The Kingdom of Back

by Marie Lu

  What had he done to it? The blank page seemed unremarkable. Yet the longer I stared, the more I felt it staring back at me, as if the princeling had touched his fingers to the paper and soaked his otherworldly being into the fibers. He was watching me, waiting.

  Tell me what you want, he had said.

  So I began to write.

  The room was silent, save for the scratching of quill against parchment and the roar of the music in my mind. The strokes of my ink shook slightly against the page, but I forced myself to steady. The palms of my hands turned clammy with sweat. It wouldn’t be long before I would hear someone coming back up the steps to our room.

  But I couldn’t stop. A wild joy rushed underneath my blanket of fear. This moment was fleeting—and mine.

  The melody from the carriage path looked back at me from the paper, suddenly made into reality. I continued, writing as quickly and quietly as I could, nurturing the little tune, knowing that at any moment I would hear someone coming back up the steps to our room. When I finally put the quill down and ran my finger across the page to see if the ink had dried, I noticed how warm the paper felt. My breaths came shallow and rapid.

  I hurriedly replaced the quill, then closed my notebook carefully so that it would not flip open to my page. My heart beat wildly at the thrill of this secret. The air, the light, something shifted in the room. It was as if the princeling were watching me through the paper that connected us.

  I had never disobeyed my father before. From now on, there would forever be my life before this moment, and my life after.

  By the time Mama came back upstairs with Woferl, I had returned to my usual lessons. They listened to me play for a while. From the corner of my eye, I could see Woferl’s large grin, as if he could not contain his joy, and my mother’s face, a calm canvas, even as she smiled and nodded along to my playing. On the floor beside her, Woferl fidgeted as he hunched over his papers, scribbling.

  I felt as if he already knew about my secret, that he would jump up at any moment, flip through my notebook’s blank pages, and expose my little tune to the light. I could hear his familiar laugh in my head. But he remained beside my mother. I continued to play. Long moments passed.

  Finally, when I finished and Woferl took his turn at the clavier, Papa returned home with a rumpled powdered wig and a whirlwind of words, hardly able to contain his excitement. “Anna,” he said breathlessly, gesturing to my mother. I looked up from where I sat on my bed. Only my brother continued to play, as if lost to his surroundings.

  Mama laughed. “You look flustered, Leopold.”

  “Word has spread throughout the city,” Papa replied. I could not remember his eyes ever looking so reflective. “On the streets, in the palace square. Everyone wants to hear more about our arrival. They call the children miracles. We are being talked about everywhere.”

  Woferl and I exchanged a quick look. Mama clapped her hands together in pleasure.

  “The sentries tell me that the empress has taken ill,” he continued, then quickly added, “Just a cold, nothing to fret over! Woferl and Nannerl are to play for them in three days, at the Schönbrunn Palace, at noon.”

  And so our first performance was decided. Woferl looked up from his writing and announced that he would name his concerto after the empress. I thought of my secret page and waited for my father to look at me and see it imprinted in my gaze.

  What have you been up to, Nannerl? he would ask.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he went on about the court’s excitement over our concert, the reactions of those in the streets. His eyes crinkled with pleasure. I stayed where I was and watched the way he took Mama’s hands in his. He did not know. My secret hummed in the back of my throat.

  Somewhere in the air, unseen, Hyacinth watched me and smiled in approval.

  I knew that he had heard it. And I wondered what he would do next.

  * * *

  Mama woke both of us early the next morning. I startled out of a dream of wandering down a dark path through the upside-down trees. Woferl sat up in bed and rubbed sleep from his eyes. Through a crack in our window, I could already hear the bustling sounds of Vienna’s streets waking to greet the day.

  “Hurry now, children,” she said, patting both our cheeks and giving us a wink. “You need to look the part you will play.”

  We ate a quick breakfast of cold meats and poppy seed bread, and then I put on my white cap and left the inn with Mama, Papa, and Woferl. Compared with Salzburg, the streets looked wider here and paved with newer cobblestones. It was still early, and the wet air bit my cheeks with its chill. I could smell the honey and wheat from the bakeries. Ottoman merchants in layered coats and shining sashes gathered near the Fleischmarkt’s coffeehouse, conversing with one another in Turkish. Men hawked walnuts and colorful ribbons at intersections.

