesslabor, no break to attend chapel or evenwash a shirt.

Miri stepped out of the sour air onto thelanding, where Sisela and Clemen werehuddled with three men in laborers’ garb.

“… a supply of grain from Hindrickarrives with only a handful of royalguards,” one of the men was saying.“Might be a good time to—”

He noticed Miri.“Who is this?” he asked, staring

pointedly at her feathered cap and fur-linedcloak.

“Don’t let her nobleness fool you,” said

Clemen. He put an arm around Miri’sshoulder and blew her feather out of hisface. “She’s one of us.”

Miri felt the warmth of those words as ifthey were a blazing hearth fire.

Another apartment was stuffed with girls—Miri counted twelve, and all youngerthan she. Miri asked if they attendedschool, and their faces lit up at the idea.However, all but the youngest worked in aglass factory, their blistered fingertipsproof.

“I’d thought all lowland—I mean,Aslander children went to school,” Mirisaid when they’d returned to Sisela’shouse.

“There are some schools, but fewshoeless attend,” said Sisela. “Noblesdemand higher tributes every year.Children must work alongside parents justto earn enough to eat.”

“Most of the adults can read, so weleave the leaflets,” said the woman Cristin,still wearing her servant garb.

“We must be able to do more to help,”Miri said.

“I agree.” Timon paced before thewindow, hands in his pockets. “All we dois write leaflets. Talk without action.When will the people finally rise up?”

“Patience.” Sisela put a hand on hisback and he stopped pacing, his shouldersstill tense. “We are gathering straw andstacking it high. All the fire needs is aspark.”

“We should seek outside help,” Timonsaid in a low voice.

He looked at Sisela, and she nodded andthen shrugged, and Miri had the idea thatan entire conversation had just passed insilence.

What do you mean by outside help,

Miri was about to ask, but Clemen beganto punch out a tune on the piano.

“When the spark comes,” said Clemen,“the fire will burn bright enough for thewhole kingdom to see. We already havemany on our side. Including our very ownlady of the princess!”

Miri recognized his music as “All Hailthe King,” an anthem to the monarch.Cristin coiled a scarf and placed it onMiri’s head like a crown, and a couple ofthe young scholars put Miri on theirshoulders and spun her around.

Miri blushed and laughed, but took offthe play crown as soon as her feet touchedthe floor.

“I don’t mean to betray Britta by beinghere,” she said. “She’s not like the kingand queen. I’m sure when she’s princessshe’ll look after the shoeless. I mean, if thechanges don’t come like we hope.”

Sisela draped the scarf over Miri’sshoulders, as though dressing a doll.“Think with your mind and not your heart.Is it right that the poor go hungry while thewealthy feast?”

“No, but—”“Is it right that our very lives are subject

to a man who did nothing more than beborn to a queen?”

“No.”“I need you to believe, Miri, that things

can change. If you don’t believe, you whochanged your own home, how can weconvince a country?”

“Lady Sisela—” Miri started.“Sisi,” she corrected gently. She patted

the lounge beside her, and Miri sat.“You’re a noble,” Miri said. Judging

from the others’ clothes, Sisela was theonly noble in the room besides Miri. “Whydo you work so hard for the commoners’

sake?”Sisela tilted her head and smiled. “I

don’t need to tell you this, Miri, not you ofall people, but there is right and there iswrong. Even a noble should be able to tellthe difference.”

“We could try to unite nobility andcommoners to bring change together,” saidMiri. “Others must think as you—and I—do. I mean, nobles can’t all be bad, right?”

“Show her the ledger,” said Timon.Clemen looked at Sisela, and she

nodded. He reached under the piano,removed a slat of wood, and brought out athick leather-bound book. Timon placed iton Miri’s lap.

The title was Ledger of His Majesty’sGrievance Official. In her course on Law,Miri had learned that if commonersaccused a noble of a crime, they had theright to petition the king. Past kings heard

grievances in their linder palace, but KingBjorn did not take the time. Instead he senta Grievance Official to the provinces.

Miri opened to a random page.

CLAIM: Farmer accuses LordJemel’s guards of stealing hishorses.

FINDING:Perhaps thefarmer atehis ownhorses.RULING: Infavor ofLord Jemel.

CLAIM: Miller accuses LadyKatarina of excessive tributes,resulting in the starving death ofhis son.

FINDING:Millers areoftenunreliable.RULING: Infavor ofLadyKatarina.

CLAIM: Farmer accuses LordHalffword of ill-using hisdaughter.

FINDING:Thedaughter isthirteen andtoo young tobe trusted.RULING: Infavor ofLord

Halffword.

Miri paged through the ledger, searchingfor any instance when the GrievanceOfficial believed the commoner.

“Every claim’s ruling is in favor of thenoble,” Timon said, guessing her thoughts.“For twenty years, every single claim.Nobles bribe the officials. Commonersnever have a chance.”

Miri might have thrown the book acrossthe room then if Clemen had not taken itfirst, putting it back in its hiding place.

“They can’t get away with it!” Mirisaid.

“They already do,” Sisela said. “Yousee why I scorn my own kind. Nobles areas selfish and untrustworthy as royalty.They know the king overreaches his power—they scorned him with rubbish at the gift

giving—and yet they do nothing for thecommoners. The changes we dream of willonly come if commoners seize their ownfuture.”

Miri nodded, but she shivered as if justrealizing how cold the world was. Siselaput a warm arm around her, and Miri wastempted to rest her head on the woman’sshoulder. She missed Marda and Pa. Shemissed home.

A group in the corner were laughing asthey sang. Clemen was again playing “AllHail the King,” but the group had toyedwith the lyrics.

He is ever ingloriousHis laugh is laboriousHis smell is notoriousImpale the herringking!

Pounding knocks at the front doorsurprised the song from their tongues. Mirihad not imagined that Sisela could lookafraid.

“It might not be—” Clemen began.“But it might,” said Sisela. “Go!”There was a scramble. Timon took

Miri’s hand, leading her to the rear door ofthe Salon. She glanced back. Clemen begana casual tune at the piano, and Siselaplucked the feather from her hair andreclined on her lounge. All the rest wererunning. The Salon door was opening.Timon yanked her out.

They raced through a maze of rooms, alldark, cold, and empty. Miri kept expectingto trip over a chair or table or anything atall, but their passage was clear. Theyexited the house in the back, sidled down acrack of an alley into the street, and thenstopped. Timon placed Miri’s hand on his

arm and began to stroll. She darted oneglance back. An official and severalsoldiers stood outside Sisela’s house. Onemet Miri’s eyes and frowned. Miri forcedherself to look up at Timon and evenmanaged a carefree smile.

“What a droll little play,” he said, loudenough for his voice to carry. “Did youenjoy it?”

“Indeed!” she said. “Wasn’t the jesteramusing?”

Miri and Timon laughed until they werearound the corner. She let go of his arm.

“What happened?”Timon frowned. “It’s illegal to meet in

groups to discuss politics.”“It is? But those officials couldn’t know

what we talked about. It might have justbeen a party.”

“They don’t have to prove it. If they findus assembled together and even suspect we

were talking about laws and the king, theycould take us to the prisons, where peopleoften die of disease and neglect before theyreach trial.”

Miri shook her head. “Things weresimpler on my mountain.”

“Asland is the better for your presence,Miri. We need you.”

“I wish I was smart enough to help inany way at all,” she said. “I want theworld you imagine, Timon. I want it sobadly.”

“I knew it!” His step bounced. “I knewwe were of the same mind. And heart.Miri, I should confess something. I don’twant to lie to you, not the way the robberprincess did. I already completed myopen-sky year. I enrolled in MasterFilippus’s class just so … so I could meetyou.”

They were passing through the light of a

lamppost, and Miri was glad to reenter thedark and hide the expression on her face.

“Is that true?” she whispered.“Yes,” he said. “I heard that a graduate

from Mount Eskel’s princess academy wasenrolling, so I asked my father to send meback. I was curious to meet you. But …curiosity has long since been replaced bystronger emotions.”

“Oh! Um … I should tell you … maybe Imisunderstand … but I just wanted to say… you might want to know about Peder.He’s a boy. From Mount Eskel. And he’smy …”

My what?“Your betrothed?” Timon said.Now Miri’s face felt as red as a

firebrand and no shadow could hide it.“No.”“Aren’t you of age?”“Yes,” Miri said miserably.

“Then he hasn’t asked … and yet youstill feel committed to him? Well,whatever he feels for you can’t be asstrong as what I feel. He met you on MountEskel, where you were just one of a fewgirls. I chose you out of the entirekingdom.”

Miri became uncomfortably aware ofthe pounding in her chest. “Even though itisn’t spoken, Peder and I do have acommitment. I mean, I think we do.”

“I am not giving up so easily,” saidTimon. “This boy has not seen fit to speak.But I will speak for you, Miri. You blushbecause I’m too bold! I’ll be bolder still.Together we will change Asland. And thenDanland. For our wedding, my father willgive us a ship. We’ll sail to Rilamark andEris, explore coasts with white sand andcrystal waters and trees dripping withfruit. We’ll befriend scholars in faraway

universities, and everywhere we go wewill change things.”

She could see all he promised, as ifactors on a stage portrayed the adventuresof Miri and Timon. She squeezed her eyesshut and shook her head. “I can’t do allthat, Timon. I’m from Mount Eskel.”

“We choose who we are. The name,rank, and affluence of your parents, thefeather in your cap—none of that matters.You are your own person. I am not mycold, ambitious father. And you, Miri, arenot bound by your birth. You can be whoyou will.”

Is that true? she thought. I am notsimply Laren’s daughter or Marda’ssister or the girl my mother held for aweek before she died. I am not formedfrom the mountain alone. I am the girlwho left the mountain. I am the face inthe mirror, the thoughts in my head. I am

not made of them. I am me.“You can be who you will,” he

repeated. His voice softened. “And if youwill have me, I will be the one besideyou.”

He did not ask for an answer to hisproposal, and she did not feel ready togive one. But he leaned down and kissedher lips. She forgot to startle away, sheforgot to blush, she forgot to do anythingbut hold her breath and feel cold and hotlike lightning shoot through her. The kisslasted just one beat of her heart, though itfelt as long as a night.

She could not dismiss that kiss as aninnocent lowlander custom. She knewexactly what it meant.

He put her hand back on his arm, and insilence they walked their usual path to thepalace.

She was accustomed to the city now: the

hiss of the kerosene lanterns on the posts,the grumble of cart wheels on cobblestone,the chill in the breeze when it lifted off theriver, the salt tang when it stretched fromthe sea. The buildings and thoroughfaresdid not panic her. The endless books of theQueen’s Castle library thrilled her, as didone word: revolution.

But this was not home. Was it?She repeated to herself her plans for the

future: speak for Marda so she might wed,help Pa learn to read, teach in the villageschool, and one day marry Peder.

Why did those ties to home feel thinnernow? Maybe Marda did not want to wed.Almost certainly Pa did not care aboutreading. Esa and some of the other girlsenjoyed teaching in the school too. AndMiri was no longer certain of Peder. In thevast history of Danland—in thefrighteningly enormous history of all the

world—would it really matter if Miri ofMount Eskel ever returned home?

Winter Week Five

Dear Marda,Do you know the feeling

you get when you are awakenedin the middle of a dream? Thedream story is still real and fullof color, but the waking worldis rushing back into your mind.And for a moment both worldsare true, and you cannot quitetell them apart.

I feel that way. There isMount Eskel. And there isAsland. The two bleed into eachother, and I am not sure whichis my home and which is the

dream.Everything was simpler

when the world was smaller.Everything was simpler when Iknew no more than twenty boys,and Peder was the only one Inoticed. But never mind. I amnot sure I am ready to knowwhat I think about that, so Idare not write it out.

I like how Timon cannothelp pacing and gesturing whenhe is talking about somethingimportant. And how the thingsimportant to him are importantto me too. I always knowexactly what Timon is feelingand thinking. He never leavesme guessing. I am so tired ofguessing.

I miss you. I miss Pa. I

miss my mountain. But I am notsure if missing a place andloving a place are enough tocall me back.

I know I will not send youthis letter come spring. I justneed to write down thesethoughts, Marda. I need to tellsomeone that I am not sureabout anything anymore.

But I do know I am stillyour sister,

Miri

Chapter Eleven

A need, a need, a needhave IA wish, a wish, awish, I sigh

It was a quiet rest-day morning in thegirls’ chamber. Winter rain deluged thecity, and the patter on the window glassmade a drowsy song. Miri lay on the sofa,reading a book for her studies. Tuckedinside an essay on Law she came across adangerous but beautifully logical idea: Aking is a servant to his people. He rulesby their consent. If the king fails hispeople, it is their right to rebel.

Miri could almost hear Clemen’sspirited music accompanying the words.She had spent every evening that week atLady Sisela’s. Later, if the weathercleared, she would either join Timon atSisela’s or go visit Peder. The thought ofTimon made her blood feel hot and fast,while the thought of Peder made her smile.

Then suddenly she was thinking aboutEsa without knowing why.

“Where’s Esa?” Gerti asked.“I was just going to ask the same thing,”

said Miri.“So was I,” said Frid.Miri was about to remark on the

coincidence when her mind leaped to amemory of Esa at the princess academy,reading aloud beneath the bookshelf. Esa’sma, Doter, always said Listen to yoursecond thought, or the third might be toolate.

“Frid, come with me to look for her?”asked Miri.

“Maybe we’re thinking about herbecause she’s quarry-speaking,” Frid saidas they checked in Britta’s empty chamber.

“We’re not on linder,” said Miri. “Thenagain, we’re near a whole lot of it.”

The closer they got to the king’s wing,the more panicked Miri felt, until finallyshe broke into a run. They passed over thelinder threshold and into a quarry-shout sointense Frid lifted her arms as if to shieldherself. Images pounded in Miri’s head:the time the shelf at the princess academyhad broken, dropping the precious booksonto the floor; the night Miri had usedquarry-speech to shout all the way from theacademy to home, a plea for help. Thememories came one on top of another,askew and throbbing.

Miri tried to walk forward into the

linder wing and the shout, but guardsblocked the way, spears tipped forward.

Where? Miri quarry-shouted back, usinga memory of playing hide-and-find-me.

No response but the same imagesslamming into her head: Esa at theacademy, a fallen shelf, Miri calling forhelp.

“Please let us through,” Miri said to thefrontmost guard. “We’re trying to find ourfriend. She’s in trouble.”

“Not without the password,” he said.“Tell me where she is and I can dispatch aman to her.”

“In one of the linder rooms. A shelf mayhave fallen on her.”

The guard narrowed his eyes. “Whywould you think that if you don’t knowwhere she is?”

Miri made an impatient gesture, and theguard shrugged and nodded to another,

who began peering into rooms. One byone. Frid paced, as patient as a rollingboulder.

How could the guards hear nothing of it?Indeed, how did the stones themselves notrend and tear? But even as Miri thought it,she noticed small vibrations through thesoles of her feet.

“Is Britta within?” Miri asked the guard.“Or—”

Steffan walked by. He started to smileand then seemed to sense her anxiety.

“Miri, is everything—”“Oh Steffan, help!” she said. “I think

Esa is trapped somewhere. Tell the guards—”

“Let them in,” he said.Miri took Frid’s hand, and they ran.At first she thought she could follow the

vibrations in the stone to Esa, but theyseemed to radiate in every direction.

Corridor after corridor, through largechambers and narrow rooms, it all seemedthe same in their rush: linder floors, linderwalls, finery that tired their eyes. Miriwanted to see Esa, not another sofa.

“Did her quarry-speech make you thinkabout a bookshelf?” said Miri.

“Yes, the time it fell at the academy,”said Frid.

There could be a bookshelf anywhere.Surely the king could afford as many booksas he wanted.

Miri rubbed her face. Her bones nolonger shook from the ferocity of the shout,and that was so much worse. Esa’s voicewas dimming.

Steffan jogged around the corner,following after them.

“A place with books,” Miri said.“Somewhere in the king’s wing?”

Without wasting time to ask why, he ran

forward, motioning them to follow.What a marvelous boy! she thought. No

wonder Britta loves him.The quarry-speech was so faint now,

Miri felt only a thin, dry wail. She quarry-spoke a memory of Frid, Esa, and Miritogether at the academy, hoping Esa wouldunderstand they were coming.

“Esa!” Frid shouted. “Esa!”“The palace library,” Steffan said over

his shoulder, and he pushed two greatdoors inward. Miri cursed herself for notthinking of a palace library. The Queen’sCastle library had seemed large enough tosupport the entire kingdom.

Down a row of shelves, a massivebookcase lay toppled, and the ends ofEsa’s yellow-brown hair splayed out frombeneath it. Frid seized the case and inchedit up. Esa took an audible gasp. Steffanhelped lift while Miri pulled Esa free. Frid

and Steffan, groaning at the weight, let thecase thud to the ground behind them.

Esa breathed and coughed. Mirismoothed the hair off Esa’s forehead. Itwas the same color as Peder’s, and sheimagined their mother, Doter, touchingtheir hair like that when they were sick orhurt. Doter always knew what to do.

Mount Eskel had never felt so far away.“Don’t die,” Frid said, her bottom lip

trembling.“All right,” Esa croaked.Steffan was hurrying out and called back

that he’d find a physician.Moments later the door opened to Queen

Sabet. Her gaze took in Esa and the upsetcase, books strewn about.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Esa said.Her voice trembled. “I reached for a bookand the whole thing came down.”

“Well,” the queen said in her slow, high

voice, “books can be dangerous.”She motioned to someone in the

corridor. Several black-clothed servantsappeared. They righted the case and beganto reshelve the books.

“I’m sorry,” Esa repeated. “I won’tcome here again if you don’t want me to.”

The queen frowned with a press of herchin. “Someone may as well use this room.I t is pretty.” Her hands fluttered, unsure,and she left.

Miri and Frid had helped Esa move to alibrary sofa when the physician arrived.

“The longer I lay there, the harder it wasto breathe,” Esa said as the physicianexamined her. “I thought I was dying.”

“Yes, when the breath stops, deathusually does follow,” said the physician.“But you got out in time. I spy nothingworse than two broken ribs, and if youdon’t bother them, those bones will knit

themselves back together.”He gave her a dose of something for the

pain. Esa thanked him, but as soon as heleft, her face scrunched up and tears fell.

“Does it hurt too much?” Miri said.“What can I do?”

Esa shook her head. “Nothing. I just …I’m angry. I’m so angry!”

Miri and Frid took a step back andlooked at each other. Esa was not one toyell, and especially not minutes after herlife’s breath had been nearly squashed outof her.

Then Frid said in one rush, “I’m sorry Iate your roll this morning, I was hungryand I didn’t think you wanted it and youcan have mine tomorrow!”

Esa laughed softly, as if the effort hurt.“I’m not angry at you, Frid.” She was

still clutching a book with her right hand,her limp arm lying on her lap. “The other

day, the queen saw me reading one ofMiri’s books in the conservatory and said Icould use her library. I thought, howpleasant it will be to browse stories, butdo you know what I found?”

She held up the book. Miri read thespine: Maladies.

“There are herbs for pain and others forheart palpitations and some to bring onsleep,” said Esa. “There are things you cando to help get a baby out right and keep themother safe, and make sure a cut doesn’tgo bad—and if it does, it tells how to cutoff a limb and save the person from dying.”

“That’s some book,” Miri said.“I remember a little brother,” Esa

continued. “He had fat cheeks. My ma lostfour babies, Miri lost her ma, but in thelowlands they’re off at horse races andplays and banquets while their librarieshold secrets about how to help keep a

person alive. Why didn’t they bother to tellus?”

“There’s so much distraction here,”Miri said. “I guess they don’t think aboutus much at all.”

“I guess.” Esa took back the book andspoke softly, the anger fading. “But I won’tget distracted.”

Miri had been studying in the grandestschool in the kingdom, but she did not thinkshe’d learned anything so important. Esawould go back to Mount Eskel and savelives. Meanwhile Miri still did not know ifshe would save the painting or theprisoner.

“You can have my roll tomorrowanyway,” Frid said, paging through a bookcalled Anatomy.

“Thanks,” said Esa.Frid snickered. She held up the book,

open to an illustration.

“The artist forgot to draw some leggingson this fellow.”

Esa barked a laugh and then schooledstraight her expression. “If I’m going tolearn doctoring, I’d better get used to it.”

Miri left Esa and Frid studying Anatomyand wandered the stacks. It was so quietcompared to the Queen’s Castle libraryand its constant rhythm of footsteps,whispers, and flipping pages. This roomhad an air of abandon. Rain-gray lightseeped through the high windows anddusted the books below.

On the back wall a small bookcasestood alone, proclaiming its significance.Miri examined several of the books,realizing with dawning awe that they werethe actual diaries of kings. She picked upone covered in gray, cracked leather, but itslipped. She lurched and caught it justbefore it hit the floor. Some things could

never be replaced if lost: a king’s diary,the history of a mountain village, a paintingof a girl looking at the moon.

And my mother, and Esa’s fat-cheekedbaby brother, Miri thought.

The queen offered library access to allthe girls, and Miri meant to return soon, butit proved difficult to find time between theQueen’s Castle and Sisela’s Salon. Shemissed her nightly chats with the academygirls, but she just had to meet up with herSalon friends. Protests had begun tocrackle around Asland. Angry over therising cost of food, commoners gathered atthe roads into the city, where officialsexacted tribute on incoming wagons ofwinter vegetables. They complained, theyhollered, and sometimes they fought.

“ I t is beginning,” Timon said, seizing

Miri’s hands. “At last.”Miri squeezed his hands back. Each

protest was a tiny spark, and they believedthe revolution would explode any day now.Miri longed to be in the middle of it andplanned to accompany Sisela and Timon tothe next protest, but that morning she’dwoken up congested and sore.

“I never get sick,” Miri said when Brittabrought her juice and toast. Her voicesounded loud in her stuffed-up head andmade her ears squeak.

“No one gets through an Aslandianwinter unscathed,” Britta said.

Britta dodged officials and appointmentsfor a week, sneaking to Miri’s bedside tohelp her keep up on her studies and bringgossip. Demonstrations continued, andMiri realized there must be dozens ofSalons full of rebellious commoners. Butthe royal guard always quelled the

protests, and no mobs neared the palace.One morning Inga delivered a package

that had come for Miri. The box heldtwenty-five books, many times more thancurrently existed on all of Mount Eskel.Miri inhaled the sweet and dusty smell ofink on paper, rich as the air in a bakery.

“They must be worth a wagonload oflinder!” said Esa.

There was a note.

For Lady Miri,Who deserves a

library of her own.May these serve as ahumble beginning.

Timon

Miri passed the books around but heldthe note to her chest.

What if … Miri shied away from thethought, but it had already started to form.She saw herself in the black robes of amaster, showing young scholars theQueen’s Castle library and noddingdemurely that why yes, she had read everyvolume. She imagined standing on the bowof a ship, skimming over foreign seas,carrying the message of freedom won inDanland.

Timon had said first Asland; the rest ofDanland would follow, and then all theworld. His promises felt as real as paperin her hands, just awaiting the ink strokesof action.

But Miri was not the only one who tooksick that winter, and revolution proved nomatch for a head cold. Salons emptied, asdid the Queen’s Castle. Now Miri foundtime to haunt the palace library.

Master Filippus had said they needed to

study History to understand what hadworked in the past. Miri found theLibrarian’s Book of the palace library andstarted to read all she could on tributes,hoping for clues on how to defend MountEskel. There were laws that limited howmuch tribute nobles could take fromcommoners, but as Miri had seen from theGrievance Official’s ledger, if they tookmore anyway, no one could stop them. Andno laws limited the king.

Discouraged, she moved on to anymentions of Mount Eskel or linder. Sheread a curious entry in the diary of theprevious king, the father of King Bjorn andgrandfather of Steffan.

Sweyn’s cruelty toward Bjornhas grown worse. He tormentsthe boy and says his brother hasno business inside linder walls. I

regret telling Sweyn about linderwisdom so soon, but after myillness in the spring, I feared myown mortality and wished topass on the secret before Sweynbecame king. Now it seems Iwas premature.

I will send Bjorn to theSummer Castle to keep him safefrom his brother. Besides, Bjornneed not be raised inside linderwalls as he will not be king.

But Bjorn did become king, and now hedid indeed live inside linder walls. Surelythe passage she had read in the Queen’sCastle suggesting linder was toxic hadbeen wrong. But what was the royals’secret connection with linder?

Linder wisdom, Miri repeated to

herself. Could the royals have quarry-speech?

Impossible. Although Steffan did notshare Esa’s exact memory of a fallenbookshelf, surely he had experiencedsomething similar enough to understand. Ifthe royal family could quarry-speak at all,Esa’s quarry-shout would have nudged asimilar memory in Steffan or the queen.But they had heard nothing.

Miri read the diary and pieced togetherthe story of the two brothers. Sweyn, theprince heir, harassed Bjorn from a youngage, threatening and striking him. On oneoccasion he locked him up and would tellno one where. It took nearly a day to locatethe boy in a storage pantry. Bjorn did notcall out or even cry—just shivered till histeeth clattered. It was soon after that Bjornand his mother moved to the SummerCastle in Lonway.

The king’s diary ended abruptly, so Mirifound a historian’s account to learn therest. The king grew ill, and Sweyn ruled asprince regent. Sweyn attended the ball of aprincess academy in Hindrick provinceand chose his bride. Just months after hisparents had died and he had been madeking, Sweyn was racing carriages and waskilled in a crash. He had not yet married.

And so Bjorn—the shivering boy lockedin the pantry, raised in the country, keptaway from the palace and politics—became king.

Whatever linder secret the king hadpassed on to Sweyn the prince heir, Bjornlikely had never learned. What was thisknowledge royalty took to the grave?

The rest of the dreary winter affordedMiri many more afternoons of reading. Esawas rarely in the library anymore. Apalace physician had taken her on as an

aide.All the ladies of the princess kept busy.

When they were not helping Brittamemorize names of nobles and rules ofcourt conduct, Frid was at the forge, Gertiat her music, and Bena and Liana on socialvisits.

And Miri kept reading.Whenever Britta was free, she joined

Miri with a book of her own, resting herhead on Miri’s legs. Sometimes the queensat nearby, flipping through books withillustrations, humming to herself when shediscovered something she liked.

Royalty is the enemy of commonpeople, Sisela had said, and Mirisuspected it was true. But the sentimentwas hard to hold when the queen directeda servant to take Miri a tray of mint tea andsnacks.

“I felt you were thirsty,” the queen said,

not making eye contact before leaving thelibrary.

She felt I was thirsty? Miri wondered.Her thirst could not have been obvious.She had not been panting like a dog.

The phrase reminded Miri of somethingshe’d read. She looked back over aprevious king’s diary: The ambassadorfrom Rilamark was all pomp andswagger, but I felt his insecurity tingedwith fear.

It was an odd note, but Miri dismissedit, thinking perhaps the royals had theirown peculiar way of speaking.

When Miri could not read another wordwithout going cross-eyed, she left thelibrary, with more questions than answers,and walked into the city with Gerti andFrid. They had coins, an allowance givento the ladies of the princess, and theyplanned to buy Aslandian treats for their

families.“Traders will head up soon. Just about

two weeks till spring!” Gerti smiled,lifting her face to the sun.

“They think it’s spring already,” Fridsaid, pointing to blue crocuses peekingbetween cobblestones.

“I bet our miri flowers are coming up,”said Gerti.

