Chapter 39
Alinore
SHE LOOKED OVER her shoulder at the city of Tormale.
A dark hump on the horizon with the forked, frosted tips of the mountains looming behind.
The last time she had seen it from this distance – maybe even standing in this very spot – she had been twelve winters old, riding beside her father, not realizing she was heading towards her future home.
Not realizing that everything was about to change for ever.
Alinore’s horse tugged at the reins and lowered its head to sniff a tuft of grass.
She had purchased the black gelding this afternoon and ridden it away from the horse-dealer as the coppery evening light faded from the streets of Tormale’s Old Quarter.
It was a good horse; she had chosen well.
Stocky enough to carry her the distance she needed to cover and yet with a strong form that elevated it above a simple farm animal.
As she had handed over the flecks, Alinore had thought how impressed Prince Ottone would be with her purchase.
He took a keen interest in the horses bred and stabled at Syonno Castle.
But as soon as the thought had bubbled up, Alinore had firmly pushed it away, ignoring a throb of pain from deep in her chest. It did not matter what Prince Ottone thought. Not any more.
‘I’ll call you Flint,’ she said, peering around to look at the horse’s soft, dark face.
Flint had been the name of her father’s favourite warhorse.
A cart rumbled past on the road, its driver half-asleep.
‘Good evening, Mister,’ he grunted, catching sight of her.
Alinore nodded.
She was wearing a clean new shirt and a pair of breeches pinched from Syonno Castle’s washroom.
She had some notion that she would travel from Calestra to Lord Lassiaro’s home in central Galasque disguised as a man and then reveal herself after besting his most accomplished knight.
It would all be very dramatic. Like something from a play or ballad.
Astounded by her skills, Lord Lassiaro would offer her a squireship on the spot.
When she thought about it for too long, the exact details of this plan grew hazy.
But she reminded herself that she was going to be a lady knight.
The first in the Kingdoms of Galasque for many winters.
She was determined. And she held on to this, repeating it like an oath.
Ahead, the road split in three directions.
She knew from consulting one of the musty maps in the castle’s library that she must take the central path, travelling down through the Calestran countryside for a day or so until she reached the kingdom’s border.
Then it would be two further days’ riding through Ferente until she crossed the northern border of Galasque.
Lord Lassiaro lived in the southeast of that region, just half a day’s travel from her old home, and Alinore hoped to also stop by the villa that had once belonged to her father.
Part of her even wondered if, in time, she might be able to win it back.
It was the sort of romantic wish that she did not admit aloud.
She had mentioned it once to Cressyda when they were younger and her friend had looked back at her with such pity that the memory still made Alinore cringe.
Cressyda.
It would probably be some time before the Princess heard that Alinore had gone. She would not discover it for herself – someone would tell her – but who or when, Alinore did not know. Cressyda would surely be shocked to hear of her vanishing. And maybe a little hurt.
‘I told her I would leave,’ Alinore muttered, swallowing down a jab of guilt. ‘She should have believed me.’
Another wagon rolled past, wheels creaking.
The roads were quiet now with darkness descending. Alinore needed to find an inn to stop for the night. She must be on her way.
She took one last look at Tormale, its rust-coloured roofs and bronzed city walls glinting in the sunset. The mountains rearing behind it, speckled with gold.
Perhaps she would never return.
She sniffed and wriggled her shoulders, telling herself there was no time to be sentimental. Her destiny awaited.
‘Six winters I lived there,’ she muttered.
Flint’s ears twitched.
‘And I never did properly see a dragon.’
She turned her horse around and trotted off down the road.