Princess Academy

by Shannon Hale

  Then another voice in quarry-speech, faint, delicate. The feeling of that voice could not have been more clearly Gerti’s than if she had spoken aloud. Miri closed her eyes to concentrate and saw in her mind her negotiations with Olana when she had forgotten the final rule and Katar had stepped in.

  Frid’s dull eyes sparkled. “Give them a limit for accepting the terms.”

  “‘Assert a deadline for acceptance’ is the correct answer,” said Olana, “but that will do.”

  Gerti beamed.

  And from then on, no one hesitated on an answer without being deluged with hints from a dozen different girls, some less helpful, some exact, but the flailing girl always managed to sort through them and come up with the correct answer. On the outside, the girls were serene but for a few sly smiles, their hands resting casually on the ground as if interested in the grass. But on the inside, the feeling of that quarry-speech was like ten songs sung at once, all in different voices, all joyous.

  So anxious were the girls to help, Miri did not have another chance to step in, save once.

  “Did you hear me, Katar?” said Olana. “What is the formal name of the curtsy used only for a king on his throne?”

  “I, uh . . .”

  Katar looked at the sky, at the ground, at her fingernails, anywhere but at the girls, as if refusing to ask for help. And no one offered. Miri thought it possible that none of the girls could recall, but many placed their hands in their laps, explicit in their refusal. Even Bena and Liana looked over their shoulders and examined the aspect of the far hill. Katar’s glance flicked to Miri for the briefest moment, and then away.

  To Miri’s recollection, Olana had given the name of the curtsy only once, but Miri had read it recently during personal study. Katar would pass the exam without her help, but she might not score high enough to be academy princess. Miri grappled with herself. She did not want to give Katar anything, but her sense of justice would not allow her to help every girl but one. Miri glared at Katar, slapped her hand on the grass, and sang mutely of Olana’s introductory lecture on Poise. After a few moments, Katar nodded. Her voice was very quiet.

  “I remember now.” She cleared her throat. “It’s called the heart’s offering.”

  After the last question, Olana whistled a long note of approval.

  “You all scored one hundred percent on this portion of the exam. I didn’t expect that. Well, go on to dinner, and I’ll calculate the scores for the entire exam. After dinner, I’ll announce who passed and who will be academy princess.”

  Little food was consumed that evening. Miri watched the fat congeal in her egg-and-wheat-bread soup and listened to the whispered conversations of the other girls. Knut passed behind her and muttered, “This is the last time I bother to cook something nice on a test day.”

  “You cooked something nice?” said Miri. “Where is it?”

  Knut tousled her hair.

  Katar pushed away her full bowl and stared out the window. Miri realized that both girls’ legs were shaking, their knees banging the bottom of the table.

  “Looks like Katar and I are doing our best to harvest and square this table before the traders come,” said Miri, and several girls laughed.

  Miri had joked to break the tension and now braced herself for the inevitable retort, but Katar just stood and left. Miri rested her chin in her hands, happy to have the better of Katar for once.

  “It’s time,” Olana called.

  The classroom chairs squeaked as the girls sat and adjusted themselves. Miri thought she might not be the only one holding her breath. Olana held a parchment. Her eyes seemed pleased, though her mouth gave no hint of a smile.

  “Due to the unexpected performance on the final test, you all passed,” she said.

  A squeal of delight went up. Olana read the parchment with the order of the scores, starting with the lowest. Most of the girls at the bottom of the list did not seem to mind their place and were pleased to hear that they would be going to the ball at all. Olana stopped reading before Miri heard her own name.

  “The last five girls—Katar, Esa, Liana, Bena, and Miri—were so close, I could not determine the leader. So I will allow you to decide.”

  Katar’s shoulders slumped. Miri felt her leg shaking again as her classmates whispered their votes to Olana one by one. When the last girl sat down, Olana smiled.

  “Over half of you voted for the same girl, a clear majority. Miri, come forward.”

  Miri’s head was light, and as she walked to the front of the class she seemed to float, as though she were a puff of tree pollen blown just above the ground. She kept her eyes on Britta, who was grinning madly.

  Olana put her hand on Miri’s shoulder. “The academy princess.”

  And the girls cheered.

  After they were dismissed for bed, Miri stepped outside to have a moment with the sunset, gold and orange that pulled the sky close. She needed a break from a teary Liana consoling a red-faced Bena and the scalding stares of some very jealous seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds. It had been quite clear who had not voted for Miri.

  From a spot at the cliff’s edge, Miri could see the mountains and hills ringing out from Mount Eskel like water ripples from a thrown stone. Just below her, instead of sheer cliff, a shelf stuck out, so if she happened to slip on rubble rock, she would land on the ledge instead of falling a long way down. She saw now that this spot was not only her favorite; Katar sat on the rocky outcrop, her knees pulled into her chest.

  Miri climbed down and tried to think of something really good to say. She was just about to open her mouth when Katar made a sound like a strained hiccup.

  It couldn’t be a sob, thought Miri. She had never seen Katar cry. But when Katar turned toward the light, there was an unmistakable sheen of tears.

  “Go ahead and gloat,” said Katar.

