Palace of Stone (19 page)

The streets were quiet, just slow-moving delivery wagons and servants walking to work. Peder and Miri made their way to the palace, taking the route past the great wooden chapel.

Without speaking of it, they both climbed the chapel steps and stood before the doors, so huge Miri wondered if they had been built by giants. The same scene of the creator god first speaking to humans graced Mount Eskel’s own humble chapel doors. Miri’s neck hurt, leaning back to look up so high.

“They’re big,” Peder said.

“Big,” Miri agreed.

“They look a lot like ours, but bigger.”

“Big, big, big.”

“Massive.” Peder scrunched his nose. “It seems kind of unnecessary, doors that big.”

“Maybe Aslandians used to be four times as tall.”

“That would make sense. Only it doesn’t.”

“Exactly.” She touched the wood. It was not as polished and well oiled as the Mount Eskel chapel doors. And perhaps not as well loved. With so many things to look at in Asland, who cared enough to love these doors?

“Britta and Steffan were supposed to exchange vows here yesterday. And after, they would have climbed the bridal edifice in the Green and been presented to the people as husband and wife.” She turned, scanning the grassy park across the main avenue from the palace. “I watched them build the bridal edifice from a palace window. It’s a huge wooden platform, topped with banners and … That’s funny, we should be able to see …”

There was no edifice on the Green, but there were piles of lumber and colorful banners torn apart and scattered across the grass.

“They destroyed it,” Miri whispered. Her stomach felt sick.

A small boy affixed a paper to the chapel wall. He lowered his cap over his eyes when he noticed them and hurried away.

“I’ve never seen so many leaflets,” Peder said.

There were always some leaflets in the city. Timon said that since it was illegal for anyone but the king’s officials to print news journals, leaflets were the people’s way to speak out. The abundance of leaflets that morning felt like a shout.

Miri scanned the one the boy had just tacked to the chapel.

This titled girl named Britta is not content to merely live in luxury while the shoeless labor for her silks, but she must steal a crown from them as well. She will lie, she will cheat, she will rob to wed the prince. But we the people will not allow a thief in the palace. We will cut off her hair and sell it for thread. We will strip her skin for ribbons.

Miri read no further, crumpling it up and tossing it as far as she could. She scanned another leaflet and another, dozens of different authors saying about the same thing. One sounded a good deal like Sisela.

Peace will set us back. If you are hungry, if you labor without rest, look no further for blame than this robber princess. The first to cut out her heart will be the hero of Danland.

Miri fled down the chapel stairs toward the palace. “It’s my fault this is happening.”

“It’s not your fault,” Peder said, racing down the street beside her.

“I was careless and boastful when I wrote that Rhetoric paper. My words helped start it, and I have to undo it.”

“My ma says
You can’t unspill a stew
.”

“She also says
Undoing a wrong is greater than doing a right
.”

“You know, Ma is very good at saying two things at once.”

They neared the tree where Miri met Timon on the way to the Queen’s Castle in the mornings. She stopped running when she saw his figure pace around the corner. His pale hair was stressed and lying every which way.

“That’s that boy you danced with at the ball,” said Peder.

Miri did not know that Peder had seen.

“Timon!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I … I was hoping to see you.” Timon noticed Peder and his expression stiffened into a frown.

“What’s going on?” Miri asked.

“You need to stay away from the princess,” said Timon. “For a few days at least, all right?”

“Why?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Just listen to me and do it.”

“No,” she said. “Tell me why.”

“Miri—”

“Tell me why, Timon.”

Timon looked about. The few people in the street were not near enough to hear.

“Some of us … Sisi … well …”

“Just spit it out,
Timon
,” Peder said.

Timon glared, but he turned back to Miri and took a deep breath.

“Sisi heard that the rebels in Rilamark hired an assassin to ‘take care’ of their queen. She found him and wrote to him, asking him to do the same here. I … we … some of us—those of the group with money—we paid the fee.”

“I don’t understand,” Miri said, though she was afraid that she actually did.

