by Shannon Hale
And the queen sat on a couch, looking very pretty
The hours Miri spent at the Queen’s Castle the next day seemed agonizingly slow, the sun barely scraping along in the sky, the droning of the master scholar like the heavy buzzing of a summer bee. The moment class ended, she was on her feet and out the door, clutching a first draft of the charter she and the girls had finished that dawn. By the light of day, it seemed impossibly ambitious. For one thing, the delegates would never vote to abolish all noble titles.
But perhaps they will compromise on land ownership ….
Miri was full of thoughts and walking straight into the hot yellow sunset, so she did not notice Timon until he called her name.
He was waiting at their corner near the palace, his hands in his pockets.
“You haven’t been to the Castle in weeks,” she said. “But I guess completing another open-sky year was never your intention.”
He shook his head.
“You knew about Britta,” she said. “You knew she could be the key to incite revolution, and you used me to put her story to the people—well, the part of her story that made her look bad. A shame you didn’t meet Liana instead of me. She would have loved writing a leaflet condemning Britta.”
“I never knew I was a coward until these past weeks.” He kept his gaze on the tips of his shoes. “I couldn’t face you.”
“Well, now you have. Congratulations.” She started to walk again. He kept pace with her.
“Years from now,” he said, “Britta will be just a name in a book. And so I thought, when compared to the entire nation, what does she matter? Names mean nothing—lady or lord, or Skarpson for that matter.”
How far apart we are, Miri thought. Timon was working so hard to turn away from his birth and background. Miri looked north and felt a yearning for home. And yet those twisting feelings inside reminded her again of all she’d have to give up in Asland if she returned to Mount Eskel.
“I know you think me a thug,” he said, “but I did what I thought was best.”
She threw up her hands. “What do you want from me, Timon?”
“You don’t need to be curt, Miri. I’m doing you a favor. I came to give you fair warning.”
“That change is still brewing?”
“If you’re not among the blue-banded, then you are the enemy. And this time there won’t be a lone musket shooting through a carriage window. Groups across the city have come together. There will be thousands united.”
Miri shivered. “Not yet. We have some ideas, and if they work, nobody has to die. Just give us more time.”
“It’s not up to me, Lady Miri.” Her title on his lips sounded like an insult. “The revolution isn’t a bridled horse anyone can stop with a yank of the reins. The robber princess married her prince, but commoners are still paying tributes they can’t afford. There will be an uprising.”
“Against Britta?”
“No. She’s a commoner now, and frankly, the people are taken with her and her adorable habit of flinging off her shoes.”
“Then who will be attacked?” she asked. “When?”
“I can’t tell you. I’ve said enough.”
She tried to argue it out of him, but he would not budge.
“I am sorry, you know.” He smiled a little, and his tired eyes brightened. “I learned of you long before I met you. Traders who worked with my father talked of changes on Mount Eskel, led by the academy girls. Your academy’s tutor spoke with other scholars about one girl in particular. I used to imagine giving you books and a house in Asland, and sailing beside you to see the world. Then we met and everything I had dreamed seemed possible. I believed I would see your face every day for the rest of my life.”
She supposed her face looked a lot like his just then, tired after her night up, a little sad, but resigned too.
“Not everything that we imagine comes to pass,” she said. “But thank you for the warning. And the books.”
She smiled at him and left.
When she was a block away, she thought about looking back but realized that she did not care if she saw Timon—then or ever again.
Miri went straight to Peder’s recovery room at the palace and rewrote the charter at his bedside. Nervous energy made her letters too large, her lines crooked.
“It’s good, Miri,” he said. “If they’re smart, they’ll see that.”
“I’m not sure intelligence is a requirement for being a delegate.”
The girls had to wait until Inga left for the night, and so debated and made changes straight through till morning. Delegates could introduce new laws only on the first of the month, when the king was in attendance. They had two more days to prepare, or they would have to wait another month.
“And that might be too late.” Miri took a big breath. “Are we ready to woo our sponsor?”
Bena had arranged for the girls to have an audience with Queen Sabet in her chambers.
“I don’t know how to play a lute or forge a sword,” Bena had said, “but believe me, I know how to set up lunch with a member of court.”
Miri had practiced her speech several times, but even so, once they were actually facing the queen, her voice quavered.
The queen petted her little white dog as Miri read the charter. It started with simpler ideas, such as commoners having the right to a rest day each week, and allowing news journals freedom to publish without court approval. And then it built up to land ownership being open to everyone, not just nobles, as well as to commoner representation in the delegation.
“Commoners from each province will vote one of their own as a delegate. The combined commoner and noble delegates must approve all royal tributes. In addition—”
The queen rose to her feet and started to leave.
“I can’t … I can’t listen to this. Bjorn would be so angry.”
“Please,” Miri said, rushing to her side. “Please, don’t go. We can’t afford to wait until mobs storm the palace or nobles are murdered in their houses. Nobles and royals need to make an offering to the commoners. It’s a step forward for the entire kingdom. And you are the only person who can make it possible.”
