The Forgotten Sisters (12 page)

Astrid did not answer.

After a few minutes Felissa went to see what Sus was grinning about in her book. Astrid kept looking determinedly down.

“Astrid, do you remember when Sus was born?” Miri asked.

“It happened in the night, I think,” Astrid said quickly. “Felissa and I woke up in the morning and we had a baby sister.”

Miri waited, offering silence.

Astrid sighed. “Ma went to bed one night with a flat tummy and the next morning she had a baby. I was not too young to realize that's not how things work.”

Miri nodded. The linder house remembered. Sus was not Elin's daughter.

“And Felissa?”

Astrid shook her head, meaning she did not remember.

“You must be cousins at least,” Miri said. “You're all cousins to the king even if you don't have the same mother.”

“Maybe.” Astrid bent lower over her net. “Or maybe we're castoffs. We're girls no one wanted.”

“No,” said Miri. She had seen the cast-off children in Asland—no parents, no home, begging on the streets. Orphan children were not sent to a linder house in a swamp. Only royalty could live inside linder.

And yet … the chief delegate called the king's cousins “princesses,” but through the genealogy charts, Miri could not figure out how Elin was related to the king. He had no siblings, his only brother dying before he'd had children. Elin must have been a second or third cousin, but that still did not explain who the girls' father was. According to the stone's memory and Astrid's as well, Elin and the girls had lived alone in the linder house for the girls' whole lives.

A terrible possibility entered Miri. The chief delegate hiring Elin to be a mother, setting her up in the
faraway house, giving her orphaned babies from Asland. In the absence of true princesses, perhaps he tried to create some, stolen from Aslandian streets and put away in the linder house of Lesser Alva like winter apples in a cellar, kept in storage in case they were wanted later. That keen-eyed, pointy-bearded chief delegate might do such a thing, but not King Bjorn—or at least not Queen Sabet. Surely the queen at least was innocent of the planned deception.

Would one of the stone house sisters be asked not only to marry an aged king but to lie about her birth as well? What if King Fader married a “princess” but discovered later that she was a fraud? Far away in Stora, what protection would she have from his wrath?

“Do you remember furniture in the house?” Miri asked. “Chairs, a table, a bed?”

Astrid looked up into the palatial clouds that had covered the sun. “I remember a bed, sharing it with my ma.”

“Do you remember Jeffers being your guard?”

“No. There were others who lived in reed houses outside ours. But they left long ago. I don't know who they were.”

“Servants. Guards. Perhaps they abandoned their duty and Lesser Alva. Jeffers stayed. He probably always collected your allowance from the traders and gave it
over to Elin. Once the others deserted, there was no one to notice that he was stealing it instead. He joined the village, built his own house, and kept pocketing your allowance, a month here, a month there, eventually keeping all of it. Your mother didn't know what to do when the money and food ran out, so she agreed to trade Jeffers food for furniture.”

“Until the furniture was gone,” said Astrid.

“If she wrote to the king to ask about the missing allowances, Jeffers likely stole the letters. No one in Asland ever heard, and Elin must have believed that they'd just stopped sending it, that they no longer cared about her and her children.”

No one from Asland ever came to check on them. The king's general disinterest in his cousins—or whoever they were—had made them vulnerable to a predator like Jeffers.

“Ma taught us how to hunt and trap,” said Astrid.

“Perhaps she had to learn on her own first, since the villagers didn't seem eager to help. What a remarkable woman she must have been.”

Astrid flashed a rare, sincere smile. Her chin lifted, her eyes brightened, even her freckles seemed to lighten.

Miri felt a surge of warmth in her gut, a surety for the first time since coming to Lesser Alva. Her mission
became as clear as the swamp under a sunrise. She would not school and polish the girls into princesses for the likes of the chief delegate and King Fader. But she could offer them an education for their own sakes, knowledge that might give them armor against whatever would come.