Miri had been named for the flower, atiny pink native of Mount Eskel thatbloomed between rocks. But as she staredat one of the blue crocuses, anuncomfortable sensation burned in herchest. She could not name it. Perhaps if shewrote to Marda she could figure it out.Lately she did not quite know what shethought until she wrote it down.

Letter writing was a lot like quarry-speaking—a soundless call from far away.Would Marda have similar enough

memories to understand what Miri wastrying to say? How could she communicatethe whole world to a quiet sister on top ofa mountain? She would try. She needed apen and paper and a way to see herthoughts.

Winter Week Eleven

Dear Marda,Did you know there are

histories written about everyprovince in Danland exceptMount Eskel? We might as wellnot exist. I have been readingso much that I know more aboutthe lowlands’ history than I doof our own.

I saw a crocus today,blooming between

cobblestones. It made me sadand I did not know why. Butnow I think it is because I feelmore like that blue crocus thana miri flower. My feet areplanting in city earth. I cannotimagine leaving here forever.

Every night I close my eyesbefore sleep and try to seehome. All the bits of my lifehere take up space in my headtill it cannot fit the memories ofbefore. I know the streets of thecity now, the faces of my fellowscholars, the feel of my bed. Iknow Asland. And there is somuch I want to do still, alifetime of doing.

I am not the only onechanged by Asland. I wish youcould see Gerti as she plays the

lute and sings with the palacemusicians, or Esa after shehelped birth a baby, or Fridworking in the forge. After aluncheon with Lady So-and-Soand Lord Something-or-Other,Liana and Bena are “happy asa goat drinking her owncream, ” as Doter would say.And then there is Peder with hiscarvings.

Pa was right. Though shortas always, I have grown somuch bigger, I do not know if Iwill fit anymore in our littlehouse in our little village. I donot know if any of us will.

I am afraid this lettermight make you sad. It makesme sad too, because I cannotimagine going home for good.

My heart aches as I write thosewords, and yet at the same timemy shoulders feel lighter justfrom admitting the truth.

Still your sister,Miri

Chapter Twelve

Hear the leavesapplaudingHear the windhurrahingHear the surfguffawingThe ways of old aredeadThe queen has losther head

The day was a stale kind of cold—nobreeze, no brightness. The sky was as grayas Miri’s mood. It had been some timesince she’d spoken to Katar, and she

wanted to talk things through beforehurrying to the Queen’s Castle for the day.When Miri finally found her, Gummonthhad found her first. They stood together inthe brown winter garden, Gummonthsmiling as he spoke, Katar’s posturewilting.

Miri watched from behind a leaflesstree and exhaled when the official finallyleft.

“He must have been an unpleasant,sickly infant,” said Miri as Katarapproached. “What mother would hold abeautiful baby and say ‘I know! I’ll namehim Gummonth!’”

Katar’s glower made Miri swallow.“What … what did he want?” she asked.“To gloat,” said Katar. “He convinced

the king Mount Eskel has long been inneglect. Officials will travel with thetraders in the spring to take a tribute of two

gold coins for each villager, to make up forlost years.”

Miri sat down hard on a low rock wall.The ground seemed to tilt. The gray skywas the stone ground, and Miri wascrushed between it all.

“My family doesn’t have that much,Katar. I doubt anyone has.”

“Then the officials will take the goatsand some linder too. You can be sure thattrading day won’t be a festival anymore.”

Miri covered her face with her hands,further darkening the day. She prayed theentire world would just disappear. Shepeeked. Unfortunately, the world was stillthere.

Katar sat down beside her. “Gummonthwas going on about some leaflet he readabout Mount Eskel that made himdetermined to see us pay our dues.”

“We can’t let this happen.”

“Perhaps we can barter for a reprieve.”“Barter with what?”“Information,” Katar said, sitting up

straighter. “You’ve cleverly cozied up tothe rebels. Expose them in exchange forfreedom from tributes.”

“No! Katar, we can’t turn our backs onthe shoeless. There’s right and there’swrong. People are hungry and suffering allover Danland.”

“And you expect to help them all?”“More and more commoners gather at

each protest. Once enough of them jointogether, nothing will stand in their way.They only need more time, and if thecommoners create a new government inDanland, there won’t be outlandish tributesanymore.”

Katar folded her arms. “You’ve hadmonths and you offer me ‘wait and see andmaybe the commoners will succeed and be

nice to us’? That’s pretty disappointing,Your Royal Shortness.”

Miri flinched. “I may be short, but atleast I’m not nasty.”

“That depends on who you ask.”“Remind me never to ask you anything!”Miri stalked away, feeling like a frayed

bit of twine. She wanted nothing more thanto unburden her thoughts on a friend. Sheknocked on Britta’s door, still undecidedabout what was safe to tell the girl whowould marry the prince.

“Have you seen it?” Britta asked themoment Miri was inside.

“Seen what?” asked Miri.“‘The Mountain Girl’s Lament.’ Oh

Miri, it’s … it’s awful. There are alwaysleaflets circulating the city, but Gummonthsays people are really riled up about thisone. It complains about royalty, as manysuch leaflets do. But this one—it attacks

me specifically. And it was written, mostdefinitely written, by someone who was atthe princess academy.”

“What? Who?”“There’s no name, but the leaflet

includes details I don’t remember tellinganyone besides … well, besides you.”Britta examined her hands. “I thought youmight know something, you could explain….”

Britta looked at Miri fearfully.“Britta, I don’t know anything about this.

I’m so sorry.”Britta exhaled. “Yes, of course. If you’d

known that … that one of the girls waswriting this, you would have told me. I just…” Britta’s blue eyes brightened behindtears. “I just don’t know what’s going tohappen. Everyone’s so upset. At my fatherfor sending me to Mount Eskel under a lie,but at me too. What if they decide Steffan

and I can’t marry after all? And maybe weshouldn’t.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”“The princess was supposed to be from

Mount Eskel.” Britta held up a hand beforeMiri could sputter a protest. “I know youunderstand why I did what I did and youforgive me, but it was still wrong, wasn’tit? If not for me, Steffan would havechosen you, I just know it. He’s alwaysthought highly of you. And if …” Britta’schin started quivering, but her voice gotstronger. “If it would be for the best, I willleave, and you could marry Steffan.”

Miri laughed despite herself. “Britta! Iam not going to marry Steffan. None of theMount Eskel girls would. Steffan choseyou. Anyone else marrying him would justbe … weird.”

Britta laughed too and seemed surprisedby it. “I think Liana would be willing.”

“You’re probably right, though I hardlysee that as a blessing. Don’t worry. Steffanloves you, you love him. I’m sure thatwon’t change, even if Danland does.”

“But the leaflet was so angry, and whenpeople get angry, violence often follows.The Rilamarkians killed their queen lastyear. Did you know that? They chopped offher head in front of her palace. Peoplewatched as if it were a show at the theater.When the ax fell, they … they cheered.”

Miri put her arms around her and stayedtill Britta no longer cried.

By the time Miri returned to the girls’room, her heart was boiling.

“All right, who did it?” she said,slamming the door behind her.

“I suppose you’re talking about this,”Bena said, waving a printed piece ofpaper.

Liana strolled around the room, her

hands held behind her back. “We were justsaying that it must have been you.”

“Me? I would never speak againstBritta.”

“It does kind of sound like you, Miri,”Frid said.

“Why don’t you just admit you did it?”said Liana. “All this show is getting silly.”

“You used to spend the evenings withus, teach us things,” Esa said. “You’vechanged recently.”

“ Yo u are the most likely one,” saidBena, “off in that school all day.”

Miri took a step back. “So you’reattacking me because I attend the Queen’sCastle?”

Bena fanned herself with the paper, herlips pursed. Miri tore it from her hand andstormed out.

She was so busy stomping and fumingthat she’d exited the palace gate, heading

to Peder’s, before she read the leaflet. Thefirst sentence sounded eerily familiar. Thesecond was decidedly so. By the third, shehad to sit on a crate outside a grocer’s, thepaper shaking in both her hands.

I never really believed thelowlanders would allow acrown to sit on a mountain girl’shead. We were used to beingtricked by traders, to beingcursed and mocked andforgotten. When the chiefdelegate came to Mount Eskel toannounce the king’s priests haddivined our village as the homeof the future princess, weassumed it a cruel joke on us.

And yet, after some time at theprincess academy, I did begin tohope, and then even believe, that

things were changing for MountEskel. If the priests of thecreator god thought we werespecial enough to produce aprincess, then perhaps we were.

They were Miri’s words, taken from aRhetoric paper she’d written at theQueen’s Castle. When Master Filippushanded it back, Timon had asked to see it.

I first met Britta the summerbefore the academy. She said shewas an orphan and had come tolive with distant relatives on themountain. We became friends. Itwas not until the day PrinceSteffan chose his bride a yearand a half later that I learned thetruth: Britta’s parents lived, andher father had sent her to our

mountain so that she could bechosen.

Miri put a hand over her mouth. Whathave I done?

The paper gave details of Britta’syouthful friendship with Steffan—secretsBritta had confided in Miri. She wincednow at the sentences that had once madeher proud. She’d meant to write a trueportrait of events, but she had been self-congratulatory too. Aren’t I such a goodfriend to forgive her lie? she seemed to besaying. Aren’t I so generous?

There was an added paragraph at theend that Miri had not written:

And so we see how nobles lieand cheat to keep down the mosthardy, diligent, and innocentDanlanders. Sacred custom was

mocked and the shoeless robbedof opportunity. Instead of thefirst commoner princess in ourhistory, we get yet anotherpampered noble girl. The priestsof the creator god remain silent,as they so often do. But I speakout. And I say, enough. Danlandhas outgrown royalty like a childoutgrows baby clothes. Castthem off. The time of the peoplehas dawned. End the oppression.Stand up and be heard.

“Thoughtful, isn’t it?”Miri looked up. The grocer was stacking

apples into a golden pyramid. He noddedat the paper in her hands.

“Those Mount Eskel girls were done acruel turn. Poor innocents, barely scraping

by, and when one of them gets the chanceto be royalty, a noble girl steals it away.Turned my stomach. I usually tear downany leaflets I find on my store, but this oneI decided to keep. If enough of us displaythe leaflet, the royal guard can’t arrest usall.”

A copy was affixed to his shop window.Several more were stuck to the woodenstand holding the apples.

Miri crossed the street, away fromPeder’s, and headed instead for theQueen’s Castle. She pulled down manyleaflets as she went but soon gave up.There were hundreds. She might as welltry to empty the river with a bucket.

Miri was late; Master Filippus’s classwas in the library. She found Timon andplaced a leaflet over the book he wasreading.

He smiled up at her. “Isn’t it wonderful?

We’ve gone back to the printer three times.He says it’s the most popular leaflet he’sever seen!”

“Timon, these were my personalthoughts. How dare you steal them fromme?”

“Steal?” He smoothed the paper with hispalm. “But I asked if you’d be willing toshare it—”

“I thought you meant with you, not theentire city!”

He winced, as if surprised by a stab ofpain. “I was certain you’d be thrilled at theresponse. We’ve been in this together.Aren’t we in this together?”

“We’re not in this together,” she said,shaking the leaflet. “It makes Britta looklike a thieving, dishonorable snob.”

“Isn’t she?”“No!”“We are what we do,” he said quietly.

“But the leaflet will make people hateher.” She sat in the chair beside him,planting her head facedown on the desk.“This is really, really bad.”

“ I am sorry, Miri. I have a tendency toget excited and act without thinking. Butyour words were so perfect! I added myown at the end, but I believe them true andimportant enough to risk execution. Is thepart you wrote true?”

“Well, yes, but it’s not that simple,Timon.”

“Why not? How can telling the truth bebad? This kingdom is blind. It’s our job asscholars to keep speaking out anddescribing the world as it is until thepeople can truly see it.”

“But Britta—”“People are afraid to challenge a king in

his palace surrounded by his army. Heseems too large to overcome. But a robber

princess? That’s an easy rallying point.”“She’s my friend!” Miri said.Timon flipped open a book to a

genealogical chart of the kings and queensof Danland.

“History is names on a page. Years fromnow, your friend could be just anothermeaningless name school-childrenmemorize. Or hers could be the name thatignites the change. You are smart, Miri.You know you can’t support both yourfriend the princess and the commoners’fight for fairness.”

No, she had not known that. The idea hither like a stone.

Timon was on his feet, his cheeksflushed. “Let the people question aprincess. That will give them the courageto keep asking until those questions shakethe kingdom. The people will rise, thecrown will fall, noble titles will be

abolished, and at last everyone will beequal.”

When Timon spoke that way, her mouthwanted to shout and her feet wanted tomarch. People rising, kings questioned, acountry changed! Her heart beat, but herstomach rolled, sick with guilt. How hadthings gotten so complicated?

Miri took genuine comfort in studyingMathematics that day. She could sortnumbers into two simple ideas: true andnot true. Unlike numbers, words wererarely just one thing. They moved andchanged, camouflaging and leaping outunexpectedly. Words were slippery andalive; words wrestled out of her grip andbecame something new. Words weredangerous.

One and one will forever be two, Mirithought.

She looked at the girl in the painting.

Had her expression always been soforlorn? The girl seemed trapped, achingto go explore the world but unable to putthat stupid jug down.

I’m sorry, Miri thought at the girl in thepainting, because she needed to apologizeto somebody. I’m so sorry.

Chapter Thirteen

Goodness knows sheis too fierce for youGoodness knows shehas eyes for a lordGoodness knows sheyet will prove untrueHer cheek’s blush isas false as her word

Miri did not wait for Timon at the end ofthe day, hurrying back to the palace alone.Words tumbled about in her head, but shecould not form them into pleasingsentences. Nothing she could think of tosay to Britta would make it better. She

knocked at Britta’s chamber and crackedopen the door.

“Miri, come in!” Britta said with agrateful smile. She was not alone. Brittaintroduced her guests, Aslandian nobleladies seated primly on the sofas. “Andthis is my dearest friend, Lady Miri ofMount Eskel.”

Miri curtsied, wishing she could haveher dearest friend alone. The truth of theleaflet was a live coal in her gut.

The conversation dallied on theweather, preparations for the royalwedding just days away, and the besttoppings for custard. Miri was about toblurt out her confession anyway when oneof the ladies, her eyes on the fan in her lap,said, “We saw a leaflet this morning.Normally I wouldn’t read such things, butthe servants were in a fervor. We wish togive you the benefit of the doubt, Lady

Britta, and so we came in person to allowyou to explain.”

“Explain?” said Britta. Her face drainedof color.

The woman nodded. “Surely the claimsin the leaflet were not true.”

Miri wished the palace would comedown over her own head and bury heralive.

“I have little explanation and noexcuse,” said Britta. “Some of the thingswritten were, in fact, true.”

“Some?” asked a woman with an arch ofher eyebrow.

Britta’s ruddy cheeks deepened into apainful red. “I did go to Mount Eskel. I didclaim to be an orphan and attend theprincess academy.”

“I see. And what do you think about that,Lady Miri of Mount Eskel?” asked thewoman.

Miri sat on her hands, then rememberedher Poise lessons and folded them on herlap. “I think … I think that Britta is myfriend. And maybe whoever wrote thatleaflet didn’t mean any harm. And I don’tthink Britta meant any harm, going up toMount Eskel. And I didn’t want to be theprincess anyway.”

Miri winced. Master Filippus wouldhave given a sad shake of his head at theway she’d shambled around the rules ofRhetoric. Confusion and even amusementcrossed the ladies’ faces. Britta lookedlost.

The ladies reminded Miri of the hungryfish she had seen in the ocean, swimmingbeneath the fishing boats and waiting forthe cast-off entrails of gutted fish. Knowingthat Britta’s “dearest friend” had writtenthe leaflet would only give them morefodder for gossip. She excused herself.

In the girls’ chamber, Miri could notmeet anyone’s eyes. They’d been right—s h e had written “The Mountain Girl’sLament,” or at least most of it. But howcould she explain without implicatingTimon? Sisela’s husband had beenexecuted for as much.

Miri wrapped a cloak around herscholar robes and went outside.

Night had fallen over Asland, flamesfizzing in the kerosene lamps like fallenstars. The lamplight drained the color outof the painted houses, making the world asblack and white as the starred sky.

In Lady Sisela’s part of the city, theflower beds overflowed with heaps ofcrocuses and daffodils. Soon wagonswould lumber up to Mount Eskel for springtrading. The thought gave Miri a shiver.Though she had written a dozen letters toMarda, she could no longer imagine

sending any of them. What could she say ofthe tribute and the cruel poverty thatthreatened them? How could she fixanything in time?

She entered the Salon, and all the facesturned, their eyes brightening at the sight ofher. She tightened her fists, wanting to holdon to her anger.

“Miri!” said Sisela, rising to take herhand and kiss her cheek.

Clemen played a few bars of a popularsong, changing the words for Miri.

Goodness knows sheis so fierce and trueOur warrior girl slaysgiants with words

He pounded out the final notes, and theroom applauded—not for Clemen but for

Miri.“I read ‘The Mountain Girl’s Lament,’”

said Sisela, “and I understand you betterthan I ever have before. My sweet, lovelygirl, how I adore and admire you!”

“Don’t, please. I didn’t want this. Ididn’t mean to betray my friend.”

Sisela tilted her head to the side. “Irespect your loyalty, but Miri, this girltricked Mount Eskel out of the right to haveone of your own on the throne.”

“Britta and Steffan are in love …”“It makes a pretty story,” said Sisela.

“But consider it logically. Is this weddinggood for all of Danland?”

Miri did not answer.“It is difficult to find a soul in this city

who supports Britta,” said Sisela. “Yet Isuppose she’ll be princess whether theywant her or not.”

“And that, too, is getting people to

think,” said Timon. “I know she is yourfriend, Miri, and I am sorry, but people arefinally speaking out. The heat of therevolution is spreading!”

He offered her a strip of blue cloth. Shetook it, not understanding, and then sawthey all had tied strips around their upperarms.

“For you, our lady of the revolution,”Clemen said with a bow, “Asland isdraped in blue.”

Timon smiled at her quizzical look.“You don’t know your own power, doyou? In ‘The Mountain Girl’s Lament,’ youtalk of Mount Eskel wrapped about by bluesky. Your words resonated across thecapital, and all of like mind are wearingblue bands. The color of the comingchange!”

Miri sat heavily on the sofa, letting theblue strip go. It rippled as it fell,

reminding Miri of a living thing—anundulating caterpillar, a snake.

“You shouldn’t have taken my words.”She glared up at Timon. “You shouldn’thave used them that way.”

“I know you, Miri,” he said. “Youwouldn’t sacrifice the good of all thepeople for one entitled girl. Please, I’msorry.”

“I can’t let Timon take the blame.”Sisela sat beside Miri and put a hand onher back. “This is my fault. I encouragedhim to print the leaflet. You have fit intoour group so easily, you seemed a sister tothe cause from the beginning.”

“I am,” said Miri, straightening. “Ireally am. I think.” Her voice droppedlower. “I don’t know what to do.”

The anger was straining out of her, herhands relaxing. Timon and the rest hadgrown up in a huge city, reading books and

talking in Salons, while she’d been tendinggoats. Surely they knew better than she did.

Sisela smoothed a lock of hair offMiri’s forehead.

“My poor girl, you’re too hard onyourself,” she said. “Why should you havethe burden of doing everything?”

It was true. None of the other girls hadcome to Asland with so muchresponsibility. They could relax, enjoy thecity, develop interests. But Miri wasexpected to “go and learn for all of us,” asBritta had said. Miri felt tired just thinkingabout it. It was a relief when Sisela layMiri’s head against her shoulder.

“I don’t know what to do,” Miriwhispered again.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Siselaanswered. “Just let things happen.Everything will happen as it should.”

“In three or four weeks, officials will go

to Mount Eskel and demand tribute,” Mirisaid. “The families are finishing off theirwinter food supply and counting whatcoins they have saved, anticipating buyingenough food for the season, and perhaps acomfortable chair for a grandmother ornew blankets for a baby, spoons and pots,boots and buckets. Instead they’ll givetheir saved coins to the king—and likelylose their goats besides. They’ll be …they’ll be devastated … ruined … andthey’ll wonder if there wasn’t somethingwe could have … I could have done ….”

Tears stole away her words. She lookedat the floor and in the silence felt thecompassion of those around her. They, likeher, had faced the brutalizing injustice ofkings and nobles or they would not behere. She could not sell them out to theking, as Katar suggested, not even to saveMount Eskel. There had to be another way.

Sisela said, “A few weeks can changethe world, Miri. I will do all I can. Ipromise.”

Miri closed her eyes. She wanted tobelieve so badly, her muscles tensed.Clemen was playing a sweet melody, andthe notes softened the edges of everything.The room smelled of lavender andbeeswax candles. The music and hum ofconversation sounded as familiar to hernow as the bleating of goats.

Her stomach still felt tight as a fist, butSisela’s hand was on her head, motherly,comforting.

She knows best, Miri told herself. She issmart and wise.

Miri squeezed her eyes shut tighter.

Winter Week Thirteen

Dear Marda,I do not know what to

write. I stare at this blankpaper and wish words wrotethemselves, words to tell mehow to feel and think and whatto do.

There will be a tributedemanded of you all. You andPa and everyone thought I wasso smart to figure out how totrade linder for fair value. Butsoon you will know that I amuseless. Nothing I changedlasted. Everything is fallingapart.

I am so sorry about thetwo gold coins in mother’sshawl. I had imagined them foryou when you wed, to fix upyour own house with a door and

windows, a table and chair, apot and spoons and such. Gone.And our goats! My heart achesfor our goats.

I honestly believed that wewould not have to go hungryanymore.

Britta’s wedding is near,at least. I wish she were safelythe princess already and thatno one could try to stop it. Iwant change, but I want Brittato be happy too. Why is thatimpossible?

I cannot stop the tribute. Icannot do anything. Exceptmaybe be Britta’s friend. Andyour sister,

Miri

Chapter Fourteen

Loan me your lace ofyellow, sisterLend me your fine kidglovesTonight is the bridalball, sisterTonight I’ll meet mylove

Present me a sash ofblue, sisterGift me a ribbon ofwhiteMy love awaits mebelow, sister

I am a bride tonight

Britta finished Miri’s hair by pinning awhite hothouse rose at the back. It was thenight of the bridal ball, the first of threeceremonies that would bind Steffan andBritta as husband and wife. By this timetomorrow, they would be wed. TheQueen’s Castle was on hiatus for the week,so Miri had been free to help Brittapractice the ball dances and her part in thecoming formalities, as well as to make herlaugh during her final dress fittings.

It was so easy to be with Britta, therewere moments Miri forgot why her insidesfelt like a twisted rope. Then she wouldremember—the leaflet, the tribute, therevolution. Sisela believed the commonerswould rise soon, and Miri was not ashappy as she thought she should be. She

had decided to put it out of her mind for thewedding and focus on Britta.

“Tradition holds that single youngwomen who attend a bridal ball will marryone of their dance partners,” said Britta.“Steffan says every girl in the city hasprobably been checking daily for aninvitation!”

“Who gets to attend, Britta? Just thenoble girls of Asland? Any commoners?”

“I never thought to ask.” Britta rubbed arose petal against her chin. “You see, thisis why you would be a better princess.”

Miri remembered Sisela declaring thesame thing. The truth of the leaflet washeavy on Miri’s tongue. She would notspoil Britta’s wedding with herconfession, not before she could figure outhow to fix everything. She hoped Britta didnot realize how many Aslandians opposedher marriage. Just one more day, and

Britta will be Steffan’s wife.Servants came to ready Britta, but she

sent them away.“I want to do my own hair tonight and

put on the dress of my choosing,” she toldMiri. “Maybe that’s silly, but I want tolook myself, not what the palace has mademe. Steffan is still distant. Maybe he’s justbusy, or else he always acts stiffer inAsland than he would in Lonway. But ifhe’s the tiniest bit hesitant … well, when Iwalk into that ball, I want to be sure heknows I’m just me, no flounces or pearls todistract him.”

Britta had asked to borrow the silver-and-pink dress Miri had worn at theacademy ball and lowered the hem. In turnshe lent Miri one of her new ball gowns, adeeper blue than the open-sky robes, withfull skirts over layers of tulle.

“I saw a crocus this color, working its

way up between cobblestones,” Miri said,letting her hand slide down the tight middleand over the exploding skirts. “Exactly thiscolor.”

Miri wore a pair of Britta’s heeledshoes so her skirts would not drag toomuch.

“You look so …” Britta smiled shyly.“I’m going to keep track of everyone whoasks you to dance tonight.”

But Peder won’t be there , Miri thought,and then quickly shrugged the worry away.It was just an old wives’ tale that thebridal ball paired girls with their futurehusbands. She need not take it seriously.

Britta would enter the ball later, so Miriwalked with the girls into the lindergrandeur of the king’s wing.

“Why is it, Miri, that you always try tobe the fanciest?” Liana asked, looking overher royal gown.

“If I looked like you, I wouldn’t have totry.” Miri said it smiling, but Lianaanswered the compliment with a glare.

“She thinks you’re trying to outshineher,” Esa whispered. The palaceseamstresses had added a pocket to Esa’sgown so she could tuck her limp arm away.In bright pink silk, she looked like aprincess herself.

“Liana spent three hours putting allthose tiny curls into her hair and a weekfixing up that gown,” said Gerti, runningher fingers through her own wavy hair thatnever grew past her shoulders.

“And she looks pretty,” said Miri. “Shealways does. I don’t know why she has tobe the prettiest.”

They arrived at the ballroom doors andgave their names. Miri had attended a ballat the princess academy and thought sheknew what to expect. This time, she was

determined not to gawk like a coarsemountain girl.

And then she entered the palaceballroom and gawked as she had not sincefirst arriving in Asland.

She had never seen so large a room.There were countless candles lit andsparkling in massive chandeliers.Hundreds of people resplendent in gownsand suits of silk spoke and laughed,moving fluidly as if aware of their ownbeauty. An orchestra played sounds sosweet and resonant, Miri felt herselfreduced to sand, swept up and flying.

“You look beautiful.”Miri opened her eyes to find that she

was not actually sand blowing about on themusic but a mountain girl in a ball gown,and Timon was looking at her.

“I meant, you are beautiful,” he said.She wanted to shake her head but

managed to say “thank you,” because a ruleof Poise stated that one should alwaysaccept a compliment. “I didn’t know you’dbe here.”

“Commoners can attend, for a price. Myfather is always willing to pay for a chanceto rub shoulders with nobility.” Timonsmiled, and she realized how tense helooked, afraid even. Of her? “For once myfather and I agree on something—you.”

“Me?”“He approves of my courting you

because I told him you are a noble. But Iknow you would throw off your title in amoment if that would help release othersfrom the shackles of poverty.”

She smiled to show he was correct, butit slid off her lips too quickly.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked. “Willyou forgive me and dance with me?” Hebowed over her hand. His eyes were blue

as mountain ice.She nodded. Though her insides were

still as knotty and worried as ever, shecould not muster any more anger. Heclosed his eyes and kissed her hand. Heatran from that kiss up her arm and into hercheeks till she suspected she looked moreapple than girl.

Timon put his other hand on her lowerback and guided her into the center of thedance floor.

She had never danced like this, onebody in the swirl of many bodies, spinningso fast she seemed part of everything andTimon too. The room spun. The worldspun. And Miri was at the center of it.

