Princess Academy (6 page)

But to get that house for her family, Miri would have to be the princess. She closed her eyes. The idea of marrying a lowlander still confused and frightened her. And what of Peder? No. She crushed that thought, not daring to hope that he could ever see her as anything but little Miri, his childhood friend.

She looked again at the painting. Before the academy, her only wish had been to work in the quarry alongside her pa. Now other possibilities were beginning to nudge and prod her.

What of the lowlands?

What of being a princess?

That night, Miri was still awake hours into the dark when she heard the distant crash of rockfalls. The quarry workers said a rockfall was the mountain strengthening itself against the attacks of the previous day. Her pa said her ma had thought it was the mountain itself shouting a midnight hello.

All her life, Miri had been awakened by such a noise. It almost always came at night, as though the mountain knew the quarry was empty and the shifting rocks would not crush anyone in their fall. It comforted Miri to hear the crash and moan and remember that she was still on her mountain. She was not ready to give up on the mountain completely, not ready to give up on her pa.

Seeing the painting had let her believe that she
could
leave the mountain, that she might even desire to. The threat of departure made home feel very dear. She wanted to speak back to the mountain, send some greeting in a childish hope that it would hear her and accept her as one of its own.

She splayed her hand on a floorstone and tapped a rhythm with her fingertips. She wished she could shout it out; she wished the mountain really could understand. “She’s as lovely as a girl with flowers in her hair,” Miri sang in a whisper. “She’s as bright as a spring sun drying rain from the air.”

It was an ode to Mount Eskel sung at spring holiday, and singing it now wrapped her in memories of the good moments on her mountain. She sang inside, inventing her own song about the tender warmth of a spring breeze, night bonfires, miri chains dangling from her neck, brushing Peder’s fingers as she turned in the dance, the heat from the fires that made her feel snuggled against the mountain’s chest.

The gray-and-black shadows in the bedchamber shivered, and a sensation entered her as if she had hummed deep in her throat. Quarry-speech. Miri groaned to herself.
Why doesn’t it work all the time?
she thought. Another rockfall resounded in the distance, and Miri imagined the mountain was laughing at her. She smiled and nestled deeper into her pallet.

“I’ll figure you out,” she whispered. “You’ll see.”

n

Chapter Eight

My toes are colder than my feet

My feet are colder than my ribs

My ribs are colder than my breath

My breath is colder than my lips

And my lips are purple and blue, purple and blue

n

M
iri woke shivering, and she hopped around as she did her chores, trying to warm her toes. In a mountain winter, the iciness often eased after snow fell, but for the past week the skies had been clear. And a glance out the window told the girls no relief from the cold would come today—clouds heavy with unshed snow slumped onto the mountain, burying everything in wet fog.

Everyone groaned and complained, and Miri knew she should be miserable, too, but instead she felt wrapped up and hidden, a bright secret in a magpie’s nest. She stared at the white nothingness outside the classroom window, cozy with her discovery of quarry-speech and anxious to understand it more. She pulled her thoughts back to hear Olana announce that their studies were about to change.

For nearly three months the focus had been on reading, but now Olana introduced other subjects: Danlander History, Commerce, Geography, and Kings and Queens, as well as princess-forming subjects such as Diplomacy, Conversation, and the one that made Miri want to roll her eyes—Poise. Well, she would do it if it meant she could stop Olana’s insults and prove that a mountain girl had as many brains as any lowlander.

Her eyes flicked to the painting, and her desires plunged and stumbled inside her. She wanted to give her family that house, yet she did not want to marry a lowlander. She longed to see some of the world they were learning about and find in it a place of her own, yet she was afraid to give up her mountain. No solution she could imagine would make everything just right.

During their lessons on Poise, the girls took off their boots and balanced them on their heads. They walked in circles. They learned how to walk quickly (on toes, toes kept behind the hem of the skirt, fluid, arms slightly bent) and slowly (toe to heel, toe to heel, hands resting on skirt). They learned a deep curtsy for a prince, and as Miri bent her leg and bowed her head, she first believed that she would actually meet a prince. They practiced a shallow curtsy for a peer and understood that they were never to curtsy to a servant.

“Though in truth,” said Olana, “as you are not from one of the kingdom’s provinces, you would be considered less than a servant in any Danlander city.”

To Miri, studying Conversation was as ridiculous as learning Poise. They had all been able to talk since they were toddlers; what more was there to learn? But at least when studying Conversation, the girls were allowed to speak to one another, following the correct principles, of course.

