Are wrapped in leather and shelved as books
Miri was so full of the linder’s memories she felt half ghost herself, sad and afraid, wandering down the corridor as if through a tale that ends in tragedy.
She entered the queen’s apartment and found the sisters staring at Britta and Steffan.
“Miri!” Britta threw her arms around her. “You’re safe! You’re here! And you’re safe! But how did you get here? I don’t care, because you’re safe! And here!” Britta pulled back. “But I’m so angry at you! I don’t want to forget that.”
“I wrote, I promise I did,” said Miri.
“No, not for that. I feared you’d try to come after me when you should flee to safety instead, and sure enough, here you are, and now we’re both stuck in a besieged palace. You’re a very good friend and a very naughty person. And you cut your hair!”
Britta’s long, pale hair hung loose as if she had found no reason to do it up. Her white linen dress was wrinkled, and Miri suspected she’d been wearing it for several days. But her cheeks were their usual mottled red and gave her a happy, friendly aspect even in that dark, strange palace.
“So these are the king’s cousins,” said Britta, turning to the sisters. “We exchanged names but I haven’t heard a word about how you all got here.”
“It’s a very long story,” said Miri.
“My mother just left,” Steffan said, his gaze lingering on the door. “She seemed upset.” The prince, in his dark-blue jacket cut at the waist and knee-high boots, looked even taller than Miri remembered.
“You should go after her, Steffan.” Miri was not adept with linder-wisdom, but she thought she’d detected in Queen Sabet the loneliness of someone who does not want to live.
Steffan hesitated as if worried a sudden departure would be impolite, but he nodded.
When he’d gone, Miri said to Astrid. “So, that was your twin brother.”
Britta took a step back. Miri grabbed her arm and led her to a chair, remembering how her own legs wobbled after realizing the truth.
But the sisters kept their feet. Sus seemed stunned. Felissa was crying so quietly Miri had not noticed before. Astrid’s arms were folded, her back slightly turned.
“Do you think we could go somewhere private?” Miri asked Britta. The queen had left, but she might return and perhaps the king too.
Britta led them to a guest bedroom in the interior of the palace. They sat in a circle on a rug, and Miri told Britta what she knew. The telling of the story helped Miri swallow the great, lumpy truth of it all, though it sat now in her belly like a mass of gristle.
“Steffan didn’t know,” Britta said, her chin trembling. “I swear he didn’t know. Let me go find him—”
“Just give them a little time,” Miri whispered. “I don’t think the girls are ready to meet, uh, any more family today.”
Britta did go out to find Peder and brought him back, along with food for the group. All day she insisted on fetching them whatever they needed, as if trying to be one of the servants they were supposed to have had in Lesser Alva.
There were three beds in the room, but when night fell, Astrid, Felissa, and Sus curled up in the same one. Britta shared Miri’s bed, Peder bunking on the third.
And when they woke the next morning, they sat on the floor and kept talking. Sleep had stopped Felissa’s tears, but her dry-eyed stare and grim mouth worried Miri.
“They so badly didn’t want us they hid us as far away as they could,” said Astrid.
“I liked the swamp,” said Sus.
“So the joke’s on them, right?” Astrid said with a bitter laugh.
“They sent us away for fear that our mere existence could start a war,” said Sus.
“And now they want you to stop one,” said Peder. “They’re not making a lot of sense.”
“Are you sure King Fader knows about us?” Astrid asked Britta.
“Yes,” said Britta. “After Stora invaded Eris, the chief delegate sent a letter. A reply came indicating that the king would accept such an alliance and wished to meet you three. We heard nothing again from Stora for a few months. In the silence, we got worried, and our army marched to our border with Eris, just in case. And then, Stora suddenly took Asland.”
“You’re never safe when a king knows your name,” Peder muttered.
“Elin was my ma,” Felissa said. “She always will be.”
Peder began to pace. “The palace is under siege, and no one seems to be doing anything.”
