Peder and Enrik shared the driver’s bench, huddled under smaller cloths.
“You’ll get soaked,” said Enrik. With his long nose and thin, stooped shoulders, he reminded Miri of a grumpy vulture.
“Already am.” At least the air was warmer in the lowlands.
Peder scooted over, and Miri squeezed beside him. He pulled half of his oiled cloth around her. Their legs touched.
The rain teased her hair, slithered through her clothes, and lay against her skin. But in the fresh air her stomach settled, so she hugged her arms and was glad at least to be looking out at the gray-blue world. She’d fantasized many times about her first glimpse of the capital. Her imagination had not planned on rain.
“I’m so nervous,” she whispered to Peder, her teeth chattering.
“You sound it,” Peder said.
“No, my jaw’s pounding because it misses the sound of quarry hammers.”
“Or else you’re cold and should get back under the larger cloth.”
“And deprive you of my company? I’m not so cruel.”
Until that year, no mountain villager had journeyed to the lowlands. But so much had changed since the priests divined that Mount Eskel was the home of the future princess. The court-appointed tutor had established a princess academy there to teach the rough mountain girls to read and to introduce them to other subjects each should know in case the prince chose her as his bride. But from the academy books, Miri and the other girls had learned much more, including how the village could sell linder for better prices.
Because of the higher profits, every daylight moment no longer needed to be spent working in the quarry, and Miri had started a village school for anyone who cared to learn. Mount Eskel had been elevated from a territory to a province of Danland, the graduates of the princess academy were named ladies of the princess, and suddenly the world beyond the mountain view was no longer a frightening mystery but a place Miri could visit or even inhabit.
The rain was softening into a fine drizzle. The low clouds lifted, sunlight melted the mist, and Miri saw that they were already in the middle of a city larger than any from her imagination.
Street after street, gardens and fountains, buildings like giants. The bench beneath Miri seemed to drop away, and she felt as if she were falling through the whole, huge world.
Peder pressed his shoulder against hers and opened his eyes wide. She widened her eyes at him and nodded back.
They crossed a bridge over a river. Houses six stories high crammed the banks, so tight they presented one great wall. Each house was painted a different color—blue, yellow, red, brown, green, rust, turquoise.
“Why is that farmland gray?” Miri asked. Downriver, the buildings stopped abruptly, bordering a huge empty plain.
Enrik laughed. “That’s the ocean.”
“The ocean?” The lowlander traders always went on as if the ocean were the most wondrous thing in the world and the Eskelites were fools for living so far from its glory. But it was just a flat, lifeless sky.
Poor Asland, with no mountains, she thought. They have to paint their houses to have something pretty to look at. They have to marvel over a boring ocean.
The bridge ended, and the wagon veered away from the river toward the center of town and a white stone palace in a sea of green park.
“Linder,” Miri whispered. “It must have taken a hundred years to quarry all that.”
The other girls were sitting up on their knees and watching the approach.
“It’s so big,” said Frid.
“So are you,” said Miri. It was true—Frid was dwarfed only by her mother and six big brothers. “And if it came to a fight, I’d pick you over the palace.”
Frid laughed. “What’s it going to do, fall on me?”
“It’s like a huge piece of Mount Eskel,” said Esa, Peder’s sister.
“Then we should feel right at home,” said Miri, trying to give herself courage.
The wagons entered the palace grounds around the side through a gate that opened into a large courtyard.
“The entire village and quarry could fit inside here,” said Peder.
“Indeed,” said Enrik. “Perhaps next the king will make this courtyard a province.”
“Very funny,” Miri said, reaching out to knock Enrik’s hat over his eyes.
An orange-haired girl left a crowd of people and ran at their wagons. Katar stood taller than Miri remembered, regal even. Miri recalled the “dangerous” matter of Katar’s letter and looked for a sign that they were not too late.
“Did you bring a gift for the king?” Katar said, skipping over greetings. Peder hopped into the wagon that contained the mantelpiece and removed the cloth.
