Princess Academy (21 page)

“I had one before, and it was the most . . . Well, actually, the most precious thing I own is the week right after I was born when my mother held me and never put me down. But the hawk was the second most precious thing. I was sorry to lose it, and if you make me another one, I promise not to get taken captive by bandits and have to use it to save my life.”

Instead of laughing, Peder hefted the sack and swallowed, looking very nervous. “Of course, I will, but I was wondering something else, if we, if you . . .”

Peder shook his head as if giving up on words, reached out, and took her hand. Miri bit her lip to keep herself from pulling away. She was certain he could feel her heartbeat in her fingers and would know that inside she was trembling and sighing. Then after a time she stopped worrying. She could feel his heartbeat, too, and it was as fast as a fleeing hare.

When they entered the village, Peder still kept hold of her hand. Frid stared as they passed, Esa blushed for them, Gerti and her three younger sisters giggled and chased after, chanting about a kiss for every miri petal. Twice Miri relaxed her hand in case he wanted to leave her, but he held on even tighter.

Only when they reached her house did he finally let go. “We can talk later, or go for a walk tonight, if you like.”

Marda and Pa were back from the quarry early and sitting on the large stones beside Britta’s garden. Miri gave them the painting, leaned her head against her pa’s shoulder, and smiled as they cooed over the gift.

They watched the light change in the west, striking the afternoon with yellows and oranges, and sang a harmony of three parts. Pa sang low, Marda high, and Miri the melody. “Plumb line is swinging, spring hawk is winging, Eskel is singing.”

At their feet, the curly fronds poking up in Britta’s garden were greener than the mountain grass, greener than the needles on the small, twisted trees, almost greener than the garden in the painting. Miri thought if she could just keep the goats out of it, Britta’s garden would grow to be the greenest thing she would ever see.

She leaned over the little rock fence to pick fallen linder chips from among the plants and tossed them up the slope of scree. Among the gray scraps of rubble rock, the white and silver linder gleamed like jewels. From the cracks in the rocks all around, the miri flowers were already blooming.