She watched his thick-set shoulders turn and cross the courtyard, disappearing through the north archway.
Alone, she cast her gaze back to the practice ring: the battered wooden fencing and dark, churned sand. She had to allow herself a moment of triumph. Prince Ottone was an experienced, skilledfighter and she had beaten him. The hard work and training of the last winter had been worthwhile. She had proved herself. She was ready for the next step.
Alinore was just letting the victory settle into her bones when a shout ripped through the quiet of the morning.
Then the Sanctuary bells began ringing again, this time high and frantic.
Alinore jumped and turned, startled. The courtyard lay empty. Darting into the shadowed cover of the cloisters, she pulled the hood of her tunic over her head. If anyone appeared, in the half-light they might mistake her for a stable boy or an attendant.
More shouts and cries rang out from above, over the clamour of the bells, and Alinore looked up at the battlements in surprise. Figures swarmed the wall-walk, their movements hurried. She caught the glint of steel helms and the flash of purple Calestran livery. Then a length of cloth was dragged up a pole, whipping once before catching, unfurling with a snap.
She gasped.
A black flag fluttered against the pale sky, its shadow falling over the courtyard.
She knew what that meant.
Maylie
A DEEP TWISTin her stomach, followed by burning pain.
Maylie sat up into darkness, blankets sliding down her chest. The warm, heavy form of her husband lay close beside her and ahead she saw the familiar, dark shapes of home: the wooden table littered with pots, the heap of furs before the fire and the teetering mound of boots by the door. On the far wall, faint light glowed at the edges of the scrappy curtains. It was almost morning.
Maylie waited.
The pain throbbed again. Unmistakable.
She slipped a hand beneath the blanket and reached down, her fingers catching on the slack, wrinkled skin of her stomach. As her fingertips brushed against coarse hair, the pain came again.
Clenching her teeth, she pushed her hand lower, between her legs.
It was wet and slick.
Maylie fumbled out of the bed, holding her smeared hand high. She shuffled to the window and edged aside the curtain. Herfingers were sticky and stained red and brown. With a wince, she felt another grip of pain, sharper this time.
In their bed, Chrisanie stirred. His sandy-brown hair fanned across the faded patchwork sheets and he snorted into a pillow. Then stilled.
Maylie wiped her hand on her chemise and let the curtain fall back into place. In the darkness, she staggered to the corner of the room where bunched forms hung bat-like from the ceiling. Reaching up, she tugged at one. A bitter scent stung her nose, but when she held the kaloria before her she saw that there were only two sprigs of the pale green herb left. Not enough.
Another spasm hit.
She lurched towards the front door, snatching at a cloak and fur as she passed, throwing them over her shoulders. Pushing her feet into the nearest pair of battered boots, she slid open the bolts at the door. Before stepping outside, she glanced over her shoulder at the peaceful form of her husband, and then off to the left towards the lean-to on the side of the cottage. In the shadowy darkness, she could make out the gangly limbs of her three boys, sleeping in a nest of cot beds. She turned away.
Outside, the chill dawn air cooled the flush of her skin. Weak sunlight slid down the mountainside, pooling into the cup of the valley below as the sun rose. All was quiet except for the distant, low clang of a goat bell and the steady gush of the nearby stream that coiled past, flowing into the centre of the village.
Maylie pressed a hand against the rough stone wall of the cottage and leant against it as she stumbled to the back garden. Their nanny goat woke when she approached, tossing a black head and stamping one socked hoof.
‘Hush!’ Maylie wheezed.
The goat calmed, but the chickens had been roused and feathers ruffled in the nearby henhouse. The sound would soon wake Rozowie, Maylie’s youngest son, who would rush to collect the eggs before his brothers started grumbling for breakfast. She did not want Rozowie to see her like this. She did not want anyone to see her like this.
As Maylie bent between the rows of herbs, her lower stomach cramped and burned with a pain so acute she gasped. In front of her was the kaloria plant, with green leaves fresh and abundant, but Maylie knew now that it would not do. She needed something stronger.
She pressed her nose into the kaloria and breathed deeply, dragging the strong, tart scent into her chest. It bit her throat and made her cough, but it numbed the edges of her pain enough for her to heave herself up again and hurry away. The boots she had pulled on were too big – they must belong to Gredie, her eldest son – and she stumbled as she crossed the nearby stream, soaking the hem of her cloak.
Their cottage, which she had inherited from her aunt, stood at the very top edge of Silicia, the highest of the villages that stretched up the side of the mountains before they ascended into wilderness – the domain of snaggle-toothed wolves, horned hares and dragons. The people of Silicia did not often venture into the forest that wrapped around the belly of the mountain, except when searching for wandering livestock or if desperate enough to hunt game in its fringes. Only Maylie regularly plunged into the dense trees, seeking out the herbs and vegetation that grew in its depths. She tried to keep such wanderings to dawn and dusk, keen not to be seen roaming the wild areas of the mountains, but the people of Silicia knew all the same.
Maylie followed her usual trodden path into the cool shadows beneath the trees. She clutched at a nearby trunk, her nails digging into the soft, gnarled bark as another wave of pain shot through her stomach. With a guttural moan, she clamoured on. She did not keep darque in her stocks – it was too potent, too dangerous. It had been some time since she last collected it, but she thought she could remember where it grew.
