you’d do. If my enemies could find me here, they could find me anywhere. So why not just go back to the castle, tell Desmia thanks for her service, but it’s no longer needed; she no longer has to risk her life for me. And then I would just . . . be the princess.”
The candle flickers. Harper’s jaw drops.
“Wouldn’t it be a little more complicated than that?” he asks. “More . . . dangerous?”
“Well, sure, but . . . Harper, I’ve been studying for this my whole life. I know the Royal Code, the Principles of Governance. I know every single export Suala produces, and the ratio of iron ore to rock in the Gondogian mines.I’m ready!” My words ring with confidence. I am surprised at myself. I sit up straighter, no longer leaning on the cow. I inhale deeply, and it feels like the first free breath of my life.
I expect Harper to argue with me, to try to talk me into being practical, into being safe. But he’s sitting up straighter too, his face a mask of determination.
“I’m going with you,” he says.
8
We make our plans with amazing speed. Maybe we’re afraid that if we don’t go right away, we’ll chicken out. Maybe we’ve both been waiting so long to leave the village, to begin our real lives, that we can’t stand to stay here a second longer than we have to. We talk at the same time, our words overlapping: Harper volunteers to bring leftover bread and an old canteen for water while I jump in to offer dried jerky from Nanny’s pantry. But we’re in complete agreement about everything, until I say, “And you should bring your harp, as our cover story along the way.”
“What?” Harper explodes. “No—I am not taking the harp! That’s what I’m running away from!”
“I’m not saying you have to play it. Or practice or anything. But people will wonder about two children out on their own. If you have the harp, we can tell everyone thatyou’re going to the capital to find work. And we can say I’m your sister or something, coming along to help out . . .”
“We might as well say I’m going to that stupid music competition,” Harper grumbles.
“Perfect!” I say. “That’s what you can put in your note to your mam.”
“My note?” Harper sounds incredulous.
“Well, yeah, you weren’t going to just run off and not tell your mother anything, were you?”
I see by his face that he had intended to run off and not tell his mother anything.
“Eelsy—Cecilia—my mother wants to go to that music competition with me,” he says. “She wants to sit there in the audience and listen to me play better than anyone else. She wants to be there when they put the gold medal around my neck, when the director of the castle musicians walks over and begs me to work for him. Except—none of that would ever happen. I’m not better than everyone else. When I play in public, my hands get all sweaty and my fingers slip and I forget to count time. . . . I’m not even good enough to be the village musician, and there’s no competition here except Herk the tailor playing his cowbells!”
“Then write that she makes you nervous and that this is something that you have to do for yourself,” I say impatiently.
I’m surprised that Harper stops arguing. A few moments later we blow out the candle and creep out of the shed,each of us giving Glissando/Grease a good-bye pat. I wait by the door of Harper’s cottage while he tiptoes in and changes clothes and gathers up his things. I don’t see the note he leaves for his mother, but when he emerges through the doorway, he’s got his harp strapped across his back.
“You’re going to have to carry it some of the time too,” he growls at me. “It’s heavy. Danged harp!”
“No problem,” I mutter.
We escape the village without running into the watchman again, although I think I hear a faint echo of his voice from near the village store: “Four o’clock of the morning. All’s well. All’s well. . . .”
I shiver and wrap
The candle flickers. Harper’s jaw drops.
“Wouldn’t it be a little more complicated than that?” he asks. “More . . . dangerous?”
“Well, sure, but . . . Harper, I’ve been studying for this my whole life. I know the Royal Code, the Principles of Governance. I know every single export Suala produces, and the ratio of iron ore to rock in the Gondogian mines.I’m ready!” My words ring with confidence. I am surprised at myself. I sit up straighter, no longer leaning on the cow. I inhale deeply, and it feels like the first free breath of my life.
I expect Harper to argue with me, to try to talk me into being practical, into being safe. But he’s sitting up straighter too, his face a mask of determination.
“I’m going with you,” he says.
8
We make our plans with amazing speed. Maybe we’re afraid that if we don’t go right away, we’ll chicken out. Maybe we’ve both been waiting so long to leave the village, to begin our real lives, that we can’t stand to stay here a second longer than we have to. We talk at the same time, our words overlapping: Harper volunteers to bring leftover bread and an old canteen for water while I jump in to offer dried jerky from Nanny’s pantry. But we’re in complete agreement about everything, until I say, “And you should bring your harp, as our cover story along the way.”
“What?” Harper explodes. “No—I am not taking the harp! That’s what I’m running away from!”
“I’m not saying you have to play it. Or practice or anything. But people will wonder about two children out on their own. If you have the harp, we can tell everyone thatyou’re going to the capital to find work. And we can say I’m your sister or something, coming along to help out . . .”
“We might as well say I’m going to that stupid music competition,” Harper grumbles.
“Perfect!” I say. “That’s what you can put in your note to your mam.”
“My note?” Harper sounds incredulous.
“Well, yeah, you weren’t going to just run off and not tell your mother anything, were you?”
I see by his face that he had intended to run off and not tell his mother anything.
“Eelsy—Cecilia—my mother wants to go to that music competition with me,” he says. “She wants to sit there in the audience and listen to me play better than anyone else. She wants to be there when they put the gold medal around my neck, when the director of the castle musicians walks over and begs me to work for him. Except—none of that would ever happen. I’m not better than everyone else. When I play in public, my hands get all sweaty and my fingers slip and I forget to count time. . . . I’m not even good enough to be the village musician, and there’s no competition here except Herk the tailor playing his cowbells!”
“Then write that she makes you nervous and that this is something that you have to do for yourself,” I say impatiently.
I’m surprised that Harper stops arguing. A few moments later we blow out the candle and creep out of the shed,each of us giving Glissando/Grease a good-bye pat. I wait by the door of Harper’s cottage while he tiptoes in and changes clothes and gathers up his things. I don’t see the note he leaves for his mother, but when he emerges through the doorway, he’s got his harp strapped across his back.
“You’re going to have to carry it some of the time too,” he growls at me. “It’s heavy. Danged harp!”
“No problem,” I mutter.
We escape the village without running into the watchman again, although I think I hear a faint echo of his voice from near the village store: “Four o’clock of the morning. All’s well. All’s well. . . .”
I shiver and wrap
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