Page 50 of Falling Princess

When Cata came home from work that evening, we chatted amicably while she cooked. I tried my hand at chopping vegetables, which came out unevenly, as I’m not skilled with a knife.

“What did you do all day?” she asked.

“Read, mostly.” I didn’t mention my excursion to the cafe, or the incident in the park yesterday. “Slept in. It’s been wonderful.”

The scent of onions cooking with tomatoes and meat made my stomach gurgle in very un-princess-like fashion. I’m starving. Lunch was many hours ago.

“I spoke with your professors today,” Cata said, her back to me. “Your political science prof was especially unhappy to learn that you’re thinking about leaving school.”

“I can’t imagine why. She sandbagged my co-authored paper.”

“Did you read the comments?”

“No. Why?” What’s the point? I’m embarrassed at having turned in that garbage paper. It was bad; we earned a terrible grade. It’s my own fault that I spent so much time arguing with Lorcan over whether Auralia ought to modernize and not enough time developing a coherent thesis. Unlike my benighted knight, who apparently absorbs information without needing to take proper notes or making the effort to review them. Hereally is something special.

Fuck Lorcan. (Not literally.)

“Because your prof seems very excited about having you as a student. She wants you two to revise and resubmit.”

I gasped. One of the hardest things about returning to school has been taking the second half of that course, with the same professor, and Lorcan sitting behind me every day, as usual, during lecture. Having to relive the end of autumn term each Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoon has been deeply unpleasant.

“Be honest, Cata, doesn’t that sound like a bad idea?”

“No, it sounds like a second chance.” She handed me a plate of pasta with sauce. “I know you’re used to getting things right on the first try. You’re a perfectionist. But if you look at the comments, your prof says you’ll see exactly where you went wrong—”

“I know where I went wrong. I let myself get drafted into working with someone who didn’t need my help in the first place. I’d have done better on my own.”

She regarded me with annoyance. “Fine. You don’t want to hear it. You’ve made up your mind. I’ll stop trying to convince you. All I ask is that you consider this: you can skip classes this week and still come back without penalty as long as you keep up with the readings. After that, the absence will affect your grades.”

If my grades get any worse, forget ever returning to Scotland. I’ll be marooned in Auralia forever. No more cafes. No more sparkly pens. No more Converse. Just a crown welded to my head and the inescapable drudgery of ruling.

I want that damn degree. I’m not going to get to kiss anyone—forget trying sex—but if I pushed hard enough for one more year, I could get the piece of paper that says I’m worth listening to despite a stupid crown I did nothing to earn.

“Thanks for dinner.” I pushed my half-eaten plate away and set about washing the dishes, just to have something to keep my hands occupied. Tears scratched my eyelids.

True to her word, Cata didn’t bring up school again for the rest of the week. But that’s partly because we were soon beset by a larger crisis.

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

Determined to eke out every scrap of adventure I could wrest from the time I had left abroad, I spent the evening after supper planning a trip to Edinburgh Castle for the next day.

If I was quick, I might also be able to sneak in a visit to the National Museum of Scotland, too, which was a ten-minute walk away, according to the Maps application on Cata’s iPad. (Ha—take that for surveillance, Saskaya.) It’s a twenty-minute tram ride. In a pinch, I could cover the distance on foot, although I’d probably get turned around at least once. I don’t know whether I’m good with directions or not, never having had a chance to test myself.

As soon as she left for work at the university on Wednesday morning—I will never understand what she does there—I bundled myself into my white coat, packed the last of Lorcan’s cookies into my bag, and headed out into the light snowfall. My boots crunched satisfyingly on the inch-deep accumulation.

After an uneventful ride, I disembarked at Princes Street tram stop. I was careful to write down the directions in my new notebook with a blue sparkly gel pen.

I don’t know why I like them so much. They’re frivolous. I just do. It’s not as though I have many sources of joy in life. Cheap sneakers and glitter pens are about all the pleasure I can expect.

I made my way around the park and up the hill to the entrance to the castle. If there’s a way in from Princes Street Gardens, I couldn’t find it.

I collected my ticket from the window and strolled through the Portcullis Gate. For the next hour, I meandered through the main exhibit rooms, taking notes, lost in thought. I found the Stone of Destiny particularly fascinating. I guess every monarchy has its legends. The Honours of Scotland, an elaborate and heavy-looking crown and scepter, make me appreciate the Auralian custom of crafting a new one for each ruler. My little gold diadem studded with emeralds and amethysts is very comfortable to wear for hours at a time.

A group of children passed by. It’s before noon on a Wednesday in early February, not exactly high tourist season. Apart from scattered school groups, Edinburgh Castle was fairly empty.

I made my way outside and up the Lang Stairs to take in the view of the harbor, but it was obscured by low cloud cover and light snow. The temperature was dropping and I was starting to get hungry, so I ate my snack to stave off lunch a bit longer, before making my way back inside to see the unexpectedly fascinating Prisoners of War exhibition. The space is dreary and dark. It makes me think about the one section of my own castle where I’ve never set foot, the Gaol.

Maybe next time I’m home, I ought to take a tour. Visit the prisoners, if my father keeps any down there. It might give me perspective on my gilded cage, to see a proper one. This is certainly making me more appreciative of what limited freedom I do have.

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