The Forgotten Sisters (26 page)

“You mean the decision to rip babies from their mother's arms and stow them far away?”

“Other kings before Bjorn have hidden their twin daughters, and no harm done. I will not regret being the first brave enough to say let us rid ourselves of not just any girl twin who carries Katarina's curse but her sisters too—”

“Oh yes,” Miri said thickly, “your diligence in keeping the palace free of princesses has saved all of Danland. We should throw you a party. I'll make a cake.”

“You dare mock our fear of Katarina the Slaughterer?
You
are her legacy, you who incite revolution and rip the kingdom apart. You are no longer welcome here. Leave the palace and do not try to reenter or you will find yourself under arrest. Go.”

“No,” said the queen.

Miri had not heard her open the door, but she stood in the threshold now, lit from behind by firelight, the edges of her dark hair a fiery orange. The queen slammed the door behind her, but her long skirt caught it and the door bounced back, still open.

“
You
are dismissed,” she said to the chief delegate.

Her eyelids were puffy, her face red, but she stood tall.

“Your Highness,” he said with indulgence, as if talking to a child.

“No,” said the queen again. “I've had enough of
your speaking to last a lifetime. After Bjorn rid himself of a cankerous official last year, I realized the damage one dark presence can cause. I've read books on law—yes, I
can
read, sir—and the chief delegate's term of office is meant for no more than eight years. You have stayed on much longer because my husband indulges you. He will indulge you no longer. Pack. Leave the palace.”

“Your Majesty—” he began again, with far less indulgence.

“The people may elect the delegates from each province, but the chief delegate is the sovereign's to assign. My husband has not always taken my advice but trust that he will obey me on this. You told him to take my babies—” Her voice broke.

“But—”

“Step carefully, sir, or I'll demand you're tried for treason against the crown.”

The chief delegate's face was very pale. He looked to Miri and back at the queen. “I was only—”

The queen took a step closer. Her chin quivered but her eyes were hot. “I regret hearing any word you ever said. My body feels made of the stuff, smoldering on regret till I'm nothing but ash. If I have to bear one more of your words I'm likely to burn up.”

The chief delegate took a slow, shaking breath.
When he spoke again, it was a whisper. “My lady, you were fine until this girl—”

“I was not fine.” The queen's voice cracked. “I haven't been fine for a long time.”

The chief delegate's face slowly changed. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I was afraid …”

The queen exhaled, closed her eyes, and Miri suspected she was focusing on the chief delegate's emotions. Miri opened herself to listening not to the memories of the stone but to him. She did not expect to sense anything and so flinched when his emotions rushed easily into her. He was like a huge open sore, bubbling over with the rot of resentment, a jolt of fear, and the ache of regret.

When Queen Sabet spoke again, her voice was soft. “I didn't notice before. You are broken too. You have healing to do. But you will need to do it elsewhere. My girls are home, and I cannot have you here.”

The chief delegate covered his eyes with his hand. He took a deep breath. When he faced her again, his face was impassive. He bowed and left.

The queen wiped one hasty tear falling down her cheek. “I am sorry,” she said.

“I am too,” Miri said. “I was unfair. I wanted you to be the kind of mother who fights for her daughters and wins, but not everyone is a fighter.”

“I wish I were.”

“Maybe you shouldn't have had to be,” said Miri. “But you are. You are now.”

When the queen and Miri returned to the room, Astrid, Felissa, and Sus were standing. They had heard through the open door.

“I'm sorry,” the queen said again, clutching her hands.

Felissa started forward but looked at Astrid as if for permission. Miri hoped so hard her heart felt floaty that Astrid would run forward and embrace this woman. But when Astrid moved, it was away from the queen. Miri's heart fell heavily into her belly. It was too soon. Astrid could not yet forgive the queen.

But instead of leaving, Astrid walked over to a window. She touched the yellow cushions on the window seat.

“You know, this seems like a wonderful place to sit and read. And pass a rainy day.”