The orchestra played another song, andMiri and Timon danced on. She worried atthe unfamiliar tune, but he led her easilythrough the steps. She whirled. Sheskipped. She lifted her head and smiled. In

her extravagant gown at an Aslandian ballin the arms of a scholar, she did not feel abit like the girl from Mount Eskel.

At that moment, she did not miss it. Atthat moment, she did not care if she everreturned. She skipped. She swayed. Shespun.

The music thrummed out of the dancetune and into a march of state. At the headof the room, the king and queen arose fromtheir chairs, Gummonth beside them as healmost always seemed to be. Golden doorsopened, and Britta entered alone. She’dplaited her hair in two braids as she hadoften worn it on Mount Eskel and tied themwith ribbon. Her braid loops and ankle-length skirt made her look very young. Atthe academy ball, Miri had thought thesilver-and-pink dress as royal asdiamonds, but in the palace, it lookedhumble, a poor girl’s dream of royalty.

All eyes were on the hopeful princess.Britta clenched her skirts, and Miri wantedto go to her and hold her hand. She made awish on the flower in her hair that Brittacould be happy tonight.

The dancers parted as a procession, ledby Steffan, crossed the ballroom. DespiteBritta’s fears, Steffan went straight to hisintended bride, bowed, and offered hishand. Britta took it. The crowd applaudedpolitely. The music began again, and Brittaand Steffan danced.

“And so ends the first act of marriage,”Timon said. “Britta has become Steffan’spartner on the dance floor, a symbol thatthey intend to be partners for life.”

Miri exhaled, one knot inside herrelaxing. “So they’re almost married.”

“Until they complete both the chapelceremony and the presentation on theGreen, nothing is official,” said Timon.

“Britta need not be the princess.”“But she will.”“Logically, is Britta the best choice?”“Yes, she is. I’ll write a Rhetoric paper

on the subject and get back to you, MasterTimon.”

He smiled. “Sorry. I know I sound likean old man. I have a tendency to feel thingstoo strongly, and I’ve worked hard to thinkinstead.” He was holding her gloved hand,feeling her fingers beneath it. “I love tothink about things with you, Miri. Butsometimes when I’m with you, all I can dois feel.”

Miri could not find her breath torespond, but she did not need to. Theywere dancing again, her crocusblue skirtsswishing. Timon held her waist so that herfeet seemed to barely touch the ground.They leaped and whirled, and Miriimagined wings on her back. Her breath

was fast. Timon’s hand was warm.They danced for hours, it seemed, and

Miri did not ever want to stop. But at lastTimon offered his elbow to escort her fromthe floor to the refreshment room, whereshe drank cucumber-scented water and atecups of red currant pudding drizzled withbrowned butter and crunchy sugar. He kepthis arm around her waist to hold her closein the crowd, and they whispered aboutrecent protests.

It was not until she saw Peder that Mirirecalled what Britta had said about thebridal ball.

Peder was wearing his nicest clothes.Miri knew his mother had scavenged thebest bits of cloth she could and carefullystitched each piece of the trousers, shirt,and vest. How grand they had looked onthe mountain. Miri’s chest pinched.

“Excuse me,” Miri said to Timon, and

hurried away.Peder was looking around as if unsure

how he’d arrived in this place. His gazestopped on Miri, but he stared at her forseveral moments before seeming torecognize her underneath all the tulle andsilk and roses.

“Peder!” she said. “You came!”“Britta sent an invitation, but Gus let me

go only now.” Lifting a cautious finger, hepoked at her skirts. “How do they stick outso big?”

“It’s all padding for show. For somereason, huge hips on a girl are supposed tobe pretty.”

“Huh. I don’t think I’ll ever understandlowlanders.” He smoothed out his frownand offered his arm. “I mean, you lookpretty.”

“Even though my hips are as wide as awagon?”

“Even though.”She took his arm and pulled him toward

the music.“I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks,”

she said.“I’m sorry. It’s your fault, you know,” he

said with his teasing smile.“Oh really?”“Absolutely. You think I’m so amazing

and talented.”“I do, do I?”“Uh-huh, and so I’m forced to prove you

right by working like a dog.”“Because it would be horribly impolite

of you to prove me wrong.”“And if I was ever rude to a girl, you

know what my ma would do to me.”“Hang you by your ankles on the

clothesline and whack you like a rug?”“Or make me sleep on the floor of the

goats’ pen.”

“So that’s why you used to smell like adung heap. And I thought you’d just dabbedon some lowlander cologne.”

He jostled her with his shoulder, aplayful nudge, and she caught a whiff of hisclothes. He must not have worn them sinceleaving the mountain because they stillcarried the smell of Doter’s homemadesoap. As if the scent were a quarry-shoutin the linder palace, the memory of homebecame vivid. She imagined they weretending goats on a hilltop, looking out atthe eternal chain of mountains. The dazzleof candlelight was just the sun sparklingoff Mount Eskel’s snowy head. The musicwas the sensation of her heart beating.

“That’s funny,” Miri breathed. “Allwinter I haven’t been able to rememberhome clearly. Not till just now. Here,smell.”

She lifted the corner of his vest, and he

breathed in. His smile was softer but justas real.

“Every day I finish up my chores andstay awake as long as I can to practicecarving, and then I fall into my cot, tootired to take off my shoes. But even then,all I want to do, more than sleep even, istalk to you. Talk like we used to when wetended the goats or hiked to the summit.”He shifted, looking at his shoes. “Thelonger we stay here, the more you seem tobelong, and the more I miss home.”

The conductor announced the finalnumber of the night, “Rose of Asland,” andas the music began, panic charged intoMiri’s throat. She took Peder’s hand andpulled him onto the floor.

“Come on, quick. We have to dance.”“Why?”Because she had looked into Timon’s

eyes and felt wonderful in his arms.

Because it was the bridal ball, and what ifthe old wives’ tale was true after all?Because she had made a thousand wisheson a thousand miri flowers that she andPeder would one day hold hands as theyentered the carved chapel doors on MountEskel and stand together under the stonelintel to swear devotion, and hear thecheers of their families and friends andreceive gifts of goat kids and blankets anda wooden chair to put in their own littlestone house.

But she had danced with Timon at thebridal ball, and the world was spinning sofast she did not know where her feet stoodor where her heart lodged. Perhaps itwould be her last dance with the love ofher childhood, or perhaps it would be herfirst ball with the boy she would marry.Either way, she needed to dance.

But all she said to Peder was, “Please.”

He took her hands. And they danced.It was a simple dance to follow. All the

dancers spun in a wide circle around thefloor, the pace gallop-quick, the exercisejovial and breathless.

Peder’s arms did not hold her assecurely as Timon’s had. She did not float,did not feel wings on her back. Peder’sturns were sharper, and he looked more athis feet than into her eyes. They barelymade it around the room one time beforethe other couples went zooming past. Waseveryone staring? Did they look like themost backward, ham-fisted, lame-footed,provincial dancers Asland had everwitnessed? Miri felt tired andembarrassed, and she almost groaned. Butas the groan rose up in her chest, shedecided to turn it into a laugh. And whenshe laughed, Peder laughed.

They danced a little faster, and laughed

a little louder, clomping their way overpolished linder stones in the palace of theking.

Spring Week One

Dear Marda,It is late. I danced at a ball

tonight with two differentpartners. I still feel dizzy fromspinning, and I suspect thatfeeling will not go awayanytime soon.

Britta and Steffan danced,and it was as if he had chosenher all over again. Tomorrow isthe chapel ceremony. I havefailed Britta in ways I will tellyou about one day. I do notthink I can undo what I have

done. But I can see her wed, atleast. And I can be happy forher.

Miri

Chapter Fifteen

We stand up for thefarmersWho can’t keepenough to eatWe walk out for theworkersWho don’t know thetaste of meatWe run forward forthe childrenWith no shoes upontheir feetWe will march thiskingdom downWe will break the

golden crown

The next morning, the sun seemed a littlecloser, the air almost mountain-fresh aftera night rain. Spring pulsed green andgolden. The palace courtyard filled withthe courtiers and ladies of the princess,their clothing fine though more subduedthan their ball attire, and their eyesshowing evidence of a late night dancing.

“Brutally early,” muttered a man with agreen-feathered cap and heavy fur coat.Liana was on his arm.

“Must the chapel ceremony take placethe very morning after the ball?” she said.Miri had not realized that Eskelites spokewith an accent until she noticed how muchLiana sounded like an Aslandian. Miriwondered if Liana had practiced long towork the accents of home off her tongue.

Liana would marry this noble, sowhispered Bena. If she returned to MountEskel, it would be to visit, not stay. Such afuture was possible—for Liana at least.And for Miri?

The murmuring stopped when Britta andthe royal family emerged. Everyonecurtsied or bowed. Britta wore a whitedress, tight in the waist, lace over silk thatspilled to the ground. Her head waswreathed in daffodils, her cheeks reddish-purple. She did not smile.

Just nerves? Miri wondered. Or isBritta having second thoughts? PerhapsSteffan’s aloofness had finally worn herout and she would not go through with theceremony. Some part of Miri hoped thatwere true. Changing Danland would beless complicated if Britta were not tangledup with royalty.

Courtiers began climbing into the

carriages, hiding yawns behind hands. Anofficial directed Miri, Katar, and the otherMount Eskel girls to the front carriage.Britta came toward them, running as if shefeared she were late. Her slippers fell off.She paused to put them back on, and anofficial directed her to a nearer carriage.

The caravan began at a leisurely pacethrough the quiet streets.

“What is wrong with this city?” saidKatar. “The chapel ceremony isn’t open tothe people like the presentation on theGreen, but still, it’s been over twenty yearssince the last royal marriage.”

“You’d expect people lining the route ofthe procession,” said Esa.

“Exactly,” said Katar. “I know many areangry that Britta isn’t an Eskelite, but she’sstill the prince’s choice. Besides, I likeher.”

“You like someone?” said Miri. “That is

saying something.”Katar yawned hugely, as if to show how

little she cared about Miri’s jest.They turned a corner, and Miri could

hear singing. At first she thought it someAslandian celebration song, but then sherecognized the tune and the words: We willmarch this kingdom down, we will breakthe golden crown.

It was “The Shoeless March.” Perhapsher Salon friends were in the crowd. Mirilooked out the window. Hundreds, maybethousands of people surrounded the chapeland spilled into the street. They were notwaving handkerchiefs and cheering. Theywere forming a barricade. As the carriagesneared, yelling replaced the singing.

Katar leaned out the window and cried,“Don’t stop!” at the driver, who wasalready whipping the horses faster.

The mob rushed forward, pushing at the

carriages, their faces twisted with anger.“… not our princess!” Miri heard one

man shout as he hurled himself at theircarriage door.

“Well, I’m not your princess either!”Frid yelled back. He yanked at the door,but she shook it until the man fell off.

The carriages crawled on, tilting andjolting as people banged on the doors andthrew stones. Miri gripped the seat. Theyhit something, and with a bounce Miri andthe girls fell onto the floor of the carriage,knocking heads. A moment later there wasa cracking sound, so loud Miri’s earsbuzzed. The glass pane of the carriagewindow was fractured, a neat hole in themiddle. Miri started to get up, but Katarpulled her back down.

“They’ve got muskets, Miri. They’refiring at us!”

Miri could not have stood up then if she

wanted to. Her legs felt wooden, her feetuseless.

“Why us?” she asked.“Maybe they think Britta’s in here?”

said Katar.Until that moment, Miri had not

believed, could not have imagined, that thepeople who yearned for change in Danlandalso wanted Britta dead.

The air stung with another shot, but thehorses were running now. Miri could hearthe carriage straining against the motion,wood creaking, nails pulling. She put herarms over her head and waited forwhatever was happening to be over. Shehated waiting. She wished for a mallet or ahammer, a needle and thread, a pen andpaper—something she could do.

She did not look out again until thecarriage stopped. Through the crackedglass she recognized the palace courtyard

and leaped free, her legs shaking under heras if solid ground were still a carriage inmotion, the whole world on the run.

The rest of the caravan was pulling in,with clatters and shouts and the brays ofworried horses.

Britta spilled out of a carriage, her feetlost in her long skirts. She started towardSteffan, who looked equally dazed, butmembers of the royal guard surrounded herand led her away. Beside tall and strikingGummonth dressed in brilliant green, theking looked pale and weak. Miri had notrouble imagining him as a small princelocked all day in a closet.

“They should be hanged for this!”Gummonth was shouting.

“Now is not the time for aggression,”said another official. “You need to placatethe people, sire, console them, promisethem peace and prosperity.”

“Are you insane?” said Gummonth.“Now is precisely the time for aggression.I warned you, sire, if you did not punishthe provinces after their insolence at thegift giving, the people would think youweak, easy to topple.”

“You did, Gummonth,” said the king.His hands shook as he pointed. “Youwarned me.”

“Sire, you must act swiftly anddecidedly,” said Gummonth. “Round up asmany protesters as you can, and have apublic execution on the Green as a warningto others. You will prove to them that youare the king. If we show any weakness,they will attack again.”

“That’s right,” said the king. “Thepeople must recognize the absolute powerof the crown. They will fear me.”

“Please, Your Majesty,” Miri said. “Ithink the other official was right. If we—”

“You may not speak,” Gummonthinterrupted her. “The king has not askedyou to speak.”

“But I know some of those people, andif you want peace—”

“ Yo u know them?” said Gummonth.“You sneaky little Eskelite rat. You’re apart of this!”

“No! Well, I … I mean …”“Get her out of my palace,” said the

king. “Out!”Miri was scarcely aware of anything but

hands on her arms. Two soldiers pulledher so quickly she managed to take only astep or two of her own on the way to thecourtyard gate. The gatekeeper unlocked it,and the guards pushed Miri out. By thetime she turned around, they had locked thegate against her.

She peered through the bars. The groupwas going into the palace, and Esa and

Frid looked back.Miri hurried into the street. She did not

want them to speak up for her or doanything that would get them in trouble.Miri felt she deserved this, and worse too.

She wished for wings to take her back toher mountain. No wings appeared. So shewalked. At first headed for Peder, shechanged her mind.

She had never been to Sisela’s house bydaylight. The facade was painted the samered as the brick of the Queen’s Castle.Patches were flaking off, revealing graywood beneath. The crocuses and daffodilsin the front garden were weedy and sparse,springing up defiantly.

Miri knocked at the door. Sisela herselfanswered.

“Oh! Hello. My … servants are off thismorning,” she mumbled, straightening hershawl and patting her uncombed curls. The

black paint that outlined her eyes wassmudged and made her look tired. “Iwasn’t expecting …” She laughed lightly.“I must be a sight! Never mind, come in,sister, dear.”

Sisela led her into the Salon, the roomlifeless without lamplight. She opened oneof the drapes and let a slice of hardsunlight enter. Rather than bring color intothe room, the high contrast made everythinglook black and white.

It felt odd to sit casually, just the two ofthem, in that formal and spacious chamber.Surely in a house that size there would be asmaller reception room?

Miri remembered something she had notthought of in weeks. The night soldiers hadcome, Miri and Timon fled through thehouse, dark room after dark room, eachempty of furniture. Why would Sisela’shouse be mostly vacant?

The lady reclined on her lounge in herhouse robe, the slab of sunlightilluminating her from knees to brow. Shelooked bloodless.

“I would offer you refreshment, but as Isaid, the servants …” She shruggedprettily.

“I read a lot about the king recently,”said Miri. “I can’t help thinking differentlyof him, knowing that he was once a littleboy tormented by his big brother.”

“Sweyn tormented Bjorn? Yes, I canbelieve it. He still is just a poor little boy,isn’t he? I used to be a courtier, you know—a noble who lives at court—until Icouldn’t bear to witness Bjorn, his queen,and their useless little lives any longer. Iwonder if Bjorn realizes how close he isto losing his crown ….” Her voicequieted. “I wonder if he thinks about howdifferent his life would be if he’d chosen

me.”There was an impatient knock at the

front door. Miri sprang to her feet,remembering the officials and soldiers, butTimon entered.

“Sisi—”“Timon, dear!” Sisela said. “First Miri

calls unexpectedly, and now my lambTimon. I am popular today.”

He squinted into the room. “Miri, areyou all right? I heard that guns were firedat the royal carriages.”

“A bullet went right over my head.”“No!” said Timon. “Miri, you have to

stay away from the princess. She’s markedfor death.”

“What do you mean—”“He means the people are angry at her,”

Sisela interrupted.“Yes, they made that pretty clear,” said

Miri. “They were shouting that they will

kill Britta before allowing her to marry theprince. You didn’t know that stupid leafletwould cause all this. Did you?”

Timon hesitated, putting his hands in hispockets, taking them out again.

“Miri, I know you understand that thegreater good outweighs the cares of oneperson,” said Sisela. “We must makesacrifices in order to realize our goals.”

Miri’s legs felt cold. “What exactly arethose goals?”

“Ultimately, to rid this kingdom of theinfestation of royalty and nobility.”

“I thought we were fighting for change,for a country where everyone has fairtreatment and the hope of prosperity.”

“Well, yes, of course,” said Sisela.“And that will be possible once the royalsand nobles are gone.”

“Gone where?” Miri asked.Timon paced to the window. Sisela

smiled at Miri and patted the lounge besideher. Miri stayed standing. Sisela pressedher lips together.

“I have studied the history of manykingdoms. Whenever a people overthrow aking but allow him or his family to live,those royals eventually return, usually withforeign support, and reclaim the thronethrough war. Miri, my precious one, wemust not make the mistakes of the past.Peace will set us back. I know it soundsharsh, but sometimes we must kill toprevent more killing.”

Sisela paused, and Miri feltdisconcerted by the silence. On Salonnights, Clemen played stirring marchesbehind Sisela’s words, the notes rousingpeople into an ovation. Now, only the softcreak of the empty house punctuated herspeech.

Music creates mood, directs feeling ,

Master Filippus had taught. Miri nowwondered how much of what she had feltin the Salon had been created by Clemen’smusic.

In the hush, Miri remembered one of therules of Diplomacy she had learned at theacademy: The best solutions don’t comethrough force. Was that always true? Orcould Sisela be right? Miri hoped not, butshe was not certain.

The room felt airless. She wanted to feelstone under her feet and see sky above her,the same sky that covered Pa and Marda.

“I should go,” said Miri.Timon stepped forward and watched her

as if waiting for an invitation to follow.She shut the door behind her.

The day was bright, the streets strangelycalm after the terror at the chapel. Miribelieved Britta ought to leave Asland. Shecould return home to Lonway or even

Mount Eskel. It would not be so bad ifBritta were not the princess. She seemedso lonely at the palace. Perhaps she wouldbe happier if she could give it up. Thatwas the simplest solution, and Miri hopedfor it in a giddy, foolish way. Couldn’t shehave a fair world and her friend?

She pictured the way Britta’s eyeswidened whenever she spoke of Steffan,and despair sank back into her chest.

Miri found Master Filippus alone intheir classroom, reading an unfurled scroll.He smiled when he saw her.

“Not many seek the enlightenment ofbooks and old men when offered a free dayand sunshine.”

“You’re here too,” she said.He moaned and patted his cheek. “I have

fair skin. I burn easily.” He set down theparchment. “You have questions. You mayask.”

“Some of my friends seek change inDanland.”

He nodded. “Examine not only an ideabut the people behind it. What do they haveto gain?”

“Timon Skarpson—”“Son of wealthy merchants. His parents

have donated gold to the crown in hopes ofclaiming a noble title.”

“Lady Sisela—”“—is a lady no longer. Years ago she

published leaflets condemning the king.When they were traced back to her, herhusband claimed them to save her life. Hewas declared a traitor and stripped of histitle before execution.”

Miri blew air out through her lips.“Did you guess I was such a gossip?”

Master Filippus said slyly.“They’re willing to risk everything for

the cause. I believe they really do care

about the shoeless.”“Perhaps,” he said.How could Miri know what was the

truth? She shook her head.“Master Filippus, what happened in

Rilamark after they killed their queen?”“The rebels … mmm … executed her

family. And her friends. And hersupporters. That wasn’t enough, so theyexecuted as many nobles as they could gettheir hands on. The ax fell daily for weeks.And now the rebels look about themselvesand wonder what to do next. Those whowere fond of the old way fight the newleaders, and the killing continues. Few oftheir trade ships sail, and when tradestops, people starve.”

“The very people that the rebels weretrying to help,” she said.

Master Filippus shrugged in agreement.“You are a master scholar, so you know

the harder subjects, like Ethics.”“That is true.”“Tell me what to do. I need to know

what’s right and what’s wrong.”“A question every scholar wrestles

with. Let us use the question of the paintingand the prisoner as an example. What doyou think of the painting?”

“It is not good or evil. It is only what aperson sees in it.”

“Exactly,” he said. “It has no capacityfor evil. It is safe. A man who has killedmight kill again. He is not safe.”

“But what if the murderer was sorry?”she asked.

And what if he had kind eyes? What ifhe made a joke at his own expense thatmade Miri laugh? What if he’d been manyyears in the dungeon with no window andall he longed for was to gaze into a pureblue sky? The painting was beautiful. But

the painting could not sit under the sky,look up, and smile. The painting could notadmire the waning moon and think howmuch it looked like a face half turned awayfrom the light. The painting had lastedmany years longer than any person might,but it did not care. It did not fear the fire.

“So you would choose the murderer,”said Master Filippus.

“But I love the painting. I don’t want tohave to choose.”

“And so you choose nothing. You letboth the painting and the murderer burn.Which is worse—acting in the wrong ornot acting at all? Let us look at anotherexample—”

“No more examples. I have a realquestion. There are changes brewing. Andthere is a girl. The change is about what’sbest for people like my own family, whichapparently includes preventing the girl

from marrying the boy she loves, andpossibly even killing her. But the girl is myfriend.”

“An interesting dilemma. As you studyHistory, you discover a pattern ofrevolutionary thought that invariably failsto meet its goals.”

Miri was pacing now. “Everyone keepssaying history has proven this or that. But itseems like people look only at the parts ofhistory that agree with them and ignore allthe rest.”

“A valid point. Perhaps if you study thephilosophies of Mikkel—”

“Just tell me what to do!”“I can’t,” he said. “That is the sad truth

you seek, Lady Miri. I don’t knoweverything. No one does.”

“Then what good is all this?” Sheslapped at the table, knocking a parchmentonto the floor.

Master Filippus sat back, groaning likea tree branch pushed about by wind. Hisslow gaze took in the spilled parchmentand then returned to her face. She hadnever realized before that he was quiteold.

His voice creaked. “We study, MissMiri, we read and ponder and examineevery side, so when it comes time to makea choice, we have hope of a good one. ButI don’t know which choice is good for you.Ethics happens here”—he pointed to hischest—“as much as here.” He pointed tohis head.

“I wish everything was easier,” shewhispered.

“So do I,” he said.She exhaled heavily and felt a tightness

in her throat that meant she could cry if shewanted. She carefully rolled the fallenparchment and placed it on the table.

Master Filippus rested his head on hishand, his cheek wrinkling, and looked outthe window. He could not have been moreopposite the young girl in the painting, andyet, Miri noticed, their expressions wereidentical. But the master was as real as hiswrinkles, while the girl was nothing morethan color on canvas. Miri hoped that if abuilding caught fire, she herself would beworth coming back for. Just then, she wasnot sure that was true.

We are what we do, Timon had said.Miri sat beside Master Filippus. “Will

you show me the philosophies of Mikkel?”He nodded, and his wrinkles turned up

slightly to admit a smile.

Miri arrived at Gus’s very late. She hadsat with Master Filippus all day, debatingmany ideas and finding no easy answers.

Gus’s gate was locked. She felt too tired toknock and leaned against it, nearly asleepupright.

Peder came from the direction of thestreet. “Miri! I was looking for you. Brittasent me a note about what happened.”

He unlocked the gate to let them in, andthey settled on the pile of straw. Miri feltlike a fire burned down, embers barelypulsing orange. But she talked, Pederlistened, and a kind of quiet heat flickeredin her that promised not to burn out yet.She told him about “The Mountain Girl’sLament” and Timon, Gummonth and thetributes, Sisela’s empty house, the gunshotin the carriage, the painting in theclassroom.

“I don’t know,” said Peder. “Why doyou have to choose between the paintingand the prisoner?”

“Because there isn’t time and the fire is

raging.”Peder rubbed his eyes and lay his head

on his arm. “But there isn’t actually a fire,right?”

“Well, no.”“Then isn’t it kind of a stupid question?”“But if there were a real fire—”“I’m too tired to think about pretend

fires,” he said.“I know. Me too. I just wish … I want

ethics to tell me what to do.”“I’m going to sleep here. You take my

bed. There are some oats in the bucket ….The horse is so pretty ….”

Miri squinted at him. “What are youtalking about—horses and oats?”

Peder snorted and opened his eyes.“What?”

“You were falling asleep.”“No, I wasn’t. Maybe for just a second.”Miri laughed. “I’m in crisis about Britta

and musket shots and tributes, and you’refalling asleep and dreaming about prettyhorses!”

“Don’t laugh,” he whined, “or you’llmake me laugh and I’m too tired.”

He covered his face with his arm andsnored once.

Miri sat on his low bed beside Gus’sfire. She stared at the wall, her gazesleepy, her thoughts chasing one anotherlike a dog after its own tail. She wrapped ablanket around her shoulders. It smelledlike Peder.

He was sound asleep on the straw anddid not twitch when she lay the blanketover him.

Chapter Sixteen

Bury the embers,extinguish the sparkWe plunge ourselvesin the well of the darkFar from voices thattrouble and chatterDown, deep downwhere worries don’tmatterOur minds all teemwith the unseen thingBut night is a blink,and sleep but a dreamWake, wake, seethings as they seem

In the morning, Miri drew a bucket ofwater from the well to wash up and drink.Her stomach gurgled, protesting againstnothing but water for breakfast. She triedto be quiet as she left, but the gatesqueaked.

Peder ran out, his hair full of straw andsticking straight up on one side.

“Are you going to the Queen’s Castle?”he asked, his voice dry from sleep.

“We’re on break. But I have to go outthere and try to do something, you know?”

“Wait a moment.”He returned quickly, wearing his jacket,

his hair wet, his face red from washingwith cold water.

“I asked Gus for leave. I want to go withyou.” He locked the gate behind them andpaused. “It feels as if today is important.”

She was about to protest—this was hermess, and cleaning it up might prove

dangerous. But he took her hand andsmiled that confident smile of his that liftedhigher on one side. She smiled back andbelieved perhaps for the first time sincecoming to Asland that somehow everythingmight work out.

They passed through the alley and into asnowfall.

Clumps of snowflakes hovered andbumped along the breeze like fatbumblebees. Miri held out her hand, aplace for snow to land. A flake settled ontoher palm, its presence just a prick ofcoldness, a melting. It felt like a gift. Shebreathed in through her nose and shut hereyes.

“Smells like home,” said Peder.The snow was too light to stay, the

ground too warm to keep it. And thestrange spring snow fell only in that goldenmoment of dawn, the turning of the page

between night and day. Miri caught one ofthe last flakes on a fingertip and let itdisappear on her tongue.

The streets were quiet, just slow-moving delivery wagons and servantswalking to work. Peder and Miri madetheir way to the palace, taking the routepast the great wooden chapel.

Without speaking of it, they bothclimbed the chapel steps and stood beforethe doors, so huge Miri wondered if theyhad been built by giants. The same scene ofthe creator god first speaking to humansgraced Mount Eskel’s own humble chapeldoors. Miri’s neck hurt, leaning back tolook up so high.

