that. I don’t actually know if he ever hugged me.
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I never . . . never thought about that.”
Harper kicks at the matted straw.
“Then I guess that’s proof,” he says bitterly. “You really are the princess. Or something royal. Royalty only think about themselves, about keeping power and building the royal treasury. They don’t think a thing about ordinary people. They don’t care if we live or die.”
“Harper, you know I’m not like that,” I protest.
I reach toward him without thinking. I’m not sure if I’m intending to hug him or pat his arm comfortingly or grab his shoulders and give him a good shake—or maybe even punch him. But he pulls back away from me, dodging my hands. He ends up on the other side of the cow, staring at me resentfully.
“How could you?” he asks. “How could you let another girl take all the risks for you? How could you let someone die in your place?”
“I told you, Desmia’s not going to die!” I say, but I choke on the words. This is something else I’ve always managed to gloss over. Or wanted to gloss over. Why else would I have spent so much time imagining the ceremony I’d have to thank her? “Anyhow, I didn’t arrange this. I was just a baby when they brought me here. I didn’t have a choice. I’m not responsible for Desmia’s life.”
“What good is it to be princess, then?” Harper asks. “If you don’t have any control over anyone’s fate? Even your own?”
“I
will
,” I say. “When I come out of hiding . . .” But even as I say these words, I doubt them. When I come out of hiding, I’ll have royal advisers. All the men who have been running the kingdom since my father died will just keep running it. “Well,” I add, “if I could, I’d end the war. And then wouldn’t you be mad at me? Because you’ve always wanted to be a soldier going off to war?”
Harper stares at me from the other side of the cow.
“I want to be a soldier because it’s something to do. Taking action. Better to do that—to do
something
—than spend my whole life playing music I hate, just so I don’t die.”
I can’t see Harper’s face very well in the dim, flickering light. But I feel like I’m seeing him with something beyond vision. Harper’s been my best friend my whole life, but I’ve never known this much about him.
“What would you do if you were me, then?” I ask in a ragged voice. “Go tell Desmia she doesn’t have to take any more risks for me? Take over as princess?”
“Yes,” Harper whispers.
I feel dizzy.
“I really could end the war,” I say, suddenly awed at the possibility.
“You could send all the soldiers home to their families,” Harper says. “The ones who are still alive, at least. You could open the royal treasury to feed the poor. You could pass any law you want.”
“I could outlaw harps!” I say, giggling.
“Why not?” Harper asks, grinning.
Anything seems possible, suddenly, sitting there with Harper and the cow in the Suttons’ tiny shed. I feel like all my choices are spinning around my head, glittering like gold. I’m so glad I’ve told Harper my secret.
And then I remember why I told him.
“My enemies—I think they’ve already found out whereI am,” I say. I tell him about Nanny’s strange behavior, about the cut in our door latch, about my own fears about the shadow on the path. “Sir Stephen will probably want me to hide somewhere else.”
“And then, if your enemies find you there—”
“I’d have to move again,” I say.
The possibilities spinning around my head turn dark and dreary. I see a different life for myself: trudging from village to village, a homeless wanderer, always cowering in fear. I could use up my entire life like that. It’d be like Harper spending his whole life taking harp lessons, hating every moment of it.
“Maybe . . .,” I say. “Maybe I should stop hiding.”
“What?” Harper says.
“I could do what you said
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I never . . . never thought about that.”
Harper kicks at the matted straw.
“Then I guess that’s proof,” he says bitterly. “You really are the princess. Or something royal. Royalty only think about themselves, about keeping power and building the royal treasury. They don’t think a thing about ordinary people. They don’t care if we live or die.”
“Harper, you know I’m not like that,” I protest.
I reach toward him without thinking. I’m not sure if I’m intending to hug him or pat his arm comfortingly or grab his shoulders and give him a good shake—or maybe even punch him. But he pulls back away from me, dodging my hands. He ends up on the other side of the cow, staring at me resentfully.
“How could you?” he asks. “How could you let another girl take all the risks for you? How could you let someone die in your place?”
“I told you, Desmia’s not going to die!” I say, but I choke on the words. This is something else I’ve always managed to gloss over. Or wanted to gloss over. Why else would I have spent so much time imagining the ceremony I’d have to thank her? “Anyhow, I didn’t arrange this. I was just a baby when they brought me here. I didn’t have a choice. I’m not responsible for Desmia’s life.”
“What good is it to be princess, then?” Harper asks. “If you don’t have any control over anyone’s fate? Even your own?”
“I
will
,” I say. “When I come out of hiding . . .” But even as I say these words, I doubt them. When I come out of hiding, I’ll have royal advisers. All the men who have been running the kingdom since my father died will just keep running it. “Well,” I add, “if I could, I’d end the war. And then wouldn’t you be mad at me? Because you’ve always wanted to be a soldier going off to war?”
Harper stares at me from the other side of the cow.
“I want to be a soldier because it’s something to do. Taking action. Better to do that—to do
something
—than spend my whole life playing music I hate, just so I don’t die.”
I can’t see Harper’s face very well in the dim, flickering light. But I feel like I’m seeing him with something beyond vision. Harper’s been my best friend my whole life, but I’ve never known this much about him.
“What would you do if you were me, then?” I ask in a ragged voice. “Go tell Desmia she doesn’t have to take any more risks for me? Take over as princess?”
“Yes,” Harper whispers.
I feel dizzy.
“I really could end the war,” I say, suddenly awed at the possibility.
“You could send all the soldiers home to their families,” Harper says. “The ones who are still alive, at least. You could open the royal treasury to feed the poor. You could pass any law you want.”
“I could outlaw harps!” I say, giggling.
“Why not?” Harper asks, grinning.
Anything seems possible, suddenly, sitting there with Harper and the cow in the Suttons’ tiny shed. I feel like all my choices are spinning around my head, glittering like gold. I’m so glad I’ve told Harper my secret.
And then I remember why I told him.
“My enemies—I think they’ve already found out whereI am,” I say. I tell him about Nanny’s strange behavior, about the cut in our door latch, about my own fears about the shadow on the path. “Sir Stephen will probably want me to hide somewhere else.”
“And then, if your enemies find you there—”
“I’d have to move again,” I say.
The possibilities spinning around my head turn dark and dreary. I see a different life for myself: trudging from village to village, a homeless wanderer, always cowering in fear. I could use up my entire life like that. It’d be like Harper spending his whole life taking harp lessons, hating every moment of it.
“Maybe . . .,” I say. “Maybe I should stop hiding.”
“What?” Harper says.
“I could do what you said
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