  I held Woferl’s hand. Papa walked on my brother’s other side, distracted by the sights, and when he walked too fast, I picked up my skirts and hurried along behind him. To the Viennese, it must have been obvious that we did not live here. I looked nervously away from several curious passersby. It seemed like a long time before we finally arrived at the tailor and dressmaker shop, adorned with a sign that said DAS FEINE BENEHMEN.

  “Welcome, welcome,” said the man that opened the door for us. He blinked blue eyes at my father. “May I ask your name, Herr?”

  I glanced behind him at the shop. It was very tidy, lined with elaborate caps and leather shoes on models, stays and stomachers trimmed with braided silk, rolls and rolls of fabrics in all colors and patterns, petticoats and gowns with beautiful embroidery. In one corner stood a full mantua gown cut in the latest fashion, made out of an elaborately patterned yellow silk that sloped elegantly at the hips. I found myself admiring its repeating floral images, the way it bunched in and then straight at the back. It was the kind of dress one wore before royalty. What I would wear soon enough.

  Papa shook the man’s hand. “Herr Leopold Mozart.” He bowed his head slightly. I caught a glimpse of my father’s eyes—and saw a hint of pleasure coiled within them. He was waiting for the tailor to recognize his name.

  To Papa’s satisfaction, the man’s grin widened. “Ah, Herr Mozart of Salzburg!” he exclaimed, taking my father’s hand with both of his. “I’ve heard a great deal about your arrival to our city, friend. Your children are to perform at the palace soon, yes?”

  When Papa nodded, the tailor’s eyes turned round. I watched him carefully. More and more, he reminded me of Hyacinth—a hint of blue in his skin whenever he turned; a slight slant of his eyes, a trick of the light; a flash of his bright teeth. I wondered if he had leapt into the body of a man in order to prepare us for our debut. His eyes darted between Woferl and me. “Rest assured, children, that you will leave here looking like royalty.” The man’s smile had grown so large by now that I thought it might fall from his face.

  “Thank you, sir,” Papa replied. “Spare no expense. I want them at their best.”

  I glanced quickly at our father. Mama would scold him for this later, if he ever revealed how much he was willing to spend on our clothes. Already, I could imagine her arms crossed and her lips tight.

  The man bowed. “Let me fetch several others. We will begin straightaway.” With that, he hurried off. Woferl made a move to dart after him, but I grabbed my brother’s arm and spoke sharply. I did not want Papa to think I could not mind him.

  The man soon returned with his help. Two dressmakers, one clothier, and one assistant. They approached me with a new garment and I held my arms up so that they could pull the stay tightly around my waist, the inner boning pressing against my ribs. The gown itself was made from deep blue satin, smooth and soft and cold to the touch, open in front to reveal the creamy layers of petticoats buried underneath. The collar was high, concealing the skin of my clavicle and throat. One of my hands stayed pressed against my blue pendant, deep in m
y petticoat’s pocket.

  I stared at my reflection as the dressmakers and clothier worked, my eyes locked on the mirror standing before us. My cheeks looked flushed from the cold streets.

  Nearby, I could see my brother wriggling throughout his own fitting. At one point, he hopped down from his dais and ran to our father to hold up his shining cuff links, forcing his clothier to hurry after him. I looked on in silence, unable to mind him. The rigid structure of my dress dug into me, holding me back. Even if I wanted, I could not move my arms as freely as Woferl could.

  Would this be how I performed before royalty? Barely able to move?

  When they finished, Papa guided me to the nearby wig shop and parlor. There, the wigmakers pulled my hair back and away from my face, fitting me with a curled wig that piled high on my head and then tumbled down my shoulders in a cascade. They patted the hair with white powder until the fine dust floated in the air around us. I wrinkled my nose at its stale scent. The weight of it made me keep my head and neck at a strict, straight angle. I tried to puzzle out how to lean into my music as I played while wearing such a thing.

