Princess Academy (9 page)

“I’m sure you would. It must have been very hard to keep quiet all those weeks.”

Miri punched his shoulder.

“I can imagine you at the academy window, looking off toward the village,” he said, “believing you could see it if you just looked hard enough. You always were a hawk, gazing at the mountains as if you could see a mouse running on a far hill, or at the sky as if you could count every feather on a sparrow’s wing.”

Miri did not respond. She felt as though she were floating underwater, tipping and sinking. Did he watch her just as she watched him?

“I’ve never told anyone about carving stone,” he said. “I don’t know how you got it out of me.”

Miri laughed. “Because I’m pushier than a billy goat mad. I won’t tell anyone else.”

“I know you won’t. I know that about you.” He held the end of her braid and brushed it across his palm. He frowned as if a new thought occurred to him. “Do you ever wear your hair loose?”

“Sometimes.” Her voice creaked, but her mouth was too dry to swallow. “I did last year at autumn holiday.”

“That’s right.” His expression was distant, as if he were remembering. “I miss all the time we had when we were younger, don’t you? It’d be nice to go exploring the peak again, maybe on rest days.”

“It would.” Miri held very still, afraid that if she moved she might spook Peder and like a lone wolf he would suddenly run off. “When I’m not at the academy anymore.”

Peder let go of her braid, but Miri still could not quite catch her breath. He turned his hands over, as if looking for something he lost.

“The academy. So, you might marry the prince?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Miri, just then discovering that she was sore from sitting so long. “I’m trying to do my best in the class so maybe he’d notice me. I mean, he’d have to choose me from all the other girls . . . and I’m not trying
not
to be the princess or anything. It’s just . . . he won’t pick me.”

“Why not?” said Peder. “I mean, why wouldn’t he? You’re the smartest one in the class.”

“I didn’t mean to make it sound like that—”

“Well, I bet you are,” interrupted Peder, his voice rising. “And if he’s half a prince he’ll see that and then want to carry you off to the lowlands to put you in fancy dresses. But I don’t think you need to wear lowlander dresses. You’re just fine.” He stood. “Never mind. I should get back to my family.”

Miri wanted to say something that mattered before he walked away. She blurted, “I won’t tell anyone about your stone carving. But I think it’s wonderful, and I think you’re wonderful.”

He stood there, letting the silence stretch thinner and thinner until Miri’s panicked heart left her with nothing more than burning cheeks.

“You’re my best friend, you know,” he said.

Miri nodded.

“I wish I had something to give you, some welcome home.” He patted the pocket of his shirt, as if looking for anything at all.

“It’s all right, Peder, you don’t have to—”

Swiftly he stooped, kissed her cheek, and disappeared.

Miri did not move for three verses of the next bonfire song. A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth like a brook trout on a fishing line, but she was too staggered to give in to it.

“That went well,” she whispered to herself, and then did smile.

“What are you grinning about?” Britta sat beside her, mirroring Miri’s happy expression.

“Nothing,” said Miri, but she could not help looking where Peder had gone, and Britta followed her glance.

“Oh.” Britta laughed.
“Nothing.”

Miri laughed in return and felt her face go hot again, and it occurred to her that after so much burning her cheeks should be ashes by now. She quickly changed the subject. “What do you like best so far—the food, stories, dancing, or a certain smitten boy by the name of Jans?”

Britta shook her head, refusing to acknowledge Miri’s pointed question. “It’s all wonderful. I think this is better than any lowlander party.”

Miri elbowed her. “Look at how you say ‘lowlander’ as if you were a mountain girl.”

“I’d like to be,” said Britta.

“Then you are,” said Miri. “That’s the only ceremony you need.”

The drums and singing died out, and Gerti’s father, Os, called for village council. The youth moved away from the bonfires to leave the business to the older folks. An excited rumble in her stomach reminded Miri that she had something to present.

“Come on, Britta, I may need your help.”

Miri had never attended council before. She sat beside her pa, her head on his shoulder, Britta by her side. The talk concerned recent linder blocks cut, an injury of a stone braker due to carelessness, the most promising parts of the quarry to undertake next, and the use of supplies over the winter.

“But no matter how much linder we cut, Os, it won’t be enough,” said Peder’s father. “The absence of the girls meant fewer hands to help. My own boy has had to care more for the goats and the home, and that’s one less stone this season. Isn’t that right, Laren?”

