‘We are honoured to be your guests, Your Majesty,’ said her father. ‘And I am greatly indebted to you, allowing my daughter a place in your household during my crusade in the name of our High King.’
Alinore started in surprise. She had assumed that she would stay at Syonno Castle with her father. He had not mentioned that he was due to go to war again. She turned to him in confusion, but he had his back to her.
‘Can you stay with us for a while, Thom?’ asked King Borto. ‘It’s our two-hundred-and-ninety-fourth Maiden Sacrifice next moon. You could be our guest of honour.’
‘Sadly I cannot stay, Your Majesty. Our High King has called me to his army—’
‘Of course, Thom. Of course,’ said King Borto, waving a large hand through the air. ‘More fighting over Journier and this time the Diaspass Kingdom is helping the Journian rebels attempt independence, the fools.’ He shook his head. ‘We need you ensuring they don’t encroach on our territory. Only wish I could join you.’
He glanced at the Queen, who shook her head. King Borto sighed; then he began offering around drinks.
As quickly as the gazes of all in the room had fallen upon Alinore, they left. King Borto invited her father to sit in one of the many ornate armchairs and began reminiscing about battles of their past, while the Queen listened politely and the Princes crowded around, eager for details of glory and gore. Normally Alinore would be keen to hear such tales herself too, but she stood at the edge of the room, forgotten.
Then a flutter of movement caught her attention.
She raised her head.
The Princess was watching, pinning her with an amber-eyed, level stare.
Alinore felt a blush rise to her cheeks, although she did not know why.
She smiled, but the Princess looked away.
Cressyda
THE FELT DRAGONfigurine hung limply from Cressyda’s hands. She clutched at it more tightly, her palms so slick with sweat that the purple dye had begun to stain her skin. It was stiflingly hot for the first day of spring, even in the coolness of the Sanctuary. She longed to take off the thick beaded jacket laced around her shoulders, but Queen Flavria had said that the dark blue overcoat was the finest element of their matching outfits, so it must stay on.
The tap of footsteps sounded on tile.
Master Jakespurcia walked down the aisle of the Sanctuary towards her, the edge of his black Masterhood cloak rippling at his ankles. The red ribbons strung from the ceiling brushed his shoulders as he passed.
‘Good morning, Princess,’ he said, stopping with a bow. ‘Her Majesty told me that we have some work to do this morning?’
‘Yes. It’s my eyes.’
Master Jakespurcia leant closer to her, and she tried not to breathein his scent of musty robes, dried sweat and the unmistakable, bitter smell of magic.
‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘I see that they’re losing their colour. Come with me.’
She followed him through one of the archways at the back of the Sanctuary into a narrow, dank room overflowing with books and scrolls. As the door shut behind them, she heard the first mid-morning prayer chant from the priests on the balconies overlooking the apse. It would not be long before the Maiden Sacrifice service began, followed by the procession through the city to Tormale’s main square for the ceremony.
Cressyda looked down at the dragon figurine in her hands and felt sick. The whole thing was barbaric. Sometimes there were petitions to seek an end to the treaty, but no one wanted the wrath of the Great Dragon brought down upon Calestra. So they went along with it each spring, trying to get the whole dreaded thing over with as quickly as possible.
‘Now, when was your last enhancement?’ muttered Master Jakespurcia, riffling through scraps of parchment on a cluttered wooden desk. ‘We mustn’t overdo it. I know you want to look your best, but at twelve winters old, you’re still very young, Princess.’
They both knew that she was here at the Queen’s wishes, not her own, but still they went through this charade every time. Cressyda sensed that Master Jakespurcia did not wholly approve of the many charms and glamours layered upon her. There were rules around the frequency of beauty enhancements in the Kingdoms of Galasque, and Cressyda had often overheard ladies-in-waiting swapping names in hushed voices of magic-wielders who would perform extra, forbidden spells at a price. But she had never knownMaster Jakespurcia refuse her mother an enhancement. Such rules clearly did not apply to Her Majesty.
‘It was three moons ago …’ said Master Jakespurcia, tapping a finger on his bearded chin. ‘I suppose we can add a little something extra. But too much is dangerous, Princess. Too many enhancements could permanently damage your appearance.’
Cressyda dutifully nodded. If it were up to her, she would not be here at all. Sometimes she caught sight of herself in one of the many mirrors in her mother’s bedchamber and, pausing, she would stare into her bright, amber eyes, wondering what she would look like without all the magic. What shereallylooked like. It was a peculiar, unsettling thought, but one she would never dare utter aloud.
A young girl of five winters called Klariella had recently arrived at court and captured Queen Flavria’s ever-shifting attention. The Queen dressed Klariella in Cressyda’s old dresses – the ones that no longer fitted – fussing and cooing over the pretty little thing, taking the child on her lap and carrying her from room to room. Cressyda tried to assure herself that it was harmless, and Klariella was just another of her mother’s protégées. There had been several of them the last few winters: delicate, neat little girls to be stroked and nuzzled for a season, then cast aside. When Lady Alinore had arrived at the Calestran court a moon ago, Cressyda had assumed she too would become one of the Queen’s curiosities. But either Lady Alinore was too old to take Queen Flavria’s fancy, or her gawkiness was off-putting enough for the Queen to leave her to her own devices. Because Lady Alinore was certainly odd: unmannered and outspoken. Cressyda had overheard one courtly lady snigger to another that the girl was ‘almost feral’. But her presence at court still made Cressyda nervous. Queen Flavria’s whims were fickle and Cressyda could never risk being replaced.
Still, at least when the Queen was occupied with her playthings, she was not sinking inwards. Brooding into one of her ‘malaise of spirits’ where she took to her bed with an ailment – a headache, joint pain or a fever – and stayed there for days and days. At such times it fell to Cressyda to soothe the Queen, sitting in a darkened room, clutching damp hands in long, thick silences. She had learnt long ago that her mother’s happiness was a fragile thing, a delicate glass spun too thin. It was her duty to keep it from cracking. To smile, to flatter, to obey without hesitation. That was what she was for.
‘Just a moment, Princess.’
Cressyda waited as Master Jakespurcia took a pot from the stone windowsill and placed it on a nearby desk. It contained a small rose bush with three blooming pink flowers, their nodding heads bent under the weight of their frothy petals.