“The king is confident they can outlast Stora,” said Britta. “We have plenty of supplies, and our army should return to Asland any day.”
Astrid stood up. “I’m going to the Queen’s Castle to see King Fader. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Like mud you will,” said Felissa.
“Just stay here, Felissa,” said Astrid. “It’ll be better if I meet with him without you two.”
Sus and Felissa looked at each other. Felissa nodded. And then they pounced. The force of their leap knocked Astrid against the bed, and then they were a pile of girls, writhing and shoving and kicking.
“Whoa!” said Peder. “Um … stop?”
“They do this all the time,” said Miri.
Sus was sitting on Astrid’s legs, Felissa lying across her back.
“Say it!” said Felissa.
“You won,” came Astrid’s muffled voice.
They let her up.
“We all go together,” said Felissa. “If we can end a war, then we should.”
“It is logical,” said Sus.
“I’m going too,” said Miri. “I am your tutor.”
Peder started for the door. “I’ll go talk to someone about getting us an armed escort—”
“No,” Miri and Britta said at once.
Peder groaned as if expecting what was coming.
“No boys,” said Miri. “They’re only scared of girls when we’re in a crown on a throne. On a battlefield, they mind us no more than dandelion fluff. But as soon as a boy of warrior age appears, they’ll load muskets.”
“But I’ll go with you,” said Britta.
Astrid shook her head.
“Please?” said Britta. “Your—uh, the queen is in no shape to go, and they might shoot King Bjorn or Steffan. But after all this, you should have some family to stand by you.”
“You’re not what I expected when I thought of a princess,” said Astrid.
“I still don’t feel like one. At the princess academy on Mount Eskel, we all agreed that Miri was more princess than anyone.”
“Oh stop it,” said Miri.
“Well, at the very least, I’ve learned how to look like a princess,” Britta said. “And since that’s what matters most for some, we can play that game.”
Britta took them to her own room, where they bathed. Britta combed their hair, working out each snarl delicately, as if she were crocheting lace. They dried by the fire, their locks wrapped around wooden spools to create curls. Britta pinned up Astrid’s hair, as befitting her status as a girl come of age and the eldest daughter.
Britta selected dresses for the girls from her wardrobe, choosing colors she thought best complemented their skin tones. Really clean for the first time in months, Miri felt a fresh, cool hope.
When Britta left to explain the plan to the king and his advisers, Miri asked the sisters, “Are you sure?”
“Remember Princess Starla in that story you told us—how she strapped herself to the figurehead of her husband’s ship and the enemy didn’t fire on it for fear of hurting a lady so brave?” Felissa sighed, though there was more pain than smile in it. “That’s a beautiful story.”
“A royal marriage alliance is more practical than a war,” said Sus.
Astrid set her jaw. “What else would we do anyway? Our ma is dead. We can’t go back home. This is the only way forward.”
Miri understood the part Astrid did not speak aloud—marrying King Fader was the surest way of protecting her sisters.
> After a tap at the door, Peder wobbled in wearing one of Britta’s fancy pink silk gowns. He could only get the sleeves up his forearms, and his chest was too broad to button up the back. He’d wrapped his head in a lace scarf and was holding a fan shyly in front of his face.
“I’m ready,” he said.
Felissa smiled her first real smile since arriving. And then she laughed so hard she was seized with hiccups.
“Peder Doterson,” Miri began.
“Come on, Miri,” said Peder. “I can’t just let you all walk into the enemy camp alone.”
“And you can’t come with us wearing—or rather, half wearing—that outfit,” said Miri. “For one thing, pink is not your color. It completely washes you out.”
Peder gasped, mock-offended, and Miri tried very hard to keep a straight face.
Britta came back in, looked at Peder, looked at Miri as if for help, and back at Peder again.
“Hello, I’m Princess Helka Appaluna, your escort to go see King Fader,” he said in a squeaky voice.
“He sounds and looks exactly like a girl,” said Miri. “The armies of Stora will be easily fooled!”
