three

Next morning, Lizana brought a bigger breakfast than usual. “Eat everything,” was all she said.

Had Peitar talked to her? And that would mean that she also knew about Derek and revolution, wouldn’t it?

I’d worry about that later. Right now, what worried me was the fact that I was going to try my disguise in daylight, among people who hated me and my family.

I pulled out the Larei clothes and inspected them. Bren and Deon hadn’t recognized me. If I don’t try, I’ll hate myself forever.

I rebraided my hair, dressed carefully, and after I shinnied down the tree, dirtied myself everywhere, even underneath the tunic’s laces. Then I raced through the garden, made sure the sentries couldn’t see me, and got myself over the wall.

Outside Selenna House the weeds grew untended, and the wild olive trees were picked clean. I set out for Riveredge, using the shrubbery along the stream as cover. I was glad I was used to going barefoot, because the ground was stony and full of weed-stickers. I passed abandoned houses, the roof-thatch gone along with the doors. Some of the stone walls had been taken apart and hauled away.

Soon the occupied part of the village was in sight.

My father’s carriage always followed Prince Street, the once-grand main road, which cut through the town square. The houses there were in the best condition, though much repaired. The rest of Riveredge looked terrible.

On the few remaining fences, somebody had scrawled Unity! and Down with Tyranny! Then I stopped short. Decorating one wall was a skillful drawing of my father, Peitar—and me.

The fat, fox-faced girl with the long hair had her nose turned up and her mouth turned down. Next to her stood a larger, fatter man wearing a gigantic wig, his mouth turned down, too. The one that upset me was the crooked figure, more crooked in the sketch than in real life.

I burned with anger. It wasn’t Peitar’s fault our father had forced him onto the back of a warhorse when my brother was seven—of course he’d get thrown!

Even when I was small, I somehow understood that the accident never would have happened if Uncle Darian hadn’t insisted Peitar was spoiled, that he needed to get trained and tough. My uncle had banished all the mages from the kingdom, in case any were conspiring against him; that meant the healer mages were gone, too. Uncle Darian always said a strong man healed on his own.

So Peitar’s shattered knee was never treated correctly. That was when he’d started reading in earnest—Lizana had told me about the first year, when pain kept him awake at night, and he set out to read every single book in our library.

Whoever made that drawing had no idea.

I gave the wall a last glare and walked on. I passed a few more houses and reached a rickety bridge just as a swarm of boys and girls arrived from the other direction.

“There he is!” Bren! My heartbeat quickened again. “Larei! Here!”

He was perched on the wooden rail. In the daylight, I saw that his patched tunic had long ago lost its laces, and that he, too, wore knee pants, cast-offs from the fashion of the generation before. The others were as ragged and dirty. I sauntered warily toward them.

“We were calling the hatchlings hatchlings.” Bren flapped his arms at me. “Said they were chased off. I say they lie. Did you see anyone t’other night?”

A small girl with filthy blonde hair whined in look-at-me injury, “I saw the cripple and they won’t believe me. He said I should run away before the guards got me. So I did.”

“Now why would he do that?” Deon asked sarcastically. “I think you made it up. His Crookedness would call the guards on you and laugh as they dragged you to the guardhouse.”

“Doesn’t make sense,” another boy exclaimed. “Why should Crook-Leg send you off?” As he said it, he made a gesture with two fingers, one straight and one bent.

“He did! He did!” The little girl hopped from one foot to the other, shrieking as the others continued to scoff.

I didn’t dare tell them that Peitar would be likely to do just that. But the girl crouched down in a ball on the other side of the bridge, her arms wrapped around her legs as she sobbed, all showing off forgotten. “He did,” she cried. “Crook-Leg sent me away.”

I couldn’t stay silent anymore.

“I say it could’ve happened.” Everyone turned my way. “It’s a big place. Who knows—maybe some of them are on our side.”

“Oh, sure, and they just haven’t had a chance to come over here and help us,” Deon sneered.

“Well, maybe Prince Redwig would have ’em killed.” Bren spread his hands. “I know! We’ll ask Derek.”

Deon tilted her head. “Fair enough.”

The little girl gave a hiccup, her crying over.

“So let’s have some fun,” someone said.

I was worried, for I didn’t know any games, but the rules were easy to figure out.

As we played, I discovered that they all knew one another, but they weren’t old friends. In fact, judging from things I overheard—and some exchanged looks—the village children had kept to separate groups until recently. The ones who worked on the Selenna farms were distrusted by the trade families, and villagers scowled at farmers.

I asked Bren about it when we were hiding in an empty trough. He told me that Derek had insisted they make friends, because he wanted them to work together.

“For what?”

“Derek says we need to be unified. Learn everything nobles do. He even made us practice reading and writing! You’ll see.”

By late morning, I was hungry and thirsty, despite my big breakfast. People ran down to the river to drink. So did I. I had a feeling that there wasn’t going to be any food.

When the midday bells tolled, everyone stopped, looking grim as they began picking up rocks and stuffing them in pockets or wrapping them in worn aprons or skirts.

