Palace of Stone (17 page)

The conductor announced the final number of the night, “Rose of Asland,” and as the music began, panic charged into Miri’s throat. She took Peder’s hand and pulled him onto the floor.

“Come on, quick. We have to dance.”

“Why?”

Because she had looked into Timon’s eyes and felt wonderful in his arms. Because it was the bridal ball, and what if the old wives’ tale was true after all? Because she had made a thousand wishes on a thousand miri flowers that she and Peder would one day hold hands as they entered the carved chapel doors on Mount Eskel and stand together under the stone lintel to swear devotion, and hear the cheers of their families and friends and receive gifts of goat kids and blankets and a wooden chair to put in their own little stone house.

But she had danced with Timon at the bridal ball, and the world was spinning so fast she did not know where her feet stood or where her heart lodged. Perhaps it would be her last dance with the love of her childhood, or perhaps it would be her first ball with the boy she would marry. Either way, she needed to dance.

But all she said to Peder was, “Please.”

He took her hands. And they danced.

It was a simple dance to follow. All the dancers spun in a wide circle around the floor, the pace gallop-quick, the exercise jovial and breathless.

Peder’s arms did not hold her as securely as Timon’s had. She did not float, did not feel wings on her back. Peder’s turns were sharper, and he looked more at his feet than into her eyes. They barely made it around the room one time before the other couples went zooming past. Was everyone staring? Did they look like the most backward, ham-fisted, lame-footed, provincial dancers Asland had ever witnessed? Miri felt tired and embarrassed, and she almost groaned. But as the groan rose up in her chest, she decided to turn it into a laugh. And when she laughed, Peder laughed.

They danced a little faster, and laughed a little louder, clomping their way over polished linder stones in the palace of the king.

Spring Week One

Dear Marda,

It is late. I danced at a ball tonight with two different partners. I still feel dizzy from spinning, and I suspect that feeling will not go away anytime soon.

Britta and Steffan danced, and it was as if he had chosen her all over again. Tomorrow is the chapel ceremony. I have failed Britta in ways I will tell you about one day. I do not think I can undo what I have done. But I can see her wed, at least. And I can be happy for her.

Miri

Chapter Fifteen

We stand up for the farmers

Who can’t keep enough to eat

We walk out for the workers

Who don’t know the taste of meat

We run forward for the children

With no shoes upon their feet

We will march this kingdom down

We will break the golden crown

The next morning, the sun seemed a little closer, the air almost mountain-fresh after a night rain. Spring pulsed green and golden. The palace courtyard filled with the courtiers and ladies of the princess, their clothing fine though more subdued than their ball attire, and their eyes showing evidence of a late night dancing.

“Brutally early,” muttered a man with a green-feathered cap and heavy fur coat. Liana was on his arm.

“
Must
the chapel ceremony take place the
very
morning after the ball?” she said. Miri had not realized that Eskelites spoke with an accent until she noticed how much Liana sounded like an Aslandian. Miri wondered if Liana had practiced long to work the accents of home off her tongue.

Liana would marry this noble, so whispered Bena. If she returned to Mount Eskel, it would be to visit, not stay. Such a future was possible—for Liana at least. And for Miri?

The murmuring stopped when Britta and the royal family emerged. Everyone curtsied or bowed. Britta wore a white dress, tight in the waist, lace over silk that spilled to the ground. Her head was wreathed in daffodils, her cheeks reddish-purple. She did not smile.

Just nerves?
Miri wondered.
Or is Britta having second thoughts?
Perhaps Steffan’s aloofness had finally worn her out and she would not go through with the ceremony. Some part of Miri hoped that were true. Changing Danland would be less complicated if Britta were not tangled up with royalty.

Courtiers began climbing into the carriages, hiding yawns behind hands. An official directed Miri, Katar, and the other Mount Eskel girls to the front carriage. Britta came toward them, running as if she feared she were late. Her slippers fell off. She paused to put them back on, and an official directed her to a nearer carriage.

The caravan began at a leisurely pace through the quiet streets.

“What is wrong with this city?” said Katar. “The chapel ceremony isn’t open to the people like the presentation on the Green, but still, it’s been over twenty years since the last royal marriage.”

“You’d expect people lining the route of the procession,” said Esa.

“Exactly,” said Katar. “I know many are angry that Britta isn’t an Eskelite, but she’s still the prince’s choice. Besides, I like her.”

“You like someone?” said Miri. “That
is
saying something.”

Katar yawned hugely, as if to show how little she cared about Miri’s jest.

They turned a corner, and Miri could hear singing. At first she thought it some Aslandian celebration song, but then she recognized the tune and the words:
We will march this kingdom down, we will break the golden crown.

It was “The Shoeless March.” Perhaps her Salon friends were in the crowd. Miri looked out the window. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people surrounded the chapel and spilled into the street. They were not waving handkerchiefs and cheering. They were forming a barricade. As the carriages neared, yelling replaced the singing.

Katar leaned out the window and cried, “Don’t stop!” at the driver, who was already whipping the horses faster.

The mob rushed forward, pushing at the carriages, their faces twisted with anger.

“… not
our
princess!” Miri heard one man shout as he hurled himself at their carriage door.

“Well, I’m not your princess either!” Frid yelled back. He yanked at the door, but she shook it until the man fell off.

