‘The honoured family of the maiden will also receive a just reward. This spring the honoured maiden is to be …’
He paused, turning to the scroll.
‘… Esmelie Drucelli of Tormale.’
It sank into her body like a shudder, settling into her bones.
‘Are you Esmelie Drucelli?’
She nodded.
This was horrible, terrifying. As a Mountain girl it was the very worst thing that could happen to her. And yet she felt a sliver of something like relief.
‘You must come with me to prepare for the ceremony. I will give you a moment to bid farewell to your family.’
Esmelie thought only of Maylie. Her trusting, sweet little sister. Maylie whom she had dragged on this doomed adventure to the capital city. Maylie who would be the only one to truly miss her. Maylie who deserved so much better.
‘I’ve no family,’ she replied.
The herald looked surprised. ‘None?’
‘None.’
It was better this way, she reasoned. She would simply disappear – she had longed to do just that recently, wishing to sink away from the excruciating pain of existence into nothingness. A few times she had even come close to taking the matter into her own hands. Now here was a chance to escape. She would not force a tearful goodbye upon Maylie because she had already caused her sister too much pain. She would disappear. She would set them both free.
‘In the records there’s a Mister Drucelli,’ said the herald. His gaze strayed behind her to the empty, dim room.
As always, she felt Ravie’s abandonment like a physical pain deep inside. She would never stop loving him – she could not help herself – but she knew they should have parted ways long ago. Their romance had brought them both nothing but sadness.
‘He’s gone,’ she replied.
Ravie had been missing for the last three nights. Again. But this time, when he returned, she would not be here to take him back.She suspected he would be surprised at first, then saddened to hear what had become of her. He did love her in his own way, though it had never been enough.
‘Forgive me, I meant no offence.’ The herald ducked his head.
No one had ever bowed to Esmelie before and she wanted to laugh. The strangeness of the situation was almost too much to bear. ‘Give my Maiden Sacrifice compensation to an orphanage,’ she said, hoping that this might make her appear respectable. ‘I’m ready to leave,’ she added, and her voice sounded louder and stronger than it had done in seasons.
The herald gestured to the horses that waited at the end of the street: large, muscled creatures with gleaming coats.
Esmelie stepped out of the shack and it occurred to her that she would never return. The realization was almost thrilling. These four walls had been her prison for too long, filled with loss and sorrow. She did not even stop to shut the door behind her. Gliding past the shocked, aghast faces of her neighbours, she followed the herald to the horses and let him hoist her into the saddle of a bay mare.
‘We’re riding to the castle,’ he said. ‘You’ll prepare for the ceremony there.’
For the first time, pity flickered across his expression before it settled back into grave decorum. He mounted and took the lead rope of her mare, clicking his tongue at the horses.
They rode through the streets of Tormale in a clatter of hooves. Crowds hushed and parted ways, staring with fascinated shock. Wagons and carriages slowed, pulling to the side, their coachmen slipping off their hats in respect, their passengers ogling at the windows.
Esmelie felt like a queen.
The herald held on to the leading rein, even as they passed through tight, narrow streets, but Esmelie had no grand plans ofescape. There had been a few instances of maidens attempting flight over the winters, but none had ever been successful. If it was known that a girl had bolted, everyone would be out looking for her. No one wanted the wrath of the Great Dragon upon the kingdom and if a girl must die for the good of everyone, then a girl must die. It was a necessary evil and resistance was pointless.
For the first time in seasons, Esmelie felt her purpose, that she was finally doing something good and useful. Maiden Sacrifices could not be chosen twice from the same family in two generations and her final act meant that Maylie would be spared. They had both renamed themselves Drucelli in the city records and when Maylie turned eighteen, she would be struck from the ballot. Esmelie could do that for her sister, at least.
The Pits became Midtown before merging into the Old Quarter.
It all felt like a dream. Esmelie had not left the shack in the Pits in moons, yet now the hot spring sunshine beat down upon her bare arms and the ripe, fetid stink of the city surrounded her.
As they rode towards the main square, the atmosphere began to shift. Purple flags embroidered with golden dragons hung from balconies, and torches lined the road, waiting to be lit. The crowds here were raucous, the drinking having already started as soon as the taverns opened at first light.