Katar nodded. “It’s something at least.”
“It’s beautiful,” Miri said, nudging Katar with her tone of voice.
Katar blinked, looking at Miri, then Peder. “Oh. Right. It’s beautiful.”
“How has it been for you here, Katar?” Peder asked.
“They all hate us, of course. What would you expect?” Then she whispered in Miri’s ear. “I need to talk to you alone, as soon as we can.”
Miri nodded. The sun had steamed much of the rain from her clothes, but she shivered with new cold.
“I would have liked you here yesterday but at least it’s not tomorrow,” Katar said. “You’ll have to get settled later. It’s time for the gift giving. Mount Eskel goes first, since we’re the newest province.”
The king had come out of the palace and was standing on a dais built in the courtyard. Around him stood what Miri assumed were his guards and family. She recognized Prince Steffan alongside yellow-haired, redcheeked Britta. Miri jumped up and down, waving, and Britta happily waved back. Katar glared at Miri to behave. She directed the wagon driver to follow her across the courtyard.
“Your Royal Majesty,” said Katar, bowing to the dais. “The people of Mount Eskel, in honor of your noble reign, offer our harvest gift.”
The king glanced into the wagon without leaning forward. “My first gift from my favorite mountain. The crown gives thanks.” He lifted his hand in dismissal, and the wagon drove on.
Peder’s hopeful expression stuck to his face, as if he were afraid any change would show his hurt. Three months he had slaved over that stone. It was the greatest treasure Mount Eskel could offer the king, and yet it was worth no more to him than a moment’s glance.
Miri put her hand on Peder’s shoulder. His muscles were stiff.
No doubt the rest of the provinces would offer impressive gifts and grand displays of wealth. Miri readied herself to feel humiliated once again for being from poor, lowly Mount Eskel.
A white-haired man spoke to the king.
“He’s the delegate from Elsby,” Katar whispered as she rejoined Miri. “Full of mines.”
“In years past,” the delegate was saying, “we have honored you with but a handful of gems. In thanks for your kind attention this year—and for the many tributes you’ve requested from us—Elsby wishes to honor Your Royal Majesty with the greater portion of our excavations.”
He pulled the tarp off a wagon and revealed a heap of loose gravel. There was a quiet gasp from the dais.
“What’s happening?” Miri whispered.
Katar’s mouth hung open. “That’s probably the dirt that they dig the gems out of. I don’t understand ….”
Next, the delegate from Hindrick approached the dais with a dozen others, each carrying a sack in his arms.
“Your Majesty, you have been much on our minds, given the tributes you so often request. In the past we’ve sent you bushels of culled grain while always keeping to ourselves a substance our workers sweat and bleed to produce. Even now, great king, twelve wagons heaped with golden dross arrive at your granary.” With a flourish, the delegate and his men upended their bags, and dusty bits drifted onto the king’s boots.
“Dross?” asked Miri.
“After the grain is removed from the wheat stalk
, dross is what’s left over,” Katar whispered. “Good for nothing but stuffing itchy mattresses.”
The king was on his feet. He whispered furiously with an impressive-looking man dressed in green with black sashes across his chest. Katar said he was Gummonth, the king’s chief official.
“Have any of you come with an honest gift?” Gummonth asked.
The remaining thirteen delegates were waiting their turn. Miri saw one holding a jug of water; another was in a wagon stacked with cattle bones. Some seemed uneasy while others stared back with defiant smiles.
A delegate with a jar of worms answered the king.
“Of course normally we would present our beloved monarch with our very best silks,” he said. “But the tributes this year—”
“His Majesty has suffered enough of this farce,” said Gummonth.
The king started down the dais steps, royal guards gathering around him.
Katar was shaking her head. “I was so determined we wouldn’t stick out as the ignorant poor folk. And yet we did anyway. The other delegates planned this, and they excluded me.”
