‘Stand still, Princess. Look ahead.’
Taking a deep breath, Cressyda lifted her chin and braced herself.
Master Jakespurcia flicked the edges of his black cloak and raised his hands, stretching and flexing his fingers. A low, guttural noise arose from his mouth, the sounds harsh and distorted: the language of magic.
The warm air in the room grew hotter. Sticky and heavy, it seemed to clot and congeal. It pressed upon Cressyda, growing steadily stronger, like several winds blowing in different directions, roaring with energy. It was not painful exactly, but it was not comfortable either. She winced as something tacky and cloying coated her skin.
Then all became still.
Master Jakespurcia cleared his throat. ‘All finished.’
Cressyda twitched; her face felt tight and itchy. She noticed thatthe rose bush on the desk had lost one of its flowers. The bloom had shrivelled to nothing. She knew it was called energy transfer. One of Master Jakespurcia’s apprentices had conducted a few lessons on it in the castle’s schoolroom last winter. Energy transfer was the main principle of magic and a skill that must be studied throughout a Master’s lifetime.
‘Thank you, Master Jakespurcia Magnamion the Patient,’ she said because she knew she ought to.
Master Jakespurcia bowed. ‘Now you’re ready for the upcoming celebrations,’ he said. His eyes fell upon the felt dragon in her hands. ‘A Maiden Sacrifice totem. You made that yourself, Princess?’
‘Yes.’ Cressyda uncurled her fingers to reveal the purple dragon figurine, tiny scales embroidered upon its sides and threads of red, orange and yellow spurting from its mouth like flames. It had taken her two days of diligent stitching.
‘Very fine work, Princess. It seems a shame that it’ll be tossed into the fires.’
Cressyda did not reply. She thought the part of the Maiden Sacrifice ceremony where the children came forward and threw the dragon totems into the bonfires was probably the most enjoyable of the whole miserable service.
‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Princess?’
Cressyda raised her head and looked at the old Master. He was a short, thin man with long, silvery hair that he wore oiled and braided. Deep lines scored his face and hands – unusual at the Calestran court where most nobles bore some sort of beauty enhancement.
‘I wondered if …’
‘Yes?’
But Cressyda could not quite pluck up the courage to do it.Whenever she was alone with Master Jakespurcia, her heartbeat would quicken, and the words she so desperately wanted to speak would teeter on the edge of her tongue. She longed to ask him the truth. The truth of where she had come from – the truth of who shereallywas. But she could never quite bring herself to do so.
‘Princess?’ Master Jakespurcia pressed.
Cressyda shook her head. ‘That’s all, thank you.’
Master Jakespurcia bowed. ‘I must get ready for the Maiden Sacrifice now.’ He began riffling through the assortment of books and papers piled around the room.
It was Cressyda’s cue to leave. She had missed her chance. Again.
She moved towards the door, cursing herself silently for not being bolder, not speaking when the opportunity had been right in front of her. A thousand things she could have said spun uselessly in her mind, tangled with frustration and shame. She was so wrapped up in her own bitter thoughts that she barely registered the change in the air – a shift so slight it could have been a trick of her imagination.
But then she saw it.
A shadow stirred near the threshold, darker than the dimness around it, and for a breathless moment she thought it might just be the play of sunlight against the uneven stone. Yet it moved again, sliding and stretching, flickering up the wall. Its edges were tattered and its features remained undefined, a blur of menace that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.
Goosebumps prickled her arms and a hot flush of fear rose to her cheeks. Cressyda had seen things like this for as long as she could remember: faint shapes drifting at the edges of her vision that no one else took notice of. She had learnt to ignore them; to pretend that she did not see hazy, soft forms flickering at the corners ofher eyes, or hear hissing, clacking voices echoing through the castle walls. She knew without asking that it was strange and wrong. But she had never come across a shadow like this before: so close and so vivid.
She screamed.
The shadow wavered. Its tall, slender form seemed to look directly at Cressyda, as though in surprise. The longer she stared at it, the more it began to take shape. A terrible face appeared: a woman, red-eyed and weeping.
Greetings,it hissed.
The word was like a nail scratching through Cressyda’s head, at once vibrant and terrible. She had heard faint whisperings from these creatures around the castle in the past, but none had ever spoken directly to her before. The sensation filled her mouth with a bitter, sharp taste that made her want to vomit.
‘Princess? What’s wrong?’ Master Jakespurcia grabbed hold of her arm and she jolted backwards, hitting her head on a shelf of books. The blow broke her gaze and when she looked up again, the shadow had vanished.
