Miri shook her head. “Things were simpler on my mountain.”
“Asland is the better for your presence, Miri. We need you.”
“I wish I was smart enough to help in any way at all,” she said. “I want the world you imagine, Timon. I want it so badly.”
“I knew it!” His step bounced. “I knew we were of the same mind. And heart. Miri, I should confess something. I don’t want to lie to you, not the way the robber princess did. I already completed my open-sky year. I enrolled in Master Filippus’s class just so … so I could meet you.”
They were passing through the light of a lamppost, and Miri was glad to reenter the dark 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 was enrolling, so I asked my father to send me back. I was curious to meet you. But … curiosity has long since been replaced by stronger emotions.”
“Oh! Um … I should tell you … maybe I misunderstand … but I just wanted to say … you might want to know about Peder. He’s a boy. From Mount Eskel. And he’s my …”
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 you still feel committed to him? Well, whatever he feels for you can’t be as strong as what I feel. He met you on Mount Eskel, where you were just one of a few girls. I chose you out of the entire kingdom.”
Miri became uncomfortably aware of the pounding in her chest. “Even though it isn’t spoken, Peder and I do have a commitment. I mean, I think we do.”
“I am not giving up so easily,” said Timon. “This boy has not seen fit to speak. But I will speak for you, Miri. You blush because I’m too bold! I’ll be bolder still. Together we will change Asland. And then Danland. For our wedding, my father will give us a ship. We’ll sail to Rilamark and Eris, explore coasts with white sand and crystal waters and trees dripping with fruit. We’ll befriend scholars in faraway universities, and everywhere we go we will change things.”
She could see all he promised, as if actors on a stage portrayed the adventures of Miri and Timon. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “I can’t do all that, Timon. I’m from Mount Eskel.”
“We choose who we are. The name, rank, and affluence of your parents, the feather in your cap—none of that matters. You are your own person. I am not my cold, ambitious father. And you, Miri, are not bound by your birth. You can be who you will.”
Is that true? she thought. I am not simply Laren’s daughter or Marda’s sister or the girl my mother held for a week before she died. I am not formed from the mountain alone. I am the girl who left the mountain. I am the face in the 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 you will have me, I will be the one beside you.”
He did not ask for an answer to his proposal, and she did not feel ready to give one. But he leaned down and kissed her lips. She forgot to startle away, she forgot to blush, she forgot to do anything but hold her breath and feel cold and hot like lightning shoot through her. The kiss lasted just one beat of her heart, though it felt as long as a night.
She could not dismiss that kiss as an innocent lowlander custom. She knew exactly what it meant.
He put her hand back on his arm, and in silence they walked their usual path to the palace.
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 the river, the salt tang when it stretched from the sea. The buildings and thoroughfares did not panic her. The endless books of the Queen’s Castle library thrilled her, as did one 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 village school, and one day marry Peder.
Why did those ties to home feel thinner now? Maybe Marda did not want to wed. Almost certainly Pa did not care about reading. Esa and some of the other girls enjoyed teaching in the school too. And Miri was no longer certain of Peder. In the vast history of Danland—in the frighteningly enormous history of all the world—would it really matter if Miri of Mount Eskel ever returned home?
Winter Week Five
Dear Marda,
Do you know the feeling you get when you are awakened in the middle of a dream? The dream story is still real and full of color, but the waking world is rushing back into your mind. And for a moment both worlds are true, and you cannot quite tell them apart.
I feel that way. There is Mount Eskel. And there is Asland. The two bleed into each other, and I am not sure which is my home and which is the dream.
Everything was simpler when the world was smaller. Everything was simpler when I knew no more than twenty boys, and Peder was the only one I noticed. But never mind. I am not sure I am ready to know what I think about that, so I dare not write it out.
I like how Timon cannot help pacing and gesturing when he is talking about something important. And how the things important to him are important to me too. I always know exactly what Timon is feeling and thinking. He never leaves me guessing. I am so tired of guessing.
I miss you. I miss Pa. I miss my mountain. But I am not sure if missing a place and loving a place are enough to call me back.
I know I will not send you this letter come spring. I just need to write down these thoughts, Marda. I need to tell someone that I am not sure about anything anymore.
