She lifted out a long, frayed ribbon of pale pink and held it up to the golden light of dawn that seeped through the shuttered windows. Its faded edges caught the sun, glimmering in places where the weave had thinned. It was the first ribbon Cressyda had ever owned and the reason she had started collecting them. Her mostprized possession. More precious than the gowns hanging in her wardrobe. More treasured than the jewellery in her dressing table.
She brushed a thumb down one buttery, soft edge.
Her old nursemaid had once said that she had arrived at the castle with this ribbon clutched in her tiny, newborn fingers. ‘We tried to take it away, but you screamed,’ the woman had told her, shaking a head at the memory. ‘You cried and cried. My, how you grizzled as a babe. Such a colicky little thing.’
‘Where did the ribbon come from?’ Cressyda had asked.
Questions like this could only be whispered in Queen Flavria’s absence, and only if the nursemaid was in a rare, obliging mood. All in the castle, attendants and courtiers alike, knew they had to play along with the Queen’s farce. It was unspoken law, woven into the rituals and patterns of the Calestran court.
‘Never you mind,Princess,’ the nursemaid would mostly reply, brushing away speculations with a flick of her hand. ‘You’re the Queen’s daughter now. It’s no matter where you came from.’
But Cressyda could never stop herself from asking. Time and again, she would return to the same questions. ‘Who gave me the ribbon?’ she would plead. ‘Where did I live before I arrived here?’
Sometimes the nursemaid would laugh the enquiries away, sometimes she would scold Cressyda for naughtiness, but more often she would simply turn back to her work, lips pressed into a thin line.
Still Cressyda persisted.
The old nursemaid was gone now, retired to a town further south, like many of the other senior attendants Cressyda remembered from her early childhood. But just once, when pressed, the nursemaid had said more.
It had been late. The corridors beyond the nursery were dark, the only light the flicker of a single candle on the table. The old womanhad been mending a hem when Cressyda had asked her questions again. For a long moment, there had been no answer, just the soft, steady snick of needle through fabric. Then, slowly, the nursemaid set her work aside and leant in close, so close Cressyda could see the milky sheen in her wide, unblinking eyes.
‘I thinkshegave you the ribbon,’ the old woman had hissed. ‘The one who left you here. Yourrealmother.’
The words had landed hard and sharp, ringing with truth.
And Cressyda had never forgotten them.
Alinore
THE AIR INthe schoolroom still had the day’s heat in it. Fat flies buzzed along the walls, the flower arrangements at the edges of the room drooped, and the water jugs on each desk sweated. Though Calestra was a higher and slightly cooler region than Galasque, its summers were still long and hot. Alinore looked wistfully through the open windows at the iced white peaks of the soaring mountains outside.
The schoolmaster paced across the room, the back of his neck glistening. ‘The first High King of the United Kingdoms of Galasque finally conqueredallof the seven regions when?’ he asked.
Alinore looked towards Prince Samsel, who was usually expected to answer the schoolmaster’s questions, but he seemed preoccupied. His black hair was damp at the temples and he stooped over his desk, picking at a whorl in the wood.
‘Well?’ prompted the schoolmaster. He was a wispy old man with a sprout of white beard who mostly appeared as bored by his lessons as his students. ‘Prince Samsel? It’s a simple question.’
Prince Samsel lifted his head and glared, his lips clamped shut.
‘Over two hundred and ninety-four winters ago,’ called a voice. ‘Calestra was the very last region to be won. The Maiden Sacrifice marks the anniversary.’
The schoolmaster reluctantly turned to the back of the room, where the girls sat. Normally his gaze did not drift past the desks at the front, filled with the Princes and squires.
‘Correct, Princess,’ he said slowly. ‘Now, can anyone tell me about the first High King?’
There was a long silence.
‘King Freddini Tangello,’ answered Princess Cressyda. ‘He was the second son of the then King of the Diaspass Kingdom and he conquered our country from the native settlements that occupied these lands, before settling peace terms with our neighbouring country, Quetec. He divided these lands into seven regions and placed a king in each from his armies, then he crowned himself the High King of the United Kingdoms of Galasque. That’s why we retain a favourable relationship with the Diaspass Kingdom despite the troubles of Journier.’
The schoolmaster frowned.
‘Can we just get Cress to answer your questions?’ said Prince Ottone with a grin at his sister. ‘She knows more than all of us.’
Princess Cressyda blushed, her rosy cheeks highlighting the darkness of her hair. Alinore had noticed that Cressyda paid close attention when they were in the schoolroom. While Alinore and the two other courtly girls who were permitted to join the Princes and squires for a few of their afternoon lessons tended to stare out of the windows or doodle on their slates, the Princess sat up straight, leaning forward in her seat, listening. She did not act like that during the ladylike classes the girls took together the rest ofthe time. Then she sighed and yawned over her sewing just as much as Alinore did.
‘That is more information than I requested, Princess,’ said the schoolmaster, jerking at the collar of his shirt which was ringed with sweat. ‘And the question wasn’t intended for you.’
‘Shut your mouth,Pet,’ spat Prince Samsel.
