Palace of Stone

by Shannon Hale

  What if … Miri shied away from the thought, but it had already started to form. She saw herself in the black robes of a master, showing young scholars the Queen’s Castle library and nodding demurely that why yes, she had read every volume. She imagined standing on the bow of a ship, skimming over foreign seas, carrying the message of freedom won in Danland.

  Timon had said first Asland; the rest of Danland would follow, and then all the world. His promises felt as real as paper in her hands, just awaiting the ink strokes of action.

  But Miri was not the only one who took sick that winter, and revolution proved no match for a head cold. Salons emptied, as did the Queen’s Castle. Now Miri found time to haunt the palace library.

  Master Filippus had said they needed to study History to understand what had worked in the past. Miri found the Librarian’s Book of the palace library and started to read all she could on tributes, hoping for clues on how to defend Mount Eskel. There were laws that limited how much tribute nobles could take from commoners, but as Miri had seen from the Grievance Official’s ledger, if they took more anyway, no one could stop them. And no laws limited the king.

  Discouraged, she moved on to any mentions of Mount Eskel or linder. She read a curious entry in the diary of the previous king, the father of King Bjorn and grandfather of Steffan.

  Sweyn’s cruelty toward Bjorn has grown worse. He torments the boy and says his brother has no business inside linder walls. I regret telling Sweyn about linder wisdom so soon, but after my illness in the spring, I feared my own mortality and wished to pass on the secret before Sweyn became king. Now it seems I was premature.

  I will send Bjorn to the Summer Castle to keep him safe from his brother. Besides, Bjorn need not be raised inside linder walls as he will not be king.

  But Bjorn did become king, and now he did indeed live inside linder walls. Surely the passage she had read in the Queen’s Castle suggesting linder was toxic had been wrong. But what was the royals’ secret connection with linder?

  Linder wisdom, Miri repeated to herself. Could the royals have quarry-speech?

  Impossible. Although Steffan did not share Esa’s exact memory of a fallen bookshelf, surely he had experienced something similar enough to understand. If the royal family could quarry-speak at all, Esa’s quarry-shout would have nudged a similar memory in Steffan or the queen. But they had heard nothing.

  Miri read the diary and pieced together the story of the two brothers. Sweyn, the prince heir, harassed Bjorn from a young age, threatening and striking him. On one occasion he locked him up and would tell no one where. It took nearly a day to locate the boy in a storage pantry. Bjorn did not call out or even cry—just shivered till his teeth clattered. It was soon after that Bjorn and his mother moved to the Summer Castle in Lonway.

  The king’s diary ended abruptly, so Miri found a historian’s account to learn the rest. The king grew ill, and Sweyn ruled as prince regent. Sweyn attended the ball of a princess academy in Hindrick province and chose his bride. Just months after his parents had died and he had been made king, Sweyn was racing carriages and was killed in a crash. He had not yet married.

  And so Bjorn—the shivering boy locked in the pantry, raised in the country, kept away from the palace and politics—became king.

  Whatever linder secret the king had passed on to Sweyn the prince heir, Bjorn likely had never learned. What was this knowledge royalty took to the grave?

  The rest of the dreary winter afforded Miri many more afternoons of reading. Esa was rarely in the library anymore. A palace physician had taken her on as an aide.

  All the ladies of the princess kept busy. When they were not helping Britta memorize names of nobles and rules of court conduct, Frid was at the forge, Gerti at her music, and Bena and Liana on social visits.

  And Miri kept reading.

  Whenever Britta was free, she joined Miri with a book of her own, resting her head on Miri’s legs. Sometimes the queen sat nearby, flipping through books with illustrations, humming to herself when she discovered something she liked.

  Royalty is the enemy of common people, Sisela had said, and Miri suspected it was true. But the sentiment was hard to hold when the queen directed a servant to take Miri a tray of mint tea and snacks.

  “I felt you were thirsty,” the queen said, not making eye contact before leaving the library.