“They’re big,” Peder said.“Big,” Miri agreed.“They look a lot like ours, but bigger.”“Big, big, big.”“Massive.” Peder scrunched his nose.

“It seems kind of unnecessary, doors thatbig.”

“Maybe Aslandians used to be fourtimes as tall.”

“That would make sense. Only itdoesn’t.”

“Exactly.” She touched the wood. It wasnot as polished and well oiled as theMount Eskel chapel doors. And perhapsnot as well loved. With so many things tolook at in Asland, who cared enough tolove these doors?

“Britta and Steffan were supposed toexchange vows here yesterday. And after,they would have climbed the bridal edificein the Green and been presented to thepeople as husband and wife.” She turned,scanning the grassy park across the mainavenue from the palace. “I watched thembuild the bridal edifice from a palacewindow. It’s a huge wooden platform,

topped with banners and … That’s funny,we should be able to see …”

There was no edifice on the Green, butthere were piles of lumber and colorfulbanners torn apart and scattered across thegrass.

“They destroyed it,” Miri whispered.Her stomach felt sick.

A small boy affixed a paper to thechapel wall. He lowered his cap over hiseyes when he noticed them and hurriedaway.

“I’ve never seen so many leaflets,”Peder said.

There were always some leaflets in thecity. Timon said that since it was illegalfor anyone but the king’s officials to printnews journals, leaflets were the people’sway to speak out. The abundance ofleaflets that morning felt like a shout.

Miri scanned the one the boy had just

tacked to the chapel.

This titled girl named Britta isnot content to merely live inluxury while the shoeless laborfor her silks, but she must steal acrown from them as well. Shewill lie, she will cheat, she willrob to wed the prince. But wethe people will not allow a thiefin the palace. We will cut off herhair and sell it for thread. Wewill strip her skin for ribbons.

Miri read no further, crumpling it up andtossing it as far as she could. She scannedanother leaflet and another, dozens ofdifferent authors saying about the samething. One sounded a good deal like Sisela.

Peace will set us back. If you are

hungry, if you labor without rest,look no further for blame thanthis robber princess. The first tocut out her heart will be the heroof Danland.

Miri fled down the chapel stairs towardthe palace. “It’s my fault this ishappening.”

“It’s not your fault,” Peder said, racingdown the street beside her.

“I was careless and boastful when Iwrote that Rhetoric paper. My wordshelped start it, and I have to undo it.”

“My ma says You can’t unspill a stew.”“She also says Undoing a wrong is

greater than doing a right.”“You know, Ma is very good at saying

two things at once.”They neared the tree where Miri met

Timon on the way to the Queen’s Castle inthe mornings. She stopped running whenshe saw his figure pace around the corner.His pale hair was stressed and lying everywhich way.

“That’s that boy you danced with at theball,” said Peder.

Miri did not know that Peder had seen.“Timon!” she said. “What are you doing

here?”“I … I was hoping to see you.” Timon

noticed Peder and his expression stiffenedinto a frown.

“What’s going on?” Miri asked.“You need to stay away from the

princess,” said Timon. “For a few days atleast, all right?”

“Why?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.“Just listen to me and do it.”“No,” she said. “Tell me why.”“Miri—”

“Tell me why, Timon.”Timon looked about. The few people in

the street were not near enough to hear.“Some of us … Sisi … well …”“Just spit it out, Timon,” Peder said.Timon glared, but he turned back to Miri

and took a deep breath.“Sisi heard that the rebels in Rilamark

hired an assassin to ‘take care’ of theirqueen. She found him and wrote to him,asking him to do the same here. I … we …some of us—those of the group with money—we paid the fee.”

“I don’t understand,” Miri said, thoughshe was afraid that she actually did.

“This was three months ago. We neverheard back. I figured our letter went astray,or perhaps it was just a hoax. Butyesterday Sisi received a letter from theassassin. He claimed he is in Asland nowand helped agitate the mob at the chapel.

And that was just a precursor. And … and…” Timon’s voice was so low now, Mirihad to lean closer to hear. “He guaranteedthe princess would be dead by midnighttonight, if not by a mob, then by his ownhand.”

“He’s going to kill Britta? No! Whywould you do that? Stop the assassin. Stopit from happening!” She realized she wasgripping his shirtfront and forced herself tolet go.

Timon rubbed his hair and face withboth of his hands. “I don’t know who he is.I don’t know what he looks like or wherehe is staying. I don’t know anything, Miri.He said he would contact us for the secondhalf of the payment after he finished thejob. His target is the robber princess, buthe promised he would take care of anyother royals as well if circumstancespermit. I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t

think anyone can.”Peder went at Timon, shoving him hard

in the chest. Timon stumbled backward.“You’re trying to get Britta killed?”

Peder said. “You’re the reason someoneshot at Miri. She could be dead!”

Peder shoved again. Though Timon wastaller, Peder was a mountain boy, who cutand hefted stone all day. Miri was afraidhe might really hurt Timon. A small part ofher wanted to let him try. But she put out ahand and stepped between them. Pederbounced on the balls of his feet as if readyto swing a punch at any moment.

“It was bound to happen with or withoutme,” Timon said, his voice hot. Hebrushed off his jacket, glowering at Peder.“All over the continent, people arespeaking out against royalty. Nobility willfollow, and then freedom. But revolutiondoesn’t happen all at once. The strike must

start somewhere.”“And so you all put your scholarly little

heads together and decided Britta’s deathwould be the spark to ignite the bonfire.”

“I know she was your friend,” Timonsaid. “I just wanted to warn you to stayaway. Please. Stay away from her so youdon’t get hurt.”

I know she was your friend, he’d said.Dread made the day seem dark, andnothing mattered but getting to Britta’sside. Miri grabbed Peder’s arm and pulledhim into a run.

Miri was going over in her mind whatshe would say to get into the palacecourtyard, but the guards at the outer gatedid not ask for a password and let herthrough. Perhaps the king’s banishmentorder had not traveled that far. She was notcertain she would be so lucky at theentrance to the palace itself.

They ran through a walled gardentoward the south wing.

“If they refuse me,” Miri said, “theymight still let you in. Go first to Britta’schamber and—”

Miri stopped. The entrance was entirelyunguarded.

“Should we be able to walk in likethis?” Peder asked.

“Definitely not,” said Miri.They creaked open the door. The foyer

was empty. Miri felt cold.On the way to Britta’s apartment, they

passed two royal guards in silverbreastplates and tall hats.

“No one was at the entrance,” Miri saidto them. “Is the royal family all right?”

“Of course,” said one. “The guard isprotecting them. Excuse us, we’re calledaway.”

Miri frowned but continued on.

The palace was as quiet as the early-morning street, just servants movingthrough the corridors. Their pace wasquick, their faces unhappy. Miri wonderedif they had read the latest leaflets.

She took a deep breath at Britta’s doorand decided she could not tell her aboutthe assassin. Britta would be toofrightened. But somehow she had to get herout of the palace.

“Keep watch,” Miri whispered toPeder. She knocked and went in.

Britta was still in her white lacemarriage gown, sitting on the floor withher legs tucked under her. The curls in herhair were droopy and loose. Morning lightglinted on her wet cheeks.

“Miri! I’m so sorry. I told the king thatof course you had no part in what thosepeople at the chapel did. After all, theyshot at you! But he won’t listen to me.

Sometimes I feel as if when I speak nosound comes out at all ….”

Tears spilled down her face.“Britta, don’t cry for me. Please.”“I can’t stop. I’ve been crying all night

like a baby, though it’s not just for you. I’mfar more selfish than you give me creditfor, Miri. It just feels as if everything iscoming apart.”

“Where’s Steffan?”“That’s the heart of it,” Britta said with

a sad smile. “They have him in the king’swing. Keeping us separate. I waited allnight for someone to fetch me, but no one’scome. Not even a servant with supper. Iknocked at the girls’ chamber a few times.I don’t think they slept there last night.”

Miri did not think the assassin wouldtarget Mount Eskel girls, but her uneasequickened.

“Perhaps everyone’s forgotten me,”

Britta said. “Or perhaps it’s been decidedSteffan and I will not wed.”

Miri poured Britta a glass of water froma pitcher.

“Might it be for the best?” said Miri.“There are worse things that couldhappen.”

“I can’t imagine.”Miri thought of the shattered glass in the

carriage window, the axes falling inRilamark. She gave Britta the water andwatched her drink it down, her toes curlingand uncurling with impatience.

“Things are getting dangerous out there.We should leave Asland for the timebeing.”

Britta shook her head, confused. “Notwithout Steffan. Where would I goanyway?”

Miri glanced at the door. “Home toLonway?”

Britta shuddered. She’d stopped crying,but her eyes were red and swollen.

“I’ll never go back. The day my fatherput me on a wagon to Mount Eskel, Iwatched the house grow smaller andsmaller, and I swore it would stay like thatin my mind—tiny and harmless, sized for amouse.”

Miri thought of her own wagon rideaway from home, her village swallowedby the mountain, her promise to return.

“Was home so horrible?” she asked,gathering some of Britta’s clothing into abundle.

“Perhaps not. I’m probably just beingdramatic.” She tried to smile, but theattempt was piteous. “I’m much youngerthan my siblings. They were all marriedbefore I was five. And my parentspreferred to spend a great deal of time atcourt, attending plays and concerts. They

said their house in Asland was too small tobring me along. It had ten bedrooms, but itwas too small for a girl … like a mousehouse, maybe.”

Not a sunrise passed that Miri did notput her arms around herself and rememberthat her mother had refused to put down hernew baby even for a moment in the weekbefore she died. It was a sadness that ranunder everything, like the low notes of ahorn in an orchestra’s song. But it madeMiri feel stronger too. She had this secret,this fierce love from her mother, that wasalways hers.

How much worse to have a mother wholived and simply did not care. Miri huggedthe bundle of clothing to her chest.

“When my parents were in Asland,”Britta was saying, “I stayed in Lonwaywith the servants. My father forbade me toplay with commoners, so I played alone.

Except when Steffan stayed at the SummerCastle. I didn’t understand why my fatherencouraged this one friendship. All I knewthen was I had a friend! We inventedgames and stayed outside from breakfasttill the crickets sang. He was the firstperson to shout out my name when he sawme coming, as if for pure happiness. Thefirst who made me feel like more than apiece of furniture—like a girl.” Sheblushed. “He was my only friend, Miri,until you. I cannot imagine life withouthim. I can’t imagine.”

“I’m sorry,” Miri said. And with thosewords, the weight of what she’d donecollapsed over her. She felt her mistakeslike an avalanche, and the grinding pain ofregret broke into sobs.

“Miri? What’s the matter?”“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,

Britta ….” She felt Britta rub her back and

shook her head. “I don’t deserve yourcomfort. I’ve wanted to be a part of thechanges so badly—for Mount Eskel, butfor me too … though I knew it might hurtyou … I was so afraid the king’s tributeswould crush our village, would makeeverything so hard again … harder even …but I wanted to help make things goodeverywhere … and … and I didn’t mean tolie at first, but I never told you … when Ifound out … that the words were mine.‘The Mountain Girl’s Lament.’ I wrote it.Most of it anyway.”

She could feel Britta’s hand on her backfreeze.

“That’s not true,” Britta whispered.“Timon suggested I write about the

academy for a Rhetoric paper. I didn’twrite that last part, of course! Timonadded his own words and had it printed.When you asked me about it, I didn’t know.

But I should have told you when I foundout, I should have written a different leafletexplaining, I should have done something… but Sisela said to let it be and Ibelieved her—she’s so smart—so I didnothing, I’m sorry …”

Britta stood and went to the window.Her back was tense. Miri held her breath,unshed sobs straining in her throat, andwaited for Britta to send her away as theking had done.

“I wondered. You were gone so manyevenings. Gummonth told us about all thathappened in Rilamark and said there wasdangerous talk in Aslandian Salons. But Inever imagined that you—” She took ashuddering breath. “I can’t think about thisright now, Miri.”

“That’s all right.” Miri sniffed andwiped her nose on a handkerchief. “Youdon’t have to forgive me—or not forgive

me—or anything. But you need to get out ofhere, Britta. The palace guards are gonefrom their stations.”

Britta’s hands clutched together.“Gone?”

“We need to go somewhere safe.Please.”

“I don’t … I don’t know where to go,”Britta whispered.

Miri felt a hopeless panic rising up on asob in her chest. She shoved it back down.We learn and talk and think so that whenit’s time to act, we know what to do.

What to do? She thought of History,Ethics, and Diplomacy, as well as Pederand Esa’s ma, who said Truth is whenyour gut and your mind agree.

Miri took Britta’s hand and said, “Staywith me.”

Chapter Seventeen

When thoughts aren’tsticking, are thickerthan stewWhat is true? What todo?When strife islooming, naughtbrewing for youAsk anew, what to do?

Peder was waiting outside Britta’s door.“Hello, Britta,” he said, taking the

clothing bundle from Miri.“Good morning, Peder. You’re out

early.”

“Being friends with Miri hasconsequences.”

He followed the girls to the king’s wing.It too stood unguarded.

“Something is definitely wrong,” Mirisaid.

Down the corridor, Steffan and hisfather were in their sleep clothes, speakinghurriedly. Britta called out to Steffan. Heran to her and they embraced. Britta’sshoulders heaved as she sobbed, herfingers gripping his shirt.

“The bridal edifice in the Green wastorn down,” Miri told Steffan. “I’mworried for Britta.”

“There are some pretty threateningleaflets out this morning,” Peder said.

The king pointed a hard finger at Miri.“How did you get in here?”

“The guards are not at their posts, sire,”she said.

“I noticed,” he said, gesturing to theemptiness beside his door. “At the palaceentrance?”

Miri shook her head.“This is unconscionable! The royal

guard would not abandon me.”Miri wondered if somehow the assassin

had maneuvered the guards away. If so, thebattleground had moved from the streets ofAsland into the palace itself.

“We have reason to believe a mob mightbe forming today in Asland,” Miri said.“We need to keep you all safe, and rightnow this palace is not feeling safe.”

The king glared. “I do not trust anythingyou say, you who consort with murderers.”

“I do know some of those who seekchange, but I swear to you, I neverimagined any of my friends might considerviolence—”

“Get out!” said the king.

“No, wait, please. There is a man whoarranged the fate of Rilamark’s queen. Thisassassin is here in Asland, paid in gold to…”

Miri could not bear to continue. Sheglanced at Steffan.

“They want to kill the prince heir, dothey?” said Steffan.

“Not exactly,” Miri whispered.He seemed confused and then his eyes

widened with real fear.“It’s me, isn’t it?” Britta asked, seeming

a little tired. “The assassin is here for me.”“No,” said Steffan. “No.” He moved

between Britta and the open corridor.“In Rilamark, he got a mob to do his

work for him,” said Miri. “I imagine that’shis plan here.”

“I will not be trapped in my ownhouse,” said the king.

“We can go to the Summer Castle,”

Steffan said. “Surely the servants andsoldiers there are loyal. Besides, it’ssmaller.”

He did not say “and easier to defend,”but Miri heard the idea in the silence.Rilamark’s queen had been dragged fromher palace into the street. Miri wondered ifthere was a girl somewhere in Rilamarkwho would have saved an unpopular queenand let a painting burn.

“Perhaps if we bring a priest with us,”said Steffan, “Britta and I could be marriedin Lonway?”

“You cannot wed her now,” said hisfather.

No, Miri wanted to protest. But she didnot speak out, too afraid the king wouldsend her away again. She wondered ifBritta would weep, but she just clung toSteffan’s arm.

The king sent a servant to prepare a

carriage. Steffan and his father dressed,then fetched the queen and their personalservants, as well as, Miri was sorry to see,the chief official. Gummonth’s eyes dartedabout as if expecting danger from everyshadow.

The group made their way through theeerily quiet palace. When they passed anopen window, Miri could hear shoutingoutside. She grabbed Peder’s hand. Theywould be safer if they left Britta and theroyals behind. Miri knew this. Pedersurely knew this as well. But he did notsuggest it either.

Every time they turned a corner, Miri’spulse quickened. But the corridors wereempty.

The group hurried outside to thecourtyard, where a few months before,Katar had presented the king with MountEskel’s carved mantelpiece. A faithful

groom had a carriage with six horsesready. It stood not fifty paces ahead, but toMiri, it seemed an unreachable distance.

A mob had gathered.Held back by the high iron gates that

separated the courtyard from the city street,the crowd pressed against the bars, yelling.Every arm bore a blue band. The noisewas overwhelming, like the crash of amountain rockfall. Out of the cacophony,the word “princess” seemed to lift on thewind. Some held muskets and pistols in theair, waving them about like flags. Somepointed them at the royal party. A fewfired, too far away to strike anything butthe cobbled ground, sending puffs of dustand rock chips into the air.

The queen made a horrible sound in herthroat, a choked cry like an animal in pain.Her eyes and mouth were wide open andwet.

“Back inside,” Steffan ordered.So many people pressed against the

gate, there was no way to escape. Thehope of the castle in Lonway was dashed.

The shouts and musket shots werespooking the carriage horses. Theypranced and shook their manes. The groomlet go of the lead horse’s bridle and fledfor the palace. The horses tossed theirheads, and the carriage rocked.

Miri turned back to the palace with theothers. She did not realize that Britta hadnot until Steffan shouted her name.

Britta was running straight for the gate.Steffan started after her but his fathergrabbed him and held him back.

“Don’t. They will kill you,” said theking.

“Britta!” Steffan shouted in a blindpanic, thrashing to get away. “Britta!”

Miri did not shout. She did not go after

Britta. She did not seem able to doanything except watch her friend runtoward the muskets, holding the long whiteskirts of her marriage gown in both handsso she could get there even faster.

Did Britta think that by sacrificingherself she could save the rest of them?This mob’s anger would not be sated byBritta’s blood alone. They would demandthe king and queen and Steffan too, andwould it stop there? Or would everyfeathered cap in Danland fall?

The moment seemed slowed. Miri’shands covered her face, her eyes peeringthrough her fingers—too afraid to look, tooafraid not to. A shot would fire and Brittawould fall. Would a shocked silencefollow, or howls of triumph? The momentwas agonizingly long, all of them watchingeach stride that took Britta closer to themob, closer to the muskets, dozens of them

poking through the bars of the gate, allpointed now at the running princess.

They did not fire yet, as if the shooters,like Miri, were too astonished to act. Whatwas this princess in white running to?

And then Miri noticed what she had notbefore. A boy, perhaps two years old, wasstanding in the courtyard, his head tilted upas he stared at the palace. His back was tothe carriage. The horses pranced andshook, and the jolting carriage was backingup, its metal-rimmed wheels now inchesfrom the child.

In full run, Britta grabbed the boy, andthey tumbled onto the stones, rolling awayfrom the carriage. The next moment itswheels lurched over the spot where he’dbeen.

The crowd stopped shouting. Miri wascertain that they, like her, had not noticedthe child before. The only sound now was

one wailing voice. Miri looked for thesource—a woman, her arms extendedthrough the bars toward the child. Hismother, surely. Perhaps she’d beenscreaming for help all along, Miri realized;only who could hear the cries of a motherabove the calls of a mob?

Britta stood slowly, as if her fall hadhurt and she was testing her limbs. The boyseemed dazed as Britta patted his arms andlegs, searching for injury. He did not cry,but his eyes were wide and his chin tense,his breathing visibly rattling his chest. Shepicked him up and took him to the gate,where he fit back through the bars he musthave climbed through. He reached for hismother, and she held him and buried hisface in her neck. In the silence, Miri couldhear the exhausted sobs of the woman asshe said, “Thank you, thank you.”

The crowd parted for her, and the

woman carried her son away.All now was silent. Britta stood alone in

her marriage gown, touching distance froman armed mob who’d threatened to cut herskin into ribbons. It would be useless torun, Miri knew. If they wished to killBritta, they could.

Britta faced them, her hands claspedbehind her back, her shoulders rising andfalling as she breathed.

“They’ll shoot her,” Steffan said, hisvoice raspy.

“Wait,” Miri whispered. Offer silence,she thought.

Britta met the gaze of the crowd. Thecrowd looked back. A couple of themuskets lowered.

“Why doesn’t she come back?” Steffansaid.

“She’s too scared to move,” Miri said,and her heart ached.

Steffan started, but the king held himstill. Miri put a staying hand on Steffan’sarm.

“Not you,” she said. “Not yet.”Miri took a step forward.“Miri,” said Peder.“I can do this,” she said.The walk seemed eternal. How had

Britta run this length so quickly? Miri’sbreath tangled in her chest, and she couldmanage only short gasps. The horses hadcalmed in the silence, but Miri skirted thecarriage just in case. There was somethingon the ground up ahead, and as she drewnearer she recognized Britta’s grayslippers. They must have fallen off as sheran. Miri picked them up.

She joined Britta at the gate. The fallhad shredded some of the lace of her gownand dusted her with dirt. Miri pried one ofBritta’s hands loose from the other and

held her cold fingers. She could feel Brittashaking.

Fix this, Miri, she thought.She straightened her shoulders and lifted

her head.“I am Miri of Mount Eskel,” she said in

a loud, clear voice. “I wrote ‘TheMountain Girl’s Lament.’” Or most of it,she thought. She wanted to explain that shehad not written that final paragraph, and totell them how she loved Britta, and that itwas not merely chance that Britta hadnoticed the boy when no one else hadbecause she always saw, really sawpeople, and cared about them sincerely,and why a girl was more important than apainting. But the crowd was large anddeep. Her voice could not reach them all.

Be as succinct as possible, MasterFilippus had taught of Rhetoric.

She needed to say something that carried

great meaning in only a few words. Like asong. Like a poem.

She still had Britta’s slippers. She heldthem aloft and shouted, “Look! Theprincess is shoeless!”

The crowd stirred. Some pointed toBritta’s bare, dusty foot peeking frombeneath the hem of her dress.

“The princess is shoeless,” a womanrepeated.

Others picked up the phrase. And thoughthey had just been shouting for her death,the mob tossed the phrase around with aweand excitement: the princess is shoeless,the princess is shoeless …. Miri shiveredwith the sound.

“Come on, Britta,” she whispered. “I’llwalk you back.”

Squeezing her hand, Miri walked andBritta followed. The return seemed evenlonger. All it would take was one musket,

one pistol, one person who did not carethat Britta had saved that child, or perhapshad been too far back in the crowd to see.One bullet would end this. But neither ran,and when they reached the royal group, noshot had fired.

Steffan rushed forward to meet them,pulling Britta into his arms.

“You are so brave,” he whispered. “Toobrave.”

She shook her head but did not let go.“Inside,” said the king.The group followed him through the

door and down the wide central corridor.It was deserted.

“Your Majesty,” Miri said, trying tokeep pace beside him. “Please don’tcancel their wedding. Every person whowas at that gate feels differently towardBritta now. And those people will talk.People always talk. Word of what

happened will pass around the city—”“Perhaps. But what of the rest of us?

The shoed?” he added fiercely. “Curse thelot. Gummonth was right. I should havesent troops into each province after theirdisrespectful gifts. I should have raisedtributes and doubled the army. They willfeel the wrath of the crown.”

Miri was not so sure it was a terrificpeacemaking idea but did not dare pointthat out.

Far down the corridor, the Mount Eskelgirls rushed by. Miri called to them andthey hurried over.

“Where have you been?” she asked.“We slept in the library last night,” said

Gerti. “It was Liana’s idea.”Liana flushed and mumbled that she had

thought it would be fun. It seemed like astrange suggestion to Miri but she did nothave time to think it over.

“There are people in the south wing,”said Katar. “They broke some windows.”

Not everyone had seen Britta’s actionsin the courtyard. Miri believed the newswould spread, but only if it had time.

In the distance, shouts echoed againststone.

The king directed them all to a chamberin the center of the palace. There were nowindows—just four solid linder walls andone thick wooden door, reinforced withmetal bands.

Peder and Frid shut the door behindthem and lowered the heavy locking bars.

“Wait, where are we?” Liana said.“A refuge room,” said Steffan.“I’m not supposed to be in here,” she

said, pacing near the door.Miri thought it an odd comment but

supposed Liana was just in a panic. Mirihelped Britta and Steffan light the kerosene

lamps around the room, filling the spacewith a twitching brightness. The queenslumped down on one of the many chairs.The academy girls began sorting throughcrates of supplies—jugs of water,blankets, jars of kerosene, tins of sailorbiscuits.

Bena sniffed one of the hard biscuits thatwere made to last weeks at sea. “Just howlong are we planning to stay here?”

“No longer than necessary,” said theking. “The royal guard will rally and freeus.”

Britta was backing toward the farcorner, where a doorless closet waited, sodeep Miri could not see past its firstshadow. Miri wondered if it held morefood storage or perhaps a privy. Sheglanced back at the door just in time to seeLiana trying to lift one of the bars.

“Don’t you dare open that door, Liana,”

said Miri.“I’m not!” she said angrily, and then

mumbled, “The bars are too heavyanyway.”

Miri forgot the closet and watched thedoor instead, as if her vigilance alonewould keep danger out. The threat seemedto lurk outside, so she never thought to turnand look behind her. Not until she heardBritta’s strangled scream.

Chapter Eighteen

When the mountainquakedLike an elbow’snudgeLike a shout thatsomething is wrongThe people woke andKnew, yes, knew, thatbandits had come

Three men stormed out of the closet,each holding a musket or pistol with aspare tucked in his belt. The scuffle wasquick. A bearded man grabbed Britta. Asecond moved toward Steffan and the king.

Frid was there, and she punched him in theface. The man fell backward, his pistolfiring at the ceiling. Frid, Steffan, andPeder started toward Britta.

The third shouted, “Hold or we shoot!”Everyone stopped. The bearded man

was pressing a pistol to Britta’s temple.“Hear us out, ignoble king,” he said.

“Hear us or the robber princess dies!Death to all who grind the shoeless into thedirt. Now is the time for the people to takepower.”

On he shouted, eager to share his ideasabout a new age for the kingdom. Hisaudience was captive. His captive wastrembling. His friends were armed, and theroyal party was powerless to do anythingbut listen. He was clearly a shoelessAslandian, and not the assassin fromRilamark.

Britta did not cry, just bowed her head

as if resigned.“Reason with them,” Miri whispered to

the king. “Please. If they were here forblood alone, they would have shot herimmediately. Perhaps they only want to beheard.”

“They will not listen to me.” The kinggestured wildly. “I’ve never felt so muchhate.”

The queen nodded, a hand pressed to herstomach.

Miri frowned. It was easy to assumesuch people hated royalty, but the kingsounded so sure. And then Steffan, tenseand shaking, said, “He’s going to shoother. He feels no remorse. He’s … no,please—”

Steffan did not seem able to stophimself. He lurched for Britta and thebearded man, but the second man,recovered from his blow, got in the way.

He struck Steffan with the butt of a musket.The prince fell. The rebel held him down,the musket pressing against Steffan’s neck.

Britta jolted as if to go to him, but thebearded man held her tight and continuedtalking. She gripped his arms, too weak topull them away. She looked up, her liptrembling as if she were preparing for themoment her soul would leave her body anddrift into the heavens. Then she closed hereyes. With a sharp click, the bearded manpaused his rant to cock the pistol.

No, Miri quarry-spoke, almost withoutthinking.

