Sword Mountain by Nancy Yi Fan Page B

EGITIMATE S CANDAL

    D andelion was staring at a door that hid something she did not want to face.
    â€œAs a princess, you must formally greet and acknowledge the subjects of your generation, the children of the court. They’ve just been gathered a minute ago, waiting inside. They’ve been told they have a new princess, but they do not know who yet. You must greet them, show them who you are,” Fleydur was saying.
    The door’s varnished panel reflected six glints in her image: her crown and the five gold acorns pinned on her collar. But there was neither window nor crack in the door to let her peek at the other side. “Greet them!” Dandelion said. But they … they hate me. And I hate them.
    â€œJust as the king heads and cares for the court, so as a princess you must assume the leadership of the younger birds of Sword Mountain,” said Fleydur. “You have special responsibility—you must learn to love them, Dandelion.” He walked away, leaving Dandelion alone.
    A lump rose in Dandelion’s throat. She could not love these eaglets. But she swallowed and made herself turn the doorknob and step in, shutting the door behind her.
    The eaglets stood up, faces expressionless. They were dressed in ceremonial suits and dresses. So dizzyingly different from the last time she had seen them gathered together, snickering behind extravagant masks.
    Dandelion approached them. “Hello,” she said.
    For a moment, the eaglets seemed too stunned to remember their voices. “Hello,” they echoed, waiting. Cloud-wing smiled. Olga looked dismayed. Pudding eyed Dandelion. “The masquerade wasn’t enough for you? Do you want more?” he seemed to say.
    She felt a sudden rush of defiant calm. “I chose to come back,” she told them. “I want to be friends with you.” Dandelion turned to Pudding and thrust her talons toward him, ready to parry malice with courtesy.
    After a pause, Pudding shook her claws, his meaty grip crushing her talons till tears sprang in her eyes. She stood firm, and she shook talons with them all, one by one.
    Though parents objected to Fleydur’s radical teaching, nobird could hold back the children from missing out on a potentially juicy scandal.
    When Fleydur announced that he would hold his music lessons on the very top of Sword Mountain, every member of the class was present and, in fact, early, waiting near the base of Sword Cliff.
    And so were the eight members of the Iron Nest who had, along with Simplicio, opposed Fleydur. Since it was hard to be inconspicuous among the barren piles of rock, they gave up trying to pretend they had just happened to be there and hunched matter-of-factly in a half circle around the children.
    Their rheumy eyes glinted suspiciously, and their faces were grim; each held a notepad, leaning forward, posed to scribble atrocities. “You won’t mind, prince, our monitoring your lesson?” thundered one. “As the Iron Nest, it is our firm duty to control and guard the egg of Sword Mountain’s future.”
    Fleydur swept his wing in a gesture of welcome. “Delighted.”
    As for Dandelion herself, she was looking at Fleydur intently. She thought he was nervous and feared that he would say something rash. The members of the Iron Nest were only too ready to misinterpret if not outright twist his lessons in their notes.
    But Fleydur started from the beginning and taught them the notes and the names of the scale. The children chanted the unfamiliar syllables: “ Do, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, do! ”
    â€œVery good, very good!” said Fleydur. “Now sing loudly; don’t be afraid, there’s hardly anybird to hear you, other than the Iron Nest. Call out in a clear, loud voice—try to match the sound of my trumpet!” Fleydur brought his silver trumpet to his beak and blew slowly, a note at a time, a lively, simple tune.
    â€œOlga?” said Fleydur.