No response.
Please?
There was a scuttling, clicking sound that Cressyda vaguely remembered. A memory stirred of a squat, bandy-legged shadow with needled talons.
I know you!she cried.You live in the castle nursery. I have seen you before.
A scratchy shriek like a bark of laughter.
Cressyda reminded herself that these were not creatures to be trusted. She scrunched her fingers into fists, and waited.
I know you too, Princess,came the reply.Mountain Princess.
Cressyda frowned, the hairs on her neck prickling.Mountain Princess?
A pause.
What do you know of me?she persisted, ignoring the ache squeezing her forehead and the sickness still curdling in her stomach.
Mountain blood runs through your veins. It is how you can see us. It is how you can speak to us. It will allow you to parley with the Great Dragon.
Cressyda’s gaze fell on the tapestry hung on the opposite wall, which was rippling slightly, as if disturbed by a breeze. Behind it was the cupboard sunk into stone where she kept her ribbons.
The Great Dragon is one of you?she asked, edging towards the tapestry.I will be able to speak with it?
Yes, Princess.
Can I … Can I convince the Great Dragon to let me live?
A snigger, then a scuffling noise.
The price of a life is required.
Cressyda crept closer.What do you mean?
But the voice was beginning to fade, as if the creature were moving away.
Wait!
Cressyda lurched forward and snatched back the tapestry, flinging open the cupboard door. She heard a scrabbling noise and saw a flicker of something at one corner, behind her box of ribbons.
Then all was still.
What do you mean?she cried.Can you help me?
But there was no reply.
The creature had gone.
THE AFTERNOON OF THE 300TH MAIDEN SACRIFICE
Alinore
IN THE MAINsquare of Fiaezno, a crowd lingered before the Sanctuary doors, waiting for the herald. Some wore the cloches of the Mountain folk, their faces tense and tight-lipped beneath white, folded headdresses, while others stood quietly with solemn expressions. This was not the raucous, bloodthirsty pack Alinore normally witnessed in the capital, using the Maiden Sacrifice as an excuse for anarchy. The people of Fiaezno – a small market town on the road to the city – were grave and respectful, waiting for the announcement of this spring’s maiden.
Even so, Alinore kept the horses back, standing in the shadows at the edge of the square. She had no desire to draw attention to herself or hear the herald’s message. If she and Prince Ottone kept up their steady pace, they should reach Tormale by nightfall, just as the Maiden Sacrifice feasts began. They would discover the name of the poor, dead girl then anyway. There was no need to hear it yet.
The wooden door of the nearby tavern swung open and Alinorelooked up. An old man staggered out, spitting and leering, and she pursed her lips, holding back a sigh of annoyance. Prince Ottone had left to buy them some food, but she had already been lingering here longer than she would wish. Now that she had decided to return to Tormale, she wanted to get the journey over with. Staying still for too long made her wonder if she should not have turned back at all.