Olana paired the girls and designated their rank. Miri was pleased to be matched up with Britta, even though Olana assigned Miri to be her lesser.

“You must know your rank and that of your interlocutor,” said Olana. Miri frowned and looked around. No one dared to interrupt and ask what “interlocutor” meant. “The person of lower rank always defers to the other. This is just for practice, of course, as there are few in the kingdom who would be considered of lower rank than any of you.”

Olana’s insults were like biting flies stinging her nose, and Miri felt ready to swat her. Britta bumped her with her elbow and smiled, as if guessing her thoughts.

“However, one of you will be elevated in rank next year,” said Olana, “so you all must practice against the possibility. Lessers should be certain of the name and rank of their betters. In correct conversation, you will use this often. You may begin.”

“All right, Lady Britta,” said Miri under the whir of conversation that filled the classroom.

Britta frowned. “You don’t need to call me that.”

“You’re my better,” said Miri, “so let’s make you a lady, my lady Britta.”

“All right, then, Miss Miri.”

“Oh,
Lady Britta
?” said Miri with a nasal tone she imagined rich people must use.

“Yes,
Miss Miri
?” Britta mimicked the same affect.

“I do hope all your lords and ladies are fat and happy, Lady Britta.”

“All fat, none happy, Miss Miri.”

“Indeed, my lady Britta? How lovely for you to go to court with a palace full of plump, bawling lords and ladies rolling down the corridors.”

“It is lovely,” said Britta with a laugh.

“You’re very pretty when you smile, Lady Britta. You should do it more.”

Britta smiled softer and ducked her head.

Olana interrupted the practice to croon on about Conversation, the importance of repeating the name and title, asking questions, and always bringing the conversation around to the other person.

“Never offer any information about yourself,” said Olana. “Not only for courtesy, but also to protect your secrets, should you have any, which I doubt. For example, suppose you are at a ball and you’re feeling very warm. Can anyone tell me how to make this observation to the prince without talking about yourself?”

Katar’s hand shot up. Olana called on her.

“It seems to be quite stuffy in here. Are you feeling warm, Your Highness?”

“Nicely done,” said Olana.

Miri frowned at Katar and her smug little grin. Olana asked what one could say if the prince asked you how you were feeling. Miri raised her hand as fast as she could.

“Um, I’ve been eager to meet you, Your Highness. How was your journey?”

Olana raised one brow. “That might be all right, if without the ‘um.’”

Katar smirked at Miri.

“Stupid Conversation,” Miri said to Britta when they returned to individual conversations. “Learning to read was good, but this stuff is silly. I’d rather be cleaning pots.”

Britta shrugged. “I guess it’s important, but I don’t really like talking about betters and lessers and all. This is just good manners. It seems to me that if you want to make a good impression, you should treat people as your betters, whether Olana thinks they are or not.”

“You’re not dull in the head after all,” said Miri. “Why do you pretend to be?”

Britta gaped, looking both affronted and embarrassed. “I don’t pretend anything, and I am . . . I mean, I’m just . . .”

“You could read all along, couldn’t you?” Miri whispered.

Britta seemed to consider denying it, then shrugged. “I didn’t want to be the only one who could read and let Olana put me up as an example against everyone else. I was having a hard enough time . . . with people up here.”

“Britta, I’m sorry, I didn’t . . .”

Britta nodded. “I know. I’ve heard how the traders talk. I see how Olana treats you. Of course you would think all lowlanders are the same. But Miri, I don’t think like them. I don’t.”

The next morning, Olana introduced the rules for diplomatic negotiations, starting with
State the problem
and ending with
Invite mutual acceptance
, then rushed through the long list of general principles of Diplomacy.

“Tell the truth as plainly as possible,” Olana read from a book. Her usually loose voice was forced, as if she were embarrassed to be teaching principles she herself did not follow. “Listen carefully to your allies and enemies to know their minds. The best solutions don’t come through force. Acknowledge your faults and declare your plan to amend them.”

Miri did her best imitation of Olana’s twitching lips. Britta smiled behind her hand.

“Now then, let’s look briefly at Commerce,” said Olana, “just enough to keep you from embarrassing yourselves too horribly in front of the prince.”

Once the lesson began, Miri had to consider if mountain folk might actually be duller than lowlanders. She thought Commerce was just a fancy word for how they traded linder for other goods, but Olana blathered about supply and demand, markets, merchants, and commodities. It was as if she made it all sound more complicated than it was just to make the girls feel stupid. At least, Miri hoped that was the case.