  Miri frowned. She thought Katar was acting like a baby to cry just because she did not win.

  “Go on,” said Katar. “Say how you’re going to wear that gown and dance first and be beautiful and go to Asland to be the future queen.”

  “That’s not true, Katar. Just because I’m academy princess doesn’t mean he’ll choose me.”

  “Yes, he will.”

  Would he really? “I have a chance, but—”

  “It was my only chance. Nobody really likes me, so how will he?”

  “Do you want to marry him so much?” asked Miri.

  “I don’t care about the prince,” Katar snapped back. “I just wanted a way to leave here. I hate it here.” Her voice went soft, as if the words were almost too strong to speak aloud.

  Katar tossed a piece of rubble rock, and Miri heard it strike the slope below, disturbing other stones as it rolled. She was waiting for Katar to amend her statement, but she did not.

  After a few moments, Miri said, “You don’t really hate it here.”

  “Yes, I do. Why wouldn’t I?” Katar hurled another stone over the edge. When she spoke again, her voice shook. “I know I’m not liked. I can’t help how I am, but I feel so tired never having anywhere to go where I feel good. Not at home, certainly, not with my ma dead.”

  “My mother died, too,” said Miri.

  “But your pa adores you. I’ve seen him look at you and Marda as if you were the mountain itself, as if you were the world.”

  He does? thought Miri. Her heart beat once as she thought, He does.

  “My father doesn’t look at me at all,” said Katar. “Maybe he blames me for my mother dying when I was born, or maybe he just wishes I were a boy or some other girl entirely. Everything about this place is cold and hard and sharp and mean and . . . and I just want to go away. I want to be somebody else and see other things. And now I never will.”

  Miri shivered at a breeze coming up from the valley. All her life she had s
een herself as the only lonesome thing in the world, but now even Katar seemed but a small child lost on a far hill.

  Katar held her face in her hands and sobbed, and Miri patted her shoulder awkwardly.

  “I’m sorry,” Miri said.

  Katar shrugged, and Miri knew there was nothing she could say. A true friend might have been able to comfort Katar, but Miri felt she barely knew the girl beside her.

  Everything was strange and wonderful and wrong at once. The girls had chosen Miri as academy princess. Autumn thrummed fresh and cold on her skin. Any day the prince would come and take one of them away. And Katar sobbed misery at her side.

  “I’m sorry,” Miri said again, hating how hollow those words sounded. Katar had given her a small gift by opening her heart and showing her pain. Miri tucked the moment in her own heart and hoped somehow to repay.

  n

  Chapter Seventeen

  Though the river is milk

  It stops dead in my throat

  Like a stone, stone, stone

  n

  After the exam, the girls were free to make their own schedules. Many passed the daylight hours practicing Conversation or Poise and rehearsing the dances, aware that the real test, the ball itself, was still to come. Others were relieved to have a break and lay around gossiping about the dresses the lowlanders would bring or roamed the mountainside to laugh, fret, and wonder.

  The girls seemed to avoid the prickly topic of the prince and his choice of bride, but an uncertain excitement persisted in the academy. Even practical-minded Frid was prone to stare at the sky with a hint of a sheepish smile.

  Miri wished Peder would come and remind her that she did not want to be chosen, but whenever she thought about the prince, a ticklish sensation filled her chest. She had let loose her dream of being a quarrier, but her heart still longed for something to hope for. Even though she now understood the reasons behind her exclusion from the quarry, when she imagined returning to the village just to tend goats, she felt a racing kind of panic. Surely there was some other place for her, something she could do to continue to stretch and grow, to be of use. To make her pa proud. The idea of being a princess promised many things.

  One morning, Miri found Esa on the steps of the academy facing the mountain pass.

  “It feels like any moment they’ll come,” said Miri, sitting beside her. “When I look that way and see a bird or a cloud’s shadow sliding by, I think it’s the first wagon, and my stomach about drops out of my middle.”

  Esa nodded, and Miri noticed that her eyes were sad.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Esa shook her head as if dismissing Miri’s concern. “The dancing.”

  “What do you mean? You passed the dancing exam just fine.”

  Esa looked up as if she had lost patience with herself. “I keep imagining the moment when I first dance with the prince, and he’ll put out his arms, and I’ll put my right hand in his, and he’ll stare at my left arm and wonder why I don’t move it, and then, when he understands, I picture how his face will change. . . .”

  Esa breathed out long and slow. The sigh made Miri uneasy, and she wanted to get Esa to laugh.

  “Maybe the prince will have an injured arm, too.”

  Esa snorted.

  “No, really. Or maybe a lazy eye that will roll around in his head so he can look two places at once. You could pretend to be two different people and hop back and forth between his gazes, having a chat with yourself. Just don’t forget to follow the rules of Conversation and continually bring the topic back around to, uh, to you.”

  Motion in Miri’s periphery tugged her attention. It was no cloud shadow. Rock dust lifted around the first wagon as though it rode on drifting fog. Another followed. And another. The sheer number of wagons was thrilling and frightening. Some of the girls began to screech and run around, looking for either a place to better watch the arrival or a place to hide. Frid and Britta came to stand beside Miri and Esa.