The carriages crawled on, tilting and jolting as people banged on the doors and threw stones. Miri gripped the seat. They hit something, and with a bounce Miri and the girls fell onto the floor of the carriage, knocking heads. A moment later there was a cracking sound, so loud Miri’s ears buzzed. The glass pane of the carriage window was fractured, a neat hole in the middle. Miri started to get up, but Katar pulled her back down.

“They’ve got muskets, Miri. They’re firing at us!”

Miri could not have stood up then if she wanted to. Her legs felt wooden, her feet useless.

“Why us?” she asked.

“Maybe they think Britta’s in here?” said Katar.

Until that moment, Miri had not believed, could not have imagined, that the people who yearned for change in Danland also wanted Britta dead.

The air stung with another shot, but the horses were running now. Miri could hear the carriage straining against the motion, wood creaking, nails pulling. She put her arms over her head and waited for whatever was happening to be over. She hated waiting. She wished for a mallet or a hammer, a needle and thread, a pen and paper—something she could
do
.

She did not look out again until the carriage stopped. Through the cracked glass she recognized the palace courtyard and leaped free, her legs shaking under her as if solid ground were still a carriage in motion, the whole world on the run.

The rest of the caravan was pulling in, with clatters and shouts and the brays of worried horses.

Britta spilled out of a carriage, her feet lost in her long skirts. She started toward Steffan, who looked equally dazed, but members of the royal guard surrounded her and led her away. Beside tall and striking Gummonth dressed in brilliant green, the king looked pale and weak. Miri had no trouble imagining him as a small prince locked all day in a closet.

“They should be hanged for this!” Gummonth was shouting.

“Now is not the time for aggression,” said another official. “You need to placate the people, sire, console them, promise them peace and prosperity.”

“Are you insane?” said Gummonth. “Now is
precisely
the time for aggression. I warned you, sire, if you did not punish the provinces after their insolence at the gift giving, the people would think you weak, easy to topple.”

“You did, Gummonth,” said the king. His hands shook as he pointed. “You warned me.”

“Sire, you must act swiftly and decidedly,” said Gummonth. “Round up as many protesters as you can, and have a public execution on the Green as a warning to others. You will prove to them that you are the king. If we show any weakness, they will attack again.”

“That’s right,” said the king. “The people
must
recognize the absolute power of the crown. They
will
fear me.”

“Please, Your Majesty,” Miri said. “I think the other official was right. If we—”

“You may not speak,” Gummonth interrupted her. “The king has not asked you to speak.”

“But I know some of those people, and if you want peace—”

“You
know
them?” said Gummonth. “You sneaky little Eskelite rat. You’re a part of this!”

“No! Well, I … I mean …”

“Get her out of my palace,” said the king. “Out!”

Miri was scarcely aware of anything but hands on her arms. Two soldiers pulled her so quickly she managed to take only a step or two of her own on the way to the courtyard gate. The gatekeeper unlocked it, and the guards pushed Miri out. By the time she turned around, they had locked the gate against her.

She peered through the bars. The group was going into the palace, and Esa and Frid looked back.

Miri hurried into the street. She did not want them to speak up for her or do anything that would get them in trouble. Miri felt she deserved this, and worse too.

She wished for wings to take her back to her mountain. No wings appeared. So she walked. At first headed for Peder, she changed her mind.

She had never been to Sisela’s house by daylight. The facade was painted the same red as the brick of the Queen’s Castle. Patches were flaking off, revealing gray wood beneath. The crocuses and daffodils in the front garden were weedy and sparse, springing up defiantly.

Miri knocked at the door. Sisela herself answered.

“Oh! Hello. My … servants are off this morning,” she mumbled, straightening her shawl and patting her uncombed curls. The black paint that outlined her eyes was smudged and made her look tired. “I wasn’t expecting …” She laughed lightly. “I must be a sight! Never mind, come in, sister, dear.”

Sisela led her into the Salon, the room lifeless without lamplight. She opened one of the drapes and let a slice of hard sunlight enter. Rather than bring color into the room, the high contrast made everything look black and white.

It felt odd to sit casually, just the two of them, in that formal and spacious chamber. Surely in a house that size there would be a smaller reception room?

Miri remembered something she had not thought of in weeks. The night soldiers had come, Miri and Timon fled through the house, dark room after dark room, each empty of furniture. Why would Sisela’s house be mostly vacant?

The lady reclined on her lounge in her house robe, the slab of sunlight illuminating her from knees to brow. She looked bloodless.

“I would offer you refreshment, but as I said, the servants …” She shrugged prettily.

“I read a lot about the king recently,” said Miri. “I can’t help thinking differently of him, knowing that he was once a little boy tormented by his big brother.”

“Sweyn tormented Bjorn? Yes, I can believe it. He still is just a poor little boy, isn’t he? I used to be a courtier, you know—a noble who lives at court—until I couldn’t bear to witness Bjorn, his queen, and their useless little lives any longer. I wonder if Bjorn realizes how close he is to losing his crown ….” Her voice quieted. “I wonder if he thinks about how different his life would be if he’d chosen me.”

There was an impatient knock at the front door. Miri sprang to her feet, remembering the officials and soldiers, but Timon entered.

“Sisi—”

“Timon, dear!” Sisela said. “First Miri calls unexpectedly, and now my lamb Timon. I am popular today.”

He squinted into the room. “Miri, are you all right? I heard that guns were fired at the royal carriages.”