Cressyda
‘Did you hear a footman say he saw a dragon this morning?’ hissed one maid to the other as they moved about the room. ‘Apparently he was walking up to the castle gates and he swore he saw it flying in the distance between the mountain peaks. He said it was like a shooting star.’
The other maid gave a ‘hmm’ noise.
‘You ever seen a dragon back home?’
There was a pause.
‘A few times from afar. ’Tis just part of life in the mountains.’
Goosebumps prickled Cressyda’s skin. Some of the servants at Syonno Castle were Mountain folk and their rapid, breathy accents always made her feel strange.
‘Fearsome creatures, aren’t they?’ replied the other maid. ‘Bet you were glad when you turned nineteen winters and couldn’t get chosen for the Maiden Sacrifice.’
‘Yes, I were spared, but a girl in my village weren’t.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’
They fell silent and finished setting the room in order. Just as they were about to leave, the maid with Mountain blood asked, ‘Should we wake her, do you think?’
‘No,’ replied the other. ‘The Pet likes her beauty sleep.’
They both giggled and left the room.
The Pet.
Every time Cressyda heard it, it was like jabbing an open wound.
She climbed out of bed, ignoring a breakfast tray laid on a side-table despite the rumble of her stomach.
Tugging on a dressing gown, she surveyed the outfit the maids had prepared: a peach gown with trailing sleeves.
The Queen had a new mania for wide, hooped sleeves, which she said made her hands appear smaller.
Cressyda thought they were wildly impractical, but she would not ignore the Queen’s wishes, no matter what Alinore said.
Her friend did not understand that both of their livelihoods depended on keeping Queen Flavria’s good grace.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor and Cressyda looked up in surprise. For one wonderful, hopeful moment, she thought it might be Alinore, returning to be reconciled. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. But when the door to her bedchamber opened, a dark-haired figure appeared.
‘Good morning, Little Pet.’
Cressyda frowned. ‘Samsel?’
His gaze swept the room, then he turned and shut the door behind him. It closed with a click. ‘I thought I’d pay you a visit this morning,’ he said. ‘I’ve never been inside here before.’ He was dressed in a sparkling white shirt beneath a golden doublet that accentuated his tall, slender frame.
‘My bedchamber?’ said Cressyda. She was aware that she was wearing just her dressing gown with only a chemise underneath. She folded her arms.
‘Soon this room will belong to me,’ he continued. ‘All of the castle will be mine. The whole kingdom, in fact.’
‘Yes,’ replied Cressyda carefully, trying to guess where the thread of the conversation was heading. ‘You are King Borto’s heir.’ She glanced behind him at the closed door.
‘And my father’s not long for this realm, wouldn’t you agree?’
Cressyda sucked in her breath in surprise.
It was true that King Borto had been unwell lately and there were whisperings among courtiers about his recent odd behaviour.
Master Jakespurcia was often in the King’s chambers, administering spells and elixirs, but the old Master was not in good health himself and there were rumours that, despite everyone’s best efforts, the King was not getting better.
‘Is this your dress?’ Samsel asked suddenly, bending over the peach gown.
‘Yes.’
‘It’s pretty. Will it fit you?’ He looked up and bared his teeth in a grin. ‘You’re getting older and older – and bigger and bigger.’
Cressyda drew herself up tall, refusing to give him the satisfaction of rankling her. ‘What do you want, Samsel?’ she asked.
‘No need to be like that, Little Pet. I just came to speak to you.’ He took a step closer. She could smell the harsh, noxious scent of his cologne. ‘I wanted to tell you that …’ His voice dipped lower. ‘I know your secret.’
Cressyda’s heart thudded. ‘My secret?’ she replied, fighting to keep her tone light, while her panicked thoughts began latching on to every possibility at once. ‘What … what do you mean?’
‘Last moon at the Summer Carnevale, you took one of your funny turns on the balcony,’ said Samsel. ‘I happened to be standing off to your side and I noticed you staring at something just before you caused all that commotion.’
Icy fear gripped Cressyda’s chest. She told herself to stay calm. To breathe. To not let him see the fear that threatened to surface.