  “So many people,” said Frid.

  Britta seemed to hold her breath, and Miri thought how, despite all her assurances that she would not be chosen, Britta was as anxious as any of them.

  Behind the initial wagons and mounted soldiers rolled a closed carriage, its window curtain drawn. It was made from pale wood the color of Esa’s hair and pulled by four horses of the same shade. Miri stared at the window. Could the prince see her? The curtain shivered as if a hand touched it from behind. Certain that he was peering out, Miri smiled and gave a cheeky wave.

  Esa giggled and slapped Miri’s side with the back of her hand. “What are you doing? He might be looking.”

  “I hope he is,” said Miri, though she did not wave again.

  Olana rushed outside, ordering the girls out of the way and into their bedchamber. Through the window they watched the visitors set up tents, care for the horses, and unload barrels and boxes into the far side of the building. Whenever one of the girls went to use the outhouse, she reported smoke pouring out of all three kitchen chimneys.

  “Did anyone see him?” asked Gerti, standing on her toes to get a better view out the window.

  “I thought I did, for a second,” said Helta, a thirteen-year-old with a snub nose and freckles. “He was tall and younger than I’d imagined and had dark hair.”

  The chatter in the room died away. The prince had suddenly become a real person with a height and an age and hair color. Some of the girls peeked out the window as if hoping for a glimpse of the prince, but most stayed still.

  “It feels awkward to talk about it,” said Miri, breaking the silence. “I don’t like feeling in competition with everybody to be seen and liked by Prince Steffan.”

  “We should make a pact,” said Esa. “We’ll be happy for whomever he chooses, no jealousy or meanness.”

  All the girls agreed, but Britta seemed not to have heard and stared at the wall, her back to Esa.

  “Britta?” said Miri.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Frid.

  “She won’t agree to our bargain,” said Katar. “She’s already bitter, it seems.”

  Britta rubbed her temple with the back of her hand. “It’s not that. I’m just not feeling well.”

  Miri touched her forehead. “You are kind of warm. Maybe you should lie down.”

  That night, whenever Miri awoke from anxious dreams, she heard girls shifting on their pallets, readjusting pillows, sighing. Twice she saw Britta’s eyes open as well.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  “I feel funny,” Britta whispered back. “Maybe I’m just nervous.”

  By morning, Britta’s cheeks felt awfully hot to the brush of Miri’s fingertips. They were confined to their bedchamber while the noise of preparation went on just outside their door, but Miri sneaked out to find Knut.

  All over the building, women and men in brown-and-green clothing were sweeping, dusting, laying rugs and hanging tapestries, stoking fires in the hearths, and making the building warmer and livelier than Miri had known was possible. She kept her eyes down, hoping that if she did not make eye contact, no one would notice her enough to order her back to the bedchamber.

  On her way to the kitchen, she passed the dining hall. The tables were covered in cloth and set at the far end of the room, leaving most of the smooth linder floor open for dancing. Three men hoisted a chandelier with dozens of candles to the ceiling, and candle stands as tall as quarrymen stood along the walls, waiting to be lit.

  The door on the opposite side of the hall led to a section of the academy that now served as chambers for the prince and other guests. Miri could see a group standing there, and she slowed her walk to spy them out.

  Several men, some as young as she, some with white beards, conversed together. In their midst was a boy with dark hair, a long nose, and
a square chin. He stood straight as though aware of his importance, and even the old men nodded to him in a respectful manner. Just before she passed by, he turned, and their eyes met. Her heart jumped, and she scurried faster.

  She found Knut tugging on his beard and gripping his stirring spoon as a horde of strangers took over his kitchen. She caught his sleeve and led him out, explaining on the way what was wrong with Britta.

  “She’s sick all right,” said Knut when he knelt beside her. “Came on fast, did it? Nerves will do that. Nothing to worry about, I don’t think. She might improve by tonight.”

  He instructed the girls to put a cool, damp cloth on her head, change it every so often, and give her sips of cold water. So the girls passed the morning tending to Britta, fussing with their hair, cleaning their nails, and taking turns with the bathwater. When the yellow blaze of afternoon poured through their window, two seamstresses from the prince’s party entered with arms full of gowns. The room hushed at once.

  The older of the two seamstresses looked around and crunched her white curls inside her fist. “So many! Well, let’s see what we can do to make each one of you look like a princess.”

  Miri tried to help Britta up, but as soon as she was sitting, Britta leaned over and vomited water.

  “Better leave her be,” said the younger seamstress. “She won’t be able to dance a step.”

  “But she can’t miss the ball,” said Miri.

  The seamstress shrugged. “And she can’t attend it like that, can she? Still, sounds like the prince will be staying a few days. She’s bound to be better tomorrow and can take her turn wooing him.”

  The seamstresses sorted through the dresses and called up different girls to be fitted. The largest dress went to Frid, and even that was not big enough to fit across her shoulders comfortably. Frid did not seem to notice. She fingered the frills on her sleeves and bodice, shook her skirts, and let her mouth hang open in awe. When she looked into the seamstress’s mirror, her face beamed.

  “I never felt pretty before,” she said so quietly that only the seamstress and Miri could hear.