She had borrowed the same books from the library, deciding to study them closely a second time, and their spines now teetered in an uneven tower beside her bed. At least she was now known to be a reader, and she did not need to creep around at night. Alinore and Ottone merely rolled their eyes at her ever-growing pile of tomes and even the Queen had noticed, often chuckling, ‘You and your silly ways, my child.’
Cressyda’s fingers twitched towards the nearest volume, then stilled. She knew she should open it, but she could not bring herself to. She could not bear to fail again.
Instead, she slipped her hand beneath her pillow and drew out her pink, frayed ribbon. She had taken to keeping it tucked into her bedclothes while she slept or knotting it around her fingers at night: an absent-minded, soothing gesture.
‘What’s that?’ Alinore had asked a few nights ago, and Cressyda had jumped, startled, not realizing she was being observed.
They were both tucked up after the maids had blown out thecandles, trying to get to sleep, Cressyda in the large four-poster bed and Alinore on the pallet under the window.
‘It’s the ribbon I’ve had since …’
She had told Alinore about her mysterious origins just once – the day she explained why she was called ‘the Pet’. Though Cressyda thought of it constantly, she rarely mentioned it. It was too painful, too difficult.
‘… since I was born,’ she had finished.
‘Your mother?’ Alinore had breathed, dark eyes lighting up for the first time in a while. She had been sullen and glum since Ottone had left for the Ferente court last moon. Though Cressyda also missed her beloved brother, she was at least glad to be rid of Samsel for a while.
‘Possibly,’ she had replied. ‘I can’t be sure.’
‘Could you ask the Queen?’
‘No.’
Cressyda had clenched her teeth in exasperation. This was exactly why she never shared such things. Alinore was only trying to be helpful, but her friend had always been completely oblivious to Cressyda’s precarious position at the Calestran court. If Queen Flavria even suspected that Cressyda thought about her birth mother, she would be furious.
‘What about one of the ladies-in-waiting? Or the schoolmaster? Someone must know.’
Cressyda had shaken her head. ‘Whoever my mother is, she gave me away,’ she had said between gritted teeth.
‘But don’t you want to find out?’
‘No,’ she had lied.
Sometimes she allowed herself to wonder who her birth mother might have been. Perhaps an actress who played in the theatres alongthe river that snaked through Tormale – she had heard ladies-in-waiting whisper that such women were always having babies. But whoever she was, she had given Cressyda away and the pain of that reality was almost too much to bear. Sometimes Cressyda managed to convince herself that she did not want to know about this woman at all, who must surely be cruel and heartless. But still, she would keep wondering.
‘What about if we—’
‘Leave it alone, Alinore,’ she had snapped, turning away. ‘Just forget about it.’
They had been terse and irritable around each other ever since. Without Ottone’s steady good nature to smooth the edges, the hostility between them had grown heavier.
Cressyda wanted to tell Alinore the truth; she wanted to tell her about the terrible shadows, the way they materialized from nowhere, otherworldly and disturbing. She had seen one again just two days ago as she had passed by the old nursery, a small, scurrying being that had flitted from the doorway, grumbling and muttering in a hissing, eerie voice, its features distorted and grotesque. The sight of it had made her stumble and almost scream. Before it could notice her, she had picked up her skirts and run in the opposite direction, not stopping until she had reached the safety of her chamber.
But somehow, she could not say any of this to Alinore. The words stuck in her throat. She could not bear to speak aloud what she had carried alone for so long, and yet still did not understand. The thought of Alinore’s perplexed, distressed expression as she tried to explain it made Cressyda feel sick. Her friend would have so many questions, of course, and she would have no answers. To reveal so much and still have nothing certain to give felt too unnerving, too exposing. It was easier to say nothing.
ONE WINTER LATER
Cressyda
THE GREAT HALLrang with chatter. Scents of roasted hog, sweet milk and honeyed pastries wafted through the air from the long trestle tables heaped with food strung from one end of the room to the other. Courtiers gossiped and guffawed, their laughter echoing off the high stone walls, while musicians played lively tunes from the balconies, their voices weaving through the din, conjuring the revelry of the Maiden Sacrifice feast.
Cressyda stood beside the Queen on the dais, watching the spectacle unspool before them. Though she kept her expression composed, she could feel the heat of gazes flicking in their direction and lingering particularly on the tall, angular figure of Prince Samsel standing a few paces to her right. He had just returned from a winter visiting the Ferente court and though Cressyda was delighted to have Ottone back, she did not welcome the return of her eldest brother. She knew she was in the minority; everyone else at court seemed thrilled to have the heir among them again. At nineteen winters, Samsel was of prime marrying age and Cressydahad recently overheard ladies-in-waiting, councilmen and servants alike wonder why he had not yet chosen a bride. Many speculated if the Prince would marry a girl from one of the Kingdoms of Galasque’s six other royal families or from Calestra itself. Those with eligible daughters hoped for the latter.
But Samsel’s absence had been a joyous time for Cressyda. She could mingle with the King’s court and sit in the family’s private salon in the evenings unafraid of sharp interruptions or sly glances. No one was bending her words or watching her every step. Now he had returned and the freedom she had tasted was about to vanish.
Cressyda had stood in the front courtyard yesterday as the Princes’ travelling party trotted through the gates. She had watched stony-faced as Queen Flavria welcomed home her eldest son with ecstatic wails and tears.
Dismounting, Samsel had embraced his mother and stared right at Cressyda over Queen Flavria’s shoulder. His eyes were hard and narrowed.