She sat on the window seat. She settled into the cushions and opened a book.

The queen exhaled. Something in her softened. Brightened. A small hope alighted on her like a bird on her shoulder.

While Astrid read in the window, Felissa sat beside the queen. And Sus asked questions that the queen tried to answer. When Steffan joined them, Britta and Miri decided to give the family some privacy.

They left, grandly shutting the door behind them, only to stoop beside it, trying to eavesdrop. Giving up, they hurried outside, and standing in a plant bed peered through the window. The afternoon was unfolding around them, flowers in bloom so sweet that Miri wished for a cool drink of water to wash down the scent.

“Look at him,” Britta said, shaking her head.

Astrid, Felissa, and Sus sat on one sofa. Steffan sat on another. The crown prince's posture was stiff, his jaw clenched. He gripped a glass of water in one hand and stared at the far wall.

“Oh, he's at it again,” said Miri. “He really can do a magnificent impersonation of a stone column.”

“He doesn't mean to,” Britta said.

“I know,” said Miri.

“He gets that way when he's nervous, but they don't know him and will just think he's cold and unhappy and—”

“Look at Felissa,” Miri said.

Felissa was smiling, of course. But she kept reaching out, placing a comforting hand on her brother's arm.

“They're in a linder room,” said Miri. “They can feel how he's feeling. They'll understand.”

“There you are,” said Peder.

“
Aah
,” said Miri and Britta, startling away from the window.

“Spying, huh?” said Peder, peering through the glass. “Hm, if you find this sort of action fascinating, I saw a couple of rocks back there you might be eager to gape at.” But he leaned closer to the window, Miri and Britta joining him.

Felissa began speaking, Steffan answering, and after a few minutes the four reunited siblings seemed to be having a real conversation. Miri thought it was going pretty well until Steffan rose suddenly and left the room.

“What's he doing?” Miri asked.

“It looks like,” said Peder, “he's coming out—”

“Britta?” Steffan called.

Britta, Peder, and Miri stumbled away from the window, tripping over shrubs and hobbling back onto the stone garden path. They began to stroll as if that was what they'd been up to from the beginning.

“Um, yes? Steffan? Over here,” said Britta.

“Britta, I want to take my sisters out for a ride.” His eager gestures reminded Miri of a small boy she knew on Mount Eskel and how excited he'd get whenever he'd talk about soup. “They've never seen the market or the Delegation House or the Opera House. Or anything really! Come with us? Astrid especially was interested in the river bridges.”

The five went touring Asland in a carriage till the sun
set and then again all the next day. By the third day, Sus stayed behind because she'd discovered the palace had a library too and wanted to write Kaspar long letters about everything she was reading. Felissa was a little overwhelmed and preferred to keep inside linder walls. She sat with the queen in her receiving room, where sometimes they spoke and sometimes just watched the fire, their shoulders touching.

But Steffan and Britta continued to spend most of each day with Astrid.

“What do they talk about?” Miri asked Britta one afternoon when her friend stayed behind to join Miri in the solarium. Miri was keeping as immobile as possible because the palace physician would not approve her travel home till her bones knit back together.

“Everything!” said Britta. “I can't believe I didn't realize she was his twin sister the instant I met her. Their expressions, the lilt in their voices, their eyes! They get that same stern expression that makes them look angry when they're only thoughtful, and that same little smile and giggle when they think they're being clever.”

“If Steffan had been raised in a swamp,” Miri said, “I bet he'd be a champion caiman hunter.”

Peder went each morning to Gus's workshop to carve stone because too many idle hours made him itchy and cross-eyed. But he returned to the palace before dinner to
sit with Miri and talk and eat. And each night before sleep, she held her linder hawk and quarry-spoke to Marda, all happy memories, her way of saying hello, I miss you, I'll be home soon. She no longer doubted that the hawk could somehow echo quarry-speech all the way home.

