The Language of Ghosts

Contents
Cover
Title Page
Prologue
Part I: Astrae
1. An Island Loses Its Directions
2. A Sea Monster Is Suspiciously Helpful
3. Mangoes Lead to Disaster
4. Julian Almost Destroys the Island
5. Noa and Mite Move the Prow
6. Julian Discovers the Lost Words
7. Mite Goes on a Secret Mission of Her Own
8. Noa Attends Her First Meeting of the Council
9. Noa Doesn’t Figure Things Out
Part II: Evert
10. Beauty Accepts a Bribe
11. Julian Scares Everyone
12. Noa Finds a Door under a Shadow
13. Noa Recovers from Death
14. Noa Has Her First Magic Lesson
15. Tomas’s Biggest Fan Strikes Again
16. Noa Flatters an Otter
17. The Castle Is Haunted
18. Noa Goes Hunting
19. Noa’s Rescue Mission Ends Badly
20. Gabriela Gets a New Captive
Part III: Whelm
21. The Dark Lord and the King’s Mage Meet Again
22. Mite Loses an Honored Guest
23. Noa Finds an Unexpected Ally
24. Beetles Ruin the Banquet
25. Noa Finds an Ingrown Island
26. Marchenas Are Always First
27. The King’s Spider
28. Noa Figures Some Things Out
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher


Prologue
It was the raspberry sundae that did it. Noa stormed across the banquet hall, dodging guests and servants. “Princess Noa?” more than one voice called after her. She bumped into a man carrying a tray laden with frozen guava. As he fell, the tray rose in the air in a spectacular arc, spraying horrified courtiers with ice shavings like pink snowflakes.
Noa didn’t care. She ran up the black marble staircase, eyes blurring with tears, mouth aching from holding it in a stiff, calm, princess-like line.
If she had to listen to one more courtier tell her how sorry they were that her mother had passed on or slipped away, as if Mom were a tricky spy escaping into the night, Noa was going to throw up all over her horrible, funeral-appropriate dress. Her older brother, Julian—soon to be crowned King Julian—didn’t see her leave.
The staircase wound around and around, offering a view of the courtyard at every turn. The royal palace’s architecture was typically Florean, with large, airy galleries built around a central garden teeming with cacti and vine trees and lavawort. Normally, Noa stopped and said hello to the finches that liked to perch on the staircase railing, but right now there was a storm inside her, and she kept running until she got to her bedroom.
There was nothing particularly princess-like about Noa’s room—no chests filled with jewels or fantastical chandeliers. It was messy in an organized way, piled with books and logic puzzles and model ships. She wasn’t interested in ships, but she liked taking things apart so she could study them and improve the design. Reckoner, her brother’s ancient dragon, was sprawled across the polished floor like a fat, spotty rug. Reckoner disliked Noa, though he disliked her less than he disliked most people, probably making a strategic allowance for the fact that her room had the best afternoon and evening sunbeams.
Noa went straight to the wardrobe and locked herself in. Then she collapsed in a heap of sobs and scattered dresses and coats.
Her mother, the queen of Florean, had been dead for a week. It was weird that this was the first time Noa had cried—that it hadn’t happened when Julian had told her, or the first time she had walked past her mother’s empty bedroom. No, it had been the sight of that towering raspberry sundae, a sundae so magnificent it took three servants to carry it out, piled with cream and chocolate and butternuts, the raspberries fat as chickadees. Her mother had loved raspberry sundaes, and Noa had turned instinctively to catch her look of astounded delight.
And that was when she had understood.
Noa stayed in the wardrobe until she thought the funeral guests had left. Then she stayed a little longer, for good measure. One of her mother’s cats came in and meowed at the door in order to point out how difficult he was to fool. After a while, he got tired of bragging and went to nap in the sun with Reckoner. Noa’s mother had loved cats and had accumulated sixteen of them over the years. She probably would have reached twenty if—
If.
Eventually, Noa ran out of tears. She occupied herself with cataloging by size and shape the dust motes dancing in the light that spilled through the wardrobe doors. Noa cataloged a lot of things, partly because it was calming and partly because it was useful, particularly in helping her win arguments with Julian. She was just wondering if tiny hairs from Reckoner’s snout counted as dust when her bedroom door opened and two assassins stepped in.
Noa froze. She knew they were assassins immediately, even though she could see only a sliver of them through the wardrobe doors. They were dressed in all black like the funeral guests, but Noa had mentally cataloged the funeral guests and these two didn’t fit anywhere. Their clothes weren’t rich enough for courtiers, nor plain enough for servants, and they moved too quietly to be up to any good.
Also, the woman was holding a large dagger.
Noa’s heart thundered so loud she was sure they would hear it. The assassins approached her rumpled bed. The woman relaxed her grip on the dagger when the man pulled the blankets back, revealing Noa’s stuffed walrus.
“Odd,” the woman said. She strode idly over to the wardrobe and pulled on the door, and Noa almost did throw up then, but of course it didn’t open, for Noa had locked the wardrobe from the inside. She always did, to keep her sister out.
“We’ll find the little one first,” the man murmured. “Her bedroom is in the next hall.”
Noa felt as if she had floated out of her body. As soon as the door shut behind the pair, she tumbled out of the wardrobe with a pair of pants tangled around her head. Reckoner was still asleep, of course, because he was the most useless dragon in Florean and wouldn’t interrupt a good nap if a dozen assassins danced around him, tossing knives in the air.
The assassins had disappeared around the corner,