But I do know I am still your sister,
Miri
Chapter Eleven
A need, a need, a need have I
A wish, a wish, a wish, I sigh
It was a quiet rest-day morning in the girls’ chamber. Winter rain deluged the city, and the patter on the window glass made a drowsy song. Miri lay on the sofa, reading a book for her studies. Tucked inside an essay on Law she came across a dangerous but beautifully logical idea: A king is a servant to his people. He rules by their consent. If the king fails his people, it is their right to rebel.
Miri could almost hear Clemen’s spirited music accompanying the words. She had spent every evening that week at Lady Sisela’s. Later, if the weather cleared, she would either join Timon at Sisela’s or go visit Peder. The thought of Timon made her blood feel hot and fast, while the thought of Peder made her smile.
Then suddenly she was thinking about Esa 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 a memory of Esa at the princess academy, reading aloud beneath the bookshelf. Esa’s ma, Doter, always said Listen to your second thought, or the third might be too late.
“Frid, come with me to look for her?” asked Miri.
“Maybe we’re thinking about her because she’s quarry-speaking,” Frid said as they checked in Britta’s empty chamber.
“We’re not on linder,” said Miri. “Then again, we’re near a whole lot of it.”
The closer they got to the king’s wing, the more panicked Miri felt, until finally she broke into a run. They passed over the linder threshold and into a quarry-shout so intense Frid lifted her arms as if to shield herself. Images pounded in Miri’s head: the time the shelf at the princess academy had broken, dropping the precious books onto the floor; the night Miri had used quarry-speech to shout all the way from the academy to home, a plea for help. The memories came one on top of another, askew and throbbing.
Miri tried to walk forward into the linder wing and the shout, but guards blocked
the way, spears tipped forward.
Where? Miri quarry-shouted back, using a memory of playing hide-and-find-me.
No response but the same images slamming into her head: Esa at the academy, a fallen shelf, Miri calling for help.
“Please let us through,” Miri said to the frontmost guard. “We’re trying to find our friend. She’s in trouble.”
“Not without the password,” he said. “Tell me where she is and I can dispatch a man to her.”
“In one of the linder rooms. A shelf may have fallen on her.”
The guard narrowed his eyes. “Why would you think that if you don’t know where she is?”
Miri made an impatient gesture, and the guard shrugged and nodded to another, who began peering into rooms. One by one. Frid paced, as patient as a rolling boulder.
How could the guards hear nothing of it? Indeed, how did the stones themselves not rend and tear? But even as Miri thought it, she noticed small vibrations through the soles of her feet.
“Is Britta within?” Miri asked the guard. “Or—”
Steffan walked by. He started to smile and 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 they seemed to radiate in every direction. Corridor after corridor, through large chambers and narrow rooms, it all seemed the same in their rush: linder floors, linder walls, finery that tired their eyes. Miri wanted to see Esa, not another sofa.
“Did her quarry-speech make you think about 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 books as he wanted.
Miri rubbed her face. Her bones no longer shook from the ferocity of the shout, and that was so much worse. Esa’s voice was 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 Miri together at the academy, hoping Esa would understand they were coming.
“Esa!” Frid shouted. “Esa!”
“The palace library,” Steffan said over his shoulder, and he pushed two great doors inward. Miri cursed herself for not thinking of a palace library. The Queen’s Castle library had seemed large enough to support the entire kingdom.
Down a row of shelves, a massive bookcase lay toppled, and the ends of Esa’s yellow-brown hair splayed out from beneath it. Frid seized the case and inched it up. Esa took an audible gasp. Steffan helped lift while Miri pulled Esa free. Frid and Steffan, groaning at the weight, let the case thud to the ground behind them.
Esa breathed and coughed. Miri smoothed the hair off Esa’s forehead. It was the same color as Peder’s, and she imagined their mother, Doter, touching their hair like that when they were sick or hurt. 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 upset case, books strewn about.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Esa said. Her voice trembled. “I reached for a book and 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 servants appeared. They righted the case and began to reshelve the books.
“I’m sorry,” Esa repeated. “I won’t come here again if you don’t want me to.”
