Princess Academy (4 page)

Olana called to Knut, and he entered the classroom with something silvery in his arms. Olana took it from him and shook it out. It was a gown, and perhaps the most beautiful thing Miri had ever seen besides her mountain view. The cloth was unlike anything she knew, sleek and light, and reminded her of a running stream. It was gray in its folds and shimmered silver where the window light touched it. Pale pink ribbons gathered the fabric at the shoulders and waist, and tiny rosebuds scattered on the long full skirts.

“This dress,” said Olana, “is like the ones that a princess would wear. A royal seamstress crafted it for whichever girl finishes this year as head of the academy.”

The girls gasped and sighed and oohed to one another, and for once Olana did not hush them.

“Let us see who wants this gift the most. The victorious girl will be introduced to the prince as the academy princess, and she will wear this dress and dance the first dance. His bride will still be his to choose, but the academy princess is sure to make a significant impression.”

As Olana spoke, her eyes flicked to Frid, and Miri imagined she was hoping that the broad girl would not be the victor, as she was too big for the dress as it was. But Frid’s face did not reveal any concern for the garment’s size. She ogled the silvery thing with eyes even wider than usual. Miri tried her best to look unimpressed but could not help wondering,
What would it feel like to wear such a dress?

“Be warned that you will not easily meet my expectations,” said Olana. “I have very real doubts that mountain girls are capable of measuring up to other Danlanders. Your brains are naturally smaller, I’ve heard. Perhaps due to the thin mountain air?”

Miri glowered. Even if Olana’s promises were true, Miri would not want to marry a lowlander, a person who despised her and the mountain. Prince or no, he would be like Olana, like Enrik and the traders, like the chief delegate frowning at the sight of the mountain folk and all too eager to get back into his carriage and drive away.

She rubbed her eyes, and the clay on her fingers got under her lids and made them sting. She was tired of lowlanders belittling her and tired of wondering if they were right. She was going to show Olana that she was as smart as any Danlander. She was going to be academy princess.

n

Chapter Five

Everybody knows that the best things come last

That’s why my ma says I’m last in everything

I always wear cast-off shirts and worn-through boots,

Scrape the bottom of the pot, and bathe downstream

n

Once, words had been invisible to Miri, as unknown and uninteresting as the movements of a spider inside a rock wall. Now they appeared all around her, standing up, demanding notice—on the spines of books in the classroom, marking the barrels of food in the kitchen and storeroom, carved into a linder foundation stone:
In the thirteenth year of the reign of King Jorgan.

One day Olana threw out a parchment, and Miri snatched it from the garbage pile, kept it under her pallet, and practiced reading it by firelight to the sound of snores. It listed the names of the academy girls and their ages. Miri felt a thrill tickle her heart to read her own name in ink. “Marda Larendaughter” was there as well, though her name was crossed out. On the list, Britta had no father name.

Throwing herself into learning helped Miri ignore the painful chill of solitude around her. As they fell two, three, and then four weeks into winter, Miri felt utterly frozen in her blunder. She thought about trying again to make amends, but the silence of the other girls meant they had not forgotten how Miri had cost them the last possible visit home before snow fell. Even Esa did not save Miri a place in the dining hall; even Frid failed to offer a casual smile. Miri shrugged away the hurt and told herself they had never truly been her friends.

Miri missed Peder. She missed the ease of always knowing exactly what he was trying to say, and she missed the agitation of his nearness when her fingers felt thick and clumsy and her mouth dry. Watching him swing a mallet or throw a stone, listening to the pleasant rasp of his voice, the way he laughed whenever he heard her laugh. Feeling herself lean to him as she would to warm herself at a fire.

Outside the classroom window, the snow kept falling. Miri looked away, struck by the throbbing in her chest. She had caught herself longing for spring and their return and was sliced by sharp truth—she missed Marda, Pa, and Peder, but did they miss her? She focused on her tablet and studied twice as hard.