  Noon approached, and finally we finished our fittings. As we thanked the clothier and made our way out, I cast one final glance over my shoulder. The tailor smiled back, his tall figure cutting a long shadow on the floor. His teeth were very white, his eyes so blue they seemed to glow.

  “I’ll see you soon, Nannerl,” he said. I looked at my father for his reaction, but he did not seem to notice. Only Woferl tightened his hand in mine. I tried to remind myself that this must be part of Hyacinth’s plan. In order for me to perform, I must first look the part.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur of practice, as did the next.

  I could not sleep the night before our performance. Instead, I stared at the ceiling in silence, drowning in thoughts. My glass pendant lay tucked underneath my pillow, so that I could feel its slight bump against the back of my head. I let myself take comfort in its presence. A reminder of my wish.

  “Nannerl?”

  I turned to look at my brother. His eyes blinked back at me in the darkness. I propped myself up on one elbow and smiled at him. “You should rest,” I whispered.

  “So should you,” he protested, “but you’re not.” He glanced over to where our father slept, afraid that he would stir.

  It had not occurred to me that Woferl might be nervous too. I reached over and took his hand in mine. I was small for my age, but his fingers were tiny even in my palm. “You have nothing to be afraid of,” I said gently. “All of Austria is excited to hear you. The emperor requested you personally. You will not disappoint.”

  Woferl closed his little fingers around one of mine. “I’m not afraid,” he said.

  I smiled again. “Then why are you awake?”

  Woferl scooted closer to me, buried his head in my pillow, and pointed toward the clavier. I followed his hand until my eyes rested on my notebook. It was closed.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “The notebook is singing,” he whispered. “I can’t sleep.”

  I turned my head quickly back to the clavier. We fell silent. I heard the sound of a late-night coach from the streets below, the whisper of wind, Papa’s gentle snore, a trickle of water from some mysterious place. I did not hear the music.

  “Are you sure?” I whispered to Woferl. “What do you mean?”

  He wrinkled his nose at me. “Nannerl!” he exclaimed in a quiet hiss. “It is singing right now—you can’t hear it? It is very loud.”

  It must be Hyacinth. He has done something to my notebook. He is here.

  I waited for a minute, forcing my breathing to stay even, until Woferl began to squirm. Then I swung my legs over the side of the bed, rested my feet on the floor, and slowly made my way to the clavier. Still I heard nothing. The floor numbed my feet. I took care not to tremble.

  I should be in bed, I thought. Our performance.

  When I had moved close enough, I picked my notebook off the clavier’s stand and clutched it to my chest. Gingerly, I made my way back to bed.

  Woferl sat up straighter, eager to see. “It keeps repeating the same lines,” he insisted. “Over and over and over.”

  My skin tingled. We both froze for an instant as Papa stirred. I kept my eyes on him until he turned away from us, and then I relaxed my shoulders. I opened the notebook quietly. “What does it sound like?” I whispered.

  Woferl hesitated for a moment. “Like this.” He hummed a few notes as softly as he could.

  I swallowed hard. My initial excitement, my sudden thoughts of the princeling, all vanished. Woferl must have discovered my secret composition, I thought, the little wisp of music I’d written down several days ago. I felt an abrupt rush of anger. “You’re making it up,” I whispered harshly. “The notebook is not singing at all. You are.”

  Woferl burst into a fit of giggles. He threw himself facedown into his pillow. I closed my notebook in disappointment and hid it inside our blankets. His quiet laughter stung. “This is my notebook, Woferl. You shouldn’t take what’s not yours. You aren’t going to tell Papa, are you?”

  His giggles died down. He looked at me solemnly. “Well, why are you hiding it? It’s beautiful.”

  His words were so serious, said so truthfully, that any anger I might have had flitted away. “Young ladies do not compose,” I told him.

  He shook his head. “Why?”

  I took his hands in mine and squeezed them once. How much and how little he understood of my life. “Please, Woferl, let it be our secret. Promise me you won’t tell anyone else.”