Peder took off the lace scarf and hobbled forward, the waist of the skirt tight around his thighs.
“Please?” he said.
“What if they shot you?” said Miri. “Armies do that sort of thing.”
They argued for a few minutes, eventually changing to quarry-speak until Miri won the debate by sharing the memory of the time an assassin shot Peder. And with the memory rode her grief and fear and pleading.
Peder nodded, letting his fan drop to the floor.
“I’ll stay with these three royals,” said Miri, “and you stay with the other three. Maybe an ounce of Mount Eskel sense will keep them all alive long enough for Danland’s revolution to survive.”
Peder kissed Miri, and this time she lingered, so if anything happened, she would not mourn the lost moment.
At the door from the palace to the courtyard, Queen Sabet waited, her hands clutched before her, her eyes down.
Astrid passed by without a glance. Felissa reached out and touched the woman’s hands. Sus stopped.
“What’s my whole name?” Sus asked.
“Susanna Apollonia Bjorndaughter,” the queen said slowly, tasting each syllable.
“When we get back, I have a lot more questions to ask you,” said Sus.
The Danlandian palace guards stood in a line near the palace. Across the street in Commoner Park, Miri could see an ocean of Storan soldiers, muskets in their hands. She guessed that the space between the royal guards and front line of the Storan army was a little more than the length of a musket shot.
Miri took a deep breath. “Ready?”
The girls nodded.
Britta led the way across the courtyard. When they passed the royal guard and entered musket range, Miri’s muscles tensed.
“You’re my ladies,” Britta whispered. “We don’t reveal your true identities to any but King Fader himself.”
“A wise plan,” said Sus.
The palace wall was stone and as high as three men. The girls stopped at the cast iron gates. Through the bars, the army of Stora looked back, so many helmets there appeared to be an iron sea. Britta cleared her throat.
“I am Princess Britta of Mount Eskel, wife of Crown Prince Steffan Sabetson,” she called out.
A soldier in the front line took one step forward. He wore the high-peaked helmet and fringed sword hilt designating him as more than a common soldier. Like all Storan soldiers, his hair was blond, but so was his beard, so perhaps his head hair had not needed dyeing to achieve the Storans’ preferred color.
“I am Commander Mongus,” the soldier shouted back. “What can I do for you?”
“I wish to meet with His Highness, King Fader. I expect you will escort me and my ladies with courtesy and safety.”
“Sure, I’ll take you to King Fader,” said Commander Mongus. Something in his tone gave Miri pause. She wished they were surrounded by linder and Felissa could read his emotions.
A royal guard unlocked the gate for them, relocking it behind their backs. The girls crossed the deserted street and entered Commoner Park. The moment their feet stepped on the grass, Storan soldiers with muskets surrounded them. Miri’s legs ran with cold fear. Commander Mongus gestured them into a carriage and climbed in after them.
The eyes of the Storan army watched them through the window as they pulled away, with dozens of helmeted soldiers on horse back escorting them.
Miri saw no other carriages or horses on the streets. Some Aslandians were on foot as if trying to go about their normal business but looked startled when the carriage rumbled by. The entire city trembled with fear.
When the carriage turned a corner toward the Queen’s Castle bridge, the silence broke. Miri pressed against the window, eyeing a mob of Aslandians swarming around them, assaulting the carriage with shouts.
“Stora, go home!” she heard the Aslandians yell.
The Storan soldiers on horse back pointed muskets at the crowd, and the crowd screamed and dispersed. Miri had not recognized any faces, but she wagered some of the people who were now standing up to Stora were the same who the year before wanted a revolution and the death of Danland’s King Bjorn.
Commander Mongus did not even bother to glance out the window but just leaned back against the seat.
“They are dogs without teeth. Believe me, if they did bite, we would slaughter the lot.”
Britta stiffened. “Danland is not small and weak, no matter that you disabled Asland’s harbor. It would be foolish to believe you could hold Danland as easily as you conquered Eris. When our army returns—”
“We will be long gone. We’ve simply come to kill your king.”