One late afternoon, Olana set the girls loose outside. They had spent all day at their desks except for two outhouse breaks and one of Knut’s increasingly sad meals—salt fish boiled to mush and potatoes without so much as a ribbon of grease or grain of salt to cheer them. Frid had received a palm lashing for falling asleep during quiet study, and Gerti had spent an hour in the closet for whimpering when she could not draw the last letter of the alphabet.

Miri watched the girls file out and considered joining them. She yearned to forget that she had cost them a journey home and go out smiling and laughing, or even just to run through the snow alone and relish the cold air stinging her cheeks.

But if she stayed indoors, she would have the classroom to herself. She had been hoping for this chance all week.

When she heard the last footsteps fade down the corridor, Miri stood and stretched. Thirteen books stood on a high shelf above Olana’s desk. Miri had counted them, had read their spines and anticipated what might be inside. She stood on her toes and pulled one down.

The words
History of Danland
were painted in white on the dark leather spine. The book smelled dusty and old but also carried a sweet tang, a hint of something inviting. She opened to the first page and started to read, pronouncing the words in a reverent whisper.

She did not understand a thing.

Three times she read the first sentence, and though she could speak the individual words, she could not understand what they all meant together. She shut the book and opened another,
Danlander Commerce
. What was Commerce, anyway? She put it away and opened another, and another, and felt an urge to start throwing them. She had just pulled down a thinner book titled simply
Tales
when the sound of boot heels on flagstones made her heart jump. Miri did not know if she would be punished for borrowing a book, and it was too late to put it back. She stuffed it under her shirt.

“Miri,” said Olana, entering. “Not even a stretch today? Do the other girls hate you so much?”

Olana’s comment stung. Miri had not known her distance from the others was obvious. She pressed the hidden book to her side and sauntered out of the classroom.

For the next two weeks, when the others went outside, Miri curled up in a corner of the bedchamber, the book of tales on her lap. She struggled at first, but soon the words made sense together, and then the sentences built on the page, and then the pages made stories. It was marvelous. Stories were inside those tedious letters they had been learning all along, stories like the ones she heard at spring holiday or that Peder’s grandfather told before a fire on a cold night. And now she could read them by herself.

Several days later, Olana took a book from the shelf and handed it to some of the older girls. Though Katar read better than the rest, she still stumbled over the unfamiliar words, sounding them out laboriously. Britta as well could barely get through a sentence. Her ruddy cheeks turned even redder. Miri considered that she had been mistaken and Britta had never been able to read.

“What a shame.” Olana took the book from Britta and turned to Miri. “Well, you’re a young one, but you seem focused of late.”

The book was
History of Danland
, the dark brown tome Miri had tried and failed to read before. Olana opened it to the second page and pointed to a paragraph. Miri’s tongue felt made of clay. She cleared her throat, gripped the book, and began.

“Our ancestors came from the north and farmed the fertile central plains. They also raised herds of cattle, horses, mountain goats, sheep, and fowl. Along the coast, fishing became one of their most important industries, as it is today.”

The words seemed to glide across Miri’s tongue, each one falling into place. She had never seen the passage before, but studying the book of tales had made reading anything easier. She stuttered over a couple of words but sounded them out all right.

“Well, girls,” said Olana when Miri finished, “if the prince were coming tomorrow, you know who would wear the silver gown.”

Miri felt a grin break her face and had the unlikely impulse to give Olana a hug. Katar’s frown deepened into a glare. Miri swallowed and tried to look modest, but it was too late. Katar was usually the best in the class, and surely she thought Miri’s smile meant that she was gloating. Her victory soured like milk left standing.

That evening as she returned from the outhouse, Miri halted at the sound of hushed voices coming from the front of the academy. She took a few steps backward, easing her boots through the hard shell of the snow. Whispering meant secrets, and it raised a shiver of curiosity on Miri’s skin. She leaned against the wall and strained to pick words out of the quiet drone. Her own name spoken in a whisper made her feel queasy.

