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Authors: Margaret Peterson Haddix
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Governance.
But those books were my link to my true identity, my proof that I wasn’t just another barefoot peasant girl. I had kind of thought that I would carry them with me when I went to the capital, to show to Desmia. After all, she wouldn’t relinquish her throne to just anyone.
“I could sell my harp for you to have money for the carriage,” Harper says, calmly.
“There isn’t time!” Nanny says. “You don’t understand—Cecilia has to leave
now.
She has to get to safety as fast as she can, and I can’t walk that far. And I can’t send her alone—”
“I can take Cecilia wherever she needs to go,” Harper says, and it’s almost annoying how polite he’s being, how helpful.
Nanny stares at him. In the past few minutes the earliest light of dawn has started to creep through the woods, so I can see the emotions playing across her face:despair, hope, worry, fear, and then resignation.
“Yes,” she murmurs. “I suppose that’s our only chance.”
“And you go stay with Mrs. Sutton, so you’ll be safe too,” I urge.
We’re in a rush then, packing up more food, Nanny writing directions to get to Sir Stephen’s. Before I know it, Nanny is wrapping a cloak around my shoulders and hugging me good-bye.
“I can’t leave you like this,” I whisper into her hair.
“You have to,” she whispers back, and this time she pushes me away.
9
We’ve barely started up the village path—the path away from the village, the path that leads to the cow pasture and then to the world beyond—when I realize that we’re walking on fresh hoofprints. I can see the exact imprint of the horseshoes: strange horseshoes, with a crest at each end.
“This—this is the way the horsemen went,” I gasp, and clutch Harper’s arm in sudden panic. “Harper, we’re following them.”
“We’re not going to catch up with men on horses,” Harper says.
“What if they stop and lie in wait for us?”
“How would they know to do that?” he asks. “How would they know that we’re behind them?”
But he flicks the hood of my cloak up over my hair, and I notice that he slows a bit, carefully scanning the pathahead every time we come to a bend or a rise.
Once we’re past the cow pasture, the path splits. The horseshoe marks continue to the left. The path to the right, which is actually wider, looks innocent and safe. It’s bright enough now that I can make out the signs at the crossroads: WEDGEWEDE with an arrow pointing to the left; CORTONA with an arrow to the right.
Sir Stephen lives in the direction of Wedgewede. Regardless of the horseshoe prints, that’s the way Nanny told us to go.
Cortona is the capital, where Desmia lives in the fabled Palace of Mirrors.
I come to a halt right in the middle of the path’s split.
Harper’s so busy looking around—right to left, left to right, examining every bit of the horizon before us—that he doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve stopped. He veers to the right, kicking up a cloud of dust that glows in the dawn light.
“Harper!” I mutter through clenched teeth. “Where are you going?”
“Cortona—isn’t that the capital? Where the palace is? Where you wanted to go?”
I squint at him in confusion.
“That was before,” I say. “Nanny thinks you’re taking me to Sir Stephen. To safety.”
Harper’s gaze follows the line of hoofprints leading in the direction Nanny wanted us to go, toward Wedgewede and Sir Stephen’s.
“Do you really think you’ll be safe there?” he asks quietly.
I wince. I can feel my long, sleepless night weighing on me, immobilizing my brain as well as my feet. I want to curl up and sleep for about twelve hours—then maybe I’d be capable of making a decision. Each path leads to a different fate, and I can’t see more than about twenty steps into either choice. Harper’s question echoes in my ears. Is safety really what I want, anyhow? Safety—or action, power, control, and a chance to treat Desmia
But those books were my link to my true identity, my proof that I wasn’t just another barefoot peasant girl. I had kind of thought that I would carry them with me when I went to the capital, to show to Desmia. After all, she wouldn’t relinquish her throne to just anyone.
“I could sell my harp for you to have money for the carriage,” Harper says, calmly.
“There isn’t time!” Nanny says. “You don’t understand—Cecilia has to leave
now.
She has to get to safety as fast as she can, and I can’t walk that far. And I can’t send her alone—”
“I can take Cecilia wherever she needs to go,” Harper says, and it’s almost annoying how polite he’s being, how helpful.
Nanny stares at him. In the past few minutes the earliest light of dawn has started to creep through the woods, so I can see the emotions playing across her face:despair, hope, worry, fear, and then resignation.
“Yes,” she murmurs. “I suppose that’s our only chance.”
“And you go stay with Mrs. Sutton, so you’ll be safe too,” I urge.
We’re in a rush then, packing up more food, Nanny writing directions to get to Sir Stephen’s. Before I know it, Nanny is wrapping a cloak around my shoulders and hugging me good-bye.
“I can’t leave you like this,” I whisper into her hair.
“You have to,” she whispers back, and this time she pushes me away.
9
We’ve barely started up the village path—the path away from the village, the path that leads to the cow pasture and then to the world beyond—when I realize that we’re walking on fresh hoofprints. I can see the exact imprint of the horseshoes: strange horseshoes, with a crest at each end.
“This—this is the way the horsemen went,” I gasp, and clutch Harper’s arm in sudden panic. “Harper, we’re following them.”
“We’re not going to catch up with men on horses,” Harper says.
“What if they stop and lie in wait for us?”
“How would they know to do that?” he asks. “How would they know that we’re behind them?”
But he flicks the hood of my cloak up over my hair, and I notice that he slows a bit, carefully scanning the pathahead every time we come to a bend or a rise.
Once we’re past the cow pasture, the path splits. The horseshoe marks continue to the left. The path to the right, which is actually wider, looks innocent and safe. It’s bright enough now that I can make out the signs at the crossroads: WEDGEWEDE with an arrow pointing to the left; CORTONA with an arrow to the right.
Sir Stephen lives in the direction of Wedgewede. Regardless of the horseshoe prints, that’s the way Nanny told us to go.
Cortona is the capital, where Desmia lives in the fabled Palace of Mirrors.
I come to a halt right in the middle of the path’s split.
Harper’s so busy looking around—right to left, left to right, examining every bit of the horizon before us—that he doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve stopped. He veers to the right, kicking up a cloud of dust that glows in the dawn light.
“Harper!” I mutter through clenched teeth. “Where are you going?”
“Cortona—isn’t that the capital? Where the palace is? Where you wanted to go?”
I squint at him in confusion.
“That was before,” I say. “Nanny thinks you’re taking me to Sir Stephen. To safety.”
Harper’s gaze follows the line of hoofprints leading in the direction Nanny wanted us to go, toward Wedgewede and Sir Stephen’s.
“Do you really think you’ll be safe there?” he asks quietly.
I wince. I can feel my long, sleepless night weighing on me, immobilizing my brain as well as my feet. I want to curl up and sleep for about twelve hours—then maybe I’d be capable of making a decision. Each path leads to a different fate, and I can’t see more than about twenty steps into either choice. Harper’s question echoes in my ears. Is safety really what I want, anyhow? Safety—or action, power, control, and a chance to treat Desmia
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