Miri gaped. “What?”
“Your king is a liar,” said Commander Mongus, “and he dishonored our monarch with his lies. Stora cannot allow southern scum to degrade the name of our king.”
“So, what, you’re just going to execute King Bjorn and then leave?” said Miri.
“Well, maybe we’ll take a few treasures home with us. Now that we have that lovely harbor in Eris, we wouldn’t mind your ships to fill it. In the name of honor.”
He smiled a cold mock of a smile, perhaps to make them cringe.
Britta did not blink. “You won’t breach the palace before the army returns.”
“Won’t we? Fortunate for you that you escaped when you did. No one in that building is safe for long.”
Britta blanched.
The commander leaned closer to Britta, his fake smile a grimace. “Do not besmirch the honor of Stora. The north men defend honor with iron.”
Miri’s stomach felt cold and sick, as if she’d swallowed the briny sea. He would not tell them so much if he believed they might ever return to the palace to report it to the king.
“You claim to fight for honor,” Miri said, willing her voice to sound brave, “but you’re just a bunch of thieving bandits.”
Commander Mongus held back the tip of his forefinger with his thumb and lifted his hand to her face. She frowned, unsure what he was about. When his hand was close to her nose, he flicked his finger hard, as if knocking away a fly.
“It’s dishonorable to hit a lady,” he said. He flicked her again and laughed.
Miri’s nose stung. She sat very still.
The carriage crossed the bridge to the river island. Outside the window, the Queen’s Castle rose, its towers roofed in green copper. The first time Miri had seen the great red-brick structure, she’d trembled with excitement and anticipation. Now her feet felt so cold she might have been standing in a snowmelt stream. It had been easier to feel brave back in Britta’s room.
The Queen’s Castle was as crowded and busy as the royal palace had been silent. Soldiers camped around it, every window bore a guard. Inside, instead of scholars in robes hurrying to classes, soldiers stood at attention, as still as death.
“It’s so b
ig!” said Sus, looking up where the central staircase climbed twelve stories. “I definitely should become a scholar here.”
Britta clutched Miri’s arm. “Steffan … ,” she whispered.
“That Commander Mongoose is a liar,” Miri whispered back. “Steffan is safe.”
Britta nodded, wanting to believe that was true, just as Miri wanted to believe that Peder was safe too, and that the Queen’s Castle would be a university again, and that Dogface would have Lesser Alva back, and that she would be home soon, running into her pa’s arms, falling into her sister’s embrace.
Commander Mongus led them into a large room, thinly lit by narrow windows. It had been the master tutor room. Gone were the bookcases and tables where white-haired tutors pored over ancient parchments. Now the room was busy with soldiers poring over maps and lists of supplies.
“Tell High Commander Paldus we have a royal visitor,” Commander Mongus told another soldier, who bowed and left.
“We’re here to see King Fader, not your high commander,” said Britta.
“That’s not possible,” said Commander Mongus. “But High Commander Paldus is authorized to make all decisions on behalf of Stora’s honored king.”
“We came on good terms, putting ourselves willingly into Storan hands for that purpose alone,” said Britta. “My ladies and I have earned the right to meet with your king.”
“In matters of war, Princess,” said Commander Mongus, “fighting, not surrendering, gains you respect.”
“In that case,” Astrid said, speaking up for the first time, “I’ll fight you.”
Miri had no doubt she meant it.
Chapter Twenty-three
Brave men of the north be blessed
Leave your wife and lock the door
Gone is peace, no time for rest
Howl with rage and run to war
Beat your shield and beat your chest
Raise your sword and raise a roar
Life is quickened in your breast
Battle is what life is for
Astrid was dressed in pink silk, her hair curled, her posture so straight she could probably balance a boot on her head while at a dead run. She looked like the potential bride of a king, but her hands were in fists, lifted and ready to punch.