Princess Academy: Chapters 9–14

When Miri's punishment lapsed, she walked outdoors with Britta, explaining what they had to look forward to.

The thing they had in common—they had both experienced the closet and the scuttling noises of the rat.

The quarry-speech had prompted a real memory in her own mind, and she had interpreted the memory into what it might mean in that moment—Lighten the blow.

No wolf falters before the bite
So strike
No hawk wavers before the dive
Just strike

Your spring holiday is not a Danlander tradition, and this academy is under no obligation to honor it. Let the exam determine if you've earned the right to return home.

But she was not ready to give up on the academy either, on all she was learning, on the hopes of becoming academy princess and being that special one, even on the rough and furtive yearning that she would not let herself think on too long—leaving the mountain, giving her pa the house in the painting, becoming a princess.

Now, the rest of you are miles behind where you should be, and I will not have you mortify me in front of the chief delegate and the prince.

Miri could see no hope in Esa's face. She seemed to cringe, waiting for the inevitable punishment, knowing she would never be allowed to leave but unable to stop her protest.

"A few hours in the closet might chill the impudence out of you," Olana was saying.

It was a song for wedge work, when every stroke was critical. If any quarrier in the line delayed a strike, the crack could split the wrong way and ruin the linder block.

Dozens of voices carried the melody, and slapping drums and clapping hands thrummed the beat.

She would have talked and teased and laughed with him, but his sudden appearance had startled her, and she did not know if she could keep up her carefree facade.

The grandfathers told the somber story of the creator god first speaking to people; then the mothers recited the one that began, "One lifetime ago bandits came to Mount Eskel."

Miri nodded earnestly.

She meant for the comment to slip unnoticed, but something in her tone must have intrigued him.

"Why are you being so evasive? Tell me, I really want to know."

Quarry-speaking with Esa and Frid had felt like a game, but with Peder it became something intimate, like reaching for his hand, like looking into his eyes even when she had nothing to say.

"What do you like best so far—the food, stories, dancing, or a certain smitten boy by the name of Jans?"

The idea sparked talk that did not die down until the flames dwindled into embers.

Some were eager to go back, others too content the morning after a spring holiday to think of ever leaving. Katar and Bena were adamant.
"I won't have any of you risking my chances by breaking apart the academy," said Katar.

After their morning visit to the chapel, Miri's family stayed around the house doing idle chores.

They sat on a large linder block marred with a crack through its center, and Miri spoke to them in quarry-speech, at first just Take care, then a memory of the three of them roasting apples at the hearth while a winter storm thundered outside.

Mud in the stream, and earth in the air. Clay in my ears, and stone in my stare. Grit on my tongue, and dust in my hair. Inside and out, mountain everywhere.

It seemed everyone was clever at something—there were those who were best at picking out the right fissure for prying a block of linder free and those who were best at making cheese or tanning hides, beating drums, or tossing stones.

All I know are
Scraps, flakes, chips, rocks
All below are
Stones, shards, bits, dross

Miri knew the girls had not been expecting to concede fault, but she was not confident she could be convincing without help from the rules of Diplomacy.

Olana blinked rapidly, a sign that her composure had slipped.

"I have a steep task to turn twenty mountain girls into presentable ladies. These measures are the only way I can keep you in line."

The tale of defeated bandits was a staple at spring holiday.

That morning a lecture from Olana had shaken a dreary spirit over their heads—linder represented a tiny fraction of the Danlander economy, less than the sale of pig ears or cloth flowers for ladies' hats; the entire population of Mount Eskel was smaller than the number of palace stable hands; the wooden chapel doors, so loved and prized by the village, were smaller and less ornate than the front doors of any Aslandian merchant.

Britta, Esa, and Frid could coax her outside for a nostalgic game of Wolf and Rabbit every so often.

She was tense and short of temper, as if uneasy with the threat of tutoring ruffians in a swamp but unable to soften her hard demeanor.

Pa folded his arms, a stance that made him appear twice as broad and as solid as the mountain.

She sidled up to her pa.

Just when Miri was enacting an exuberant retelling of the time Frid's brother was so woozy after a spinning dance that he fell face first into goat droppings, Peder walked by.

"Do you know that you avoid talking about Peder?" Britta asked.
"Or maybe you just avoid talking about Jans."
"Miri," said Britta with a touch of exasperation.

"Never mind, I'm not really worried about it," Miri said quickly, trying to affect indifference.

The other boy had let the rope rub against the corner of the stone. It was fraying.

She wrestled with her sobs until they were subdued to quiet, painful shakes in her chest.

I'm telling you now, no one cares. Do you think anyone begrudges my girl Esa her time tending house?