The pit of my stomach churns. What are my parents going to say? Before going inside, I pick up a stick and check to make sure no one is watching. In the dirt, I try to scrape out some of the letters from the scroll, but they are fading fast from my memory, and none come out right. Frustrated, I throw the stick. I push aside the woven reed door to our one room mud hut. After almost a year's use, the bright green reeds have faded to a pale brown. They started breaking a few moons ago. Now, it seems a sharp, broken reed scratches me every time I go in or out. Mom will weave a new door during the rains. I stand in the doorway until my eyes adjust. There is a single tallow candle on the table. A stream of smoke curls up, flowing around the room. I sit between my little sister, Abby, and Ansel on the dirt floor.

  "You're late," Dad says. "Why?"

  "Uhh, we, Trombert, Petro, and I, want to enter the competition to be scribes. Please, can I?"

  Dad snorts. I try to give Mom the look my little sister Abby uses to get her way. My eyes aren't as dark as hers, but everyone says we are the most similar in the family.

  Mom sighs. "When and where is it?" She motions everyone to take some food.

  "It's in Selna at the half moons."

  "That's surprisingly reasonable for them to schedule it before the crops need much tending. What do you think, Duncan? We let Ansel try out for silver smithing."

  Dad wrinkles his thick, hairy brow. "They never let peasants win. It disgraces the whole village and, worst of all, the family—"

  I worry that the lecture will go on all night and they'll forget my request. I start praying to any god who might listen. The more I think about being a scribe, the more I want it.

  Feeling brave, I interrupt. "How long has the Yesiphaa been around?"

  Dad sighs. "I've been telling you this story your whole life—I guess I should be happy you want to hear it now. About a hundred years ago, mainlanders invaded the island of Chelonia and conquered our people. They captured all skilled workers and leaders and brought over mainlanders to do the higher-valued jobs. Only the peasants and children of our people remained on the island.

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  When the children grew up, they prepared to launch another war. They had not forgotten who they'd been born to be and what was taken from them. The new nobility presented a plan to appease them. Every year, a few trades and guilds would allow peasants to train and raise their families' rank. The mainlanders would retain the majority in the upper classes, but our people believed they could change that one day. That's how the Yesiphaa pact began."

  "And it stopped the war?"

  "Yes, Who knows if it was foolishness or lack of an army, but whatever the reason, our people agreed to the new system. Their mistake was believing the mainlanders. The mainlander's mistake is believing enough generations have passed that we've forgotten who we were, who we are." Dad pounds the table. "Help lead the battle to take our island back. Now that I could get behind."

  If I did that, he'd finally be proud of me. My face burns. "I don't want a war. I just want to want to enter the competition."

  "Do you know talk like this could get us thrown in the dungeons? Do you think that's fair?"

  I shake my head.

  "Exactly! If saying it could get you thrown in the dungeons, you might as well do something about it because just talking won't change anything."

  I squirm under the intense look Dad gives me. My eyes drop to the floor. A large red-fanged spider is crawling up my leg. I smash it and wipe the spider goo on the dirt floor.

  I speak without looking up. "Why can't everyone have an equal chance? Why does a tattoo get to tell us what we're going to be?"

  Dad leans down until I look up. "Because that's the way things work. Most people, from peasants to nobility, believe what you're born to is what you earned from past lives and should stay. If you're good in this life, perhaps you can move up in the next."

  When Dad doesn't say anything for a while, I try again. "Please, can I do the competition?"

  "Fine, but boy, watch your emotions; you get set on things without knowing if it's possible. I'd hate to see your heart broken when they don't choose you. Mark my words. They won't let you win. Our life is and will be farming someone else's land until we take our island back."

  "Shh." Mom peeks out the window. "That's enough talk like that. Anyone could be outside listening. Guards were in the market today. They want to find rule-breakers. People know how you feel, Duncan. If you don't watch your mouth, you'll end up in Lord Dennison's dungeons or worse."

  Dad looks down, stabbing at his food with his knife. "A man should be able to speak what he wants in his own home. Five generations ago, our families were nobles, and now we scrape by under the feet of foreigners." He holds up his hand. "I will try to be quieter, but if there are any signs of a rebellion, I will help lead it."

  Mom nods. "That's all I'm asking. I don't want anyone spending the holiday in the dungeons."