Meat on the spit, and don't you know

Your lips are sweet, your voice is low

Meat on the spit, and don't you know

I'd swim a sea to be your beau

But meat's on the spit and don't I know

It's salted quick, cooked tender slow

Love in your eyes gives me a thirst

But the meat's ready so I'll eat first

Miri came in to find the three girls fighting. Not shouting or name-calling, but actually in a pile on the floor, throwing one another around, kicking and punching.

“Stop it! You'll hurt yourselves. What's the matter with you!”

From the pile of bodies, Felissa's face looked up. She was smiling. Of course that did not mean much.

Then Miri saw Astrid's face. She was also smiling.

“Get her!” said Sus.

The sisters launched themselves at Miri, throwing her to the ground. The hit knocked the breath from her lungs. Her arms and legs were pinned, and she stared up at them in hurt confusion.

“Come on, don't just lie there,” said Sus. “Get free.”

“I don't know how,” Miri whispered.

Bored, Sus threw herself at Astrid, and the two began to wrestle, each trying to push the other's back to the floor.

“We've got to stay nimble,” Felissa said, sitting up. “You never know when you'll run into a caiman … or a bandit!”

Miri tried to keep her expression still so as not to give Felissa warning before she sprang, but she quickly discovered that she was terrible at wrestling. Felissa pinned her over and over, and Miri could not stop laughing long enough to catch her breath. She crawled off to collapse in a heap of bruises, yet feeling good, bubbles of mirth and energy expanding inside her chest.

“I had something to show you,” she said when she could breathe again. “Look! Your allowance! The traders gave the mail to Fat Hofer, he gave it to me, and I paid him for his service. No more Jeffers, no more banditry. We won!”

Along with the small leather sack of coins was a letter addressed to Miri Larendaughter.

“May I read it to you?” Astrid asked.

“Certainly!”

Miri had assumed it was the same bland note from a king's official that had accompanied their monthly allowances in the past. But as Astrid read, Miri felt her stomach shrink to a small, hard knot.

“ ‘Miri, things are not good here.'” Astrid read slowly, her voice catching over some words. “ ‘I cannot im … imagine you have had enough time yet, but it will have to be enough. There are—'”

“Wait,” Miri said, standing.

“‘… fur … fur … furious meetings and shouting and warnings,'” Astrid kept reading. “ ‘I cannot go into details in a letter. But expect someone to come for you. Those girls better be ready, and just you pray to the creator god that the king likes one of them—'”

Miri snatched the letter from Astrid's hand and glanced at the signature:
Katar, Mount Eskel's delegate to the court in Asland
. Miri cursed herself. She should have checked first.

The three girls stared at her in surprise.

“Wasn't I reading it right?” Astrid asked.

“No, you were. Sorry,” said Miri. “It's just … I …”

“You're feeling anxious,” Felissa said. “You're sorry we heard that. You're very, very sorry, but—”

“Time enough for what?” Astrid asked softly. “What did you need time enough for?”

Miri exhaled slowly. When Astrid reached for the letter, Miri did not pull it away. Astrid finished reading.

“‘… pray to the creator god that the king likes one of them enough to marry her, or all our work is undone. Be ready.'” Astrid scanned the letter as if reading it for a second time. “Ready for
what
?”

Sus frowned. “The ‘king' refers to King Fader of Stora. Clearly we're being groomed as potential brides for him in order to secure an alliance and stop an invasion.”

Miri gaped. “How did you—”

“I've read your books over and over,” said Sus. “And I keep wondering, if you could bring only three books, why were two of them about history?
The History of Stora
and
The History of Danland
. Now it makes sense. You're arranging a marriage between Stora and Danland. Queen Sabet didn't have any daughters. We must be the next nearest unmarried female royalty, so we're being offered up to the king of Stora. If he likes one of us, then our countries are allies and maybe their huge army won't march in and grind us into the mud.”

Sus spoke with no emotion, as if she were simply delivering an answer to one of Miri's teacherly questions. But Felissa and Astrid seemed too shocked to even speak. Miri took their hands.