The queen stared at her, the line of her mouth stiff. “You well know that I have no power. Do not mock me.”
Miri was silenced. The queen was turning again to go when Gerti quarry-spoke.
Queen Gertrud, she said. The memory was of the girls’ first Salon night, when Miri returned from the Queen’s Castle and recounted the story of its origin.
“Your Majesty, forgive me,” said Miri, “but do you know of Queen Gertrud?”
The queen paused on the threshold. “Gertrud, wife of Jorgan, sixteenth king of Danland,” she recited.
“Yes, but do you know her story?” Miri asked.
The queen blinked, not understanding the question.
“Gertrud was from Hindrick province,” said Miri. “There was no school for girls in Hindrick at the time. She attended the princess academy and became the first girl in her family to learn to read. Jorgan chose her, and when she left for Asland, she dedicated her bridal lands for a school.”
Gerti took up the story. “King Jorgan began construction of a new palace built of linder. During his reign, much of the king’s wing of this palace was completed.”
“The old castle on the river isle was going to be a prison,” said Frid. She smiled as if that detail was her favorite.
Miri continued. “Queen Gertrud approached the king and the delegation on the day the old castle was to be given over to the Justice Official. She said—”
“My king, you have never given me a wedding present,” Esa said in a high voice, and then in a low voice for the king, “I am thirty years late!”
“It was written that when crowned, the new king should bestow a gift upon his bride,” said Miri.
“She’d never asked him for anything before,” Esa said, “so he dared her to name a gift of her choosing and swore it would be hers.”
“
She asked for the castle!” said Frid and Gerti, talking over each other.
“The Justice Official was outraged at losing his prize,” said Miri, “but the king was true to his oath. The old castle became known as the Queen’s Castle.”
“There she started the first academy for teachers,” Katar continued. “Over the years it became the center of Danlander scholarship. Scholars who train at the Queen’s Castle become tutors all over the kingdom, preserve history, promote the arts and science, make discoveries and inventions. Queen Gertrud’s legacy is powerful. So will be yours.”
When Katar stopped, Miri wanted to speak quickly, present logical arguments, beg for the queen’s aid. But she reminded herself of the last rule of Rhetoric: Offer silence.
After a time, the queen spoke.
“My husband gave me a wedding gift. A small house on the shore. We used to spend two weeks there every winter. Then one year, we stopped. I left my favorite set of teacups in the kitchen.”
“You should go back,” said Gerti.
“Yes, I should send someone for the teacups,” said the queen.
“But you should go,” said Gerti. “With the king. It sounds like you miss it. The way you talk about it, that’s how I feel about Mount Eskel.”
The queen considered Gerti. “I can feel your longing.”
Miri wondered if the queen could sense a longing in her as well, one strong enough to pull her away from Asland. She did not dare ask.
“Your Majesty,” said Miri, “if the nobles and royals don’t take the next step, the commoners will. They believe they can claim power only through violence. Even if they don’t succeed, think how many will die trying.”
The queen studied Miri’s face and then held her hand out for the charter. She sat and read for long, aching minutes before giving it back.
“I will see you at the next session of the delegation,” she said, and then left. Her servants followed.
The girls stood there, looking at one another.
“So … did she just agree to sponsor the charter?” asked Katar.
“I think so,” Miri whispered.
“You think so?” Katar grabbed the paper from Miri. “If I present this in session and the queen doesn’t offer her sponsorship, ‘I think so’ isn’t going to save my head.”
“Your head will be fine,” said Miri. “It’s your neck you should worry about.”
“Miri!”
They started back to their chamber. Katar trudged behind as if dragging stones, and Miri slowed to walk beside her.
“I’ll hand copies to the delegates myself,” said Miri. “I’ll stand beside you, Katar.”
Katar grimaced, but she nodded. “Thanks. I thought …” She pressed her lips together. “I thought when I wrote you that letter last spring that you’d know what to do.”
Miri nodded, unsure what to say.
“Though it took you ages to figure it out,” said Katar. Miri knocked her with her shoulder, Katar knocked her back, and Miri wondered at what moment she and Katar had become friends.
This very moment, Miri thought. Just now.
Spring Week Three
Dear Marda,
If you receive these letters along with a note advising you of my execution, please do not be too sad. Someday you might even laugh about it! “Oh that Miri. She would go off to Asland and drum up trouble. Remember when she forgot to tie up the billy goat, and he ate two shoes and a blanket? Such a prankster!”
If you have a funeral for me, sing loudly and let the goats attend. They love a rousing ditty.
Your troublesome baby sister,
Miri
Chapter Twenty-three
Oh land of farms and green hills mild
Once formed by giants rough and wild
With massive paws they gripped and tore
With one great rip they formed the shore
Where heavy boots left prints so deep
Blue lakes remain ’tween summits steep
The giants fought beneath our skies
And from their bones our mountains rise
The night before facing the delegation, the girls smuggled Peder from his sickbed into their chamber. Miri felt fragile and afraid, and yearned to keep all she loved near. Accustomed to late nights debating the charter, and too nervous to sleep, they all talked into the dark hours, not of laws but of home. Miri could almost hear the sleepy mumbling of goats, sense the ice-tipped winds coming off the peak, smell snow melting and miri flowers blooming, and feel spring as it is on the mountain—full of promise.
