Read Online Palace of Mirrors by Margaret Peterson Haddix - Free Book Online Page B

honorably? Even staring at that line of hoofprints I still have faith that Sir Stephen could protect me in Wedgewede. He’s a knight; he knows everything. Even now Cortona seems like the greater danger, the greater unknown.
    And yet, slowly, agonizingly, I force myself to turn and follow Harper.
    “When I get to the palace,” I tell him, “when I’ve taken up my rightful place, I’m going to send a message to Sir Stephen and Nanny, to let them know I’m safe
there.
”
    My voice shakes, saying that. I’m sure Harper can tell that I’m bluffing, that I’m trying to convince myself that safety’s still possible. But Harper only nods curtly, his head bumping against the harp on his back. I should probably offer to carry it for him, since I’m the one who insisted on retrieving it from the bushes when we rushed away from Nanny’s. But each step forward already takes great effort. My feet drag so badly that I think this path is perhapsmade of quicksand—how is it that Sir Stephen left out that little bit of information when I was studying the topography of the countryside?
    “Cecilia—you’re asleep on your feet,” Harper says the next time he looks back at me. “Do you want to stop and rest?”
    I shake my head stubbornly. If Harper can keep going, so can I.
    We trudge onward, the woodlands along the path smoothing out into acres and acres of waving grasses.
    My kingdom,
I think, picturing the maps I used to pore over with Sir Stephen, the yellow stains of the grasslands contrasting with the green forests, the gray mountains. Unaccountably, this thought brings tears to my eyes. I’m not sure if it’s from exhaustion or patriotism.
    When I am princess—no, more than that, when I am queen—I will rule wisely and well,
I vow.
I will treat my subjects honorably. I will make my kingdom proud of me.
    I am already feeling proud of myself for so nobly walking toward the capital, walking toward certain danger rather than possible safety, risking my own life to be sure of saving Desmia’s.
    “About your parents,” Harper says suddenly. “If you don’t mind talking about this . . . why did the murderers kill them?”
    I pull my gaze back from the waving grasses.
    “Our enemies are evil men,” I say. It’s an easy answer,because this is what Sir Stephen has told me so many, many times.
    Harper doesn’t look convinced.
    “But why?” he asks. “Why are they evil? What did they want so badly that it was worth killing for?”
    I have to think about these questions a little harder.
    “Power, I guess,” I say. “Control. It’s”—I swallow a lump in my throat—“it’s been common throughout Sualan history for evil, unprincipled men to challenge the monarchy. Kings have been assassinated three times. But good always triumphs in the end.”
    A troubled look crosses Harper’s face.
    “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, “but if there was ever some time where the royal family was wrong—maybe just because they made a mistake, maybe because they didn’t understand something, maybe because they didn’t care—shouldn’t there be a way for ordinary people to stand up and say so? Without killing anyone? Hasn’t there ever been a bad king who deserved to be . . . sent away?”
    I gape at Harper.
    “You think my father—my father
and
mother—you think they deserved—” I’m suddenly so indignant I can barely speak.
    “No, no, that’s not what I’m saying,” Harper interrupts quickly. “I don’t know much of anything about your parents. Except about the king and the war.”
    “It’s always about the war with you, isn’t it?” I glower at Harper. “I’ll have you know, my father started a building campaign throughout the kingdom, setting up good roads between every major town. He simplified the legal system, so judges hear their cases more quickly. He hired scribes to keep good records of imports and exports. He, um . . .” I know there are lots of other accomplishments Sir