Miri did not completely understand what was going on, but she could see the confused alarm on Britta’s face as she and Steffan followed the king.
A man in fine red clothing approached the royal party.
“One last gift, Your Majesty,” said the man. His trousers hit above his ankles and his jacket above his wrists, as if he’d borrowed the clothes from a smaller man.
“Is that one of the delegates?” Miri asked.
Katar shook her head.
“Which province do you represent?” asked Gummonth.
The man said, “The shoeless!” and pulled something out of his jacket.
Miri had never seen a pistol before and did not know until later that the loud crack and sizzling light came from the spark of gunpowder shooting a lead ball down its barrel and toward the king’s chest. But the king’s guards knew, and as soon as the man pulled it out, the guards were in motion. One jumped at the king, pulling him down. Others leaped between him and the man in red, while several more shot their long-barreled muskets. A volley of pops scratched the air with smoke and lashed Miri’s ears.
When the smoke cleared, several people lay on the ground. All but two stood up again—the guard who had thrown himself into the bullet’s path, and the shooter, downed by the guards’ muskets.
Miri seemed to see it all from far away, and she felt rather than heard herself scream.
Chapter Three
A queen there was in a palace of bread
Sing blue, sing white, stay up all night
She nibbled the walls and gobbled her bed
Sing white, sing blue, sing ballyhoo
The folk begged crumbs from their robust queen
Sing blue, sing white, she ate all night
She shared not a thing until it turned green
So white, so blue, the mold it grew
Miri was not the only one who screamed.
Guards massed around the royal party, pushing them into the palace. The crowd that had gathered for the gift giving was running for the gate. The courtyard felt like a cage.
“Inside!” said Katar.
The Eskelites followed Katar across flagstones toward a palace entrance, skirting wide the two bodies on the ground.
A group of guards blocked the doorway, their expressions a study in menace. Katar explained that she was a delegate and the girls were all ladies of the princess, but the guards held tight to their spears.
Britta came from inside. She looked darker, her hair no longer touched by sunlight. Her cheeks, often mottled, flushed a deeper red.
“Yes, let them pass, please,” Britta said, and at last the guards budged.
Tension filled the palace like smoke from a stopped-up chimney. When Miri had pictured her reunion with her best friend, she’d never imagined gunshots and bodies. Britta signaled Miri, Peder, and the rest of the girls to follow her down a corridor and into a large room. She shut the door and locked it.
Miri could no longer hear the clamor and calls from outside. Peder was beside her, their arms touching. Britta shut her eyes. Gerti, the youngest of the girls, was visibly trembling. Miri guessed that none of them was ready yet to talk about what had just happened.
She cleared her throat. “So, is this where we’ll be staying?”
Gerti took a breath and looked around, seeming relieved to have a distraction.
The room reminded Miri of how they had slept at the princess academy, all the girls in one open chamber. But that chamber had been bare. This one had carpets on the floor, mattresses on wood frames, and curtains hung from the ceiling so each girl could dress and sleep in privacy. The fabrics were colorful, patterned in florals, stripes, and swirls. Miri supposed it was meant to be beautiful, but she found it jarring.
“Yes, this will be home for the next year,” said Britta. “Please try not to worry. I’m sure we’re safe in here. The guards will take care of everything. Is this all of you? We won’t need as many beds then. My room is just across the hall.”
“We will live in the actual palace?” said Liana. Her dark eyes were wide, taking in the scene with pleasure.
“I thought the palace was made of linder,” Gerti said, brushing the cream limestone wall with her fingertips. Her father was head of the village council and built like a bear, but his daughter was more of a bird—thin, fair, and likely to sing.
“Only the king’s wing,” said Britta. “We’re in the south wing. There are strangely strict customs—that only the royal family may live inside linder walls, servants and guards can spend no more than eight hours inside before having to rotate to another section of the palace, that sort of thing.” She shrugged. “Crazy lowlanders.”
Miri laughed, and Britta smiled at her.
