Palace of Stone (8 page)

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

Lady Sisela laughed. “Bless you, you wise thing! But years go by, as they tend to do, and now that I see what Bjorn has become, I’m entirely grateful for my narrow escape. Bjorn is … Well, surely you’ve met him by now. What is your opinion of our king?”

The room was quiet, everyone watching Miri. Her mouth felt dry. If she was to learn more for Katar, she had to convince them she was on their side.

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

There was a hushed sound of relief as many in the room exhaled. Timon stood beside Miri, a hand on her shoulder, as if claiming her as one of their own. The touch was gratifying. She continued.

“I expected the king to be like the head of our village council—the biggest, the strongest, the first and last at work each day. But King Bjorn—does he do
anything
?”

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

“It is a shame. What marvels a ruler could accomplish.” Lady Sisela’s smile hinted at secrets and possibilities. “If Bjorn had married someone like me or you, Miri, instead of his pretty, dull-witted doll, Danland’s changes might come from within the palace itself. We could enter a golden age! Ah well. In the end, I married a fine man, even if he was a
noble
.” She smiled to show she was teasing, but then her smile faltered. “He opposed the king’s tributes and was executed.”

“Oh!” Miri covered her mouth with her hands.

“It was some time ago. The heartache no longer grips me, but I cannot forget. I need not explain justice to a fellow academy graduate. You and I, we are sisters of a kind, 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, even to hope, that she had been a lot like Lady Sisela.

Clemen, the lanky, thin-nosed pianist, transitioned into a more rousing song. A couple of the women sang about the downtrodden workers of Danland, repeating the chorus: “
We will march this kingdom down, we will break the golden crown
.”

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

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

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

“Not a
kingdom
any longer,” Hanna said happily.

This time no one shushed Hanna, and Miri suspected she had been taken into their trust.

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

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

“That’s good, right?” Miri said. Surely nobles had more power than commoners and a better chance of making change. “If the nobles and commoners work together, we could make sure Mount Eskel—and any province—didn’t have to pay heavy tributes—”

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

“It’s true, Miri,” said Timon. “Nobles have done next to nothing to improve the lives of the commoners on their lands. All they care about is their own wealth and power.”

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

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

Some in the room chuckled.

“We here have taken a solemn pact to educate the shoeless,” said Lady Sisela. “It is in their power to transform this kingdom, if only they believe it. Hope spreads like wildfire. We
shall
follow Rilamark’s brave example. We shall create a nation ruled by the people, where everyone has the chance to thrive.”

As Lady Sisela was speaking, Clemen began the march again. Some shouted “For Danland!” and “The Shoeless!” Some danced, merry just at the idea of the changes to come.

Miri swayed, full of the rhythm and tempted by the gaiety. Again emotions wrestled inside her—joy with anxiety, eagerness with shyness.

Britta.
What would happen to her if the people really did topple the king? Britta did not seem that attached to Steffan’s father or too concerned about being a princess. Perhaps Britta and Steffan would be happier giving up the duties of royalty and living in Lonway. Still, the thought made Miri uneasy, and she glanced at the door.

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

“I knew, the moment I saw you, that you are a girl of much power, Miri of Mount Eskel,” she said. “Having you on our side is an honor.”

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

They talked and ate and sang for hours, it seemed. Yet it was still night when Miri stepped outside, as if time had paused. Rain had fallen. Glass lanterns hung from lampposts, kerosene-powered flames flicking 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 them pass.

“I thought only scholars wore uniforms,” Miri said, “but everyone in Asland seems to. 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 lace shawls and feathered caps.”

“Nobles.”

Miri shook her head. “Poor nobles, dressing in bright colors. If they were as smart as master scholars, they’d choose nice stain-hiding black.”

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

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

“Yes, because they have the right to use them.”

“Wait … What am I wearing?” she asked.

Timon stepped back to inspect her yellow silk dress and lace shawl, prepared for her by a palace seamstress. Miri could feel his gaze on her as if it were a wind that blew.

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

I’m a noble now?
The realization made her strangely uneasy. She noticed Timon was wearing a flat cap, no feather, no sword. He placed her hand on his arm and continued to walk.