“Sit with me? Please?” She led them out front, where they sat on weeds and leaned against the house, the breeze off the water smooth and cool. And Miri told them all she knew.

“What's the king of Stora like?” asked Felissa after a time.

“He's a widower, but that's all I know,” said Miri. “This is why I shouldn't be the one to tell you all this! I'm sure the chief delegate could explain better—”

“You must know something,” said Astrid.

“He's been married at least three times,” said Sus. “The genealogical charts in
The History of Stora
show that. The first wife died a year after they were married. Childbirth, probably. The second died ten years into their marriage. The book was printed eight years ago, and at that time his third wife was still alive, and he had a total of sixteen children. Probably has even more now, if his third wife lasted long. And according to the year of his birth …” Sus looked up, calculating in her head. “He is seventy-two years old.”

Felissa sucked in a breath.

Astrid stood. “We'll just say no. We'll refuse!”

Miri spoke quietly. “Yes, you could, I think. But the chief delegate has already written to King Fader and offered one of you to him. If you did refuse, he might be
so insulted he wouldn't hesitate to invade and claim Danland.”

“So what?” said Astrid. “Let them take over the cities, I don't care. We'll just stay here and keep hunting like always.”

“Maybe,” said Miri. A dragonfly had landed on a leaf right by her foot. Its purple body had an iridescent green sheen like a precious jewel.

“Miri,” Felissa said. “All those delegates and royals and such in Asland who are in furious, shouty meetings, will they
let
us refuse and stay here?”

“I don't know,” Miri whispered.

Sus began working it out, touching a finger as she made each point. “Danland offers us, Stora accepts, we refuse, King Fader gets angry, Stora invades Danland, we're
in
Danland … so, what does he do to us?”

For a while, no one spoke. Miri had not believed it possible for Felissa to look angry.

A call came from the village: “Meat! We've got meat!”

Felissa stood up, brushed off her clothes, and started walking toward the village.

“I could use some meat right about now,” she said without looking back. “I could definitely use some meat.”

Sus grabbed a couple of knives and a bag of turnips, and she and Miri hurried after Felissa.

“Astrid?” Sus asked.

“Go on,” said Astrid, entering the house.

Miri hesitated.

“She likes to be alone sometimes,” Sus said, following Felissa.

The village gathered around the house of a woman named Hanna, sawing off chunks of the white caiman flesh and sticking them on long green reeds. Several fire pits of large, flat stones lay on the reed island, the fire burning atop them, a barrier between the dry reeds and the flames. Children dumped buckets of water on the surrounding reeds to protect them from flying sparks, running to the island's edge to scoop up more.

The caiman was large, and the week's fishing had been good, providing enough food that Hanna turned no one away. Miri spotted Dogface and stopped by the farthest fire.

The mood was breezy and fair. Dogface passed around swill.

“Meat on the spit, and don't you know,” Dogface sang out.

“Your lips are sweet, your voice is low,” several sang back.

“Love in your eyes gives me a thirst,” Dogface sang, sitting by a village woman, who laughed with her mouth wide.

“But the meat's ready so I'll eat first!” others sang back.

Miri had never heard this song, but apparently everyone in the village knew it—even Dogface.

Miri angled away from him, hurriedly roasting two pieces of meat before heading back to Astrid.

She stopped short at the door.

Astrid was wearing one of Britta's dresses. Peach-colored silk, it fitted at her chest, flowed out at her hips, and settled smooth as sand at her feet.

Miri took a step back, trying to slip away, but her bare foot made a soft sucking sound in the wet ground. Astrid spun around.

“Sorry,” Miri said.

Astrid's cheeks turned red.

“It's a Storan design,” said Miri. “That piece of white silk hanging from the front of the waist is supposed to look like an apron. The Storan noblewomen apparently like to resemble hardworking commoner women, except the fabric is silk, so they clearly aren't doing any work at all. It's pretty, though, and Danlandian noble ladies have started to adopt the style.”