  It was Woferl’s turn to look upset. “But who will hear it, then?” he whispered, horrified. “You’re not going to let it stay there forever, are you?”

  “Yes, I am.” I gave him a firm look. “If you love me, then promise me.”

  Woferl stared at me for a long time. When he knew that he could not sway me with his defiance, he flopped back down in bed. “I do love you,” he declared grudgingly. “So I promise I will never tell.”

  I settled down into bed. We drifted into silence, but Woferl’s teasing brought back the undercurrent of fear, my muted excitement from when I wrote the music down. What was Hyacinth up to, coaxing me into this? God will punish me for hiding such a thing from Papa. It would mean that I was the kind of girl who disobeyed her father, who would go on to disobey other men—her husband—in her life. So many stories already circulated about us. What would this story become, if it began to spread?

  They would say that she was the kind of girl who did not listen. She was the kind of girl who had her own ideas.

  I pulled my blankets higher until they reached my chin, and then imagined the princeling turning his head this way and that, his bright eyes watching me from the other side of the room. I hoped he was.

  I clutched my notebook closer to my chest and stared, searching the darkness, until I drifted off to sleep with the image still branded in my thoughts.

  THE PRINCELING IN THE PALACE

  The next morning dawned with a flurry of activity.

  I forced myself to nibble on some bread while Woferl played with the cut meats on his plate. After our quick breakfast, we hurried to the tailor shop to collect our new clothes. I sucked in my breath as my mother helped me pull the boned corset of my new gown tight until I could barely breathe. When she finished, my waist tapered thin and straight in the mirror.

  Beside me, Woferl shrugged on his new coat and shoes. We looked less like the brother and sister who arrived to the shop huddled and whispering together, and more like the rumor of us that had been circulating the city. We looked like the Mozart children, musical prodigies. Fit to play for a king.

  By the time we arrived at the Schönbrunn Palace, I was trembling slightly from my nerves, and a cold sweat had dampened my hands. The palace stretched for what looked like miles in e
ach direction, white and gold, with countless rows of framed windows and stone pillars. A guard greeted us at the front of the courtyard. I walked carefully, so as not to ruin my new gown, but Woferl flitted in front of us like a restless bird, chatting with the guard, asking him his name and how long he’d worked at the palace, until Papa finally gave me a stern look and I hurried over to pull Woferl back to my side.

  We walked through halls of towering pillars and carved banisters, walls covered with sheets of gold. The ceilings were painted in every room, and in every room, I felt as if God were looking down at me, laying bare my secret page I’d written. I kept my head down and hurried forward. My leather shoes echoed on the marble, and I felt oddly embarrassed. My steps did not sound graceful. I reached for a moment into the pocket of my petticoat, where I’d stashed my pendant. My fingers found its smooth surface. I tried to let it reassure me.

  Finally, at the last doorway, we paused to let the guard walk ahead of us. He bowed to someone I could not see.

  “Your Majesty,” he said. “I present Herr Leopold Mozart and Frau Anna Maria Mozart, and their children, Herr Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Fräulein Maria Anna Mozart.”

  The first thing I saw when I entered the chamber was the clavier.

  Larger than ours in Salzburg and certainly larger than the one from the inn, it had white keys instead of dark and was covered in baroque art. It looked like the clavier I’d seen in the trinket shop, surrounded by a cavern of moss. The sight struck me so dumb that I nearly jumped when they announced my name.

  My eyes swept the room. The marble floor was decorated with thick rugs, and the half a dozen men who comprised the emperor’s council sat facing the clavier, with the emperor and empress themselves centered between them.

  The emperor sprang to his feet at the sight of us. “Ah! Herr Mozart! Frau Mozart!” he called out. Beside him, Empress Maria Theresa gave us a warm smile.

  “Your Majesties,” Papa said, bowing low to the ground. Of course he would do so, but the sight startled me—I had always seen my father with his head held high, the master of our household. It never occurred to me that he would behave differently in front of those with greater power.