noble of a crime, they had the right to petition the king. Past kings heard grievances in their linder palace, but King Bjorn did not take the time. Instead he sent a Grievance Official to the provinces.
Miri opened to a random page.
CLAIM: Farmer accuses Lord Jemel’s guards of stealing his horses.
FINDING: Perhaps the farmer ate his own horses.
RULING: In favor of Lord Jemel.
CLAIM: Miller accuses Lady Katarina of excessive tributes, resulting in the starving death of his son.
FINDING: Millers are often unreliable.
RULING: In favor of Lady Katarina.
CLAIM: Farmer accuses Lord Halffword of ill-using his daughter.
FINDING: The daughter is thirteen and too young to be trusted.
RULING: In favor of Lord Halffword.
Miri paged through the ledger, searching for any instance when the Grievance Official believed the commoner.
“Every claim’s ruling is in favor of the noble,” Timon said, guessing her thoughts. “For twenty years, every single claim. Nobles bribe the officials. Commoners never have a chance.”
Miri might have thrown the book across the room then if Clemen had not taken it first, putting it back in its hiding place.
“They can’t get away with it!” Miri said.
“They already do,” Sisela said. “You see why I scorn my own kind. Nobles are as selfish and untrustworthy as royalty. They know the king overreaches his power—they scorned him with rubbish at the gift giving—and yet they do nothing for the commoners. The changes we dream of will only come if commoners seize their own future.”
Miri nodded, but she shivered as if just realizing how cold the world was. Sisela put a warm arm around her, and Miri was tempted to rest her head on the woman’s shoulder. She missed Marda and Pa. She missed home.
A group in the corner were laughing as they sang. Clemen was again playing “All Hail the King,” but the group had toyed with the lyrics.
He is ever inglorious
His laugh is laborious
His smell is notorious
Impale the herring king!
Pounding knocks at the front door surprised the song from their tongues. Miri had not imagined that Sisela could look afraid.
“It might not be—” Clemen began.
“But it might,” said Sisela. “Go!”
There was a scramble. Timon took Miri’s hand, leading her to the rear door of the Salon. She glanced back. Clemen began a casual tune at the piano, and Sisela plucked the feather from her hair and reclined on her lounge. All the rest were running. The Salon door was opening. Timon yanked her out.
They raced through a maze of rooms, all dark, cold, and empty. Miri kept expecting to trip over a chair or table or anything at all, but their passage was clear. They exited the house in the back, sidled down a crack of an alley into the street, and then stopped. Timon placed Miri’s hand on his arm and began to stroll. She darted one glance back. An official and several soldiers stood outside Sisela’s house. One met Miri’s eyes and frowned. Miri forced herself to look up at Timon and even managed a carefree smile.
“What a droll little play,” he said, loud enough for his voice to carry. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Indeed!” she said. “Wasn’t the jester amusing?”
Miri and Timon laughed until they were around the corner. She let go of his arm.
“What happened?”
Timon frowned. “It’s illegal to meet in groups to discuss politics.”
“It is? But those officials couldn’t know what we talked about. It might have just been a party.”
“They don’t have to prove it. If they find us assembled together and even suspect we were talking about laws and the king, they could take us to the prisons, where people often die of disease and neglect before they reach trial.”
Miri shook her head. “Things were simpler on my mountain.”
“Asland is the better for your presence, Miri. We need you.”
“I wish I was smart enough to help in any way at all,” she said. “I want the world you imagine, Timon. I want it so badly.”
“I knew it!”
Miri opened to a random page.
CLAIM: Farmer accuses Lord Jemel’s guards of stealing his horses.
FINDING: Perhaps the farmer ate his own horses.
RULING: In favor of Lord Jemel.
CLAIM: Miller accuses Lady Katarina of excessive tributes, resulting in the starving death of his son.
FINDING: Millers are often unreliable.
RULING: In favor of Lady Katarina.
CLAIM: Farmer accuses Lord Halffword of ill-using his daughter.
FINDING: The daughter is thirteen and too young to be trusted.
RULING: In favor of Lord Halffword.
Miri paged through the ledger, searching for any instance when the Grievance Official believed the commoner.
“Every claim’s ruling is in favor of the noble,” Timon said, guessing her thoughts. “For twenty years, every single claim. Nobles bribe the officials. Commoners never have a chance.”
Miri might have thrown the book across the room then if Clemen had not taken it first, putting it back in its hiding place.
“They can’t get away with it!” Miri said.
“They already do,” Sisela said. “You see why I scorn my own kind. Nobles are as selfish and untrustworthy as royalty. They know the king overreaches his power—they scorned him with rubbish at the gift giving—and yet they do nothing for the commoners. The changes we dream of will only come if commoners seize their own future.”
Miri nodded, but she shivered as if just realizing how cold the world was. Sisela put a warm arm around her, and Miri was tempted to rest her head on the woman’s shoulder. She missed Marda and Pa. She missed home.
A group in the corner were laughing as they sang. Clemen was again playing “All Hail the King,” but the group had toyed with the lyrics.
He is ever inglorious
His laugh is laborious
His smell is notorious
Impale the herring king!
Pounding knocks at the front door surprised the song from their tongues. Miri had not imagined that Sisela could look afraid.
“It might not be—” Clemen began.
“But it might,” said Sisela. “Go!”
There was a scramble. Timon took Miri’s hand, leading her to the rear door of the Salon. She glanced back. Clemen began a casual tune at the piano, and Sisela plucked the feather from her hair and reclined on her lounge. All the rest were running. The Salon door was opening. Timon yanked her out.
They raced through a maze of rooms, all dark, cold, and empty. Miri kept expecting to trip over a chair or table or anything at all, but their passage was clear. They exited the house in the back, sidled down a crack of an alley into the street, and then stopped. Timon placed Miri’s hand on his arm and began to stroll. She darted one glance back. An official and several soldiers stood outside Sisela’s house. One met Miri’s eyes and frowned. Miri forced herself to look up at Timon and even managed a carefree smile.
“What a droll little play,” he said, loud enough for his voice to carry. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Indeed!” she said. “Wasn’t the jester amusing?”
Miri and Timon laughed until they were around the corner. She let go of his arm.
“What happened?”
Timon frowned. “It’s illegal to meet in groups to discuss politics.”
“It is? But those officials couldn’t know what we talked about. It might have just been a party.”
“They don’t have to prove it. If they find us assembled together and even suspect we were talking about laws and the king, they could take us to the prisons, where people often die of disease and neglect before they reach trial.”
Miri shook her head. “Things were simpler on my mountain.”
“Asland is the better for your presence, Miri. We need you.”
“I wish I was smart enough to help in any way at all,” she said. “I want the world you imagine, Timon. I want it so badly.”
“I knew it!”
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