It was one fierce, defined, powerfulidea. It was the mathematical concept of“not true” formed into emotion. She wasnot conscious of any particular memorythat drove that idea down into the linder.The word was enough on its own. MountEskel’s linder understood no. She detected

the faintest shift under her feet, andremembered Esa’s violent quarry-shoutsfrom the palace library and how the stonehad vibrated then.

Those of Mount Eskel looked Miri’sway, hearing her quarry-speech. Thebearded man lectured on, his fingertwitching on the pistol’s trigger. He wasgoing to kill Britta, Miri now had no doubt.She had once been caught and held by sucha man, a bandit who wanted her dead.Miri’s pa, big as a boulder and strong as abear, had come to help her. Britta’s fatherwould not come.

He doesn’t matter , Miri thought. Brittais one of us now. We’re her ladies.

Miri quarry-spoke the memory ofbecoming ladies of the princess, a momentall the girls shared. They turned to Miri,understanding, coming in closer. Theywere Britta’s ladies. They would stand

beside her.All came but Liana, who stayed

crouched behind a sofa. Though theyshared the memory, Liana’s feelings aboutit must have been quite different. She feltno attachment to Britta, only bitterness thatshe had not been chosen herself.

Just like Sisela, Miri realized.The man was still shouting. Miri quarry-

spoke the memory of that frightening nightin winter when bandits had come to theacademy. Of standing by the window,looking out toward the faraway village,and hoping that their families would knowthey were in trouble and come to help.With the memory she hoped tocommunicate When there is danger, thepeople of Mount Eskel hear.

And then she spoke aloud. “We ofMount Eskel—” Her mouth was as dry as afallen leaf. She swallowed nothing and

tried again. “We Eskelites have somethingto say.”

The ranting went on, so she repeatedherself, louder this time. The man quieted.

“We girls want a chance to speak beforejustice is decided. We who were chosenby divination to attend the sacred academy.We who took Britta in, not knowing whoshe was. We want to speak.”

The bearded man nodded, and the manbeside him said, “Speak, little sister.”

“Don’t shoot anyone yet. Please give usa chance to make our case first.”

“Speak the crimes of the false princess,”said the bearded man. “We’ll give her atrial here and now.”

Miri took a shuddering breath. If shesaid the wrong thing, Britta would be shot.And perhaps the royal family as well, oreven she herself. If she told them that Brittawas kind and patient and loving, would

that be enough?The queen was beside her. She touched

Miri’s arm and whispered, “I think theyare afraid. They hate, but they fear too.”

Miri nodded. A rule of Rhetoricadvised: Speak in a language the listenerunderstands. These men were too angryjust then to hear pleas for compassion, butfear they would understand. Despite theirbravado, they must have hoped to escapewith their lives. So she would tell them thestory.

“There is a tale we repeat each yearduring our spring holiday,” said Miri.“One lifetime ago bandits came to MountEskel.”

Katar smiled, her dimples making a rareappearance. She took a turn with thetelling, as was the custom on Mount Eskel.“They thought to sack such a small villageeasily enough. They thought they could

steal, burn, and be gone before the sun sawtheir deeds. But they were ignorant, tinymen. They did not know Mount Eskel’ssecrets.”

“The mountain knows the feel of anoutsider’s boot, and the mountain will notsupport its weight,” said Esa. She movedahead to the middle of the story, just as shehad two years before when they’d told thisstory to the bandits who’d come to theiracademy. Only this time her voice did notquaver.

“The bandits came nearer and nearer,and the mountain groaned in the night,”said Bena in her bright, confident voice. “Itgroaned, and the villagers heard andawoke. They were waiting—with malletsand chisels and levers, they waited.”

Miri noticed Frid lift her head as if tospeak, then stop herself. Given her fist’srecent encounter with a rebel’s face, Miri

thought her wise to keep silent.Gerti’s voice was soft, but her words

flowed like the music of her lute. “Thatnight, the quarriers stood taller than trees,taller than mountains, and they struck likelightning. When the first bandits fell, therest ran. They ran like hares from a hawk.”

“Mount Eskel feels the boots ofoutsiders,” Miri said, speaking the finalwords of the story. The other girls joinedin unison. “Mount Eskel won’t bear theirweight.”

There was not a sound in the chamber.Every face watched the girls.

“We told this story to the bandits whoclaimed the princess academy as theirplunder,” said Miri. “They were afraid,but not enough to let us go.”

“In the end,” said Katar, “they learnedwhat it costs to ignore villagers who liveon that ancient mountain.”

Gerti sang a line from a song—“MountEskel, My Lady.” The tune made Miri’sthroat tighten with emotion, and for amoment she could not speak. Esa spoke forher.

“My ma says a rock lasts forever, butpeople don’t, and that’s what makes themmore precious.”

That’s true, Miri thought, and wonderedwhy she had never come across the idea inMaster Filippus’s books.

She reclaimed her voice and continued.“Mount Eskel is older than any kingdom.This palace is built of linder cut from theslopes of our home. Mount Eskelremembers its own. And we of MountEskel claim Britta as one of our own.”

Silence followed. The bearded rebeltilted his head, as if that was not the endinghe’d been expecting.

Miri repeated herself. “We claim Britta

as our own. She no longer belongs toLonway or her dishonorable father. Aperson belongs to those she loves andthose who love her back. She belongs tous. And she did not steal from us the rightto be princess.” Miri made eye contactwith the other Eskelites around her toinclude them in her words, and then turnedback to again face the man with the pistol.“We gave it to her.”

Britta’s body was trembling as if everypart of her was profoundly aware of thatpistol to her head. But her eyes met Miri’sand her lips managed a small, gratefulsmile.

The bearded man was shaking his head.He seemed confused that Miri did notagree with him.

“Death to the robber princess,” he said,his voice less sure now yet edged withanger.

He adjusted his hold on the pistol, hisfinger pressing lightly on the trigger.White-hot panic charged through Miri.

“You will not harm her!” she shouted.“My son is sick, my children hungry,”

said the man. “And she’s to blame, thelying wench!”

Miri wrestled calmness into her voice.“I’m sorry, but you cannot harm Britta.Her mountain will not stand for it.”

She did not know quite what she meant,only that it felt true.

“I will do as I like,” said the man, hisvoice hard as a bullet.

Miri felt that word rush through heragain—no.

She stamped her foot in the rhythm of aquarry work song, speaking no, no in time.The other girls and Peder took up thequarry-spoken chant, their voices weavingtogether, strong as an iron lever.

No. Miri let that word pound out of her,through the stone, toward the bearded manwith the gun. There was a sound like afaraway shriek, and the floor started tocrack. Some of those in the room startledor gasped, but the Eskelites kept workingthe quarry-speech into the stone.

No. She spoke not through but to thevery stone. She sang memories of highwindy peaks, of quakes that rose up fromdeep in the earth, of the hammering ofmallets and the sweaty blows of the quarryworkers. The stone remembered. And thestone rumbled in reply.

No! The floor stones split as if the wordwere a mallet. The room quaked.

The bearded man’s hand tightened on thepistol, and Miri knew just before ithappened that he would pull the trigger.No! came her quarry-shout, and as thepistol fired, the stone beneath the man’s

feet cracked so violently he fell one wayand Britta the other, the bullet striking thewall above her head.

No! The room gave one more shake. Therebels turned about, gripping their muskets,but there was no attacker to fire upon.

Britta curled up on the ground, her armsover her face just a heap of ragged, dirtiedlace. The bearded man unsteadilyrecovered his feet. He turned to Miri, asecond gun from his belt aimed at her.

“What are you doing?” he asked.Miri turned up her empty hands. She

hoped he did not notice how hard theyshook. “Only talking. Just words.”

“You made the room quake,” he said.“You give me too much credit. I’m

telling you, this room was cut out of MountEskel. I’ve seen entire mountainsidestumble down. If you hurt one of MountEskel, this room will tear apart and bury

you in it. You should leave.”The rebels looked at each other.“She said you should leave!” Frid

shouted.The bearded man took a step back, and

the broken floor stones beneath himshifted. He gasped and ran for the door.

The royal party moved away as therebels threw aside the bars, seized thedoor, and fled into the corridor.

Steffan was the first to Britta. Hecrouched beside her, putting his armsaround her shoulders.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.Britta shook her head but touched the

red mark on Steffan’s neck where a muskethad pressed him down.

“Shut the door,” Miri said.Liana ran out just before the king helped

Peder close the massive door and lowerthe bars back in place.

There were some light laughs, the othersin the mood to celebrate. Miri peered intothe closet to make certain no one elselingered. Her neck muscles felt as fraughtas her stomach. Someone had orchestratedall of it—calling the royal guard away,leaving the palace unguarded, leading theattackers to the very chamber where theking would await rescue.

The assassin. He was out theresomewhere. Perhaps in the palace. The daywas not yet over, and Britta was still alive.

Chapter Nineteen

She’s as fetching asbrown hair done upwith ribbons blueThe mountain, myladyShe’s as sweet as pinkflowers made brightwith morning dewMount Eskel, my lady

Miri felt tense as an icicle, easy toshatter. She paced till she found herselfstanding beside Peder. He put his armaround her, and she forced herself to relaxagainst him. His nearness eased her some,

warmed the ice of her core. She had asudden desire to rub her head against hisneck, like an affectionate nanny goat. Mirisnorted a laugh. Peder raised hiseyebrows, a question.

“Goat humor,” she whispered back.He shook his head. “Rocks tearing apart

around you, and you’re thinking up nannyjokes.”

A fissure ran through the floor stonesfrom the point where she and the otherEskelites had stood all the way to thecloset. The walls and ceiling were intact,but the floor cracks were impressive.

“The guard will rally,” the king wassaying. “My supporters will comeforward.”

“What just occurred in here?” asked thequeen.

“Mount Eskel got really mad,” saidFrid, and the girls laughed.

“Did you know that would happen?”Peder asked.

“Not exactly,” said Miri. “But I had a …a feeling.”

Esa nodded in agreement. Miri met hereyes and wondered if Esa too had felt aflicker of invitation, a whisper of strength.The rock was not living—it had no mind,no thought. But it had responded to theirquarry-speech like a goat to the call of itsherder. She imagined that the power ofgenerations of quarry-worker blows hadlain dormant inside the rock and hadmoved at the sound of their quarry-shouts.The linder was a kind of history, Mirirealized. Memories soaked up in the stone,ready to erupt.

The king kicked at a loose shard andshook his head. “Perhaps you could refrainfrom encouraging the rocks to split in thefuture? Linder is expensive to replace.”

Peder mumbled under his breath, “If youthink it’s hard to replace a few floorstones, you should try cutting them out of amountain.”

Steffan was bruised but not seriouslyhurt. Britta sat beside him, and they talkedquietly, their foreheads pressed together.The other academy girls and servants tookto the sofas and floor. Miri could onlypace.

Peder was pacing his own pathalongside the fissure.

“You think the assassin is still outthere?” Miri whispered to Peder.

He glanced at the door and nodded.Miri shivered. Waiting was a bitter

game. She needed something to do. Theking and queen sat on chairs, as rigid asship masts. Miri crouched beside them.

“Your Majesty,” she said to the queen,“you knew how the rebels were feeling.

Your advice helped me know what to say.”The queen shook her head. “I was just

guessing.”“It may have seemed so,” said Miri,

“but I think it was more than a guess.”“Impertinence,” said Gummonth. “Stand

back, girl.”“Please, Your Highness, just talk with

me a moment. I have reason to believe thatthe royal family is capable of sensing morethan others can.”

Steffan and Britta had come closer.“Like quarry-speech?” Britta asked.“Sort of. Quarry-speech runs through

linder. I think that only those exposed toraw linder over time can do it.”

“What are you talking about, quarry-speech?” said the king.

“It’s just … just something Eskelites cando, something the linder makes possible,”said Miri. “But I think what you can do is a

little different. Have you read your father’sdiary in the library? He referred to a secret—he called it ‘linder wisdom.’ I believeit’s the root of the tradition that only theroyal family may live in the king’s wing,the only building in the world built entirelyfrom linder. Over the years, being sosurrounded by linder changes yousomehow. And the kings of the past musthave wanted to keep that advantage to theirown families. Does any of this soundfamiliar?”

“Your Highness—” Gummonth began.The king held up a hand to silence him

and looked at Miri, an invitation tocontinue.

“I’m going to quarry-speak now,” Mirisaid, and she silently sang of the time theacademy girls stood up to their strict tutorand fled the academy.

On hearing her quarry-speech, many of

the Eskelites stood up.“What is it, Miri?” Esa asked from

across the room.“Nothing, just ignore me, sorry,” said

Miri. She turned back to the king. “If youhad quarry-speaking ability, what I justsaid would have nudged a similar memoryin you, perhaps inspiring you to stand up.But you can’t quarry-speak. On themountain we’re inhaling linder dust anddrinking from a stream white with it.Linder flows in our blood and coats ourbones, while you’re encircled by it.”

The linder was outside for the royals,n o t inside. It must simply amplify thethoughts of those around them …. No, notthoughts exactly. Miri realized their linderwisdom would be less complicated thancommunicating in memories—less thought,more emotion.

Instead she tried to feel something the

king might understand. She chose the timethe princess academy tutor had punishedMiri’s insubordination by locking her in adark closet—the agony of being trapped,her terror of the rat in the dark, the fear anduncertainty. She quarry-spoke it to helpherself experience the event all over again,making her emotions as loud inside her asa musket shot.

“How do you feel?” Miri asked,shivering at the memory. “Could you sensehow I was feeling?”

“No …,” said the king.His hesitation made her wonder. He too

had spent time in a dark closet, locked inalone, afraid.

“I was recalling a time I was abandonedin a closet,” she said. “I wondered if … ifthe way I felt reminded you of your ownexperience. With your brother.”

The king’s chin trembled under his

beard. “Just because we are trapped in thisroom does not mean you may speak thisway to your sovereign.”

“But I may never get another chance.Sire, you understand the rebels better thanthey could know—and not only because ofyour linder wisdom. Was it fair that justbecause he was born first, your brothercould do whatever he liked? That becauseof his selfishness and cruelty, you and yourmother were sent away?”

The king’s face reddened.“I don’t understand what is happening,”

said the queen.“Some of your ancestors wrote of

sensing what others felt,” said Miri.“Linder amplifies thought … and emotiontoo, I think. Because of the years you spendsurrounded by linder, you three absorbthat. Past kings were taught by their parentsabout this ability and how to use it. I

believe King Bjorn’s parents and brotherdied before they could teach him of it.”

Gummonth made a sound ofexasperation in his throat. “This isridiculous—”

“Just a moment, Gummonth,” Steffaninterrupted. “What Miri suggests … It’strue that when I’m home in this palace, Ifeel cramped by all the people ….”

“And their emotions?” said Miri.“Perhaps that’s it. Whenever I’m here, I

must …” He frowned.“You close off,” said Britta. “You

become a stone column.”“So I don’t have to feel so much.”

Steffan put a hand on Britta’s shoulder, andhis expression seemed a kind of apology.

“Those ridiculous plays!” The kingslammed his fist on a table. “That’s why Ican’t stand them. I’m constantlyflabbergasted by how some can watch and

sigh and cry as if they almost believed itreal, while I feel nauseated by the obviousdisparity between the actor and the falseemotions he expresses. Turn the theaterinto storage for all I care.”

“But the plays are so beautiful!” saidMiri.

“Don’t you feel the same way, Miri?”asked Steffan.

“No. Quarry-speech is different. We canspeak—or more like sing or think—memories through the linder to others. Youare simply bombarded by the feelings ofthose around you. But maybe … if youknow what linder does to you, you couldpay more attention to it and hone yourability to listen. Or even block it. I imaginesuch a skill was helpful to past kings whenweeding out liars and traitors.”

The king’s eyebrows raised.“You could try right now,” said Miri.

“What do you feel from the people in thisroom?”

The queen rubbed her arms. “I don’tknow, but I do not like this room. It’s notsafe.”

“I don’t think the stones will break—”Miri started.

The queen shook her head. “It’s as if …someone feels too much like that man whoheld a pistol to Britta’s head. It hurts mystomach.”

Steffan straightened and looked around.“Who?” asked Miri.“Over there.” The queen gestured

vaguely.Miri was surprised—and just a little

disappointed—that she had not indicatedGummonth. The only other people in theroom were the royal family, a fewservants, Britta, Peder, and the academygirls—except Liana, who, strangely, had

fled the safety of the room.Miri leaned in closer to the queen and

king. “Would any of these servants herehave known you would come to this roomwhen threatened?”

“Certainly,” said the queen.“These are our personal servants, Miri,”

said Steffan. “They wouldn’t betray us.”Miri recalled reading in the history

books that the royal family had a knack forselecting the most trustworthy servants andguards. Perhaps that had to do with thelinder wisdom. She glanced at Gummonth,whose lips were stuck in a permanentsnarl. If the king trusted him, he must beloyal, but that did not make him any morepleasant.

“Someone riled up that mob at the gateto keep you in the palace,” said Miri.“Someone told those rebels to hide in thisroom. And now that they’re gone, someone

is still wishing you dead. Who?”The royal family fell silent, as if

straining for a sound just beyond hearing.The queen stood, looking toward a

cluttered corner full of barrels and crates.After a moment, the king’s eyes restedthere as well. Steffan leaned forward.

“Is … is someone over there?” heasked.

Miri found herself squinting at thecorner, as though narrowing her eyeswould allow her to see through wood. Itwas too late by the time she realized that ifthe assassin was hidden there, he might beable to see them. He would know he wasdiscovered. And he would act before beingtaken by surprise.

“Wait—” Miri started to whisper. Wait,don’t look, pretend you don’t know—

She was too slow. A lid was flung off atall crate. A man rose up. He was dark

haired with a stiff, pointy beard, and worea long coat. As he stepped out of the crate,his coat swept back, and Miri could see hehad at least a dozen pistols strapped to hischest and stuck in his belt.

Even as he climbed from the barrel, helifted one pistol and aimed.

Britta.Action without thought gave Miri speed,

and she flung herself toward Britta, herarms out to push her away. But Peder wasfast as well.

“Miri!” he said.The crack of gunfire shattered the

moment. Miri pushed Britta, and theyslammed into the wall.

Peder was still standing. His expressionshowed utter shock. His hand was pressedto his middle, and through his fingersblood trickled. He sat down hard on thefloor.

“Peder!”On her first day in Asland, Miri had

seen the king’s guards throw themselves inthe path of danger, one taking a lead ballfor his sovereign. Miri had marveled.What did they feel for the king that theywould die for him?

Peder had put himself between Miri andthe bullet.

A loud clatter tore her attention away.The assassin had tossed the spent pistolonto the stone floor. But he had plenty ofothers. He raised a second, aiming again atBritta.

Steffan was on his feet, running at theassassin. So was Frid, and perhaps otherstoo. But no one was faster than a pistolball. They would not stop him before hepulled the trigger. Nothing would stop him.He would shoot them all—Steffan, Frid,Esa, and Miri too, just as he had shot

Peder. He would kill as many as he neededtill he got to Britta.

Miri screamed. “No!”Even as she screamed with her real

voice, she screamed in quarry-speech. No!She did not quarry-speak a single memorybut a lifetime of them, and not just her own.She filled that word with every story she’dheard of her father, of her grandparents,stories from Peder’s ma, Doter, andespecially stories of her ma—the week sheheld baby Miri in her arms, the hazymemories Marda still kept, anecdotes thevillagers told her alongside details Mirihad just imagined. Stories true and made-up, songs and wishes and everything sheknew of her family and Mount Eskel, thehistory of her home that no one had yetwritten down—all of it went into that oneword.

At the same time, Miri became aware of

the entire palace, as if it were her ownbody. She felt the weight of its stone,history running through the pink veins andsilver, the green and the blue, the whitestone embracing it all. The stone vibratedwith her memories, her song, her scream.Her palace, her mountain, her body. Shelifted her hands.

Her quarry-speech moved through therock, and where it went, rock tore apart. Asecond fissure erupted from where shestood, traveling with the speed of onespoken word across the room, up the wall,tearing through the ceiling.

The assassin looked up.The ceiling fell.A puff of dust and debris filled the

room. Miri rushed through it to Peder,placing her hand on his, getting wet withblood. His breathing was labored, his eyeswide open.

When she glanced back where theassassin had stood, all she saw was a pileof broken linder. A lifetime near a quarrymade her certain that no one could survivethe weight of that much stone.

Katar and Frid flung aside the door’sbars and fled the room, quarry-speaking asthey ran that they would get help. The kinglocked the door behind them. Miri thoughtit wise. As much as she wanted to getPeder out of that room, there could beother rebels in the palace, others withmuskets, waiting their turn. Though ifsomeone wanted to get in, Miri thought,they could simply go upstairs and lowerthemselves through the carriagesize gap inthe ceiling.

I made that, Miri thought vaguely. Butthat massive hole felt a million times lessimportant than the tiny one in Peder’smiddle.

Esa went to her brother, gently pushingMiri aside. Miri sat on the floor. Herdefiance was spent, her body tired offighting, and she cried. But Esa was calmas she inspected Peder.

“The ball went clean through,” Esa said.“That’s good, Peder.”

“Ow! It doesn’t feel good,” he said.Esa pressed a cloth to his wound,

instructing others to wrap him and keephim warm.

“Don’t everybody fuss,” he whispered.“I’m all right.”

“You will be,” said Esa.“It doesn’t even hurt that much.” He

tried to sit up.“Stop showing off for Miri,” said his

sister. “You will let us take care of you,Peder Doterson, or I’ll tell Ma all about it,so lie still.”

He lay still.

They waited in the ruins of the room forthe royal guard to rescue them. Everyonegathered in a circle around Peder, awayfrom the fissures and the hole where whitedust shifted like snowflakes. They sat onthe smooth places between the cracked andjutting stone. They whispered questionsthat no one answered.

“Are we safe yet?”“Is Peder all right?”“What just happened?”Miri was silent. She held Peder’s hand.There was an old story of a princess

who wept tears of pure love over herfallen prince, healing his injuries andletting him live again. It was just a story.Miri knew it was not true. But just then,she felt capable of a love so huge it wouldbreak the entire palace. Maybe outside ofstories, holding Peder’s hand and lovinghim fit to crack her heart like a linder stone

could not heal him. But then again, it couldnot hurt to try.

She scooted nearer. She leaned her headagainst his. She squeezed his hand.

Just in case feeling was not enough, justin case such a magic needed powerfulwords spoken, she whispered, “I loveyou.” And then she quarry-spoke memoryafter memory—the time he had carved alinder hawk for her; the night she wascaptured by the bandits and he heard herfar-off quarry-speech; when they laughedand danced at the ball; that perfectafternoon in Asland when they kissed inthe straw-dusty shed. And those memoriesalso said I love you, I love you.

She did not know what personalmemories her own nudged in Esa, Gerti,and Bena, but Esa smiled, Gerti sighed,and Bena rested her chin on her knees. Thequeen sat beside the king and took his

hand. He leaned against her and kissed thetop of her head. Miri guessed they mustfeel what she was feeling, and perhapsthey remembered loving each other too.

Britta sat behind Miri and touched herhair, as a friend would. Until that moment,Miri had not considered that she herselfmight need a little bit of healing.

By her boot lay a shard of linder. It hadrecognized her voice; it had responded tothe quarry-shout. Hundreds of years it layas a floor stone in a palace, far from themountain, yet it was still of Mount Eskel.How could just a few months in the citytransform her entirely?

She clutched the shard in her fist. Theyhad been in need, and the stone hadremembered, the mountain had heard.Britta might have been felled beside Peder,and perhaps Esa and Frid, Steffan and Miritoo. It was hard to feel anything but anxiety

for Peder, but once she opened herself to atiny bit of gratitude, it swelled till herchest ached with it. She started to sing thesong Gerti had begun, an anthem to MountEskel, a love song. Esa and Gerti picked itup. Britta and Steffan joined in the secondtime around. They sang it for the stone, fortheir mountain and home, and for Peder.The stone chamber held all the voices,bouncing them back again till it seemedhundreds of unseen singers joined in. Theroom sang.

Chapter Twenty

Sweet girls aresighingYoung boys are piningEskel is skying

Hammer is beatingDaylight is fleetingEskel sends greeting

It did not take the royal guardsmen longto realize they had been tricked away fromtheir posts. A traitorous chief guard hadsent groups to points all over the city,supposedly to quell protests that never

occurred. Within the hour they’d returned,driven all intruders from the palace, andfreed the party from the refuge room. Theplan to assassinate Britta and spark therevolution had failed. Miri imagined themood was gray in political Salons acrossthe city. She wondered how many of thosepassionate scholars and talkers, facingBritta, could have pulled the triggerthemselves.

Miri spent the night beside Peder’s bedin the palace infirmary. The physicianstitched up his wound and said it lookedclean, but as morning drew near Peder’sskin fevered.

“Infection,” said the physician. “Thiskind will heal on its own or it won’t.”

He sent everyone away except Esa,who, as Peder’s sister and a physician’sassistant, had a right to stay.

Miri was too tired to sleep. She walked

outside, her mind so full of prayers that fora moment she fancied they had turned intowhite birds that flapped on the breeze.Leaflets, not birds, covered posts andwindows, shuffled loose on the ground,and lifted on the wind. Miri caught themlike butterflies and read parts. Nearly allretold Britta’s actions in the courtyard.

How a Pure Heart SavedDanlandThe princess lifted her fair hand,her tear-filled eyes beseechingthe heavens on behalf of theyoung innocent. Although shewas clad in the finest garmentsof the land, her feet knew herheart and would not abideslippers, for Princess Britta’sheart was ever with the shoeless.

The Princess and the MobThose of us in the crowd did noteven notice the boy until she hadpulled him away from thecarriage. After she returned himto his mother, she stood beforeus. No guards. No words. Shehad saved him. But she did notknow if we would save her.

What I SawSomeone put a musket in myhand. The girl came running atus. I was angry. I do not haveenough coin to buy bread. Ithought about shooting her. Shesaved that boy. I did not want toshoot her anymore.

Most mentioned that the “Mountain

Girl” herself had voiced support of theshoeless princess. One was even titled“The Mountain Girl Laments No More.”

A warmth pulsed through Miri, and sheforgot her exhaustion. She found a cobblershe’d heard about, whose secret press hadprinted many a Salon’s leaflet. Miri askedhim if he’d print hers as well.

“For coin I will,” he said, his brownedskin as smooth as the leather he wasworking over a knob. “Where is yourleaflet?”

Miri bit her lip. “Um, can I borrow quilland paper?”

A rule of Rhetoric suggested offeringstories, not lectures. Miri sat on his floorand wrote.

The Robber PrincessTheirs was a love forbidden bytradition. A childhood friendship

deepened until neither couldbear to live without the other.Though heir to castle and crown,Steffan was helpless to choosehis true love as his bride. Hecould not seek her, so she mustseek him, all the way to theprincess academy.

Britta climbed the highestmountain in the land. She threwoff her silks and slippers anddonned rough woolens. Shespurned the name of her crueland noble father, labored in aquarry, became a mountain girl.She risked everything. And ifSteffan rejected her, shedetermined she would stay onMount Eskel forever. She wasLady Britta no more.

Britta awaited Steffan’s

arrival with a fearful heart. Aftera year and a half’s separation,perhaps his love had dimmed.Would he scorn her? Would hehave her thrown in prison?

Miri watched the cobbler place the tinymetal letters in the press with a speed anddeftness that reminded her of a blackbirdbuilding a nest. He brushed them with ink,lowered the press, and her few hundredwords stained the white paper.