The queen frowned with a press of her chin. “Someone may as well use this room. It is pretty.” Her hands fluttered, unsure, and she left.
Miri and Frid had helped Esa move to a library sofa when the physician arrived.
“The longer I lay there, the harder it was to breathe,” Esa said as the physician examined her. “I thought I was dying.”
“Yes, when the breath stops, death usually does follow,” said the physician. “But you got out in time. I spy nothing worse than two broken ribs, and if you don’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 he left, 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 and looked at each other. Esa was not one to yell, and especially not minutes after her life’s breath had been nearly squashed out of her.
Then Frid said in one rush, “I’m sorry I ate your roll this morning, I was hungry and I didn’t think you wanted it and you can 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 of Miri’s books in the conservatory and said I could use her library. I thought, how pleasant it will be to browse stories, but do you know what I found?”
She held up the book. Miri read the spine: Maladies.
“There are herbs for pain and others for heart palpitations and some to bring on sleep,” said Esa. “There are things you can do to help get a baby out right and keep the mother safe, and make sure a cut doesn’t go bad—and if it does, it tells how to cut off 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 lost four babies, Miri lost her ma, but in the lowlands they’re off at horse races and plays and banquets while their libraries hold secrets about how to help keep a person alive. Why didn’t they bother to tell us?”
“There’s so much distraction here,” Miri said. “I guess they don’t think about us much at all.”
“I guess.” Esa took back the book and spoke softly, the anger fading. “But I won’t get distracted.”
Miri had been studying in the grandest school in the kingdom, but she did not think she’d learned anything so important. Esa would go back to Mount Eskel and save lives. Meanwhile Miri still did not know if she would save the painting or the prisoner.
“You can have my roll tomorrow anyway,” Frid said, paging through a book called Anatomy.
“Thanks,” said Esa.
Frid snickered. She held up the book, open to an illustration.
“The artist forgot to draw some leggings on this fellow.”
Esa barked a laugh and then schooled straight her expression. “If I’m going to learn doctoring, I’d better get used to it.”
Miri left Esa and Frid studying Anatomy and wandered the stacks. It was so quiet compared to the Queen’s Castle library and its constant rhythm of footsteps, whispers, and flipping pages. This room had an air of abandon. Rain-gray light seeped through the high windows and dusted the books below.
On the back wall a small bookcase stood alone, proclaiming its significance. Miri examined several of the books, realizing with dawning awe that they were the actual diaries of kings. She picked up one covered in gray, cracked leather, but it slipped. She lurched and caught it just before it hit the floor. Some things could never be replaced if lost: a king’s diary, the history of a mountain village, a painting of a girl looking at
the moon.
And my mother, and Esa’s fat-cheeked baby brother, Miri thought.
The queen offered library access to all the girls, and Miri meant to return soon, but it proved difficult to find time between the Queen’s Castle and Sisela’s Salon. She missed her nightly chats with the academy girls, but she just had to meet up with her Salon friends. Protests had begun to crackle around Asland. Angry over the rising cost of food, commoners gathered at the roads into the city, where officials exacted tribute on incoming wagons of winter vegetables. They complained, they hollered, and sometimes they fought.
“It is beginning,” Timon said, seizing Miri’s hands. “At last.”
Miri squeezed his hands back. Each protest was a tiny spark, and they believed the revolution would explode any day now. Miri longed to be in the middle of it and planned to accompany Sisela and Timon to the next protest, but that morning she’d woken up congested and sore.
“I never get sick,” Miri said when Britta brought her juice and toast. Her voice sounded loud in her stuffed-up head and made her ears squeak.
“No one gets through an Aslandian winter unscathed,” Britta said.
Britta dodged officials and appointments for a week, sneaking to Miri’s bedside to help her keep up on her studies and bring gossip. Demonstrations continued, and Miri realized there must be dozens of Salons full of rebellious commoners. But the 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 held twenty-five books, many times more than currently existed on all of Mount Eskel. Miri inhaled the sweet and dusty smell of ink on paper, rich as the air in a bakery.
“They must be worth a wagonload of linder!” said Esa.
There was a note.
For Lady Miri,
Who deserves a library of her own. May these serve as a humble beginning.
Timon
Miri passed the books around but held the note to her chest.