“. . . can’t stand Miri . . . acts like she’s so smart . . .” That voice belonged to Bena. “. . . never liked the way she hung on Peder . . . becoming unbearable . . .”

“. . . just lucky today,” said Liana. “She won’t . . .”

“She’s just fourteen,” said Katar, speaking much louder than the others. “What are you worried about?”

Bena mumbled something else. Katar snickered.

“There’s no chance of that. One of the older girls will win.”

“I get the idea, Katar, that you think you should be princess,” said Bena, her voice scaling higher. “But as long as . . .” She returned to whispering, and Miri could hear no more.

Miri started on her way again, and the girls quieted as she passed. Liana smiled uncomfortably, Bena glared at the ground, but Katar stared at Miri, her expression unrepentant. Miri returned that stare as though it were a challenge. She had just raised a defiant eyebrow when she tripped on one of the front steps and fell flat in the snow. She jumped to her feet and ran inside, chased by the sound of the older girls chuckling.

That night, she lay on her pallet inhaling the darkness. It was a comfort to her to be awake as the others slept, as though she elected to be alone, as if she enjoyed it. The bedchamber fire was not high enough to warm her on her pallet at the far end of the room, and she shivered and wished for something to hope for. She closed her eyes and saw the folds of the silver dress twist and shimmer beneath her lids. Her dreams of becoming academy princess wrapped around her and eased the chill.

n

Chapter Six

Whiskers taut, front teeth bared

Shaking breath, round eyes scared

n

W
inter kept falling from the sky, building up under the windowsills, and crawling with frost over the panes. When clouds kept the sun from burning the frost away, Miri could see the outside world only as a grayish blur. So much time indoors, so much time with no one to talk to, was making her feel wretched. Her body ached, her skin itched as though she were wrapped tight in wool and could not stretch.

The next time Olana dismissed the girls outside, Esa turned to Miri before leaving the classroom and gestured that she should follow. Miri sighed with anticipation. If Esa forgave her, perhaps the others would as well. Her determination to be just fine alone melted under the bright hope of making everything all right.

She had one small task first. After waiting until all the girls left the classroom, Miri crept to the bookshelf for a chance to return the volume of tales. She was standing on her tiptoes, inching the book back into place, when a sound at the door startled her. She jumped and dropped the book.

“What are you doing?” asked Olana.

“Sorry,” said Miri, picking up the fallen book and dusting it off. “I was just . . .”

“Just dropping my books on the floor? You weren’t planning on stealing one, were you? Of course you were. I would have allowed you to borrow a book, Miri, but I won’t tolerate stealing. In the closet with you.”

“The closet?” said Miri. “But I wasn’t . . .”

“Go,” said Olana, herding Miri like a sulky goat.

Miri knew the place, though she had never been in it. She looked back before stepping inside.

“For how long?”

Olana shut the door on Miri and clicked the lock.

The sudden lack of light was terrifying. Miri had never been any place so dark. In winter Marda, Pa, and Miri slept by the kitchen fire, and in summer they slept under the stars. She lay on the floor and peered under the door into the thin band of gray light. All she could see were the bulges of floorstones. Faint shouts and happy screeches drifted in from the girls playing in the snow. Esa would think Miri had ignored the invitation, that she did not care to be her friend. Miri inhaled sharply, then coughed on the dust.

A sound of scurrying brought her upright. She heard it again, a noise like fingernails tickling a smooth surface. Miri held herself tight to the wall. Again. Some small animal must be in the dark with her. It might be just a mouse, but not knowing made the thing strange and unnerving. She tried to see past the shadows. Her eyes adjusted, bringing some definition to the darker shapes, but there was not enough light.

When the scurrying stopped, Miri stayed standing until her back ached and her head felt heavy. She was tired of staring at the dark, imagining she saw faces staring back or tiny forms darting in the corners. Boredom made her sleepy. At last she lay down, resting her head on her arms, and watched the slit under the door for a sign of Olana coming to free her. The cold of the stones soaked through her wool shirt and raised bumps on her skin, making her shiver and sigh at once. She fell asleep without resting.