  She felt I was thirsty? Miri wondered. Her thirst could not have been obvious. She had not been panting like a dog.

  The phrase reminded Miri of something she’d read. She looked back over a previous king’s diary: The ambassador from Rilamark was all pomp and swagger, but I felt his insecurity tinged with fear.

  It was an odd note, but Miri dismissed it, thinking perhaps the royals had their own peculiar way of speaking.

  When Miri could not read another word without going cross-eyed, she left the library, with more questions than answers, and walked into the city with Gerti and Frid. They had coins, an allowance given to the ladies of the princess, and they planned to buy Aslandian treats for their families.

  “Traders will head up soon. Just about two weeks till spring!” Gerti smiled, lifting her face to the sun.

  “They think it’s spring already,” Frid said, pointing to blue crocuses peeking between cobblestones.

  “I bet our miri flowers are coming up,” said Gerti.

  Miri had been named for the flower, a tiny pink native of Mount Eskel that bloomed between rocks. But as she stared at one of the blue crocuses, an uncomfortable sensation burned in her chest. She could not name it. Perhaps if she wrote to Marda she could figure it out. Lately she did not quite know what she thought until she wrote it down.

  Letter writing was a lot like quarry-speaking—a soundless call from far away. Would Marda have similar enough memories to understand what Miri was trying to say? How could she communicate the whole world to a quiet sister on top of a mountain? She would try. She needed a pen and paper and a way to see her thoughts.

  Winter Week Eleven

  Dear Marda,

  Did you know there are histories written about every province in Danland except Mount Eskel? We might as well not exist. I have been reading so much that I know more about the lowlands’ history than I do of our own.

  I saw a crocus today, blooming between cobblestones. It made me sad and I did not know why. But now I think it is because I feel more like that blue crocus than a miri flower. My feet are planting in city earth. I cannot imagine leaving here forever.

  Every night I close my eyes before sleep and try to see home. All the bits of my life here take up space in my head till it cannot fit the memories of before. I know the streets of the city now, the faces of my fellow scholars, the feel of my bed. I know Asland. And there is so much I want to do still, a lifetime of doing.

  I am not the only one changed by Asland. I wish you could see Gerti as she plays the lute and sings with the palace musicians, or Esa after she helped birth a baby, or Frid working in the forge. After a luncheon with Lady So-and-So and Lord Something-or-Other, Liana and Bena are “happy as a goat drinking her own cream,” as Doter would say. And then there is Peder with his carvings.

  Pa was right. Though short as always, I have grown so much bigger, I do not know if I will fit anymore in our little house in our little village. I do not know if any of us will.

  I am afraid this letter might make you sad. It makes me sad too, because I cannot imagine going home for good. My heart aches as I write those words, and yet at the same time my shoulders feel lighter just from admitting the truth.

  Still your sister,

  Miri

  Chapter Twelve

  Hear the leaves applauding

  Hear the wind hurrahing

  Hear the surf guffawing

  The ways of old are dead

  The queen has lost her head

  The day was a stale kind of cold—no breeze, no brightness. The sky was as gray as Miri’s mood. It had been some time since she’d spoken to Katar, and
she wanted to talk things through before hurrying to the Queen’s Castle for the day. When Miri finally found her, Gummonth had found her first. They stood together in the brown winter garden, Gummonth smiling as he spoke, Katar’s posture wilting.

  Miri watched from behind a leafless tree and exhaled when the official finally left.

  “He must have been an unpleasant, sickly infant,” said Miri as Katar approached. “What mother would hold a beautiful baby and say ‘I know! I’ll name him Gummonth!’”

  Katar’s glower made Miri swallow.

  “What … what did he want?” she asked.

  “To gloat,” said Katar. “He convinced the king Mount Eskel has long been in neglect. Officials will travel with the traders in the spring to take a tribute of two gold coins for each villager, to make up for lost years.”

  Miri sat down hard on a low rock wall. The ground seemed to tilt. The gray sky was the stone ground, and Miri was crushed between it all.