Miri’s father nodded. “I feel the pinch this year.”

Miri rose. “I have something to say.”

Her father raised his brows but did not speak, and Os indicated that she go ahead. Miri hummed her throat clear.

“At the academy, I found a book that explains how linder is sold in the lowlands. Apparently, our stone is so prized that the king himself will only use linder for his palaces, and the only place in all of Danland that produces linder is right here. So because demand for linder is high and supply is limited, it’s worth a great deal.”

She glanced at her pa to see if he approved. He was listening, but his expression betrayed no opinion. Miri cleared her throat again.

“In the rest of the kingdom, they trade for gold or silver coins instead of just food and supplies. In the capital, a block of linder is worth one gold coin, and in turn a gold coin can buy five bushels of wheat.”

She paused, waiting for exclamations, but no one spoke. Then her pa touched her arm.

“Miri,” he said softly.

“I know I’m asking you to believe a lowlander book, but I believe it, Pa. Why would a lowlander write anything good about Mount Eskel unless it was true?”

Britta spoke up. “Miri showed me the book, and I think it’s true as well.”

Os shook his head. “It’s easy to believe the traders will cheat us as much as they can, but what can we do about it?”

“Refuse to trade for anything but gold or silver, and at decent prices,” said Miri. “Then if they don’t haul enough goods to trade for our cut linder, we can take their money down the mountain to buy even more.”

“There’s a large market in a town three days from here,” said Britta. “We stayed at an inn on my journey last summer. Gold and silver there would buy you much more than what the traders bring to your village.”

Os rubbed his beard. “I can see the value in trading elsewhere, but if the traders won’t take our linder for gold . . .”

“If they won’t,” said Doter, her eyes brightening, “we threaten to take the linder down the mountain. If we trade linder in that market ourselves, we’ll earn even more.”

“No, no,” said Katar’s father. “We don’t have the wagons or mules, and we don’t know the first thing about a town marketplace. What if we drag all our blocks there and no one buys? What if in the process we offend the traders and they never return?”

The fear in that argument hushed all the talk. Miri curled her toes in her boots and made herself speak up again.

“I don’t think the likes of Enrik would let it go that far. I really believe the traders are making heaps of money from our stone. They’ll know we could sell the linder for more in the lowlands, and then they would be cut out of any profit.” Miri looked again at her father and tried to stamp down the trembling hope in her voice. “What do you think, Pa?”

He nodded slowly. “I think it’s worth the risk.”

A sigh of relief dragged out of Miri’s chest.

The idea sparked talk that did not die down until the flames dwindled into embers. The adults debated every angle, how to go about it, what risks they faced. They consulted Britta on anything she knew of trade. Some were concerned that the villagers could not tell true silver and gold from any cheap metal the traders might try to give them.

“My father was a merchant. I can make sure they don’t cheat you,” said Britta. “But what if the king gets impatient for the linder, and he sends men up here to quarry the stone themselves?”

Several chuckled at her question.

“If all lowlanders have arms as skinny as the traders do,” said Frid’s pa, “they’ll have to rest between each mallet strike.”

Miri folded her own skinny arms under her cloak.

“That’s one thing we don’t have to worry about, Britta,” said Doter. “Let them come, and they’ll give up after their first block cracks. We have linder in our bones.”

The discussion continued, and Miri leaned into her pa, drowsy from watching the fire. He patted her hair.
We have linder in our bones
, Doter had said.
We
. Miri clung to the word, wanting to be a part of it but unsure if she was. If her idea for trading became a success, perhaps then she could be more certain.

Her gaze wandered from the gold flames to the darkness the firelight could not reach. Peder might be there, listening, hoping for a chance to carve stone.

n

Chapter Twelve

Mud in the stream

And earth in the air

Clay in my ears

And stone in my stare

n

It was not quite morning when Miri woke to the comforting sound of her pa’s snore. She picked out the familiar shapes of the hearthstones, the door, the table, and breathed in the warm smell of home.

When dawn began to spark color into her dark house, Miri wrapped herself in her blanket and slipped outside to start breakfast. A dozen others were in the village center using the remains of last night’s bonfires to heat that morning’s meal. Miri settled her kettle of water into the coals and noticed some academy girls there as well. Their expressions were solemn in the gray morning.

