Also, I must have been a very, very good writergirl, because my next book has a peasant uprising in it. I love peasant uprisings. I am just irrationally fond of them. I just have to figure out what Lover #2 does other than being a miller and a baker.* I mean, not that people who bake aren't automatically just plain fascinating, but there's something else. It tickles in the corner of my brain, on the opposite bit from where the librettist and composer live. And the protag doesn't know what it is, but then she doesn't even know about the cook's proto-socialist connections to begin with, so there's no use relying on her for any of this stuff. I will sneak up on it sideways while they're not-fighting** about her departure for the palace and see if it helps.
Oh, oh, there's another body exerting gravitational pull on him. I will sit very quietly and see if I can deduce what it is by the shape of the deformation of his orbit.
Girl. Lab. You know the drill.
*I mean what he does other than being the Orvokki for this book. Not that his name is Orvokki, but that he is the one who is sensible throughout, which no one else is, entirely, although the protag tries a good deal harder than anyone in Thermionic Night and Copper Mountain ever did. (See how casually I called it that? Just like it had been named that all along? I tell you what: if it actually works and Sampo is noticeably better-behaved as Cu Mt., I will tell those of you who are parents, and you can start referring to your adolescents as Morris and Cynthia when they get uppity. Unless you actually did name them Morris and Cynthia, in which case you're on your own.)
**Yes, they have the kind of relationship where they have not-fights. Very quiet, courteous not-fights.