“Hurry up,” Bren said to me. At my puzzled expression, he added, “Slam justice! Get those rocks, fast!” and smacked me on the shoulder. I staggered, bit back a protest, and loaded up until he gave a short, sharp whistle. “Come on. You’re with us.”

We joined some boys loping along a street winding between shabby houses, then over a low wall and up onto the roof of a stone building. It was no harder than climbing a tree. I looked down—straight into the guardhouse courtyard.

Bren whispered, “We can’t stop ’em from that.” He pointed at the main street, where two families slowly departed, the adults harnessed to old carts piled with possessions. “They can’t pay the taxes.”

“Where will they go?” I whispered back.

“I don’t know.” Bren made a face, then indicated the adjacent rooftop, where Deon stood with a group of girls. They each held something—some had stones, but others had metal pans or trays. “At least we might be able to stop this.”

Below, several people marched out. I gulped when I recognized my father behind an honor guard, all of whom carried spears. He wore his pale gray velvet judgment robe, trimmed with blue silk braiding, the Selenna colors. He looked hot and sweaty and in a very bad mood.

Then came more guards, leading a disheveled man in bloodstained clothing.

At the other end of the courtyard was a gallows.

My mouth dried, and I clutched the rocks tightly.

Again, Bren whistled.

Everyone on the roof began throwing stones at the guards, except for the girls with the pans. They aimed them so the sunlight reflected into the men’s faces, dazzling them.

“Get those brats!” my father roared.

I flung my rocks as hard as I could. Not one hit the targets. The boys began jumping down from the roof.

“Run,” Bren said, tugging me. “Unless you want to get caught! Down with tyranny!” he shrieked, and leaped awkwardly after his friends, his arms windmilling.

I landed hard, my ankles twinging, and followed Bren between houses, under an ancient, warped fence, and across scrubby vegetable gardens. Finally, we collapsed onto a grassy bank near the slow-moving river, laughing breathlessly.

“Did ya see that one with the purple nose?”

“I got three of ’em!”

Bren poked me. “You’re sure bad with a rock, Larei. Couldn’t hit a fence at two paces.”

“I was sick for a long time, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right.” As Deon and the girls flopped down nearby, Bren asked, “Did they get him away?”

“Yes,” she said, grinning. “The big girls hobbled the guards’ horses. I heard Prince Greedy cursing just before I hopped the stable fence.”

Everyone cheered, sending the birds perched on a roof pole flapping skyward. I listened to the excited chatter as they either bragged or praised each other. We had been the decoys for some adults rescuing the condemned man, who was one of Derek’s followers.

Then everyone raced down to the river and jumped in, clothes and all. The cool water felt delicious, though I had to be careful my cap did not come loose or even get wet.

After a time we climbed out and lay on the bank, some talking—mostly about food—until a patrol rode along, imposing in their fine blue battle tunics and shiny weapons.

“You brats.” The leader reined in his horse. It was the captain of the day guard, uncle to one of the stable boys.

“Any of you near the guardhouse today?”

“No, sir,” a little boy said. Everyone else shook their heads.

“Liars,” another Blue Guard snarled. “We ought to hang ’em all.”

“We will,” the leader said, scowling as he mopped his brow. “If we catch you worthless rats anywhere near there.”

Catcalls and scorn were the result—when the patrol was well out of hearing.

Bren shook his head. “Don’t strut too much. Remember what Derek said. Most of the Blue Guards here are the stupid, lazy ones, or the ones whose families work for Prince Greedy. The smart ones get taken into the king’s army. If they send them here, we’ll catch it hot.”

“Aw, quit nagging,” another boy said, and the rest made rude noises.

After another game, the sun began to sink beyond the distant mountains. The shadows melted together, hiding the ugliness of the houses and the hungry, underfed look of my companions. The smells of supper drifted on the air, mostly corn mash fried with wild olives. The gang gradually left, until finally it was only Bren, Deon, the twins, and me.

By now I had figured out that Bren and Deon were the leaders. Though I was ravenous, I wanted to meet Derek. If they could endure hunger, then so could I.

We walked through the village. The twins took turns skipping rocks down the dusty path until we reached the bridge. Bren hitched himself onto the creaking rail.

“I don’t know how many more times the roof plan will work,” Deon said finally.

“Probably none.” Bren shrugged. “That’s what Derek said, ‘Surprise only works once.’”

“It might be one of our parents next.”

Bren said nothing.

Tim poked Deon. “Sing for us.”

“Something good, not mushy,” Tam added.

She drew in a deep breath, and launched into an exciting ballad. She had a good voice and brought the story to life. Her next song I liked even better. She’d taken the melody to a soppy love song and put new words to it, all about Derek’s adventures. She sang several more songs, mostly ones she’d made up.

I leaned back, enjoying the soft night air, the songs, the success of my disguise. I had—for the first time—friends. They didn’t pretend to like me because my father was a prince and my uncle the king, like the young courtiers in Miraleste. In fact, if they’d known that, they would have hated me. Still, I wished that this moment would never end.

But it did. Deon finished the last song, and Bren pointed at the moon, which hung low over the rooftops.

We listened. Water chuckled over stones in the river below; one of the twins fidgeted, making the bridge creak. I could heard Deon’s quick breathing.

Then came the sound of hoofbeats.