“Are we going back?” asked Miri.

“That’s what I’ve been wondering,” said Esa.

Britta sat beside Miri. “Even if we want to, would Olana let us?”

“If she does,” said Frid, “we might spend the summer taking turns in the closet.”

“Olana said I could go to spring holiday, so I won’t be punished,” said Katar as she joined them. “I’m definitely going back.”

Several other academy girls arrived, and they sat on stones in a crooked circle, watched the embers fizz and sputter against the dew, and talked of returning. Some were eager to go back, others too content the morning after a spring holiday to think of ever leaving. Katar and Bena were adamant.

“I won’t have any of you risking my chances by breaking apart the academy,” said Katar.

“The prince might choose someone else, Katar,” said Bena. “I’d not thought much about him until last night I realized how dull all the village boys are. I’ll bet a prince is interesting.”

Liana nodded, ever echoing Bena’s opinion. Miri wondered what Peder did last night to lose their interest so decisively. She imagined a spot on her cheek warmer than the rest.

“Miri fancies herself the one he’ll choose,” said Bena. “That’s why she studies so hard, but she’s too proud to admit it.”

“How can you want to marry someone you’ve never met?” said Miri.

“What if you meet him and do like him, Miri?” Esa asked. “What if we all do?”

Frid frowned as though she thought that unlikely. Katar smirked, Bena stared at the morning stars, and three of the younger girls whispered to one another. Miri tried to keep her face unreadable. She had already fallen in love with the house in the painting, but after last night, the idea of Peder was too near and too full of hope to imagine marrying a prince.

“What’s his name, anyway?” asked Gerti, settling her kettle in the coals.

“Steffan,” said Britta.

“How did you know that?” asked Liana.

Britta shrugged. “Everyone knows down there.”

“Everyone knows down there,” said Katar in a high, mocking voice.

Britta blushed.

“Well done,” said Miri, jumping in to save her friend. “So it’s Steffan. Hm, sounds feeble to me. Bet he can’t toss a pebble five paces.”

Frid gasped, then roared with such laughter that it seemed nothing had struck her as so funny as the thought that someone would not be able to toss a pebble five paces. Miri half chuckled as well but felt uncomfortable laughing at her own joke, especially as no one else seemed to find it amusing at all.

“It doesn’t matter if any of us fall in love with the prince,” said Katar. “We should still return to the academy.”

“I didn’t realize how important the lowlanders considered the academy until we studied Danlander political structure,” said Esa. “Before, I didn’t know what a chief delegate was or why it was significant that he himself came to Mount Eskel with the news.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Gerti’s friend Jetar.

“Every province of Danland has a delegate,” said Katar, yawning to show that she thought Jetar’s ignorance very boring. “Every delegate represents them at court, and the chief delegate is head of them all. Second only to the king. He must’ve been pretty annoyed that we didn’t realize how important he was.”

Miri nodded with mock seriousness. “Ah yes, I remember well his marvelous feathered hat.”

“No wonder lowlanders don’t think of us as being true Danlanders,” said Esa, “since Mount Eskel is just a territory.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have run away,” said Gerti. “If the academy is that important, if we’re that important . . .”

“And remember the lesson on Danlander Law?” said Katar. “And the punishments for disobeying the king?”

Frid folded her arms. “They might try to haul our fathers to Asland.”

“We could get our parents to talk to Olana and explain . . . ,” said Gerti.

“I think Olana might respect us more if we made things right on our own,” said Esa. Her voice softened. “And I’d like to return. Even if I’ll never be a princess, I’d like to learn more.”

Miri rose to her feet with an idea. “If one of us really will be the princess, how can Olana push us around? She might be sticking her future queen in the closet to snuggle with a rat.”

Katar scrunched her lips. “That is something to bargain with.”

“Let’s go back and show her we’re smarter than she thinks.” Miri paced with excitement. “Olana didn’t spend much time on Diplomacy, but we learned enough to come up with a decent plan.”

Bena rolled her eyes. “You think we can just hop into her lap, spout a bunch of Diplomacy rules, and that will make everything all better?”

“I wish I’d known the rules for Diplomacy that day Olana gave me a palm lashing,” said Miri. “I think I could’ve argued my way out of it. It might be fun to try.”