At the next break, Miri opened the book on Commerce to see if she could puzzle it out. After five minutes and the beginnings of a frustration headache, she slammed the book closed. Perhaps her head was worn from constantly trying to reason out how quarry-speech worked, or perhaps she just was not smart enough.

Through the window she could see Frid throwing snowballs for distance and Esa laughing at something sixteen-year-old Tonna had said. Even Katar was outside today, sitting on the steps and sunning her face. The snow measured up to Miri’s waist in the swells. High winter.

The rabbit coats would be thickest now, and that meant slaughter time. It was a small celebration to have fresh meat for the stew and fur for a new hat or mitts. Miri hated the chore, but she did it every year to spare Marda, who wept to see any creature die. Miri wondered if Marda would steel herself to do the killing this year or if Pa would think to take care of it some evening.

Miri’s eyes went to the painting of the house. Wishing to leave her mountain felt like giving up on her pa, and she could not bear to do that. But with that house, she could keep her family close and still travel to new places and learn new things. And if she won, Marda would never have to kill a rabbit and wash off the blood in a snowdrift. Pa would never have to add more water to the gruel to get them through a late-winter dinner. They could sit in the shade of their large house and sip sweet drinks, learn to play lowlander instruments, and stare at the flowers.

Mount Eskel’s scattered trees and dull grasses could not stand up to the lowland’s gardens. It made Miri wonder if rumors were true that the lowlanders had a gift for making things grow.

Knut entered the classroom and stopped short when he saw Miri. “I thought you were all outside. I just came to clean.”

“Hello, Knut,” she said. He did not respond or even nod, and that made her laugh. “Are you forbidden to talk out of turn, just like us?”

Knut smiled then, and his short beard stuck out even more. “More or less. But I don’t think she’ll put me in the closet for saying hello.”

“I promise not to tell. Knut, have you ever seen the house in this painting?”

“What, the princess house? No, I don’t believe so, though there’re plenty of the like down in Asland and the other big cities. Pretty garden that one has. My father was a gardener for such a place most of his life.”

“You mean all he did all day was work in a garden?”

“Yes. Leastways that was his profession. He also liked to play a fluty instrument called a jop in the evenings and take me and my sister fishing on rest days.”

“Hmm.” Miri tried to imagine the kind of life where fishing was a holiday game instead of a way to get food. “Not many gardens here.”

Knut rubbed the gray in his beard. “Not many? I’d say not a one.”

Miri felt her face go hot, and she was trying to think of something to say in defense of her mountain when Knut turned his smile to the window and said, “Not that you need them for scenery with these mountaintops taking your breath away.”

And immediately Miri decided that Knut was the best sort of person. She asked him about gardens and the lowlands, heard about farms that stretched so far you had to ride a fast pony to get from one end to the other before noon, and the fancy gardens the rich had, full of plants just to look at instead of to eat. He taught her the names of several flowers and trees in the painting.

“My name is Miri, like the pink flower that grows around linder beds. Do you have miri flowers in the lowlands?”

“No, I think miri must be a mountain flower.”

He startled at a sound from outside. “I should go.” He looked out the door and around, as if checking to see if Olana were nearby, then leaned toward Miri and whispered, “I don’t like the way she treats you. It should change.” He gestured to the book in her hands. “Keep reading that one, Miri, and you won’t be sorry.”

So Miri sighed, sat down, and reopened
Danlander Commerce
. Even Olana’s obscure lecture had been easier to understand. Olana had said that Commerce was the trading of one thing of value for another thing of value. The only thing of value on the mountain was linder, so Miri thumbed through the book, scanning for any mention of it. She found a passage in a chapter titled “Danlander Commodities.”

n

Of all the building stones, linder is most favored. It is hard enough to hold up great palaces and never crack, yet light enough to haul long distances. It is highly polishable, and linder one thousand years laid still gleams like new silver. Chapels must be made of wood, but a palace requires linder. In Danland, the only known beds of linder are found on Mount Eskel.

n

Miri brushed her fingertips over the passage. She had not known that linder was so rare. “That makes Mount Eskel important, even to lowlanders.” She had always wished it so, and here was proof.

Olana had talked of supply and demand—if there was not much of a product available and demand was high, then that product would increase in value. It seemed to Miri that if linder was found only on Mount Eskel and yet prized enough to be used for palaces, then its value must be quite high. But how high? Near the back of the book she found a list.