‘You were staring at something that wasn’t there,’ added Samsel.
‘I … I don’t understand,’ she managed.
‘Neither did I at first. But I spoke to our old Master – poor, ancient man is also not long for this realm – and he told me a few interesting things that he’d also noticed about you over the winters.’
Cressyda hugged her arms tighter around herself. ‘I don’t know what you mean …’
But even she did not think that she sounded very convincing.
‘You’ve got the Sight,’ said Samsel.
There was a beat of silence.
Cressyda blinked, bewilderment fighting with her panic. She swallowed, trying to process the unfamiliar meaning of his words, implications curling through her mind. ‘The Sight?’ she whispered. She had never heard that phrase before.
‘Yes, that’s what our dear old Master suspects.’
‘What’s the Sight?’
Samsel peered at her and his grin grew wider. ‘You didn’t realize? I thought you were cleverer than that, Little Pet. All those books you’ve read.’ He shook his head and laughed. ‘It means you have Mountain blood,’ he added. ‘You’re one of them.’
Before she could stop it, a gasp escaped Cressyda’s lips.
‘Of course we can’t be certain until we find out exactly where you came from. But I’m making enquiries.’
Cressyda stared at him, swaying sightly on her feet in a daze. Her thoughts spun back to the maid that morning who had spoken in the low, husky cadence of the Mountain folk. She was one of them. The revelation left a fluttering heat deep in her chest, equal parts fear and awe.
‘But—’
Samsel raised a finger. ‘It’s a secret. It’s our secret.’ He moved closer. ‘It makes sense. Master Jakespurcia said that you must have some magical propensity because the beauty enhancements stick to you too well. They make you quite lovely.’
But Cressyda was not listening. She grasped hold of the edge of her bed to steady herself. So many winters of searching, so much anxiety and fear, and now here was her answer. The Sight. The words blazed through her mind. She did not understand what it meant, but she was going to find out.
A knock sounded and the door swung open.
‘Oh, Your Highness!’ squeaked a maid, hurriedly ducking into a deep curtsey.
Still reeling from it all, Cressyda had not noticed that Samsel had inched closer to her, his faced hovering above her own. She stepped back.
‘My maid is here. Please excuse me,’ she said.
For a moment, Samsel looked as though he might refuse to leave. Then he smiled. ‘Of course.’ He turned and strode across the room, casting the quivering maid a disdainful look. At the door he paused. ‘Remember our secret, Princess,’ he called, his dark, wet eyes glistening. Then he disappeared.
Cressyda turned away, the soft murmur of the maid’s chatter barely registering.
Fingers brushed and pinned her hair, then lightly dusted powder across her cheeks, but she hardly noticed.
When the peach gown was drawn over her shoulders and cinched at the waist, she still did not stir.
Her thoughts circled endlessly, replaying Samsel’s words over and over again, the truth of them sinking into her bones.
At last, the maid curtseyed and shuffled from the room. The latch clicked shut behind her into a stretch of silence.
Cressyda staggered a step, then another, until she reached the window.
She clutched at the frame and stared out at the distant outline of the mountains.
They rose in a jagged sweep against the paling sky, their peaks veiled in mist. Gloom pooled in their folds, while ridges glimmered where light caught upon stone.
They seemed both immovable and alive, vast sentinels that watched over the city, older than the very Kingdom of Calestra itself.
Cressyda had looked upon them her whole life and not known that they were part of her heritage, her home.
For so long she had wondered where she had come from and who she was, yet the answer had been there all along.
She had Mountain blood. She had the Sight. She was one of the Mountain folk.
If that was true, then she had been born from those with Mountain blood. Her mother might be one of them. Or her father. Perhaps both.
An image unfurled of a young, sweet-looking woman wearing a cloche, her voice soft and breathy.
It rose so vividly that for one dizzying instant it felt real.
Longing choked Cressyda’s throat and made her chest ache.
She had wondered about that woman for so long, imagining what her mother looked like, who she was and where she had gone.
Finally, here was a glimmer of truth. For the first time in winters, Cressyda knew something about her past.
She had Mountain blood. She had the Sight.
It was not much, but it was a beginning.