In the morning they dressed and pretended to eat breakfast.
“No matter that we could be beheaded for this,” said Esa. “Heads are overrated.”
“Yes, they are so unfashionable,” said Miri, imitating an Aslandian accent. “This spring, ladies of style are wearing their feathers in their necks.”
They laughed, but not for too long. Gerti rubbed her own neck.
“Katar and I can do it alone, if you’d like,” Miri said.
But when Katar rose to go to the door, even Bena followed.
Miri left last, pausing to look back at Peder, lying on Liana’s old bed.
“Get some rest. I’ll send news as soon as there is any.”
“Just make sure it’s good news,” he said. “If you happen to be killed, I’d rather hear it from your own lips.”
“Absolutely. I’ll roll my decapitated head back here to bring you word.”
Peder’s teasing smile faltered. “Please be careful.”
She nodded and left but returned a moment later to give him a last quick kiss on his lips. He touched her hair.
The Delegate House waited on the other side of the Green from the palace. Hordes of people were gathered around the yellow-brick building, the murmurs tense.
“Quite a crowd,” Katar said.
“Unusual?” asked Miri.
Katar nodded.
The procession of the king’s carriage and his attendants stopped, the road clogged with people. The royal guard yelled for passage, and very slowly the people edged backward. Their gazes were somber. Miri rubbed her arms to dispel the chills. As she squeezed through the crowd, she was grateful she wore her scholar robes, free from the mark of nobility.
The entire building was a huge open chamber. The floor was linder, but the walls were yellow brick, leading to a domed ceiling, painted with a starred sky. The round delegation table took up the center of the chamber and was surrounded by sixteen high-backed chairs, one for each province’s delegate. Miri noted that the table was large enough to add sixteen more chairs for the commoner delegates. If the charter passed.
Three galleries opened off the central chamber. The king sat upon a dais facing the delegates, the Court Gallery behind him. The Mount Eskel girls climbed the stairs to claim seats in the Noble Gallery, which was half empty. Opposite, the Commoner Gallery overflowed.
Miri handed Katar the couple dozen handwritten copies of their charter. Katar wore her reddish hair in a bun, perhaps imagining it made her look older. But beside two white-haired delegates, Miri thought she looked like a child who had sneaked into a meeting of the village council.
“She’s here, at least,” Katar whispered.
Queen Sabet waited in the Court Gallery. Her face was in shadow, and if she noticed Miri, she made no signal of greeting. Britta sat beside Steffan. It seemed she tried to smile at Miri, but her expression was taut. She had thought the charter a wonderful idea, though she had not been able to hide the fear in her eyes.
“It’s not too late—” Miri started.
“I’ll do it,” said Katar. “Someone has to.”
Miri tried to think of a hopeful thing to say, but her stomach hurt with worry.
“Your face is making me even more nervous.” Katar put her hands on Miri’s shoulders and turned her away. “Go where I can’t see you.”
Miri found a seat with the girls. Esa held out her hand and squeezed Miri’s.
“I’d rather f
ace bandits,” Miri whispered.
The session opened with the singing of Danland’s anthem. The first verses told of giants fighting, the fall of their bodies pounding out Asland’s valley, their kicks pushing the trees together to make the forests. Miri did not believe it was real history, but she liked the idea of it. She had felt part of a giant once, on the docks protesting the oil tribute. Any group united creates a giant, she thought. Could their little group actually reshape Danland?
The chief delegate acknowledged the king’s presence and introduced extremely boring laws for debate. An hour went by. Then two. In Miri’s mind anxiety warred against drowsiness. When would Katar speak?
Miri’s gaze wandered over the Commoner Gallery. No one she recognized, but all wore blue bands on their arms. Messengers were constantly coming and going, perhaps carrying news of the debate to the crowds outside and returning with messages they whispered in ears.
The building was full of nobles and court members, not to mention the king, queen, and prince.
Drowsiness drained out of Miri with a chill that washed from her head through her legs.
“What if they mean to attack here today?” she whispered to Esa.
The royal guard had searched commoners for weapons before allowing them into the Delegate House, but there were enough commoners outside to qualify as an army.
“Speak to the guards,” Esa whispered back.
Miri nodded. She was making her way out of the Noble Gallery when she heard Katar’s voice pierce the dome of the chamber.
“Mount Eskel wishes to speak.”
The chief delegate acknowledged her.
Miri froze where she was, her body iced with anticipation.
Katar walked around the table while speaking on the need for change, handing each delegate a copy of the charter. When she passed one up to the king, Miri could see her hand shook. But her voice was steady.
When she returned to her seat, the delegates and the king were absorbed in reading the charter. Katar opened her mouth, then shut it. She handed extra copies into the galleries and then stood, waiting for them to finish, her heels quietly bouncing. Whispers noised around the hall like the flap of bats.