Britta does not care aboutbeing a princess. She lovesSteffan, not the prince heir, andis perhaps the only one in theworld who sees him truly.

This is how their story begins.The people will decide how it

ends. I, Miri of Mount Eskel, donot like tragedies. I am hopingfor a wedding.

The cobbler gave her a wedge of wax torub on the corners of the papers so shecould stick them to posts. The last of herallowance purchased only a slim stack,and a few dozen windows and lamppostslater, she had just one left.

She’d arrived at the Green, the ruins ofthe bridal edifice strewn across the grass.The fever of energy still burned in her. Shediscovered a hammer in the wreckage andtried nailing two pieces of wood together.They stuck at an odd angle, not quitesquare. She scavenged some more woodabout the same size.

By the time the sun was high enough toheat the part in her hair, Miri had a rough

square frame as high as her knee, severalsplinters, and one bruised thumb.

If I work all day, she thought, I won’t beable to remake the stairs let alone theplatform and the rest. It’s useless.

She picked up another piece of wood.She was nearly finished with a second

square frame when she realized she wasnot alone.

There was a man, tall and lean, wearinga featherless cap. He stood with hands inpockets, the blue band around his armclearly visible.

“You’re one of the Mount Eskel girls,aren’t you?” he asked. “I saw you in thepalace courtyard.”

She nodded. Her eyes flicked to his beltto make sure he was not carrying a pistol.

“What are you trying to do?” he asked.“Rebuild the edifice.”His brows twitched in surprise. “And

what have you got so far?”She held up her two pieces.“That much, huh?”His smile made her want to smile.“They’re going to be a step,” she said.

“See how cleverly I nailed the woodtogether to almost form a square?”

“I do indeed.”“A square is a lot harder than it looks.

Why, a square is perhaps the most difficultshape in all the world.”

He laughed and put on worn leathergloves. “Lady Mount Eskel, what I need isa sorter. You think you could arrangewood in piles by size?”

Miri’s grin felt good against her cheeks.“I think I have the potential to be the mostamazing sorter you’ve ever seen.”

She worked till she was sweating,sorting wood, piling loose nails. Thelonely sound of the man’s single hammer

multiplied, and she knew others had joinedthem. Hammer and nail, saw and ax, thesnap of fabric and the creak of joints—thenoise of work was loud and merry as afestival. She did not rest. All that matteredwas the speed of her own two hands. If shekept working, perhaps she could helpPeder, and Britta and Steffan, Mount Eskel,and all of Danland too. If she just workedhard enough.

Soon she was singing as she worked, aMount Eskel habit. Her third time through awork song, other voices joined in, pickingup the words.

She felt dazed by her sleepless night andtoo focused to pay attention to anythingbeyond her own hands, so by the time shestood up, stretched, and looked, the Greenhad collected a mob.

She saw feathered and flat caps, blue-bannered and bare arms, the solid black of

servant attire beside the colorful skirts ofmerchants’ daughters and the silk trousersof noble sons. All were rebuilding theedifice. It was not the same edifice asbefore; it was lower and longer, cobbledtogether and a little rough. But it stood. Shestuck the last copy of “The RobberPrincess” to its front.

The lean man called to her from theplatform and pointed up. He’d nailed hermisshapen squares to the tallest pole like abanner, its colors the blue sky beyond.

“It’s been two days, and the rebuiltedifice is still on the Green,” Miri toldPeder, though she was not certain he wasawake. He slept most of the time, moaningwhen Esa changed his bandages orswabbed his face. “The first day, soldiersguarded it through the night, but the king

called them away. I think he’s testingAsland, letting them decide if Steffan andBritta should wed. If they tear it backdown …”

Esa put a hand on Miri’s shoulder,letting her know the visit was over.Peder’s little sister looked as tired as Mirifelt, darkness under her eyes.

Miri went in search of Britta, hoping atlast to talk to her alone, but before shereached Britta, Inga found her. Miri wascommanded to see the king.

Miri joined him in the throne room,where he sat grandly on his gilded woodenchair in a cavernous linder hall. Sheremembered the proper curtsy for such anoccasion and performed it with only asmall trip. Gummonth, beside the king asusual, did not hide his smirk.

“You were brave,” said the king.She nodded. She did not feel

particularly brave, but she did not want toargue with a king—at least, not about that.

“You were also too familiar.”She nodded again.“You may go,” he said.She blinked in surprise and turned away.“You’re welcome,” she said under her

breath.“What was that?”She came back. “I said ‘you’re

welcome,’ because I think you brought mehere to say a thank-you of sorts, and it’snot your fault if no one ever taught youthose words. But that’s no reason for menot to be polite and say ‘you’re welcome’as I ought to.”

His eyes widened, but they wrinkledslightly too, as if he was amused. Now shedid indeed feel brave, if a bit embarrassed.But she was too worried and tired to careabout angering a king.

“Sire, I’m going to be overfamiliar for afew moments more. You should know thatevery time you take tributes of food, foodprices go up, and people starve.”

The king made a noise of surprise andindignation. “Starve? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Go out into your kingdom and see foryourself. There are poor everywhere,except Mount Eskel this year, because forthe first time we have enough to eat. Butthat will change when you demandGummonth’s high tribute of us too. A lot ischanging in Danland, and none for thebetter.”

He straightened, his chin flexed,whiskers bristling. “My officials assure meI may take as I please. I am king.”

“Exactly! You’re a king, not a bandit.Don’t let them bully you into being one.”

“Enough insolence!” said Gummonth.He started forward as if to physically

remove Miri from the room.“Wait,” said the king. He considered

them both, then said to Gummonth, “Stepoutside, sir, if you please.”

Miri resisted sticking out her tongue atGummonth, but only barely. Gummonth’sface turned a fierce red, but he bowed andleft.

The king looked at Miri.She looked at him.He smiled. She could not remember

seeing him smile before.Too curious to be quiet any longer, she

asked, “Is it easier to sense what I’mfeeling when we’re alone?”

He nodded. “I am beginning to realizejust how strongly my chief official feelsthings, and how easy it is to feel as he doeswhenever he is near.”

“Which is often,” she said.He nodded again. And smiled again. She

smiled back. And then the king didsomething that surprised Miri more than amusket shot—he laughed. A dozen lineswrinkled out from the corners of his eyes,and Miri thought he looked the better for it.

“You have a good sense about you,don’t you?” he said. “I like it.”

“I like you too,” she said, and washappy to believe it.

They talked longer, about linder andquarry-speech, and even the pleasures of aroast duck. But when Miri suggested helisten to the revolution’s concerns andconsider making changes, his smiledimmed and his look returned to stern.

“My duty,” he said, “my entire reasonfor existence, is to protect the power of thecrown. I will never budge on that.”

But he did not seem angry, and whenGummonth came back, the king declaredMiri would find his next meeting

interesting and bid her accompany him.Gummonth impressed Miri with his abilityto look like the nastiest, orneriest billygoat she could imagine.

“With all that has occurred, sire,” saidGummonth as they made their way to areceiving room, “I must insist that youfurther enlarge your royal guard.”

Miri pressed her fingernails into herpalms to keep from shouting her opinion onthe matter. Just outside the door, the kinghalted.

“No, not this time, Gummonth. I knowyou mean to protect me, but not at theexpense of those who pay for it. Train themproperly and those we have will suffice.”

Miri smiled. She stood by the door,letting the king and Gummonth go in first.

Gummonth turned back to whisper, “Noone ever wants to pay the tribute, but theyalways do.”

Miri’s mood sank. But as she walkedinto the room, she was comforted bySteffan’s smile. He motioned for her to sitbeside him at the round table of officials,where the Justice Official presented asuspects list.

A chief guard had already confessed toaccepting a bribe from the assassin tomisdirect the other guards and leave theroyal family unprotected.

“This chief guard ignored the mandate tostay no more than eight hours each day inthe king’s wing,” said Steffan. “For years,he secretly slept in the linder-walledguardroom instead of the barracks.”

Steffan looked at Miri, and she noddedslightly to show that she understood—thisguard must have developed linder wisdom,and so was able to sift the disloyal fromthe rest to choose his coconspirators.

Before his execution, the chief guard had

written the names of all who had played apart in the scheme.

Miri peered at Steffan’s copy of the list.She was not surprised to see Sisela’sname, but the rest of her Salon, includingTimon, had escaped notice.

So did Liana, Miri thought, just nowrealizing what must be true: Liana hadbeen part of the conspiracy. She knewabout the danger in the refuge room and sofled it when she had a chance. The thoughtthat someone from Mount Eskel wouldhave tried to get Britta killed made Miri soangry she could have chewed rocks to dust.

“The law is clear,” said Gummonth.“Treason is a capital offense.”

“Your Highness?” Miri said.Gummonth groaned, and other officials

started whispering to one another, as if toquestion Miri’s presence at all. But theking gestured at her, allowing her to speak.

“I recently read about an old Danlandiancustom. Past kings often heard grievancesin their linder halls and pronouncedjudgment themselves.”

Knowing now the royal secret aboutlinder, Miri wondered if the tradition wasa chance for the king to sense the truth in aperson before pronouncing judgment. Eventhough the people on the list had conspiredto kill her friend, Miri felt sick lookingover the long list and imagining them allcalled to the Green. So many names, somany lives.

The king announced he would meet thefirst few prisoners personally the next day.Gummonth would not join him.

Miri had not truly believed hersuggestion would change anything.However, the very next morning the royal

news journal listed the rebels’ names butdeclared no more would face execution.

A kingdom at war with itselfwill not long stand. Let us washthe blood from our hands andstart anew.

Miri laughed out loud with relief. Shewondered what Sisela would make of that!

But mistake not this pardon forunlimited lenience. Any newcrimes of treason will bepunished swiftly and justly. Theso-called revolution ends now,or the executioner’s ax will fall.

Though many lives would be spared,Miri was not completely at rest. She

discovered from Bena where Liana wasnow staying, and she went alone to theopulent inn.

“You heard that I’m getting married?”Liana said, inviting Miri to sit on the whitevelvet sofa in her suite. She looked morebeautiful than ever in a pink silk dress, herhair pinned up as the Aslandian womendid. “My betrothed is paying for myprivate accommodations here. He keeps acountry home in Elsby and a town home inAsland, and employs twenty-eightservants, not including his tenant farmers,of course. He owns a gem mine and paidfifteen gold for my trousseau, whichincludes two velvet travel dresses, threegarden party dresses, five—”

“I know you betrayed Britta,” Miri said.Liana’s mouth was still open from

speaking. She snapped it shut. Then,batting her eyes, she said, “Pardon me?”

“Yes, the king pardoned all of you,didn’t he?” said Miri, holding up the newsjournal. “That faithless guard saw thebitterness you harbored against Britta andSteffan and knew you’d be willing to help.Was your part to keep the Mount Eskelgirls away from Britta so she would bealone and vulnerable? You might as wellhave tied up a goat and left her on a hill forthe wolves. I suppose you thought youshould have been chosen as the princess. Ihave made a lot of mistakes—we all do—but what you did was way beyond wrong.”

“Really, Miri—” Liana started, but Miriwas not done. She’d seen Britta almostkilled, and Peder was so fevered her ownskin ached just to think of it. She was in nomood to worry about the rules of Rhetoric.

“The king pardoned all of you,” saidMiri, “and so I’ll try to as well. But if youdo or say anything against Britta again—

make no mistake—I will tell your parents.”Liana stared, and Miri expected her to

deny everything. But then she laughed.“You’re going to tattle on me?”

“For all you’re so eager to leave MountEskel, I know you care about them. Justimagine the look on your parents’ faces if Itold them you tried to get our Brittamurdered.”

Liana was not laughing anymore.“Don’t worry, I won’t tattle if you’re

good,” Miri said, rising to go. “But I dothink Britta and Steffan should know whatyou did. I doubt you will be welcome intheir court.” If they marry, Miri thought. “Iunderstand nobles who aren’t courtiers areoften scorned by other nobles in Asland. Ihope you enjoy Elsby, because that’swhere you’ll be spending the rest of yourlife.”

She was stepping out the door when

Liana spoke again.“Britta knew what the lowlands were

like,” Liana said. “She knew about thefood and servants and furs and featherbeds, the concerts and the carriages and theway the noble ladies dress. You know whyshe never told us how wonderful it is?Because she didn’t want any of us to getbetween her and the fancy linder palace.”

“You’re wrong. Her lowlander life wasnot wonderful, no matter what she ate orwore.”

“Don’t imagine for a moment she wouldhave given up this life to freeze half theyear and work in a quarry.”

“Steffan chose her, Liana. It’s over.”“She had no right!” Liana’s beautiful

face turned a beautiful shade of purple.“She’s a liar! If she hadn’t been there—”

“Then Steffan would have chosen me!”Miri shouted back. She’d never allowed

herself to think it, let alone say it, but sheknew it was true. “So it’s my choice tomake, and I say Britta is more of MountEskel than you are, and I give her toSteffan. Liana, you never would have beenthe princess.”

Liana leaned back as if she’d beenstruck. She blinked rapidly and thenstammered, “It-it-it’s not over, you know.The revolution has already started. Thepeople won’t just let it go.”

Miri let Liana have the last word andquietly shut the door.

Gerti was waiting for Miri back at thepalace entrance.

“They want you in the physician’schamber.”

Miri ran. Her heart pounded harder thanher feet against the floor. Fear pricked

sweat on her forehead.Don’t be dead, Peder, don’t …She slammed open the door. Esa and the

physician were standing beside the bed.Esa turned to Miri. She was smiling.

“There you are,” said Peder. “I’m sickof this bed and they won’t let me out. Makeme laugh?”

Miri stared at Peder. She looked at Esa,who nodded happily. Miri looked back atPeder. She stuck out her tongue.

He shrugged. “Not your best.”“Just give me a moment to realize you’re

not going to die, will you?” she said.He nodded.She stuck out her tongue and crossed her

eyes.Peder laughed.

Chapter Twenty-one

She wore whiteheirloom lace abouther throatAnd in her hair abright golden featherA pearl like a plumhung ripe from herneckBut her smile fetchedten gold together

Peder’s fever had broken. A kind ofstupor that had lain over the palace brokeas well. Steffan asked, the king agreed, andSteffan and Britta held a private ceremony

in the palace chapel. The second ceremonyof the royal marriage completed, thereremained only the presentation on theGreen.

Gummonth warned there were rebels tooangry to be placated by the story of a smallboy and a carriage wheel. But Britta andSteffan declared they would rather risktheir necks than wait any longer.

In a move Miri thought surprisinglywise, the king revoked Britta’s family’stitle. Miri read of it in the news journal asshe rode in a carriage to the Green.

In punishment for conspiring toundermine the sacred academy,His Royal Majesty King Bjornstrikes down Pawel Storason ofLonway and his immediatefamily. They are reduced tocommoner status, and all their

lands are hereby the property ofthe crown. The former LordPawel is the father of BrittaPaweldaughter of Lonway,betrothed of Prince Steffan. Forher part, Britta will also remaina commoner for life. However,the king, the prince, and thepriests of the creator god acceptBritta as the lawful and dignifiedbetrothed to the prince. She willhereafter be known as Britta ofMount Eskel. She will marry theprince as a commoner.

They got a commoner princess afterall, Miri thought.

Britta and Steffan rode from the palacein an open vehicle for two, Steffan at thereins. Miri could not stop thinking about

how the Green served as the place ofexecutions as well as royal marriages,praying that today it would not be both.The copy of “The Robber Princess” wasstill stuck to the edifice, its corners curledfrom rain.

Britta was wearing a simpler dress thanher lace marriage gown—peach silkgathered in folds around her hips and back,then falling to a hem short enough that herbare feet were visible as she climbed theedifice steps.

Traditionally a bride’s family stoodbeside her, but Britta had asked the MountEskel girls to take that place of honor.Liana was not present, of course, and Benawas too afraid of muskets to climb thestairs, but Miri, Frid, Esa, Gerti, and Katarheld bouquets of tulips and daffodils andsmiled at the crowd. The priest wore arobe of brown with a white cap on his

head, reminding Miri of Mount Eskel,forever topped with snow.

The wood of the edifice creaked beneathMiri’s feet, but it did not collapse. The sunwas setting. The empty frames of Miri’ssquare banners faded from blue into rustand gold. The priest spoke the sealingwords. Britta kissed her prince. And thecrowd cheered.

Miri did not see Britta for a few days,while she and Steffan vacationed at theSummer Castle. She knew Britta must behappy and perhaps did not have the time tothink of her friend. Perhaps Miri wouldnever know if she was forgiven.

One morning on the way to the Queen’sCastle, Miri passed Sisela’s house. Thewindows were bare of drapes. She couldsee into the Salon, now empty. Even the

chandelier had been removed from theceiling.

The door opened, and the elderlyservant limped out, startling when he sawMiri.

“Lady Sisela … er, she is …”“I know she isn’t a lady anymore,” Miri

said.The man nodded, his shoulders relaxing.

“I suppose there’s no point in protectingher any longer. I warned her she could notpretend to be a wealthy noble forever, butshe begged me to come on Salon nights.”

“Where did she go?”“I don’t know, but it looks like she’s

sold the rest of the furniture, even dug outthe linder tiles from the entry. Maybe shemade enough to get her to Rilamark.” Heshook his head, his thin gray hair wagging.“I used to work in her family’s home tillmy hip gave out. She was such a sweet

little girl ….”At the Queen’s Castle, Miri inquired

after Timon, who had not come to classessince the assassination attempts.

“I’ve had no word from him,” MasterFilippus said. “Perhaps there was aproblem with his endowment.”

“His what?”“His endowment,” said the master. “All

who become scholars here write over aparcel of land or equivalent to the Castle. Iimagine Timon endowed one of hisfather’s ships.”

“But I don’t have any ships or land oranything,” said Miri.

“Mmm? Perhaps someone gifted land inyour name.”

That evening, Miri hurried with herquestions straight to Britta’s old chamberand almost knocked before rememberingshe no longer lived in the south wing. Miri

went to the king’s wing, passing over thelinder threshold with an exhale. Britta andSteffan had returned to Asland, but Miridid not have the password to go farther.

Britta, she called in quarry-speech,using a memory of the first time the two ofthem had talked at the academy.

From down the hall Miri could hear thesoft slaps of bare feet running.

“Miri!” said Britta. “I thought you werehere. I was sure … almost really sure …”

“You did hear me,” said Miri. “Yousee? You are one of us.”

“Some official tried to tell me I couldn’tcome find you, and I thought, why not?They always act the tyrant to me, and I’velet them, but no more. If I want to see myfriend, then I shall!”

Miri was going to ask if she wasforgiven, but Britta hooked her arm andsmiled, and all was as it had been.

They walked into the garden. The nightair lay against Miri’s skin, wet and cool aswell water. She leaned into Britta.

“Are you happy?” Miri asked.“I’m happy,” said Britta, her smile

pushing dimples into her cheeks. “Sohappy. Whatever this linder palace does toSteffan, it went away as soon as we did.And now that we’re back … well, I thinkhe’s figuring it out.”

“I’m trying to figure something outmyself. What are bridal lands?”

Britta flinched. “What?”“I heard a story about Queen Gertrud

and how she donated her bridal lands for aschool.”

“Oh that. Well, when a noble girl getsbetrothed, her father allots her some landthat will always belong to her. It’s asafeguard, so if her husband treats hercruelly or abandons her, she’ll have land

of her own and an income from its farmsand rents.”

“So women tend to hold on to theirbridal lands,” said Miri.

Britta nodded.“And it would mean a lot if a bride

were to give them away for some reason—as Queen Gertrud did.”

Britta nodded again.“Britta, how did you gain me admittance

to the Queen’s Castle?”She squeezed her eyes shut.“Britta, you didn’t …”“You see? This is why I didn’t tell you.

Because you would make a bigger deal ofit than it is. They were my bridal lands andI could do with them whatever I wanted,and what I wanted was for you to go to theQueen’s Castle and learn everything youwanted to know so you could be as happyas I am. But my father did not give me

much, and so I could only get you into theQueen’s Castle, and not Esa or Bena oranyone else, and I’m so sorry, Miri ….”

Miri laughed. “Yes, by all means,apologize for giving away your mostvaluable possession for my sake.”

“Stop that. Besides, they’d have beenlost to me anyway, since the king claimedmy family’s lands. You realize that I’m acommoner now. How the tables haveturned, my lady!” She smiled slyly. “Theincome is only enough for one scholar at atime, but you could stay on for as manyyears as the farmland produces crops.”

“I could?”Britta nodded, her smile easy. “I saw a

copy of ‘The Robber Princess,’ by theway. Thank you. I was thinking about howI’m going to end up as one of those namesin lists of kings and queens. Isn’t thatstrange? And I don’t want the sum of my

life to just be that I feared my father andlied, even if it was for love.”

“Your history isn’t written yet,” saidMiri.

Lately she marveled at how her ownhistory was constantly shifting. Two yearsbefore, she would have written: Laren ofMount Eskel was disappointed in hisdaughter Miri. She was so slight andweak, he forbade her from so much asstepping foot inside the quarry.

Just the past year, Miri had learned thetruth. Her ma had been injured in thequarry and died a week after Miri’s birth,and so great was her father’s love andsorrow he would not risk his baby girl inthat place. What other truths would one daybe revealed about old stories? History wasas hard to hold as a wet fish.

Britta’s silence felt mournful, and Miripulled her closer.

“What do you want history to say ofyou?”

“That I did things,” she said. “Helpedpeople. But I’m not very good at figuringthose things out. I hope you stay, Miri, andhelp me be a good princess—and one day,a good queen.”

“I … I would like to ….” Could Miri’shome be Asland? The thought made herstomach feel like a beehive shaken. “Um,how are your parents handling the loss oftheir lands?”

“They’re livid, of course.” Britta pickeda blossom from a tree and twirled it in herfingers. “The king left them the smallerhouse in Asland, though they will paytribute for it and will have to work to earnincome. It won’t kill them to work a little,and maybe having them closer won’t be allbad.”

Miri folded her arms. “I won’t let your

father anywhere near you.”Britta’s fingers worried at the blossom

till the stem bruised and stooped. “Hemostly ignored me, you know. He wasn’tterribly cruel until … until he first told meto go to Mount Eskel and I refused. I ranfrom him and hid, and he made everyoneleave the house so no one could help me,and he hunted me out, and …” She brieflyclosed her eyes. “I’ve never been soafraid, Miri. If I never see him again, thatwould be all right.” She watched theblossom’s petals drift to the ground. “Butmy mother … Perhaps we would like eachother. If we knew each other. I’m willingto try again.”

There was movement in the shadow, andMiri jumped.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a couple ofheavily armed, scary-looking men,” Brittasaid, looking over her shoulder. “They

follow me everywhere now, by Steffan’scommand. I think he’s overreacting, but hejust can’t forget what almost happened.”

Britta’s words stayed with Miri as shekissed her good night and headed back tothe girls’ chamber. Steffan can’t forget.No one could. Liana had predicted that.Miri had hoped that everyone was soenamored of the shoeless princess, therewould be no more violence. But it was afoolish hope. Nothing had changed for theshoeless of Danland, and tributes wouldsoon strike Mount Eskel.

The girls looked up at the sound of Mirilocking the door.

“Hello, girls. It’s been a long time sincewe had a Salon night,” Miri said. “Do youthink we could have one now?”

She confessed to writing most of “TheMountain Girl’s Lament” and disclosedsome of the dangerous talk from Sisela’s

Salon. While she spoke, Katar checked thedoor three times to make sure it waslocked.

“The rebels lost,” said Bena. “Britta andSteffan are married. It’s over.”

Miri shook her head. “An idea is like afire under ice. You can try to put out thefire, but the melting has already begun.”

“Who made up that saying?” Frid asked.“Doter?”

“Um, no,” said Miri. “Just me.”“It’s pretty good,” Frid said, squinting.

“But I don’t understand why there wouldbe fire under ice. And Doter’s sayings areshorter.”

“Anyway,” said Miri, “those ideas areout there, and the people are not going toforget. If things don’t change, the peoplewill turn to violence. In the palace library Iread about charters—a group of laws thatprotects a people’s rights. We could write

a charter in favor of the commoners. Katarcan take it before the delegation and theking—”

“You have something against my head,Miri?” said Katar. “If they don’t chop itoff, at the very least they’ll throw me out ofthe delegation, and then Mount Eskel won’thave any chance for fair treatment. Thedelegates are all nobles; they won’t voteagainst themselves.”

“And no one but nobles can create newlaws,” said Miri. “It’s an impossiblesituation! We’re the only nobles who havebeen commoners and understand theshoeless. It’s our responsibility to makechange. If we’re convincing, the delegationwill agree for the good of the country—commoners and nobles alike.”

“Even if I thought we had a chance, Ican’t,” said Katar. “A member of courtmust sponsor any new laws.”

A member of court? Miri had notrealized. She slumped in her chair.

“Surely Britta would do it for us,” saidEsa.

Miri shook her head. “She lost her nobletitle when her parents did, and the kingsaid he won’t raise her back up. I think herealizes that the people are happy callingher the commoner princess.”

“Would Prince Steffan do it?” askedEsa.

“He can’t,” said Katar. “The king andthe prince heir oversee the delegation andcannot sponsor new laws.”

Miri was still wearing her scholarrobes. She ran her fingers over theembroidered emblem on her chest: acrown and an open door. The sign of thequeen.

Chapter Twenty-two

The army slew athousand and showedlittle pityThe king orderedfealty from theconquered cityThe prince charmedits people with wordswise and wittyAnd the queen sat ona couch, looking verypretty

The hours Miri spent at the Queen’sCastle the next day seemed agonizingly

slow, the sun barely scraping along in thesky, the droning of the master scholar likethe heavy buzzing of a summer bee. Themoment class ended, she was on her feetand out the door, clutching a first draft ofthe charter she and the girls had finishedthat dawn. By the light of day, it seemedimpossibly ambitious. For one thing, thedelegates would never vote to abolish allnoble titles.

But perhaps they will compromise onland ownership ….

Miri was full of thoughts and walkingstraight into the hot yellow sunset, so shedid not notice Timon until he called hername.

He was waiting at their corner near thepalace, his hands in his pockets.

“You haven’t been to the Castle inweeks,” she said. “But I guess completinganother open-sky year was never your

intention.”He shook his head.“You knew about Britta,” she said.

“You knew she could be the key to inciterevolution, and you used me to put herstory to the people—well, the part of herstory that made her look bad. A shame youdidn’t meet Liana instead of me. Shewould have loved writing a leafletcondemning Britta.”

“I never knew I was a coward untilthese past weeks.” He kept his gaze on thetips of his shoes. “I couldn’t face you.”

“Well, now you have. Congratulations.”She started to walk again. He kept pacewith her.

“Years from now,” he said, “Britta willbe just a name in a book. And so I thought,when compared to the entire nation, whatdoes she matter? Names mean nothing—lady or lord, or Skarpson for that matter.”

How far apart we are, Miri thought.Timon was working so hard to turn awayfrom his birth and background. Miri lookednorth and felt a yearning for home. And yetthose twisting feelings inside reminded heragain of all she’d have to give up inAsland if she returned to Mount Eskel.

“I know you think me a thug,” he said,“but I did what I thought was best.”

She threw up her hands. “What do youwant from me, Timon?”

“You don’t need to be curt, Miri. I’mdoing you a favor. I came to give you fairwarning.”

“That change is still brewing?”“If you’re not among the blue-banded,

then you are the enemy. And this time therewon’t be a lone musket shooting through acarriage window. Groups across the cityhave come together. There will bethousands united.”