“Yes, and Miri should be the one to speak for us,” said Gerti, patting her shoulder.

Katar, Bena, and Liana talked over one another, saying that one of the older girls should do it, that the matter was too delicate to leave to Miri.

“She’s the one who got us in trouble before,” said Bena.

Esa shrugged. “Olana said Miri scored best at the exam. And besides, using Diplomacy was her idea.”

Britta and a few other girls voiced their support as well.

“It was Miri’s idea,” Frid said simply, and the disputing ceased. Frid’s large, brawny family could eat a village’s winter food supply and still feel hungry, yet they always donated some of their cut linder to smaller families, without fuss and without thanks. Even Bena would not argue with Frid.

Miri only nodded, but she felt like shouting. They trusted her. It gave her hope that at the academy, far from the quarry, she might have a chance to be as useful as everyone else.

By the time dawn put an orange haze around Mount Eskel’s crown, they had informed the other academy girls of their plan and returned home to spend the rest day with their families.

After their morning visit to the chapel, Miri’s family stayed around the house doing idle chores. Marda and Pa wanted to know everything she had learned, and Miri did not need to wait for their questions to tell them.

Their house had a dirt floor, so she took them on a walk just beyond the village. They sat on a large linder block marred with a crack through its center, and Miri spoke to them in quarry-speech, at first just
Take care
, then a memory of the three of them roasting apples at the hearth while a winter storm thundered outside.

“Quarry-speech is just for the quarry,” said Pa.

“I think it takes linder to work, not the quarry,” said Miri.

Pa’s cheeks wrinkled in a smile as though he thought she were making a joke. “Now what use would it be anywhere else?”

“Well, I think you can communicate more than just the quarry warnings. I guess you could say almost anything, as long as there’s a memory that fits it.”

Pa frowned, not understanding. Miri’s heart sank. She had paced with impatience to come home and tell her father about Commerce and quarry-speaking. Now she asked herself what she had truly expected. That he would throw her in the air and declare she was smarter than he had thought and worthy to work by his side?

“I guess it wouldn’t be interesting to a quarrier,” said Miri. “I guess it’s just interesting to me. Never mind.”

“Can Britta hear it?” asked Marda.

“No,” said Miri. “I don’t think any lowlanders can.”

Marda was staring off toward the quarry, and she began to sing a chiseling song. “‘Mud in the stream, and earth in the air. Clay in my ears, and stone in my stare. Grit on my tongue, and dust in my hair. Inside and out, mountain everywhere.’ I was just thinking, Pa, if lowlanders can’t hear quarry-speech and it works with linder . . .”

Their father nodded. “Linder’s in our blood and bones.”

“You think it works for us because we live around linder?” asked Miri.

“And drink it and breathe it, all our lives.” Marda ducked her head as if she wanted to be silent, but clearly the idea fascinated her, and she continued. “If it works around linder, and mountain folk have linder inside us . . . maybe linder shapes quarry-speech in the way that cupping your hands around your mouth makes your voice louder. Or maybe quarry-speech travels through linder like sound through air, and the more linder the louder it is. Our memories move through linder, whether in the mountain or in a person.”

Miri stared at Marda. “You’re smart,” she said.

Marda shook her head and clamped her mouth shut.

Before the academy, Miri never had cause to wonder if a person was head smart or not. It seemed everyone was clever at something—there were those who were best at picking out the right fissure for prying a block of linder free and those who were best at making cheese or tanning hides, beating drums, or tossing stones. Now, smart meant to Miri the talent to think around a new problem and to learn new things.

And Marda was smart. It was injustice and not luck at all that made Marda three months too old to attend the academy. And not just Marda—what about the younger girls? And all the boys?

“I wish you could attend the academy,” said Miri.

Marda shrugged, and the last hope in her expression hinted that she had daydreamed about the academy on many a winter night.

Pa seemed to sense that sadness had crept in, so he ushered them back home to make oat biscuits for the last of the winter honey, saying, “A little honey can cheer the gloom out of bones and stones.”

As they celebrated over biscuits, Miri joked and laughed despite her father’s disappointing reaction, but her thoughts kept returning to Marda. She had never imagined that her sister yearned to be at the academy, perhaps as much as Miri longed to be welcome in the quarry. Miri snuck Marda an extra helping of honey when her back was turned and wished she could think of something that would make it right.