The Princess Academy (its time to shine)

Chapter 5

Everybody knows that the best things come last

That's why my ma says I'm last in everything

I always wear cast-off shirts and worn-through boots,

Scrape the bottom of the pot, and bathe downstream

Once, words had been invisible to Miri, as unknown and uninteresting as the movements of a spider inside a rock wall. Now they appeared all around her, standing up, demanding notice—on the spines of books in the classroom, marking the barrels of food in the kitchen and storeroom, carved into a linder foundation stone: In the thirteenth year of the reign of King Jorgan.

One day Olana threw out a parchment, and Miri snatched it from the garbage pile, kept it under her pallet, and practiced reading it by firelight to the sound of snores. It listed the names of the academy girls and their ages. Miri felt a thrill tickle her heart to read her own name in ink. "Marda Larendaughter" was there as well, though her name was crossed out. On the list, Britta had no father name.

Throwing herself into learning helped Miri ignore the painful chill of solitude around her. As they fell two, three, and then four weeks into winter, Miri felt utterly frozen in her blunder. She thought about trying again to make amends, but the silence of the other girls meant they had not forgotten how Miri had cost them the last possible visit home before snow fell. Even Esa did not save Miri a place in the dining hall; even Frid failed to offer a casual smile. Miri shrugged away the hurt and told herself they had never truly been her friends.

Miri missed Peder. She missed the ease of always knowing exactly what he was trying to say, and she missed the agitation of his nearness when her fingers felt thick and clumsy and her mouth dry. Watching him swing a mallet or throw a stone, listening to the pleasant rasp of his voice, the way he laughed whenever he heard her laugh. Feeling herself lean to him as she would to warm herself at a fire.

Outside the classroom window, the snow kept falling. Miri looked away, struck by the throbbing in her chest. She had caught herself longing for spring and their return and was sliced by sharp truth—she missed Marda, Pa, and Peder, but did they miss her? She focused on her tablet and studied twice as hard.

One late afternoon, Olana set the girls loose outside. They had spent all day at their desks except for two outhouse breaks and one of Knut's increasingly sad meals—salt fish boiled to mush and potatoes without so much as a ribbon of grease or grain of salt to cheer them. Frid had received a palm lashing for falling asleep during quiet study, and Gerti had spent an hour in the closet for whimpering when she could not draw the last letter of the alphabet.

Miri watched the girls file out and considered joining them. She yearned to forget that she had cost them a journey home and go out smiling and laughing, or even just to run through the snow alone and relish the cold air stinging her cheeks.

But if she stayed indoors, she would have the classroom to herself. She had been hoping for this chance all week.

When she heard the last footsteps fade down the corridor, Miri stood and stretched. Thirteen books stood on a high shelf above Olana's desk. Miri had counted them, had read their spines and anticipated what might be inside. She stood on her toes and pulled one down.

The words History of Danland were painted in white on the dark leather spine. The book smelled dusty and old but also carried a sweet tang, a hint of something inviting. She opened to the first page and started to read, pronouncing the words in a reverent whisper.

She did not understand a thing.

Three times she read the first sentence, and though she could speak the individual words, she could not understand what they all meant together. She shut the book and opened another, Danlander Commerce. What was Commerce, anyway? She put it away and opened another, and another, and felt an urge to start throwing them. She had just pulled down a thinner book titled simply Tales when the sound of boot heels on flagstones made her heart jump. Miri did not know if she would be punished for borrowing a book, and it was too late to put it back. She stuffed it under her shirt.

"Miri," said Olana, entering. "Not even a stretch today? Do the other girls hate you so much?"

Olana's comment stung. Miri had not known her distance from the others was obvious. She pressed the hidden book to her side and sauntered out of the classroom.

For the next two weeks, when the others went outside, Miri curled up in a corner of the bedchamber, the book of tales on her lap. She struggled at first, but soon the words made sense together, and then the sentences built on the page, and then the pages made stories. It was marvelous. Stories were inside those tedious letters they had been learning all along, stories like the ones she heard at spring holiday or that Peder's grandfather told before a fire on a cold night. And now she could read them by herself.

Several days later, Olana took a book from the shelf and handed it to some of the older girls. Though Katar read better than the rest, she still stumbled over the unfamiliar words, sounding them out laboriously. Britta as well could barely get through a sentence. Her ruddy cheeks turned even redder. Miri considered that she had been mistaken and Britta had never been able to read.

"What a shame." Olana took the book from Britta and turned to Miri. "Well, you're a young one, but you seem focused of late."

The book was History of Danland, the dark brown tome Miri had tried and failed to read before. Olana opened it to the second page and pointed to a paragraph. Miri's tongue felt made of clay. She cleared her throat, gripped the book, and began.

"Our ancestors came from the north and farmed the fertile central plains. They also raised herds of cattle, horses, mountain goats, sheep, and fowl. Along the coast, fishing became one of their most important industries, as it is today."

The words seemed to glide across Miri's tongue, each one falling into place. She had never seen the passage before, but studying the book of tales had made reading anything easier. She stuttered over a couple of words but sounded them out all right.

"Well, girls," said Olana when Miri finished, "if the prince were coming tomorrow, you know who would wear the silver gown."

Miri felt a grin break her face and had the unlikely impulse to give Olana a hug. Katar's frown deepened into a glare. Miri swallowed and tried to look modest, but it was too late. Katar was usually the best in the class, and surely she thought Miri's smile meant that she was gloating. Her victory soured like milk left standing.

That evening as she returned from the outhouse, Miri halted at the sound of hushed voices coming from the front of the academy. She took a few steps backward, easing her boots through the hard shell of the snow. Whispering meant secrets, and it raised a shiver of curiosity on Miri's skin. She leaned against the wall and strained to pick words out of the quiet drone. Her own name spoken in a whisper made her feel queasy.

". . . can't stand Miri . . . acts like she's so smart . . ." That voice belonged to Bena. ". . . never liked the way she hung on Peder . . . becoming unbearable . . ."

". . . just lucky today," said Liana. "She won't . . ."

"She's just fourteen," said Katar, speaking much louder than the others. "What are you worried about?"

Bena mumbled something else. Katar snickered.

"There's no chance of that. One of the older girls will win."

"I get the idea, Katar, that you think you should be princess," said Bena, her voice scaling higher. "But as long as . . ." She returned to whispering, and Miri could hear no more.

Miri started on her way again, and the girls quieted as she passed. Liana smiled uncomfortably, Bena glared at the ground, but Katar stared at Miri, her expression unrepentant. Miri returned that stare as though it were a challenge. She had just raised a defiant eyebrow when she tripped on one of the front steps and fell flat in the snow. She jumped to her feet and ran inside, chased by the sound of the older girls chuckling.

That night, she lay on her pallet inhaling the darkness. It was a comfort to her to be awake as the others slept, as though she elected to be alone, as if she enjoyed it. The bedchamber fire was not high enough to warm her on her pallet at the far end of the room, and she shivered and wished for something to hope for. She closed her eyes and saw the folds of the silver dress twist and shimmer beneath her lids. Her dreams of becoming academy princess wrapped around her and eased the chill.