  “My family doesn’t have that much, Katar. I doubt anyone has.”

  “Then the officials will take the goats and some linder too. You can be sure that trading day won’t be a festival anymore.”

  Miri covered her face with her hands, further darkening the day. She prayed the entire world would just disappear. She peeked. Unfortunately, the world was still there.

  Katar sat down beside her. “Gummonth was going on about some leaflet he read about Mount Eskel that made him determined to see us pay our dues.”

  “We can’t let this happen.”

  “Perhaps we can barter for a reprieve.”

  “Barter with what?”

  “Information,” Katar said, sitting up straighter. “You’ve cleverly cozied up to the rebels. Expose them in exchange for freedom from tributes.”

  “No! Katar, we can’t turn our backs on the shoeless. There’s right and there’s wrong. People are hungry and suffering all over Danland.”

  “And you expect to help them all?”

  “More and more commoners gather at each protest. Once enough of them join together, nothing will stand in their way. They only need more time, and if the commoners create a new government in Danland, there won’t be outlandish tributes anymore.”

  Katar folded her arms. “You’ve had months and you offer me ‘wait and see and maybe the commoners will succeed and be nice to us’? That’s pretty disappointing, Your Royal Shortness.”

  Miri flinched. “I may be short, but at least I’m not nasty.”

  “That depends on who you ask.”

  “Remind me never to ask you anything!”

  Miri stalked away, feeling like a frayed bit of twine. She wanted nothing more than to unburden her thoughts on a friend. She knocked on Britta’s door, still undecided about what was safe to tell the girl who would marry the prince.

  “Have you seen it?” Britta asked the moment Miri was inside.

  “Seen what?” asked Miri.

  “‘The Mountain Girl’s Lament.’ Oh Miri, it’s … it’s awful. There are always leaflets circulating the city, but Gummonth says people are really riled up about this one. It complains about royalty, as many such leaflets do. But this one—it attacks me specifically. And it was written, most definitely written, by someone who was at the princess academy.”

  “What? Who?”

  “There’s no name, but the leaflet includes details I don’t remember telling anyone besides … well, besides you.” Britta examined her hands. “I thought you might know something, you could explain ….”

  Britta looked at Miri fearfully.

  “Britta, I don’t know anything about this. I’m so sorry.”

  Britta exhaled. “Yes, of course. If you’d known that … that one of the girls was writing this, you would have told me. I just …” Britta’s blue eyes brightened behind tears. “I just don’t know what’s going to happen. Everyone’s so upset. At my father for sending me to Mount Eskel under a lie, but at me too. What if they decide Steffan and I can’t marry after all? And maybe we shouldn’t.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “The princess was supposed to be from Mount Eskel.” Britta held up a hand before Miri could sputter a protest. “I know you understand why I did what I did and you forgive me, but it was still wrong, wasn’t it? If not for me, Steffan would have chosen you, I just know it. He’s always thought highly of you. And if …” Britta’s chin started quivering, but her voice got stronger. “If it would be for the best, I will leave, and you could marry Steffan.”

  Miri laughed despite herself. “Britta! I am not going to marry Steffan. None of the Mount Eskel girls would. Steffan chose you. Anyone else marrying him would just be … weird.”

  Britta laughed too and seemed surprised by it. “I think Liana would be willing.”

  “You’re probably right, though I hardly see that as a blessing. Don’t worry. Steffan loves you, you love him. I’m sure that won’t change, even if Danland does.”

  “But the leaflet was so angry, and when people get angry, violence often follows. The Rilamarkians killed their queen last year. Did you know that? They chopped off her head in front of her palace. People watched as if it were a show at the theater. When the ax fell, they … they cheered.”

  Miri put her arms around her and stayed till Britta no longer cried.

  By the time Miri returned to the girls’ room, her heart was boiling.

  “All right, who did it?” she said, slamming the door behind her.

  “I suppose you’re talking about this,” Bena said, waving a printed piece of paper.