“Katar,” said Britta, “I thought you would want to stay with friends from home while they’re here, so I had your things moved from your room in the delegates’ wing.”
Britta smiled, sure she had done right, and did not seem to notice Katar’s hesitation.
Katar had never had friends, though Miri believed any cruelty on her part in the past simply stemmed from unhappiness. Perhaps now that she had left Mount Eskel and the father who had never loved her, she might be ready for friendship.
“You can have my things brought in too,” said Peder, throwing himself on the nearest bed. He groaned as he sank into the soft mattress and rolled onto his side.
“Um … I don’t think boys are—” Britta began.
“Don’t mind me!” Peder pulled a blanket over his head.
Miri did not know how he could even pretend to nap. She could barely keep from pacing.
“Don’t worry, Britta,” said Esa. “We’ll kick him out before night. Off to your fancy apprenticeship, big brother.”
She nudged Peder’s shape under the blanket. Peder made an exaggerated snoring noise.
There was a knock at the door, and Miri startled. A voice called out, and Britta opened it to an official.
“I guess with all that’s happened there are bound to be meetings.” Britta sighed and met eyes with Miri. “I’m sorry this has been such a strange welcome. I am happy you’re all here!”
As soon as Britta left, Katar grabbed Miri’s wrist and pulled her to the chamber’s seating area. Miri hesitated at the soft, long benches Katar called “sofas.” Surely something so fine was not meant to be sat on like a common stool. But Katar yanked Miri down beside her.
“Oh!” Miri said, cozying in. “I have a feeling this sofa and I will become good friends.” Katar glared, and Miri pretended she did not notice. “That man shouted something about ‘the shoeless’ before—”
“Before he tried to shoot the king.” Katar explained about bullets and gunpowder, as well as the classes in Danland. “Nobles are the landowners. Commoners pay tribute to the nobles, who own the land they live on. Some commoner merchants and artisans are well off. But the poorest of the commoners?
??the farmers, laborers, and servants—are called the ‘shoeless.’”
Miri supposed that she and everyone from Mount Eskel were considered shoeless as well. “What does it mean that he tried to kill the king for the shoeless?” asked Miri.
“I guess it means that it’s begun,” Katar said. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Katar glanced across the room, but the other girls were busy claiming their beds and investigating wardrobes full of clothing.
“Revolution,” Katar whispered.
Miri had never heard the word before, but it gave her a cold kind of thrill.
“Some commoners came to me after I arrived here in the spring,” said Katar. “Even though I’m a delegate, they thought the daughter of a quarry-worker might be sympathetic to the shoeless. Things have been rough for the shoeless the past few years. The king keeps demanding higher tributes from the nobles. In turn, the nobles take higher tributes from the commoners on their lands. The shoeless must give so much of their crops and income to the nobles, they fear starvation. When people are afraid, Miri, they do crazy things.”
“Like that man in the courtyard.”
Katar leaned closer. “These rebels want me to pledge my loyalty to the commoner cause and be a spy among the delegates.”
“Did you agree to spy for them?” Miri asked.
“No! I said I’d think about it and have avoided them since. If the king’s officials even suspect I spoke with such people, I could lose my place as a delegate. Or something worse—like my head.”
“Don’t talk to them,” said Miri, suddenly afraid. “Avoid them.”
“I do. But they send me messages; they wait for me outside the Delegate House with questioning looks. I don’t think they’re bad people. Just desperate. And probably half starved.” Her voice quieted even more. “You and I both know what it feels like to go to bed hungry.”
Miri nodded. Hunger ran through her childhood like a string through a bead necklace. But surely Katar was exaggerating about the poor of the lowlands. How could anyone go hungry in a land of such abundance?
“What we did last year—what you did, Miri—that was revolution. Turning things around. You said just because things had always been one way didn’t mean they couldn’t change. You persuaded the village council to refuse the traders’ terms and fight for fair value. That was pretty brave.”