Miri shivered. “Not yet. We have someideas, and if they work, nobody has to die.Just give us more time.”

“It’s not up to me, Lady Miri.” Her titleon his lips sounded like an insult. “Therevolution isn’t a bridled horse anyone canstop with a yank of the reins. The robberprincess married her prince, butcommoners are still paying tributes theycan’t afford. There will be an uprising.”

“Against Britta?”“No. She’s a commoner now, and

frankly, the people are taken with her andh e r adorable habit of flinging off hershoes.”

“Then who will be attacked?” sheasked. “When?”

“I can’t tell you. I’ve said enough.”She tried to argue it out of him, but he

would not budge.“ I am sorry, you know.” He smiled a

little, and his tired eyes brightened. “Ilearned of you long before I met you.Traders who worked with my father talkedof changes on Mount Eskel, led by theacademy girls. Your academy’s tutor spokewith other scholars about one girl inparticular. I used to imagine giving youbooks and a house in Asland, and sailingbeside you to see the world. Then we metand everything I had dreamed seemedpossible. I believed I would see your faceevery day for the rest of my life.”

She supposed her face looked a lot likehis just then, tired after her night up, a littlesad, but resigned too.

“Not everything that we imagine comesto pass,” she said. “But thank you for thewarning. And the books.”

She smiled at him and left.When she was a block away, she thought

about looking back but realized that she

did not care if she saw Timon—then orever again.

Miri went straight to Peder’s recoveryroom at the palace and rewrote the charterat his bedside. Nervous energy made herletters too large, her lines crooked.

“It’s good, Miri,” he said. “If they’resmart, they’ll see that.”

“I’m not sure intelligence is arequirement for being a delegate.”

The girls had to wait until Inga left forthe night, and so debated and made changesstraight through till morning. Delegatescould introduce new laws only on the firstof the month, when the king was inattendance. They had two more days toprepare, or they would have to waitanother month.

“And that might be too late.” Miri took abig breath. “Are we ready to woo oursponsor?”

Bena had arranged for the girls to havean audience with Queen Sabet in herchambers.

“I don’t know how to play a lute orforge a sword,” Bena had said, “butbelieve me, I know how to set up lunchwith a member of court.”

Miri had practiced her speech severaltimes, but even so, once they were actuallyfacing the queen, her voice quavered.

The queen petted her little white dog asMiri read the charter. It started withsimpler ideas, such as commoners havingthe right to a rest day each week, andallowing news journals freedom to publishwithout court approval. And then it built upto land ownership being open to everyone,not just nobles, as well as to commonerrepresentation in the delegation.

“Commoners from each province willvote one of their own as a delegate. The

combined commoner and noble delegatesmust approve all royal tributes. In addition—”

The queen rose to her feet and started toleave.

“I can’t … I can’t listen to this. Bjornwould be so angry.”

“Please,” Miri said, rushing to her side.“Please, don’t go. We can’t afford to waituntil mobs storm the palace or nobles aremurdered in their houses. Nobles androyals need to make an offering to thecommoners. It’s a step forward for theentire kingdom. And you are the onlyperson who can make it possible.”

The queen stared at her, the line of hermouth stiff. “You well know that I have nopower. Do not mock me.”

Miri was silenced. The queen wasturning again to go when Gerti quarry-spoke.

Queen Gertrud, she said. The memorywas of the girls’ first Salon night, whenMiri returned from the Queen’s Castle andrecounted the story of its origin.

“Your Majesty, forgive me,” said Miri,“but do you know of Queen Gertrud?”

The queen paused on the threshold.“Gertrud, wife of Jorgan, sixteenth king ofDanland,” she recited.

“Yes, but do you know her story?” Miriasked.

The queen blinked, not understanding thequestion.

“Gertrud was from Hindrick province,”said Miri. “There was no school for girlsin Hindrick at the time. She attended theprincess academy and became the first girlin her family to learn to read. Jorgan choseher, and when she left for Asland, shededicated her bridal lands for a school.”

Gerti took up the story. “King Jorgan

began construction of a new palace built oflinder. During his reign, much of the king’swing of this palace was completed.”

“The old castle on the river isle wasgoing to be a prison,” said Frid. Shesmiled as if that detail was her favorite.

Miri continued. “Queen Gertrudapproached the king and the delegation onthe day the old castle was to be given overto the Justice Official. She said—”

“My king, you have never given me awedding present ,” Esa said in a highvoice, and then in a low voice for the king,“I am thirty years late!”

“It was written that when crowned, thenew king should bestow a gift upon hisbride,” said Miri.

“She’d never asked him for anythingbefore,” Esa said, “so he dared her toname a gift of her choosing and swore itwould be hers.”

“She asked for the castle!” said Frid andGerti, talking over each other.

“The Justice Official was outraged atlosing his prize,” said Miri, “but the kingwas true to his oath. The old castle becameknown as the Queen’s Castle.”

“There she started the first academy forteachers,” Katar continued. “Over theyears it became the center of Danlanderscholarship. Scholars who train at theQueen’s Castle become tutors all over thekingdom, preserve history, promote thearts and science, make discoveries andinventions. Queen Gertrud’s legacy ispowerful. So will be yours.”

When Katar stopped, Miri wanted tospeak quickly, present logical arguments,beg for the queen’s aid. But she remindedherself of the last rule of Rhetoric: Offersilence.

After a time, the queen spoke.

“My husband gave me a wedding gift. Asmall house on the shore. We used tospend two weeks there every winter. Thenone year, we stopped. I left my favorite setof teacups in the kitchen.”

“You should go back,” said Gerti.“Yes, I should send someone for the

teacups,” said the queen.“But you should go,” said Gerti. “With

the king. It sounds like you miss it. Theway you talk about it, that’s how I feelabout Mount Eskel.”

The queen considered Gerti. “I can feelyour longing.”

Miri wondered if the queen could sensea longing in her as well, one strong enoughto pull her away from Asland. She did notdare ask.

“Your Majesty,” said Miri, “if thenobles and royals don’t take the next step,the commoners will. They believe they can

claim power only through violence. Evenif they don’t succeed, think how many willdie trying.”

The queen studied Miri’s face and thenheld her hand out for the charter. She satand read for long, aching minutes beforegiving it back.

“I will see you at the next session of thedelegation,” she said, and then left. Herservants followed.

The girls stood there, looking at oneanother.

“So … did she just agree to sponsor thecharter?” asked Katar.

“I think so,” Miri whispered.“ Yo u think so?” Katar grabbed the

paper from Miri. “If I present this insession and the queen doesn’t offer hersponsorship, ‘I think so’ isn’t going to savemy head.”

“Your head will be fine,” said Miri.

“It’s your neck you should worry about.”“Miri!”They started back to their chamber.

Katar trudged behind as if dragging stones,and Miri slowed to walk beside her.

“I’ll hand copies to the delegatesmyself,” said Miri. “I’ll stand beside you,Katar.”

Katar grimaced, but she nodded.“Thanks. I thought …” She pressed her lipstogether. “I thought when I wrote you thatletter last spring that you’d know what todo.”

Miri nodded, unsure what to say.“Though it took you ages to figure it

out,” said Katar. Miri knocked her with hershoulder, Katar knocked her back, andMiri wondered at what moment she andKatar had become friends.

This very moment, Miri thought. Justnow.

Spring Week Three

Dear Marda,If you receive these letters

along with a note advising youof my execution, please do notbe too sad. Someday you mighteven laugh about it! “Oh thatMiri. She would go off toAsland and drum up trouble.Remember when she forgot totie up the billy goat, and he atetwo shoes and a blanket? Sucha prankster!”

If you have a funeral forme, sing loudly and let thegoats attend. They love arousing ditty.

Your troublesome babysister,

Miri

Chapter Twenty-three

Oh land of farms andgreen hills mildOnce formed bygiants rough and wildWith massive pawsthey gripped and toreWith one great ripthey formed the shore

Where heavy bootsleft prints so deepBlue lakes remain’tween summits steepThe giants foughtbeneath our skies

And from their bonesour mountains rise

The night before facing the delegation,the girls smuggled Peder from his sickbedinto their chamber. Miri felt fragile andafraid, and yearned to keep all she lovednear. Accustomed to late nights debatingthe charter, and too nervous to sleep, theyall talked into the dark hours, not of lawsbut of home. Miri could almost hear thesleepy mumbling of goats, sense the ice-tipped winds coming off the peak, smellsnow melting and miri flowers blooming,and feel spring as it is on the mountain—full of promise.

In the morning they dressed andpretended to eat breakfast.

“No matter that we could be beheadedfor this,” said Esa. “Heads are overrated.”

“Yes, they are so unfashionable,” saidMiri, imitating an Aslandian accent. “Thisspring, ladies of style are wearing theirfeathers in their necks.”

They laughed, but not for too long. Gertirubbed her own neck.

“Katar and I can do it alone, if you’dlike,” Miri said.

But when Katar rose to go to the door,even Bena followed.

Miri left last, pausing to look back atPeder, lying on Liana’s old bed.

“Get some rest. I’ll send news as soonas there is any.”

“Just make sure it’s good news,” hesaid. “If you happen to be killed, I’d ratherhear it from your own lips.”

“Absolutely. I’ll roll my decapitatedhead back here to bring you word.”

Peder’s teasing smile faltered. “Pleasebe careful.”

She nodded and left but returned amoment later to give him a last quick kisson his lips. He touched her hair.

The Delegate House waited on the otherside of the Green from the palace. Hordesof people were gathered around theyellow-brick building, the murmurs tense.

“Quite a crowd,” Katar said.“Unusual?” asked Miri.Katar nodded.The procession of the king’s carriage

and his attendants stopped, the roadclogged with people. The royal guardyelled for passage, and very slowly thepeople edged backward. Their gazes weresomber. Miri rubbed her arms to dispel thechills. As she squeezed through the crowd,she was grateful she wore her scholarrobes, free from the mark of nobility.

The entire building was a huge openchamber. The floor was linder, but the

walls were yellow brick, leading to adomed ceiling, painted with a starred sky.The round delegation table took up thecenter of the chamber and was surroundedby sixteen high-backed chairs, one for eachprovince’s delegate. Miri noted that thetable was large enough to add sixteen morechairs for the commoner delegates. If thecharter passed.

Three galleries opened off the centralchamber. The king sat upon a dais facingthe delegates, the Court Gallery behindhim. The Mount Eskel girls climbed thestairs to claim seats in the Noble Gallery,which was half empty. Opposite, theCommoner Gallery overflowed.

Miri handed Katar the couple dozenhandwritten copies of their charter. Katarwore her reddish hair in a bun, perhapsimagining it made her look older. Butbeside two white-haired delegates, Miri

thought she looked like a child who hadsneaked into a meeting of the villagecouncil.

“She’s here, at least,” Katar whispered.Queen Sabet waited in the Court

Gallery. Her face was in shadow, and ifshe noticed Miri, she made no signal ofgreeting. Britta sat beside Steffan. Itseemed she tried to smile at Miri, but herexpression was taut. She had thought thecharter a wonderful idea, though she hadnot been able to hide the fear in her eyes.

“It’s not too late—” Miri started.“I’ll do it,” said Katar. “Someone has

to.”Miri tried to think of a hopeful thing to

say, but her stomach hurt with worry.“Your face is making me even more

nervous.” Katar put her hands on Miri’sshoulders and turned her away. “Go whereI can’t see you.”

Miri found a seat with the girls. Esaheld out her hand and squeezed Miri’s.

“I’d rather face bandits,” Miriwhispered.

The session opened with the singing ofDanland’s anthem. The first verses told ofgiants fighting, the fall of their bodiespounding out Asland’s valley, their kickspushing the trees together to make theforests. Miri did not believe it was realhistory, but she liked the idea of it. She hadfelt part of a giant once, on the docksprotesting the oil tribute. Any group unitedcreates a giant , she thought. Could theirlittle group actually reshape Danland?

The chief delegate acknowledged theking’s presence and introduced extremelyboring laws for debate. An hour went by.Then two. In Miri’s mind anxiety warredagainst drowsiness. When would Katarspeak?

Miri’s gaze wandered over theCommoner Gallery. No one sherecognized, but all wore blue bands ontheir arms. Messengers were constantlycoming and going, perhaps carrying newsof the debate to the crowds outside andreturning with messages they whispered inears.

The building was full of nobles andcourt members, not to mention the king,queen, and prince.

Drowsiness drained out of Miri with achill that washed from her head through herlegs.

“What if they mean to attack heretoday?” she whispered to Esa.

The royal guard had searchedcommoners for weapons before allowingthem into the Delegate House, but therewere enough commoners outside to qualifyas an army.

“Speak to the guards,” Esa whisperedback.

Miri nodded. She was making her wayout of the Noble Gallery when she heardKatar’s voice pierce the dome of thechamber.

“Mount Eskel wishes to speak.”The chief delegate acknowledged her.Miri froze where she was, her body iced

with anticipation.Katar walked around the table while

speaking on the need for change, handingeach delegate a copy of the charter. Whenshe passed one up to the king, Miri couldsee her hand shook. But her voice wassteady.

When she returned to her seat, thedelegates and the king were absorbed inreading the charter. Katar opened hermouth, then shut it. She handed extracopies into the galleries and then stood,

waiting for them to finish, her heels quietlybouncing. Whispers noised around the halllike the flap of bats.

“You are of Mount Eskel,” the king saidslowly, “and I have reason to favor yourprovince of late. So I will ask you politely.Who sponsors this charter?”

Katar looked into the Court Gallery.There was no movement.

The king swung around. “Who dared thisyearling to present such a betrayal? Whochallenges the power of the crown? Who?”

The members of court all seemed tohave loose threads on their cuffs or piecesof fluff on their skirts that requiredimmediate examining.

The queen stood. She was up behind theking, and with the members of courtoccupied with threads and fluff, no onesaw her.

Speak, Miri quarry-spoke. The word

traveled through the stone, slick as a fish inwater, and though Miri knew the queenwould not understand, perhaps she couldfeel the rumblings of support through thelinder at her feet.

Speak, said Esa, with an image of thetime Miri spoke up to the village council.

Speak, said Frid, and Gerti and Katartoo.

Speak, came the soundless voices of theacademy girls. It was a word ofencouragement—a mother bird chirping toher young to flap their wings; a childimpatient at a window, wishing for spring.

Miri saw Britta silently mouth the word.Speak.

The queen took one step forward.“I do,” she said, as quiet as a feather

lands.“What?” The king whirled in his chair to

face her. “Did you say something in my

Delegate House?”His wife flinched. She glanced up at

something on the wall that Miri could notsee, but it appeared to give her courage.Her shoulders straightened, and shenodded.

“I sponsor this charter.”The king looked about as if for

something to hit. Queen Sabet descendedthe steps and grabbed his hand, holding itbetween both of hers. Miri noticed for thefirst time just how beautiful the queen was.She wore a deep purple dress,embroidered along the hems and sleeveswith white flowers. Her black hair was up,also stuck with white flowers and agraceful plume. Gems sparkled at her earsand throat. Even in that crowded room, shestood out. And Miri realized that she musthave chosen her attire with that intention.She had not come to the Delegate House to

be forgotten in the corner. She had come tospeak.

“It’s for you,” the queen said in awhisper, perhaps believing no one elsecould hear. But the rotunda picked up thesound and trilled the echo to the entirechamber. “Because I love Danland, andyou are Danland. Because I love you,Bjorn.”

The king stared at her. The room wassilent.

“Do you wish to voice displeasure?” thechief delegate asked the king.

Katar had said that if the king voiceddispleasure for any motion and thedelegation’s vote was not unanimous, theking had the right to remove the motionentirely.

“No,” he said, and leaned back heavilyin his chair.

He knows, Miri thought. In order to

preserve the monarchy, he must bend.So the delegation debate began. It was

not slow and accommodating as before. Itwas choppy and violent as a riverthrashing white against rocks. Miri couldbarely follow the debate. It became noiseto her, just cries in the air. The strain ofwaiting almost hurt, and she wished theywould just vote.

Every person in the Commoner Gallerywas standing up, many on tiptoe. Thecopies of the charter were passed from oneto the next with a hungry urgency. Thecrowd seethed with energy andanticipation, their power like that of an axraised up, poised to fall.

What would happen if the vote failed?Miri moved again toward the royal guardsby the door. If she warned them, perhapsthey could defend the Delegate House froman outside attack.

Messengers were sprinting nowbetween the Commoner Gallery andoutside. The leaders of the blue-bandedwould wait till the vote, Miri hoped.Moments after the charter failed, thethousands of commoners outside wouldknow, and the delegates might as wellthrow a firebrand onto a heap of straw.

This is the spark, Miri thought. She hadcreated the spark for the revolution afterall—the commoners would be enraged atthe nobles for voting down the charter andso decidedly denying them rights. Warwould begin. And it would begin withkilling, just as Sisela had predicted.

Miri reached the nearest guard.“Sir,” she whispered, “I’m worried the

crowds will turn violent.”He tilted his head, meaning he could not

hear her.“Sir,” she said more loudly.

He shook his head and put a finger to hislips, and his attention returned to thedelegates. She realized the guard must be acommoner and as eager to follow thedebate as any.

“Please,” she said. “It will be amassacre. They’ll kill the king and thedelegates and—”

“A vote!” the chief delegate cried. “Avote. Lords and ladies, rise if you supportthis charter.”

Not yet! Miri was not ready. Nothingwas ready. She saw Katar stand and raiseher hand to vote. Another female delegatefollowed, and a man with white at histemples. Three. Three of sixteen. That wasnowhere near a majority! Miri stumbledforward, hoping to reach Britta and warnher to get Steffan away. Walking throughthe chamber was like trying to rununderwater. The press of bodies was hot

and tight, and she could no longer see thedelegation table or the Court Gallery.Suddenly the noise level rose with shoutsof surprise and alarm.

“Britta!” she cried, but the clamordoused any sound from her mouth.

The doors from outside flung open, andmore blue-banded commoners pressed intothe chamber. Miri choked back a scream.She pushed harder through the people andthe noise that echoed off the rotunda in anear-shattering shriek. The bedlam made herfeel tipsy, as if she were on a ship. Theshouts were high and tense, like the call ofgulls. The shoves tore at her like wind.

She squeezed between two large menwho were yelling with fists pumping theair, and suddenly the delegation table wasbefore her. None of the delegates had beenkilled yet. She counted—sixteen, allstanding there.

Sixteen. Standing.Miri looked again. Yes, they were

standing, each with the right hand raised inunanimous vote. Many of them weresmiling. The shouts from the CommonerGallery wound up the walls like smoke,and she recognized now the tones not ofterror but of jubilation. They deepened,heightened, cheers rolling over cheers.

The chief delegate was speaking to theking, who nodded solemnly. The nobilityin the Court Gallery looked stunned, evenangry. But the delegates—noblesthemselves—seemed relieved. Miriwondered if they had considered such acharter in the past, but had not dared.

Katar broke from the table and ranstraight to Miri.

“It passed?” Miri asked, yearning for itto be true but too afraid to believe.

Katar nodded, her smile huge and

dimpled. She clenched Miri in an embraceso tight Miri coughed for lack of breath.She just needs practice, Miri thought. Mirisqueezed her back.

As if by some signal, the cheeringslowed and then silenced. The buildingwas full to bursting, hundreds of blue-banded commoners filling the floor andentrance. A commoner near the kingbowed. Then he turned to face the queenand lowered one knee to the floor. Insilence, hundreds of commoners didlikewise—a bow to the king, a knee to thequeen.

The queen’s hand rose to her mouth, hereyes wet. She looked back up at the wall.

Miri was close enough now to glimpsewhat the queen was seeing. It was aportrait of Queen Gertrud.

Chapter Twenty-four

Mud in the streamAnd earth in the airClay in my earsAnd stone in my stare

I’m on the mountainBut the mount’s in meI can’t shake the dustI won’t wash it free

The charter, it seemed, was the onlypossible topic of conversation in Asland,and most especially in the Queen’s Castle.Some seemed terrified of the changes,

some confused, but most could not stopexclaiming with wonder and delight.

The latest news caused a stir in MasterFilippus’s class: Britta’s family’s lands,seized by the crown when they lost theirnoble titles, were being put to immediateuse. Queen Sabet had ordered the propertysold and the proceeds used to buildschools in Asland. Children who attendedwould be fed two meals during the schoolday, to encourage their parents to sendthem to studies instead of work.

But the change that most often brought anunbidden smile to Miri’s lips was therelease from current tributes. Eachprovince would elect a commoner to thedelegation, and Miri felt hopeful thatwhatever tributes the new delegationapproved would be fair.

Her eyes lifted to the painting on theclassroom wall. Since their course on Art,

Miri understood how remarkable it wasthat the painter had chosen a commonergirl as a worthy subject for a masterwork.Why had Miri ever assumed the girl felttrapped? She seemed content now, pouringmilk in her little house. Couldn’t a girl justadmire a moon from time to time?

Master Filippus was saying again howthe Danlandian charter was unprecedented,that there was no correlation in history.That they were making history.

Miri wished he would ask that ethicsquestion again. Which would you save, themurderer or the painting? She knew heranswer now: both. She would find a way.Which do you choose, the princess or therevolution? Both. Who says it has to beone or the other?

Where will you live, Asland or home?Miri took the long way through the

palace grounds to stop by the forge.

“Frid!” she called. The noise was asdeafening as in a quarry. She tried quarry-speech, doubting it would carry with nolinder underfoot. But whether she heard ornot, Frid stopped pounding on a red-hotmetal bar and looked up.

“Hello, Miri.” She stuck the bar in abucket of water with a fizzle and a puff ofsteam, and then held it up. “Like mysword?”

One of the men working near herlaughed.

“If that’s a sword, mountain sister, thenyou’re the princess,” he said.

A strapping boy dropped his tongs andstalked over to the man, his chest puffedup. “Frid’s work is better than your sloppydenting.”

“That’s right,” said another boy. “She’s… she’s perfect!” And he blushed.

“Ease up, you bunch of lumps,” Frid

said sweetly.She took off her leather apron and

walked with Miri to get away from thenoise. Miri glanced back and noticedseveral of the forge boys still watchingFrid.

“A nice group?” Miri asked.“Nice as they come. A couple keep

giving me flowers.” Frid laughed as if itwere an excellent joke.

“I just heard the trader wagons areleaving in the morning,” said Miri. “Benahas decided to go back with them. I thinkshe’s annoyed that Liana is getting marriedbut no one has asked for her hand. GetBena any letters before she goes.”

Miri had a stack of letters for Mardawritten over the past months, but still notone she felt good about sending. Howcould she explain all that had happened?How could she comfort them that she

would be home soon when she was notcertain herself?

“I can’t believe the year’s half overalready,” Frid said, wiping her sweatyface with a handkerchief gray with use.“Remember how we sat up in our room atfirst, afraid to go outside and get run overby a carriage? Asland’s a lot tamer than amountain, if you ask me. No wolves, noshe-cats, no bandits, no rocks falling onyour head—unless you’re an assassin.”

“Naturally. Asland is downrightdangerous if you’re an assassin.” Miri’ssmile broke. “Frid, will you stay here?”

“Tonight? Don’t be silly. I like the forgewell enough but I’m not going to sleep init. I’ll be back before bedtime.”

“No, I meant in the fall when we …when the rest of the girls return to MountEskel. Will you stay in Asland?”

The original invitation had been for only

the one year, but Miri knew Britta wouldwelcome her friends to stay indefinitely.

Frid’s wide-open eyes opened a littlewider. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, you seem so happy working inthe forge. With your new friends.”

“Sure, I like the boys well enough. Wehave some laughs. But Mount Eskel ishome.”

Miri nodded.“And just think, if I set up a forge on the

mountain,” said Frid, “we could make andfix our own tools!”

Her mouth opened with the happythought, and she forgot to say good-byebefore returning to her anvil.

When Miri arrived at the girls’ chamber,Esa and Gerti were gathering letters andgifts for their families and pressing Benawith instructions to deliver love and hugsand kisses.

“I’ll take your letters,” said Bena, “butI ’ m not kissing anyone.” She paused.“Except Frid’s brothers. The younger ones.And only if they beg. If you’re all sohomesick, why not just come with me?”

“I’m not quite ready yet,” Gerti said,plucking a lute string.

Esa put her hand on her hip. “Yourealize lowlanders have known forcenturies how to care for the sick?Centuries! You think I’m going to leavebefore I learn as much as I can? When Ithink of it, my blood just boils ….”

“Great, there she goes again,” Benawhispered.

“You set her off,” Gerti whispered back.Miri sat down for the fifth time that

week to write another letter home, but herthoughts were a snarl too thick to unpick.She was not ready yet either—to go homeor not to go home. She needed to find her

words.It was late when she entered Gus’s

courtyard. Peder was leaning against astone as white as the moon. It could onlybe linder. He was reading a sheet of paper,his brow furrowed. She did not want tostartle away the line between his eyes, theway his lips slowly moved as if soundingout the words of his thoughts. So she stoodand watched him for a few moments.

Then she lay her hand on the linder andquarry-spoke the memory of the first timeshe had come to see him. I am here.

He looked up. As much as she’d enjoyedhis thoughtful expression, it got even betterwhen he saw her. His eyes took up hissmile.

“Hello,” he said.“Hello. How are you feeling?”“What, this old thing?” he said, lifting

his shirt part-way to reveal the pink scar

on his middle. “I only got it to look manly.We warriors call them ‘manly marks.’”

“You let a lead ball go through yourbelly so you could look tough, did you?”

“But of course. Why else would I leapin front of a shooting musket?”

Miri hoped she knew why, but thewords were too precious to speak aloud.

“What were you reading?” she askedinstead.

“A letter to home. I’ve rewritten it adozen times already. It’s a tricky thing toexpress nearly six months in one letter. It’shard to know what to say—”

“And what not to say.”“Exactly.”They sat on the linder block and stared

at the moon. She knew from her Astronomystudies that the moon was a huge ball ofrock that reflected the sun’s light. Mardawould see that exact moon tonight. Miri

knew she would not think about rock andreflected light but about a little sister whowas far away and yet under the samemoon.

“Timon told me how sailors navigate bythe stars,” Miri said. “I’m glad to know it,though I’d rather not be reminded of himevery time I look at the night sky.”

“Did you like him?”Miri was surprised by the question, but

she tried to answer honestly. “There weremoments when I thought about it.”

Timon’s touch, his kiss, had felt good,and that goodness made her believe herfeelings had been true.

“But when he wasn’t around, I didn’ttalk to him in my head, like I do with you.For a few weeks, I wasn’t sure what I felt.But now everything seems so clear, I can’tbelieve I was ever unsure.”

Peder did not say anything. Miri

hesitated, then chose her words carefully.“I’m sure about you,” Miri said. “But

I’m not sure … not sure if you’re sureabout me.”

Peder tilted his head to the side. “Ofcourse I am.”

“You are? But … so often here you’vebeen distant with me.”

He twisted a rag in his hands. “I havebeen anxious about using my time well.You’re the only person who cares if Ibecome a sculptor, and I don’t want todisappoint you.”

“I’m sorry, Peder,” she said, a sting ofloneliness in her chest. “I didn’t want toburden you with expectation. I know howthat feels.”

“I do want to be good at carving, Miri,”he said. “For you, but for me too. WhenI’m carving, I feel more like myself thanever, more like I matter. When I’m carving

and when I’m with you. I assumed youknew that.”