  Liana strolled around the room, her hands held behind her back. “We were just saying that it must have been you.”

  “Me? I would never speak against Britta.”

  “It does kind of sound like you, Miri,” Frid said.

  “Why don’t you just admit you did it?” said Liana. “All this show is getting silly.”

  “You used to spend the evenings with us, teach us things,” Esa said. “You’ve changed recently.”

  “You are the most likely one,” said Bena, “off in that school all day.”

  Miri took a step back. “So you’re attacking me because I attend the Queen’s Castle?”

  Bena fanned herself with the paper, her lips pursed. Miri tore it from her hand and stormed out.

  She was so busy stomping and fuming that she’d exited the palace gate, heading to Peder’s, before she read the leaflet. The first sentence sounded eerily familiar. The second was decidedly so. By the third, she had to sit on a crate outside a grocer’s, the paper shaking in both her hands.

  I never really believed the lowlanders would allow a crown to sit on a mountain girl’s head. We were used to being tricked by traders, to being cursed and mocked and forgotten. When the chief delegate came to Mount Eskel to announce the king’s priests had divined our village as the home of the future princess, we assumed it a cruel joke on us.

  And yet, after some time at the princess academy, I did begin to hope, and then even believe, that things were changing for Mount Eskel. If the priests of the creator god thought we were special enough to produce a princess, then perhaps we were.

  They were Miri’s words, taken from a Rhetoric paper she’d written at the Queen’s Castle. When Master Filippus handed it back, Timon had asked to see it.

  I first met Britta the summer before the academy. She said she was an orphan and had come to live with distant relatives on the mountain. We became friends. It was not until the day Prince Steffan chose his bride a year and a half later that I learned the truth: Britta’s parents lived, and her father had sent her to our mountain so that she could be chosen.

  Miri put a hand over her mouth. What have I done?

  The paper gave details of Britta’s youthful friendship with Steffan—secrets Britta had confided in Miri. She winced now at the sentences that had once made her proud. She’d meant to write a true portrait of events, but she had been self-congratulatory too. Aren’t I such a good friend to forgive he
r lie? she seemed to be saying. Aren’t I so generous?

  There was an added paragraph at the end that Miri had not written:

  And so we see how nobles lie and cheat to keep down the most hardy, diligent, and innocent Danlanders. Sacred custom was mocked and the shoeless robbed of opportunity. Instead of the first commoner princess in our history, we get yet another pampered noble girl. The priests of the creator god remain silent, as they so often do. But I speak out. And I say, enough. Danland has outgrown royalty like a child outgrows baby clothes. Cast them off. The time of the people has dawned. End the oppression. Stand up and be heard.

  “Thoughtful, isn’t it?”

  Miri looked up. The grocer was stacking apples into a golden pyramid. He nodded at the paper in her hands.

  “Those Mount Eskel girls were done a cruel turn. Poor innocents, barely scraping by, and when one of them gets the chance to be royalty, a noble girl steals it away. Turned my stomach. I usually tear down any leaflets I find on my store, but this one I decided to keep. If enough of us display the leaflet, the royal guard can’t arrest us all.”

  A copy was affixed to his shop window. Several more were stuck to the wooden stand holding the apples.

  Miri crossed the street, away from Peder’s, and headed instead for the Queen’s Castle. She pulled down many leaflets as she went but soon gave up. There were hundreds. She might as well try to empty the river with a bucket.

  Miri was late; Master Filippus’s class was in the library. She found Timon and placed a leaflet over the book he was reading.

  He smiled up at her. “Isn’t it wonderful? We’ve gone back to the printer three times. He says it’s the most popular leaflet he’s ever seen!”

  “Timon, these were my personal thoughts. How dare you steal them from me?”

  “Steal?” He smoothed the paper with his palm. “But I asked if you’d be willing to share it—”

  “I thought you meant with you, not the entire city!”

  He winced, as if surprised by a stab of pain. “I was certain you’d be thrilled at the response. We’ve been in this together. Aren’t we in this together?”