Palace of Mirrors by Margaret Peterson Haddix Page B

their grandchildren, “And once I went to Cortona and stood in the courtyard by the palace and saw Princess Desmia on her balcony. . . .”
    “Cecilia?” Harper whispers. “What do you want to do now?”
    Slowly I turn and focus my eyes on my friend. The crowd is thinning out around us now, and people are giving us a wide berth because we look so ragged—and probably because of how we smell, now that I think about it. But to me the sight of Harper’s dirty, freckled face is a comfort. Just looking at him shores up my resolve and banishes some of the more unpleasant questions hanging around my mind.
    “We need to gather information, remember?” I tell him.
    “Well, yeah, but—”
    “Come on,” I say.
    I’m tempted to grab his hand again—just to pull him along, for no other reason, really—but I chicken out. Instead I beckon him forward, toward the palace. The closer we get to it, the more it seems to soar overhead. I think it really must be as tall as the tallest mountain in the kingdom, Mount Valerian, and that’s more than fourteen thousand feet high.
    The huge doorway leading to the palace is surrounded by double rows of guards. I go and stand directly in front of the nearest guard.
    “Excuse me, sir,” I say. I clear my throat and try to forget that I’m barefoot, ragged, and filthy. I’ll be wearing royal finery soon enough. “What must one do if one wishes to arrange a private audience with the princess?”
    He looks down at me. The sides of his moustache begin to twitch.
    “By ‘one,’ you mean yourself?” he asks. “It’s you who’s wanting an audience with the princess?”
    “Yes,” I say, making myself stare straight back into his eyes, even though it’s really hard to do that, the way he’s looking at me.
    “Then”—he begins laughing—“there ain’t nothing you can do, because the princess ain’t never going to have anything to do with the likes of you!” His laughter bubbles over, and spreads, and soon the guards beside him are laughing too.
    “Imagine, a beggar thinking she can meet with the princess!” one whispers to each other.
    “Hey, girly!” another one calls. “The princess expects her visitors to wear shoes!”
    I’m thinking that as soon as I reveal my true identity, my very first official act should be firing these guards.
    “Let’s go,” Harper says, tugging on my arm.
    But the guards aren’t done making fun of us.
    “Hey!” one hollers after us. “If you can play that harp—if you didn’t just steal it—maybe you can get to see theprincess by entering the palace music competition. She’s one of the judges!”
    This makes some of the other guards double over with laughter.
    “Imagine! Beggars in the royal music competition!” They chortle.
    “I’ll have you know—,” I begin.
    “Er—thanks for the advice,” Harper interrupts. He jerks on my arm so hard that I’m sure it’s dislocated this time. Or maybe not, because the rest of my body seems to realize that it has to follow along. He jerks me completely off my feet and all but drags me away, my shameful bare feet scraping along the flagstones.
    “Stop it!” I hiss. “I can walk on my own!”
    “Fine,” he says, letting go so quickly that I fall to the ground.
    I glare at him and toss my head, because the guards are still watching, laughing so hard they’re practically rolling on the ground as well. We’re like a comedy show to them, maybe a Punch and Judy routine. With as much dignity as I can muster I stand up, turn around, and walk away. I don’t even check to make sure that Harper’s following me until we’re outside the city walls once more.
    “Wait!” he calls. “Where are you going?”
    I don’t answer. I veer off the road and climb a small rise in the shadow of the walls. Away from the crowd I sink down onto the bare ground. I want to curl up into alittle ball and sob my eyes out, but I’m still trying to hold onto a little bit of dignity.
    Harper sits down beside