Miri woke to a tug and a horrible feeling. Was someone in the room trying to wake her? The light bleeding through the door was even dimmer, and the throbbing in her body told her it was hours later.

She felt it again, a tugging on her scalp. Something was caught in her braid. She wanted to scream, but terror clamped down on her breath. Every spot of her skin ached with the dread of what might be touching her. It felt strong, too big to be a mouse.

The tip of a tail licked her cheek. A rat.

Miri sobbed breathlessly, remembering the rat bite that had killed a village baby some years before. She did not dare to call out for fear of spooking the beast. The tugging stopped, and Miri waited.
Is it free? Is it gone?

Then the thing thrashed harder. Close to her ear Miri heard a dry squeal.

She could not move, she could not speak. How long would she have to lie there until someone came for her? Her thoughts lunged and rolled, seeking some way out, some comfort.

“‘Plumb line is swinging, spring hawk is winging, Eskel is singing.’” She whispered as quietly as a slow-moving stream. It was a song of celebration, of springtime, using a weighted cord to square a stone, looking up to a hawk gliding, feeling that the work was good and the whole world just right. As she sang, she tapped a linder floorstone with the pads of her fingers, as though she were working in the quarry and using quarry-speech to a friend nearby.

“Mount Eskel is singing,” she whispered, and began to change the words, “but Miri is crying. A rat she is fighting.” She almost made herself laugh, but the sound of another snarl tore it from her throat. Afraid now even to whisper, she sang in her head, still tapping her fingers in time and with her silent song pleading with the darkness for someone to remember her.

The door opened, and candlelight pierced her eyes.

“A rat!” Olana had her walking stick in hand and used it to prod at Miri’s hair.

“Hurry, hurry,” Miri said, shutting her eyes.

She heard a squeal, a scamper, and she jumped to her feet and embraced Olana. She was trembling too hard to stay upright on her own.

“Yes, all right, that’s enough,” said Olana, prying Miri’s arms from around her.

The cold and her fright made Miri feel half-dead. She hugged herself against a chill that threatened to shake her like a wind-stirred seedpod.

“I’ve been locked up for hours,” she said, her voice croaking. “You forgot about me.”

“I suppose I did,” said Olana without apology, though deeper lines in her brow spoke that she was disturbed by the sight of the rat. “It’s well that Gerti remembered you, or I might not have come until morning. Now get on to bed.”

Miri now saw Gerti, her eyes as wide as a mink’s as she stared at the gaping darkness of the closet. Olana took her candle and left them in shadows, so Miri and Gerti hurried back to their bedchamber.

“That was a rat,” said Gerti, sounding haunted.

“Yes.” Miri was still trembling as though she were frozen cold. “Thanks for remembering me, Gerti. My heart would’ve stopped if I’d been in there another moment.”

“It was strange how I thought of you, actually,” said Gerti. “When we came back from break this afternoon, you were just gone. Olana never said anything, and I was afraid to ask. Then when we were getting ready for bed, I had this horrible memory of when I was locked up, and I’d heard scratching noises in there, and I was so sure you were locked up in the closet, and I . . . I don’t know, but I knew there was a rat. It was almost like . . . Oh, never mind.”

“Like what?”

“I’m sure I guessed you were in the closet because, where else would you be? And I thought I heard a rat when I was in there, too, so that’s how I knew. But the way my vision kind of shivered when I thought about it, the way the idea of you and the rat was so clear, it reminded me of quarry-speech.”

Miri felt new chills. “Quarry-speech? But—”

“I know that’s silly. It couldn’t have been quarry-speech, because we’re not in the quarry. I’m just glad we didn’t get into trouble. When I went to Tutor Olana’s bedchamber and begged her to come get you, she threatened all kinds of punishment.”

Miri did not say anything else. New possibilities were painting themselves before her in the dark.