“This was three months ago. We never heard back. I figured our letter went astray, or perhaps it was just a hoax. But yesterday Sisi received a letter from the assassin. He claimed he is in Asland now and helped agitate the mob at the chapel. And that was just a precursor. And … and …” Timon’s voice was so low now, Miri had to lean closer to hear. “He guaranteed the princess would be dead by midnight tonight, if not by a mob, then by his own hand.”

“He’s going to kill Britta? No! Why would you do that? Stop the assassin. Stop it from happening!” She realized she was gripping his shirtfront and forced herself to let go.

Timon rubbed his hair and face with both of his hands. “I don’t know who he is. I don’t know what he looks like or where he is staying. I don’t know anything, Miri. He said he would contact us for the second half of the payment
after
he finished the job. His target is the robber princess, but he promised he would take care of any other royals as well if circumstances permit. I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t think anyone can.”

Peder went at Timon, shoving him hard in the chest. Timon stumbled backward.

“You’re trying to get Britta killed?” Peder said. “You’re the reason someone shot at Miri. She could be dead!”

Peder shoved again. Though Timon was taller, Peder was a mountain boy, who cut and hefted stone all day. Miri was afraid he might really hurt Timon. A small part of her wanted to let him try. But she put out a hand and stepped between them. Peder bounced on the balls of his feet as if ready to swing a punch at any moment.

“It was bound to happen with or without me,” Timon said, his voice hot. He brushed off his jacket, glowering at Peder. “All over the continent, people are speaking out against royalty. Nobility will follow, and then freedom. But revolution doesn’t happen all at once. The strike must start somewhere.”

“And so you all put your scholarly little heads together and decided Britta’s death would be the spark to ignite the bonfire.”

“I know she was your friend,” Timon said. “I just wanted to warn you to stay away. Please. Stay away from her so you don’t get hurt.”

I know she
was
your friend
, he’d said. Dread made the day seem dark, and nothing mattered but getting to Britta’s side. Miri grabbed Peder’s arm and pulled him into a run.

Miri was going over in her mind what she would say to get into the palace courtyard, but the guards at the outer gate did not ask for a password and let her through. Perhaps the king’s banishment order had not traveled that far. She was not certain she would be so lucky at the entrance to the palace itself.

They ran through a walled garden toward the south wing.

“If they refuse me,” Miri said, “they might still let you in. Go first to Britta’s chamber and—”

Miri stopped. The entrance was entirely unguarded.

“Should we be able to walk in like this?” Peder asked.

“Definitely not,” said Miri.

They creaked open the door. The foyer was empty. Miri felt cold.

On the way to Britta’s apartment, they passed two royal guards in silver breastplates and tall hats.

“No one was at the entrance,” Miri said to them. “Is the royal family all right?”

“Of course,” said one. “The guard is protecting them. Excuse us, we’re called away.”

Miri frowned but continued on.

The palace was as quiet as the early-morning street, just servants moving through the corridors. Their pace was quick, their faces unhappy. Miri wondered if they had read the latest leaflets.

She took a deep breath at Britta’s door and decided she could not tell her about the assassin. Britta would be too frightened. But somehow she had to get her out of the palace.

“Keep watch,” Miri whispered to Peder. She knocked and went in.

Britta was still in her white lace marriage gown, sitting on the floor with her legs tucked under her. The curls in her hair were droopy and loose. Morning light glinted on her wet cheeks.

“Miri! I’m so sorry. I told the king that of course you had no part in what those people at the chapel did. After all, they shot at you! But he won’t listen to me. Sometimes I feel as if when I speak no sound comes out at all ….”

Tears spilled down her face.

“Britta, don’t cry for me. Please.”

“I can’t stop. I’ve been crying all night like a baby, though it’s not just for you. I’m far more selfish than you give me credit for, Miri. It just feels as if everything is coming apart.”

“Where’s Steffan?”

“That’s the heart of it,” Britta said with a sad smile. “They have him in the king’s wing. Keeping us separate. I waited all night for someone to fetch me, but no one’s come. Not even a servant with supper. I knocked at the girls’ chamber a few times. I don’t think they slept there last night.”

