‘King Samsel can do as he pleases. And the Queen Mother has taken to her bed with yet another sickness. Even if she hears of it, there’s nothing she can do.’
‘Prince Ottone won’t like it—’
‘Apparently he’s disappeared off somewhere so he can’t be too concerned. And anyway, he’ll have to do as his King says.As will we all.’
Lady Vienlia muttered something inaudible.
‘You speak as if you have some fondness for the Pet, Mother.’
There was a pause and Cressyda craned her neck to hear Lady Vienlia’s answer. She was surprised that the Chief Lady-in-Waiting was defending her position, though she suspected this was due to loyalty to the old Queen more than anything else.
‘I’ve known the Princess for many winters,’ came Lady Vienlia’s soft reply. ‘I was there when she was first brought to the Queen’s chambers. A tiny, wailing baby.’
‘I should keep that to yourself. You wouldn’t want to be mistaken for opposing the new King’s wishes.’
‘No,’ said Lady Vienlia quickly. ‘Of course not.’
Lady Frankis cleared her throat. ‘We must ready ourselves for the Maiden Sacrifice. They’ll announce the name of the girl in the Great Hall soon.’
The patter of footsteps faded away.
Cressyda glanced at her bedchamber door. Though she could not see the guards, she could feel their heavy presence waiting on the other side. They had escorted her from the throne room yesterday evening and locked the door behind her. At some point during the long, fitful night that followed, it had occurred to Cressyda that she had voluntarily shut herself away in this bedchamber for so many winters and yet now she truly was imprisoned in it. How funny.
She stepped back from the window, her thoughts spinning in wild, fevered circles. In just a few moments, the heavy doors of the Great Hall would swing open, and the courtiers would file in, their silks whispering as they took their places. They would be breathless with anticipation, every eye glinting with a hunger for spectacle. Then the herald would appear, scroll in hand, voice sharpenedfor ceremony, and he would call the name of this spring’s Maiden Sacrifice.
Her name.
There would be a collective gasp, no doubt. Some might cry out, perhaps in horror or pity. But after the initial shock had passed, she could already sense the excitement that would rise in its place. A jittery, delighted tension would settle over the Great Hall. The drama of it all – so macabre, so rare – would permeate the air. And, of course, there would be those who felt it was only just. Those like Lady Frankis would think she deserved it. She had been elevated above them and now she must be torn down. Because the courtiers were no different from the drunken hordes that filled the main square on Maiden Sacrifice days – they wanted a girl to burn. They wanted blood.
Cressyda squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring a flicker of fear growing steadily stronger. All night she had replayed her conversation with Samsel, the weight of his words rolling over her again and again. Each cruel truth he had revealed echoed in her mind with the sickening clarity of a Sanctuary bell. She had scoured every syllable, every nuance of his voice, searching for a loophole, a path, a crack in the walls closing in around her. But there had been none. She had paced the length of her bedchamber until her legs became too weak, finally collapsing on the bed, drifting into restless sleep. It had been a disturbed, broken night of dreams and in the cold, clear morning light, she could see that nothing had changed. She was trapped.
The only people who might have been able to help her – the only people who would havewantedto help her – were far away outside the city. When Alinore and Ottone finally heard the news, it would be too late. She would already be in the mountains, facing the Great Dragon. Facing her death.
Cressyda was so consumed by these spiralling thoughts that, at first, she did not hear the voice.
Waves of dread and disbelief kept crashing through her. She wrung her hands, knuckles pale and breath shallow, imagining her name read out in the Great Hall over and over again; imagining herself crowned the three-hundredth Maiden Sacrifice.
But the voice came again, low and insistent:The Great Dragon is waiting for you.
It was a faint whisper tickling at her consciousness.
Cressyda’s eyes snapped open as a bitter taste flooded her tongue. She knew what this was – it was a creature. One of the Hidden People.
The Great Dragon is waiting for you.
Usually she fled from these voices, shutting down her thoughts and covering her ears, praying that they would leave her be. She was about to do just that again now – cursing these creatures for plaguing her when she was already so fearful – but then she paused. Swallowing down the familiar prickle of alarm, she stilled and listened. Distantly, she heard the clink of armour from the guards outside her door, and the light clatter of hooves in the front courtyard as horses rode in and out of the castle gates. Beyond that, there was hushed nothingness, thick and waiting.
In that strange quiet, with fear snaking through her stomach, Cressyda made a choice. In a surge of desperation, she decided she must reply. She must be brave. She had spent so long ignoring the Hidden People, but now she needed help. If these beings were calling to her, perhaps they had answers.
Cressyda stood up straight, looking around her seemingly empty bedchamber. She had never tried to speak to one of the Hidden People before and the very thought filled her with terror, but sheknew that she must try. Taking a deep breath, she parted her lips, intending to speak aloud, but instead, she felt an involuntary force take over her body. She jolted in shock as her hands moved by themselves in an unfamiliar gesture. Then the words she had been about to say folded in on themselves, vibrating like thoughts through her head.
What do you mean?she asked.
The air thrummed, snapping and crackling. She gasped and looked down at her trembling fingers, her stomach clenching with nausea. She did not understand what had just happened. Her head felt fuzzy and tender, as if she had spent the night drinking fine wine, and her chest heaved as if she had been chased down a corridor.
Where are you?she managed to call again, the words quivering through her mind.
She swivelled her head, looking left and right. Then, losing her balance, she staggered, grasping the window frame, dizzy with the charge of energy coursing through her and the strangeness of it all.