She could not communicate complicated messages. She was unable to tell Marda about the note she'd received from Timon, saying that it had been his pleasure to help her escape and he would not be bothering her with a visit after all. That in fact the commerce official had let his father know that Mount Eskel was no longer for sale. Those specific words Miri could not send, but at least she tried to communicate hope.

One bright spring morning when a servant brought Miri a letter in a weather-beaten envelope, she dared to hope it was from Marda, but this she never could have guessed.

Miri
,

The widow Lussi said yes
.

I plan to bag two caimans for our wedding feast. You are invited
.

Dogface

Miri replied.

Dogface
,

Congratulations to you and Lussi. I wish I could attend, but I am going home. I have sent Fat Hofer coins. Please help him build himself a house. And please watch over him. I think you will. You are no bandit, Dogface. You are a Lesser Alvan
.

Miri

On their last night in Asland, Miri and Peder thought to have a simple meal in the garden but a servant fetched them to a feast with the royal family.

For three courses, the silence was broken only by the clatter of dishes and clicks of forks against plates. Steffan and Britta whispered to each other. King Bjorn stared at his food, still avoiding the eyes of his daughters. Felissa and Queen Sabet often reached out to each other—a hand on a wrist, a lean, a pat on the shoulder. Sus was reading a book she tried to hide on her lap. Miri dissected a roasted fish from its bones. It was dripping with a rich butter sauce, but Miri found herself craving fish fresh from the swamp, plain and mild and infused with brine.

“So … ,” said Miri. “Did I ever tell you all about the time Peder got tangled up in so many goat leads he fell face-first in the stream?”

“Great story, definitely tell that one,” said Peder,
“after I tell them about how you used to take off all your clothes and run naked through the village—”

“For the last time, I was three years old!”

Steffan stood up. He seemed to scowl with anger, but Miri guessed he only meant to be serious.

Without preamble he declared, “Britta and I are in agreement. Astrid is your firstborn. I am not the crown prince. She is the crown princess.”

Peder laughed one short, delighted laugh.

“What?” said Astrid.

Sus shut her book and looked up with interest.

“Steffan—” the king sputtered.

“We are in agreement,” Steffan insisted. “I am stepping down. Astrid was born to the crown.”

“It's all right, Steffan,” said Astrid. “You don't need to give up the crown for me.”

“No, it's not all right, sister,” said Steffan. “And I'm not trying to undo years of neglect through one grand act. This is simply what should happen.”

Sus nodded thoughtfully. Felissa and Queen Sabet were holding hands.

Steffan began to pace, his arms behind his back, reminding Miri of a master tutor before his class.

“This is not the same kingdom that was torn apart by civil war under Queen Katarina. Before Stora invaded,
we were in the middle of a peaceful revolution. We are becoming a nation, commoner delegates joining the nobility. The common people have a voice. They will speak. And what do you think will happen when you announce that a previously unknown Princess Susanna is marrying King Kaspar? And the people discover there are more princesses? And that one of them is my twin, born first? After centuries of nobles grinding commoners under their heels, who do you think the commoners would rally behind? The pampered and palace-born prince or the princess who was cast off by her own parents?”

Miri found herself nodding. Still, could Danland survive another huge change? She made eye contact with Britta, and Britta smiled. She seemed so sure. And quite possibly relieved.

“This is not your decision to make,” said the king. “In such matters, we meet with the chief delegate—”

“You forget, Bjorn,” said the queen. “I sent the chief delegate away.”

The king stared open-mouthed at his wife, at his son, and then at Miri, as if she somehow had any answers.

“Well, I, for one, think Britta would make an excellent chief delegate,” said Miri. “I mean, now that she isn't going to be queen.”

“Ooh, good choice,” said Peder, taking a big bite of bread. He seemed to be having an excellent time.

“Steffan, you know your duty,” the king began.

“I'm telling you, the crown is Astrid's,” said Steffan. “I didn't ask for it and neither did she, but that's our lot as royals, isn't it, sister?”

Astrid looked furious, but Miri suspected that, like her brother, she was simply thoughtful.