Miri did not think the assassin would target Mount Eskel girls, but her unease quickened.

“Perhaps everyone’s forgotten me,” Britta said. “Or perhaps it’s been decided Steffan and I will not wed.”

Miri poured Britta a glass of water from a pitcher.

“Might it be for the best?” said Miri. “There are worse things that could happen.”

“I can’t imagine.”

Miri thought of the shattered glass in the carriage window, the axes falling in Rilamark. She gave Britta the water and watched her drink it down, her toes curling and uncurling with impatience.

“Things are getting dangerous out there. We should leave Asland for the time being.”

Britta shook her head, confused. “Not without Steffan. Where would I go anyway?”

Miri glanced at the door. “Home to Lonway?”

Britta shuddered. She’d stopped crying, but her eyes were red and swollen.

“I’ll never go back. The day my father put me on a wagon to Mount Eskel, I watched the house grow smaller and smaller, and I swore it would stay like that in my mind—tiny and harmless, sized for a mouse.”

Miri thought of her own wagon ride away from home, her village swallowed by the mountain, her promise to return.

“Was home so horrible?” she asked, gathering some of Britta’s clothing into a bundle.

“Perhaps not. I’m probably just being dramatic.” She tried to smile, but the attempt was piteous. “I’m much younger than my siblings. They were all married before I was five. And my parents preferred to spend a great deal of time at court, attending plays and concerts. They said their house in Asland was too small to bring me along. It had ten bedrooms, but it was too small for a girl … like a mouse house, maybe.”

Not a sunrise passed that Miri did not put her arms around herself and remember that her mother had refused to put down her new baby even for a moment in the week before she died. It was a sadness that ran under everything, like the low notes of a horn in an orchestra’s song. But it made Miri feel stronger too. She had this secret, this fierce love from her mother, that was always hers.

How much worse to have a mother who lived and simply did not care. Miri hugged the bundle of clothing to her chest.

“When my parents were in Asland,” Britta was saying, “I stayed in Lonway with the servants. My father forbade me to play with commoners, so I played alone. Except when Steffan stayed at the Summer Castle. I didn’t understand why my father encouraged this one friendship. All I knew then was I had a friend! We invented games and stayed outside from breakfast till the crickets sang. He was the first person to shout out my name when he saw me coming, as if for pure happiness. The first who made me feel like more than a piece of furniture—like a girl.” She blushed. “He was my
only
friend, Miri, until you. I cannot imagine life without him. I can’t imagine.”

“I’m sorry,” Miri said. And with those words, the weight of what she’d done collapsed over her. She felt her mistakes like an avalanche, and the grinding pain of regret broke into sobs.

“Miri? What’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Britta ….” She felt Britta rub her back and shook her head. “I don’t deserve your comfort. I’ve wanted to be a part of the changes so badly—for Mount Eskel, but for me too … though I knew it might hurt you … I was so afraid the king’s tributes would crush our village, would make everything so hard again … harder even … but I wanted to help make things good everywhere … and … and I didn’t mean to lie at first, but I never told you … when I found out … that the words were mine. ‘The Mountain Girl’s Lament.’ I wrote it. Most of it anyway.”

She could feel Britta’s hand on her back freeze.

“That’s not true,” Britta whispered.

“Timon suggested I write about the academy for a Rhetoric paper. I didn’t write that last part, of course! Timon added his own words and had it printed. When you asked me about it, I didn’t know. But I should have told you when I found out, I should have written a different leaflet explaining, I should have done
something
… but Sisela said to let it be and I believed her—she’s so smart—so I did nothing, I’m sorry …”

Britta stood and went to the window. Her back was tense. Miri held her breath, unshed sobs straining in her throat, and waited for Britta to send her away as the king had done.

“I wondered. You were gone so many evenings. Gummonth told us about all that happened in Rilamark and said there was dangerous talk in Aslandian Salons. But I never imagined that you—” She took a shuddering breath. “I can’t think about this right now, Miri.”