“All graduates of the princess academy were named ladies of the princess, a title of nobility. Your father and sister, however, remain commoners. If your sister wore your clothes in Asland, a noble could employ 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 their parents are,” he said, his voice warming. “I want freedom to speak my mind without fear of execution. I want to live in a nation of possibilities, not a kingdom where the noble-born get richer and the poor get poorer.”

Her heart beat harder as he spoke, and she scolded herself. She was supposed to be a spy, not jump into a dangerous movement 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 learning too much too fast?” Miri asked. “My skull feels like a goat-bladder balloon blown up too tight.” She peered at him from under her hand. “You don’t know what a goat-bladder balloon is, do you?”

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

She was about to tell him that she was the teacher in the village school, and that whenever the boys got to daydreaming, she would say something silly to get their attention, such as “The first king of Danland was Dan the Hearted, and the second was his son, Jons Herring-Breath” or “Lowlanders will pay us high prices for Mount Eskel’s treasured goat hair, which they sprinkle on potatoes” or “And that’s why we wear underpants on our heads.”

But before she could speak, he bowed over her hand and kissed her between her second and third knuckles.

She forgot her words.

“I very much hope you will be a regular at our Salon nights, Lady Miri,” he whispered.

He kissed her hand again and left. No one had ever kissed her hand before.

Probably just another lowlander custom
, she thought.

Her heart pulsed in her vision now, and it took her a few moments to look around and realize she was at the gate to the palace.

She wandered through the dark corridors, her head still popping-tight, her hand now tingling. She wanted to talk to someone about Lady Sisela, “The Shoeless March,” and Timon. Perhaps Britta was still awake? She held up her fist to knock at her door and then stopped.

The king was Steffan’s father. Would Britta feel required to tell him? Better, perhaps, to follow Katar’s advice and keep it to herself until she knew more. Besides, Lady Sisela’s husband had been executed just for saying he disapproved of the king’s tributes.

Some ideas were safer left unspoken.

Autumn Week Twelve

Dear Marda,

Each morning I wake, eat, dress, and run out to meet Timon. We walk to the Queen’s Castle, where I study all day. I get back to the palace just in time for supper and “Miri’s Salon.” That is what the girls call our evening chats, when I teach them some of what I learned that day. And then I study till I fall asleep on my books.

I am sorry to report that I am the dullest scholar in all of Asland. I have had so little schooling compared to the other students, I have to work twice as hard to keep up. When Britta is free, she helps me study. Her worried face relaxes when I enter her room.

I should attend another Salon night. Katar pesters me to learn more. But when would I go? Besides, their talk scared me some. I wish I were as brave as you think I am. Maybe everything will work out without my help. I hope so.

I worry that much of my letters makes no sense to you, Marda. I do not want to think anything separates us but the distance itself. I do not want to become someone you would not understand.

Your dull and bewildered sister,

Miri

Chapter Eight

Melted salt, drenched air

Rocking ground, fish lair

Master Filippus marched down the walkway, the scholars in blue robes surrounding his black robes like the iris of an eye. He lectured on the classification of vegetation, but Miri suspected the focus on Natural Science was just a ruse to get outside. Even master scholars could appreciate a sunny winter day.

Soon the ocean rose into view. Miri could see now that its waters did not pour like a river or stand like a pond, but were constantly moving in great heaving bursts. And it was huge!

Miri pressed her lips together, determined to be grumpy. Liking the ocean seemed a betrayal of Mount Eskel. Both could not be magnificent.

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

“Fish account for a third of Danland’s sustenance. The sunny shores of Fuska province give us salt, salt preserves the fish, salt fish is carted to all parts of Danland, and no one goes hungry.”

Miri shook her head. Some salt fish did make it all the way to Mount Eskel. Even so, Miri and Marda had spent many nights curled up in bed, their knees and arms pressed to their middles, as if pushing against the hunger would make it go away.

On the docks, mountains of crates awaited shipping. Merchants bought arriving goods to resell in their shops. Nets full of fat fish lay on ship decks. Seagulls circled, their cries rising above all other noises, a high, carefree harmony to the melody of work.

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

“When compared to my mountain, of course,” she said, embarrassed that she had confessed that opinion on one of their walks. “But the ocean is becoming more interesting.”

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

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

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