Palace of Mirrors Read Free Page B

boar, she’d probably scold me for provoking it. And wild boars are low to the ground. You don’t hold your knife that high to fend off a wild boar.
    You hold your knife that high to fend off a human.
    Nanny has always been the one who’s
not
worried about my fate. Sometimes, when they think I’m not listening—when they think I’m fully engrossed in
Court Protocol for Everyday Use
, or when they think I’ve fallen asleep in my corner of the room—I can hear her and Sir Stephenwhispering about current conditions in the countryside, the suspected movements of our enemies, the various speculations about what might happen next. There are advantages to living in a tiny cottage. When Sir Stephen comes for his weekly visits, there’s nowhere for him to stay except in the same room as Nanny and me. And there’s nowhere for him and Nanny to go to whisper in private. Unfortunately, Sir Stephen always has all the interesting information, but he whispers so softly that I usually hear only Nanny’s side of the conversation. And she always says things like “Well, no matter how hard they try, they’ll never find Cecilia here” and “Who would think to look in this village? Why, I’d wager we’re not even named on most of the maps in the kingdom.”
    But now, if Nanny’s scared too . . .
    Something’s changed. I can see it in Nanny’s eyes, that there’s some new threat, some new turn of events. Maybe she’s heard news from Sir Stephen, or rumors from down in the village.
    “Tell me,” I demand. “Tell me the truth.” I will my voice to sound imperial and queenly, truly royal. I picture myself with a crown on my head, a ramrod-straight spine, a fur-lined robe engulfing my body. I want
that
kind of voice. But it’s my usual voice that comes out, just a little squeakier and whinier. I sound like a spoiled little child begging for penny candy at the village store.
    “I’ll tell you to wash and bandage that cut, I will,” shesays, half laughing. But she trumps up an excuse to stay outside, pretending to weed the already weed-free vegetable garden while I finish cutting up the fish. She doesn’t leave me alone the rest of the day.
    And so there’s really no need to tell her about the shadow and the dog, about my own fears and worries and mistakes.
    Is there?

  4  
    After I’m done cutting up the fish and the stew is bubbling in its pot over the fire, I bury the fish bones in the garden for fertilizer. Then I feed the chickens and gather eggs and bring in firewood and do my usual other dozens and dozens of chores, all under Nanny’s watchful eye. And then somehow it’s late afternoon, time to bring the cow in from the pasture. I can practically see Nanny deliberating about this, trying to decide if it’s safe to let me go. Just as I’m about to make another embarrassing plea—“
Please
tell me what’s going on! Please! You have to!”—she surprises me by asking, “Harper will be going after his mam’s cow today, won’t he?”
    “He always does,” I say.
    Nanny takes the last split log from my arms.
    “Then run on now and meet him at the path. You two go together, you hear?”
    We always do. Going after the cows is one of my favorite chores. Harper’s always in a good mood, because he’s done with his music practice for the day. And for me it’s the moment that divides my day as hardworking, ragged peasant girl from my evening as secret princess poring over gilded texts. The studying is no easier than the chores, but it’s more promising. Each page I turn whispers,
Someday . . . Someday . . .
And though I can’t tell Harper about it, of course, sometimes when we’re going after the cows together, I figure out a way to share some of the interesting tidbits I’ve learned: “Did you know that the tallest waterfall in our kingdom is equal to the height of fifty men, standing one on top of the other?” “Did you know that King Guilgelbert the Fourth never wore his crown, because it made his