Miri laughed, mostly from nerves.“Boys need to talk more. Boys need to saythings and not assume things. You and mypa and Steffan and everyone, you’re goingto make us girls insane!”

“No more insane than you already makeus,” he said.

“Fair enough.” She looked down,running her finger over a silver vein in thelinder. “I am of age for betrothal, youknow.”

“Oh?” he said, polishing the stone witha cloth.

She sighed in exasperation. “I’m of age,and you haven’t asked me to be yourbetrothed.”

He looked up, his eyes wide. “You wantto get married right now? In Asland?”

“No! No, but you know that when a girl

and boy are fond enough of each other thatthey might want to wed one day, they makepromises. Then they have to wait at least ayear to test those promises and makecertain they mean them before they marry—at least a year, though they can wait aslong as they like—but the promises arecustomary, and … you’re looking at me asif I’m speaking in ancient Rilamarkian.You can’t possibly not know this.”

“Maybe I did. I never really thoughtabout it.”

He was the oldest child in his family,and no one close to him had ever wed.Perhaps he had never cared enough aboutweddings and betrothals to pay anyattention.

She sighed again, this time with slightlyless exasperation. “Peder, I like you betterthan anyone I’ve ever known. Someday Iwant to have a house with you. I want to

teach in the village school and gather thestories of Mount Eskel and then comehome to you in the evening and see whatyou’ve carved and talk about the day. Inother words, I want to marry you, Peder.Eventually. In the meantime, I promise tobe faithful, to always tell you the truth, andto share my heart with you alone. Will youaccept my betrothal?”

Peder was on his feet. “Whoa! Did wejust get betrothed?”

“No. For one thing, you haven’taccepted.”

Peder forced himself to sit back down.Miri felt sick, but she waited, counting theloud beats of her heart. Ten. Twenty.Thirty. How much silence would she haveto bear? When could she run away?

Peder looked at his shaking hands andlaughed, holding them out for Miri to see.“When we go back home, don’t tell Jans

and Almond that I got so nervous. They’llmake fun of me till I’m gray haired, I knowthey will.”

He looked at her, shook his headincredulously, and started polishing thestone again.

Miri was pretty well done with silence.“Peder, you have to answer me before

my heart dies in my chest and plops ontothe ground!”

“Answer you? About … Oh, I have tosay yes? Well, yes, of course. And Ipromise the same things back to you.” Hesmiled in his way, one side of his mouthpulling higher. “That wasn’t so bad. I thinkmy hands have stopped shaking.”

He lifted them again. She took hold.“Isn’t someone supposed to witness the

vows or something?” he asked.“Our fathers. The head of the village

council can stand in for a father, and so can

a priest or …” She’d looked up this detailin the Queen’s Castle library, though shedecided to omit that confession. “Or theking.”

“We could ask the king,” said Peder.“He sort of owes you his life.”

“Perhaps ….” Now that she knewPeder’s thoughts, the rush fell away. “Butit might be nice to wait.”

“Let our fathers do it at home,” he said.“Exactly.”“All right, we’ll make it official in the

fall.” Peder grinned. “It feels like a bigdeal, doesn’t it?”

“It is a big deal. But I’m certain about it.About you. Even if I’m a little scared too.We don’t have to get married for years andyears if we don’t want, you know. You’llhave time to change your mind.”

“I won’t.”“But you could—”

“I won’t,” he said again.Miri’s eyes stung, but she did not feel

the need to look away.“Miri, I want to live on Mount Eskel. Is

that what you want?”“Yes.” As she said it, she held the stone

beneath her, just in case that word split thelinder in two and dumped them on theground. Yes felt mighty. Yes was the mostpowerful idea in the world.

“I believe you,” he said. “And yet, itdoesn’t seem fair. You want to keepstudying at the Queen’s Castle.”

“And you want to keep learning fromGus. Mount Eskel is home, but I don’t wantto have to choose only one or the otherforever.”

“Are we supposed to talk about this stuffout loud?” he said. “I thought, you know,relationships or whatever can’t beplanned. They just happen or they don’t,

like a laugh. Or a kiss.”Miri smiled, because she guessed that he

said “kiss” because it was on his mind,and sure enough, he leaned forward andkissed her. She still felt a little nervousalong with the glee, and that was all right.Her hand was on his chest, and she couldfeel his own heart beating even harder thanhers. It made her smile.

“I can’t kiss you when you’re smiling,”he said. “It makes me want to laugh.”

She giggled and then controlled herself,because she did want to kiss him. Kisseswere like words, she thought. They meantmany things, their meanings fickle,dangerous even. Kisses could be lies, orthey could be promises. She could feel thetruth of Peder’s kiss in her ribs, in herheart, in the breath held in her lungs. Shebelieved his kisses.

It was later than late when he offered to

walk her back. The palace waited to thenorth, the same direction as Mount Eskel.Miri turned toward it and, smiling,breathed in the night. She did not want tosleep yet. She still had a letter to write.She would not take it lightly. From allshe’d seen in the libraries, letters anddiaries preserved history. And her letter tohome would be one of the very first writtenpieces of history in all of Mount Eskel.

Timon was wrong; history was morethan names on a page. History was stories,like Queen Gertrud and the Castle, Danand the Blackbird, the Princess’s Ladiesand the Charter. And stories were asplentiful on Mount Eskel as rubble rock—both true and fanciful, told and sung. Shewanted to listen to the stories andmemories of the villagers and write themdown. To be a keeper of memories, likethe linder itself. A writer of history. What

a wonder.Would she go home or stay? Both.A person can be more than one thing,

she thought, and wondered how she had notthought of it before. She could be ahistorian, a scholar, and a teacher. Adaughter, a sister, and a friend. Aprincess’s lady and the betrothed of anapprentice stone carver. A citizen ofAsland and a girl of Mount Eskel. Sheneed not decide every moment of her lifenow. There would be years and years tolearn and act and make mistakes, to traveland to stay. She did not know all the future,but she knew what to do next. She tookPeder’s hand and walked toward home.

Spring Week Four

Dear Pa and Marda,

It makes me happyimagining you two inside ourlittle house. Marda is sitting atthe table, reading this aloud.Pa is standing by the window,looking out while he listens.And now Marda is smiling,because I have described themoment just right.

None of the letters I wrotethese past months seem trueanymore, but I will send themanyway. I no longer feel like thelost girl who wrote them, but Iwas her once. Perhaps you willlike to see where I was andwhere I am now.

I worry that reading mywords will make you sadbecause you miss me. And Imiss you too. A lot. The ache of

the missing fills my chest, yet itdoes not hurt. It almost feelsgood, because it reminds me Ihave a family I love and that Iwill see you again.

Yes, Pa, I will come homein the fall. Asland is morewonderful than I could haveimagined, but it is not home.Esa has learned doctoring, Fridcan make an iron lever, Gerti’slute plays like springtimeformed into sound, Peder’scarvings are as beautiful asmountains, and my own head isfull of questions, numbers, andwords. All these things welearned, what would theymatter if we do not return?

Some say we are what wedo, not where we come from. I

say we are both, because I willalways be a Mount Eskel girl. Iwant to milk the goats, teach inthe village school, have youaccept my betrothal to Peder,and write our province’s firsthistory. Someday otherEskelites will study at theQueen’s Castle, and I wantthem to find a book about homein the library. Maybe I willeven be there to show it tothem.

Because I will return toAsland, so I can be a friend toBritta and Katar and continueto study. I hope you will stilllove your girl now that I am oftwo places. Whenever I leave, Ipromise I will always comehome again. Home will always

be Mount Eskel. And I willalways be

your Miri

Acknowledgments

Many people supported and inspiredthis novel, including Dean Hale, VictoriaWells Arms and the wondrous folk atBloomsbury, Barry Goldblatt, KindraJohnson, Kayla Huff, Bonnie Bryner, MaxHale, Kira Janke, Hannah Wengersky, andmy childhood friend Molly OrangeRichardson, who first introduced me toethics.

While doing research for this novel, Iparticularly enjoyed The Days of theFrench Revolution by ChristopherHibbert.

Writing this story made me even moreaware of how many people in this worldcannot meet their basic needs. My family

and I decided to donate a portion of theproceeds from this book to LDSHumanitarian Services to aid their millionsof projects worldwide, such as cleanwateraccess, immunizations, neonatal care, andfood production.

A hearty thank-you to the many readersof Princess Academy who wanted to hearwhat happened next. I’m the luckiest writerin the world. You are a joy to write for.

ALSO BY SHANNON HALE

THE BOOKS OF BAYERNThe Goose GirlEnna BurningRiver SecretsForest Born

Princess Academy

Book of a Thousand Days

GRAPHIC NOVELSwith Dean Hale

illustrations by Nathan HaleRapunzel’s Revenge

Calamity Jack

FOR ADULTSAustenland

Midnight in AustenlandThe Actor and the Housewife

About the Author

SHANNON HALEis the award-winning and beloved

author of numerous books, including theNewbery Honor book Princess Academy;

its sequel, Palace of Stone; the Books ofBayern: The Goose Girl, Enna Burning,River Secrets, and Forest Born; Book of aThousand Days; and two highly acclaimedgraphic novels, Rapunzel’s Revenge andCalamity Jack, which she co-authored.She is also the author of three adult books:Austenland, Midnight in Austenland, andThe Actor and the Housewife. She livesnear Salt Lake City, Utah, with herhusband, the author Dean Hale, and theirfour children.

www.shannonhale.comwww.facebook.com/ShannonHaleBooks

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language … and a rhythm to the story thattakes its tropes from many places, but its

heart from ours.… An unalloyed joy.””—Kirkus Reviews, starred review

“This is not a fluffy, predictable fairytale.… Instead, Hale weaves an intricate,

multilayerd story about families,relationships, education, and the place we

call home.” —SLJ, starred review

‘DISCOVER MOREENCHANTING STORIES BYAWARD-WINNING AUTHOR

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will be delighted with this novel.”—SLJ, starred review

“Enchanting.… A beautiful coming-of-agestory.”

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“Powerful and romantic.”—Kirkus Reviews

“This novel’s pulsing heart lies in richwriting and sharply drawn characters,

elements that will be devoured by genrefans just like kindling beneath flames.”

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“[A] stirring, stand-alone adventure. . . .Suspenseful, magical, and heartfelt, this is

a story that will wholly envelop itsreaders.”—Booklist, starred review

“This novel will be a special treat forreaders of Hale’s other two companionbooks, but it also stands on its own as aunique and tender coming-of-age story.”

—Publishers Weekly, starred review

“Romantic and action-filled … a rich,satisfying read.”

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Q & A

with

SHANNON HALE

Q: How do you view the relationshipbetween you and your reader?

A: We’re a team! My part is only half ofthe storytelling. The other half belongs tothe readers; they bring their ownexperiences, opinions, and imaginations toa book, taking the author’s words andtelling themselves their own unique story. Ilove that reading is such an intimate,individual, and magical experience.

Q: In your Newbery Honor novelPrincess Academy, it’s a wonderfulmoment when Miri realizes she has theability to read. Do you remember thefirst book you read? Can you describeany of your early memories of readingon your own?

A: Starting at about age eight, readingbecame magical. I guess that was the agewhen I was confident enough in myabilities that I could read a book withoutstruggling over the words and just get lostin a story. Immersing myself in a book wasessential from ages eight to twelve,probably more so than at any time in mylife. Being young is tough! You have todepend on adults and go along with theirschedules, and so much of the world ishuge and mysterious and threatening. Butwhen children can read, they control so

much. They can imagine what thecharacters look like, sound like, how thestory flows, how long they’ll be carriedaway in it. They are powerful. Readingunder a tree or in my bed with a night-lightwere some of the best moments of mychildhood. Of course I wasn’t really undera tree or in bed—I was sailing a pirateship or solving a mystery in Egypt orexploring Narnia.

Q: Why did you select the Grimms’ talesto retell with The Goose Girl, Book of aThousand Days, Rapunzel’s Revenge,and Calamity Jack?

A: My mom read us Grimms’ tales as kids,and we gobbled them up. I think they’re apart of the structure of my brain now. I’mfascinated that certain tales were powerfulenough to survive hundreds of years of oralstorytelling. There’s worth there. There’s

raw truth. Despite my general love of fairytales, the ones I choose to retell are thetales that are beautiful but also irritate me.My writer brain gets bugged, and I feelenergized to put myself inside that storyand figure it out.

Q: Any other favorite tales that mightinspire a future book?

A: Yes! But I’m a little superstitious aboutdiscussing stories I haven’t started writingyet. I like to let them lie quietly in my brainfor a few years, gestating.

Q: When did you know you wanted to bea writer?

A: Looking back, I can see that I wasalways making up stories. I put togetherlittle plays and performed them for myparents and bribed my younger siblings to

take part. It wasn’t until fourth grade that Irealized a person could be a writer. Ideclared my intentions that year and neverlooked back.

Q: If you hadn’t become a writer, whatwas your plan B?

A: I love the classroom environment andwas interested in becoming a teacher. Ialso worked as an instructional designerfor years.

Q: You read many books in graduateschool that you’ve said didn’t ignite yourimagination or stimulate much emotion.But, as you’ve noted, reading thesebooks inspired you to write somethingthat you would want to read. What aboutyour books appeals to you as a reader?

A: Yes, for most of my college years I read

only what was assigned in class (I didn’thave time for anything else!). I certainlydon’t mean to belittle those books orwriters—most of what I read wasbeautifully written or historicallyimportant. But many were depressing, andI often wasn’t as drawn into the story or ascaptivated by the characters as I had beenby the kind of books I loved as a kid. Bymy second year of graduate school, I wascraving a book that created a world whereI wanted to be. I longed for a rousing storythat would give me reasons to turn thepages besides just completing anassignment. I wanted the writers to imbuetheir characters with skills and resourcesthat would give them a fighting chance tosucceed, not just doom them to bleaknessand failure. Something fun. Something withhope, but not an easy, obvious happyending. Adventure. Romance. Fantasy. I

love these things. As a reader, I also don’twant to have to sacrifice quality writingfor a compelling story.

Q: Explain your writing process.

A: Ideas for books occur to me almostdaily. I jot them down. The ones that pesterme the most win. I usually let a book ideagerminate in my brain for a year (orseveral) before I put together all the notesI’ve kept, form a rough outline, and startworking. The first draft is hard for me, buthappily I work in clay, not marble. Once Ihave that ugly clay mass of a first draft, Ihave something to work with and will domany rewrites. My process hasstreamlined a bit over the years. Now I doabout a dozen drafts, but The Goose Girltook thirty. Certain parts, like the firstchapters and endings, I’ll rewrite fifty orso times.

Q: You’ve been writing stories since youwere ten years old. What kind of storiesdid you write then? How has yourwriting and storytelling evolved?

A: My early writings were veryderivative, as they should be. I believeimitation is the best way to start anycreative art. I wrote stories similar towhatever I was reading at the time. Thebooks I wrote when I was ten and elevenwere The Gift of the Sea(a fantasy withthree redheaded heroines who discoverthey have magical powers, and the fact thatI’m a redhead was just happenstance, Is w e a r ) , The Cave of BlackwoodFalls(pure coincidence that I had recentlyread the Nancy Drew book The Ghost ofBlackwood Hall,I assure you), and MyMother the Queen(two cousins discover

they’re really princesses, and it’s anunrelated fact that I very much wanted todiscover I was really a princess too).

In high school, my writing wassemipoetic—all style, no substance. Incollege and graduate school, Irediscovered how much I love story. I’vetried to merge those two periods, to matureinto a writing style that first, tells a story,and second, tells it well.

Q: Who encouraged you most tocontinue writing?

A: My mom was a dream for supportingmy wild ideas and ambitions, and I hadgreat teachers in elementary school, highschool, and college who allowed me toexplore and express my creativity. I neverhad a literary mentor who, you know,nudged my shoulder and said, "You’re

going to make it, kid. You got what ittakes!" During the years of rejection,maybe I kept going in part just to spite thenaysayers.

Q: Many of your books transcend timeyet are rooted in a concrete past. Whyand how did you choose these timeperiods and settings?

A: I wanted the settings to feel like realplaces, places where we’ve been before,places that could exist but don’t. To me, itmakes the story feel as though it’s startingin a distant fairy tale then bursting throughinto reality. When you place a story in areal location, there’s always the risk that areader might dismiss the story as just beingabout Utah or Mongolia or fourteenth-century Italy. A mythical place, an inventedrealm, has a universal appeal. Anyone caninhabit it—including the reader.

I do like to base the settings on realplaces, albeit very loosely. Like mostAmericans, I’m a true mutt, and with myearly books I tended to use my settings toexplore countries that are a part of myheritage. Bayern was partly inspired byGermany, Danland in Princess Academy isa nod to my Scandinavian ancestry, and theOld West of Rapunzel’s Revenge minesthe historical landscape of Utah, my homestate. But the older I get, the more I feel auniversal kinship. I based the setting ofBook of a Thousand Days on Mongolia,though I have no blood ties to that fabulousland.

Q: How do you see your books fittinginto the fantasy genre?

A: I think the fantasy genre (like mostgenre labeling) is a slippery snake—you

can’t hold it still to look at the whole thing.I like that about it. I don’t think I coulddefine "fantasy" to my own satisfaction;there are so many subgenres andslipstreams and contradictions. Genres canbe as useful as they are harmful. I’ve readthat a genre is a contract with the reader,saying, "This is the kind of story you canexpect." That’s helpful. But then again,when I ask people what they imagine whenthey think of fantasy, they say, "Fairies,elves, sorcerers, barbarian swordsmen,ogres, dragons . . ." My books don’t haveany of those things. The Goose Girl isfairy-tale fantasy, but are the rest of theBayern books since they weren’t based onfairy tales? I think of my books as storiesthat take place long ago in a place thatfeels familiar, where things that you maynot see every day are possible.

Q: Nature plays an integral role in yournovels. Often, you present the landscapeas a character in how it influencespeople’s personalities and shapes acommunity. Do you have a specialconnection to or appreciation of nature?Are the landscapes in your stories basedon any places you’ve been, or are theypurely imagined?

A: I like to think I have a genuineappreciation of nature. I hope we all feelconnected to it, as we are a part of it. Igrew up in Utah, minutes from lakes andforests and deserts and mountains. As achild, I would try to talk to animals, wildand domestic, trying to make friends andsomehow break down the language barrier.I was so sure the lion at the zoo or the deeron the hill would meet my gaze and knowthat I was a friend. I remember putting my

hand on tree trunks and trying to (hoping Icould!) communicate with a tree, orimagining that the wind had ideas of itsown and that a mountain knew I was there.I’ve had the sense that everything aroundme is a being or has a soul. These thoughtsalways seemed normal to me. As I grewup, I realized that not everyone thought thesame. I wonder, had I voiced thesethoughts to my mom, would I have endedup in a psychiatrist’s office?

The settings of my books are a mixtureof places I know and my imagination. Mostof the places I write about have a similarclimate to my home region. I spent twentyyears in the foothills of the RockyMountains, and the hours of my childhoodspent on those slopes worked their wayinto the setting of PrincessAcademy.Having lived places where it’ssummer most of the year and others where

it’s winter for eight months, I realize nowthat not everyone has such a strongattachment to the seasons as those of uswho live with a distinct spring, summer,fall, and winter. The four seasons are verymuch a part of my consciousness and theway I relate to time passing, both in lifeand in my storytelling.

Q: Female power is a running themethroughout your novels. Did thisorganically evolve out of the stories youset out to tell, or was it intended becauseyou have a desire to convey strongfemale characters?

A: I did not set out to write stories of girlpower. I’m very lucky to be working afterdecades of writers have already fought fortheir genuine, interesting, and variedheroines. I don’t have the burden of writingon offense, trying to prove that girls can be

main characters, strong and individual. It’sa luxury to get to write what I think is true,not make a statement.

As a reader, I’m bored by books thatconvey girls as weak and mindless orsimply absent. That’s not the world that Iknow. Girls are powerful in many differentways and always have been. It’s mystifyingto me that we would be portrayedotherwise.

Q: Do you see yourself, or anyone youknow, in any of your characters?

A: I’m sure bits of me and everyone Iknow make their way into my characters,though I have never consciously based acharacter on a real person. I have basedaspects of relationships on those I havewith close friends and family members.Miri in Princess Academy is burdened

with more of my younger self than anyoneI’ve ever written.

Q: Have you noticed a change in bookswritten today for teen and tween readersas compared to books you read when youwere younger?

A: I see more books written specificallyfor young adults. In fifth grade, I began tomove from children’s books to the adultbooks that had made their way to myschool library shelves, but now there areso many books targeted just to olderchildren and teens.

I think there is an increase in how muchracy material is acceptable. The GooseGirl was turned down by multiplepublishers, one citing the reason that themarket was moving more toward "edgy"books.

I also see more female main characters(at last!). When I was younger, there wereno kids’ TV shows or cartoons with a maingirl character, and some shows hadabsolutely no girl characters at all! Intelevision especially, this trend ischanging. However, movies are stillbehind. Most animated movies made in thepast decade have one or two femalecharacters for every ten male characters.There seems to be a fear that girls willwatch movies and read books about boysbut not vice versa. I hope boys read bookswith female characters and accept girls asviable heroes. I believe the disparity willkeep improving, but I doubt Harry Potterwould have done as well had it beenHarriet Potter.

Q: You have a theatrical background.Do you think this experience has played

a role in how you create your charactersor set a scene? Do you see yourcharacters as actors in a play you’redirecting?

A: Yes to all, to some extent. Actors anddirectors are storytellers. In writing abook, I’m doing an actor’s charactercreation and a director’s orchestration ofall the elements. I did improvisationalcomedy for a time, and I think those skillsalso help me to create as I write.

If I do my job right, then I supply enoughmaterial to turn the job of director over tothe readers. They take my words andcreate the full-color story in their minds.That’s one reason why books can be morepowerful than cinema—a movie forces youto hear and see the story just the way thedirector wants you to, but a book allowsyou to add your experiences and

preferences and make it your own.

Q: What do you hope a reader takesaway from reading one of your novels?

A: I hope each reader takes exactly whatshe’s lacking. I hope she reads into thestory her own metaphors, makes herself theheroine, and tells herself the story sheneeds to hear.

Q: What are some of the morememorable moments you’ve had as apublished author?

A: One of my fans volunteered at a centerfor adult literacy. She brought a student toa signing, and the first book the woman hadread in her life was The Goose Girl. I’moften blown away when meeting youngfans who said they hated reading until theyread one of my books, and now they read

all kinds of books. Wow! That absolutelythrills and humbles me.

Q : You are a regular blogger(http://oinks.squeetus.com) . What gotyou started doing it, what keeps you at it,and what do you get out of it?

A: My husband built my site and said,"You should do a blog." That was 2002,and I barely knew what a blog was. It takesup time, but it’s become important for me.With little kids, I can’t travel as much asI’d like or answer my mail, and the bloghelps me keep connected with readers. Ialso blog to be helpful to up-and-comingwriters, as well as to interview writers Iadmire, promote their books, and spreadthat literacy love around.

Q: When you’re writing something new,what do you read, if anything? What

about other art forms—do you listen tomusic while you write? Are there othersensory distractions you try to avoid?

A: I find reading well-written booksalways inspires my writing. Sometimeswhile reading I’ll stumble across a coolword I haven’t used much, and I’ll find away to insert it into my work-in-progress.Other times, I get ideas for my work-in-progress that have nothing to do with whatI’ve just read. Reading exercises mywriting muscles. I also read a lot forresearch to explore countries, historicalperiods, and genres. I do avoid readingmore than one book by the same author at atime or books that are too similar, becauseI don’t want another person’s voice tooverwhelm me and take over my own.

I’ve tried to listen to music whilewriting to inspire me, but I find I just block

it out. I grew up in a family of seven, andwe all learned to block out noise bynecessity. My husband says sometimes I’mtoo good at it!

Q: What kinds of books do you enjoy?Has having kids changed how youperceive books and writing overall?

A: I love just about everything. If thewriter is skilled, whatever the genre, I’mdevoted to the story. Having kids has mademe extremely opinionated about picturebooks. Reading one book over and overagain sure makes me appreciate thetalented authors. I work very hard in thehopes that my books will stand up to thereread test. Having kids has also forced meto write on the spot, whenever a little freetime presents itself. I can’t have a specialtime or place to write. I’ve got to have thatstory ready to burst out at a moment’s

notice!

Q: You’ve done some shared writingwith your husband. How does it workand what do you like about working thatway? What are the frustrations?

A: When I’m writing alone, I write to myinternal reader, which is a mix of myselfnow and myself at a younger age. But whenI cowrite with Dean, I write to him aswell, and he to me, and we try to amuseand entertain each other. That changes thestory and we come up with something wewouldn’t have done on our own. I loveplotting with him and getting to read thescenes he produces. The frustrationsmostly involve time. If we’re both writing,then who’s got the kids?! While it waschallenging to get it done, I’m extremelyproud of Rapunzel’s Revenge and

Calamity Jack.

Q: Is there a kind of book or writing thatyou haven’t tried yet but wonder abouttrying someday?

A: So far I’ve written for young kids,middle grade, young adult, and adults, anddone realistic fiction, comedy, graphicnovels, fantasy, fairy-tale retellings, amurder mystery, and a screenplay. I getbored easily! There are many genres I’dstill like to try. We’ll see.

Q: Some of your stories are based onfairy tales, but others are not. How is itdifferent writing a story that is all yourown?

A: Each book brings its own challenges.Writing from a fairy tale isn’t necessarilyharder or easier than starting from scratch.

In one way, the fairy tale provides a basicoutline of events I can follow, but thenoften demands I stay true to those events orthe essence of the tale and keeps me fromexploring off on my own. Writing fromscratch allows me more freedom butprovides no helpful plot points.

Q: How long do you keep a story toyourself before you share it with anyoneelse? Who is the first reader and why?How is it to share the story the very firsttime?

A: When a story is a nascent idea, I usuallykeep it to myself. Once I start writing, I’llmention it briefly to my husband, Dean, butI like to save the creative energy forwriting the idea, not talking about it. Deanreads my first drafts and gives mefeedback, and then I’ll rewrite one to threemore times before showing it to my editor.

It’s both thrilling to share a story for thefirst time and absolutely nerve-racking. It’sso safe there in my brain or my privatecomputer file. But once someone reads it,the story starts to live, for better or worse.I’ve been known to sit and watch Deanwhile he reads, interrupting every fewminutes, "Where are you now? What doyou think?"

Copyright © 2012 by Shannon Hale

All rights reserved. You may not copy,distribute, transmit, reproduce, or

otherwise make available this publication(or any part of it) in any form, or by any

means (including without limitationelectronic, digital, optical, mechanical,photocopying, printing, recording, orotherwise), without the prior written

permission of the publisher. Any personwho does any unauthorized act in relation

to this publication may be liable tocriminal prosecution and civil claims for

damages.

First published in the United States ofAmerica in August 2012

by Bloomsbury Books for Young ReadersElectronic edition published in August

2012www.bloomsburyteens.com

For information about permission toreproduce selections from this book, write

toPermissions, Bloomsbury BFYR, 175 Fifth

Avenue, New York, New York 10010

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

ISBN 978-1-59990-916-5 (e-book)

Table of ContentsChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter Nineteen

Chapter TwentyChapter Twenty-oneChapter Twenty-twoChapter Twenty-threeChapter Twenty-fourAcknowledgmentsAlso by Shannon HaleAbout the Author