Cressyda
‘Hurry up!’ barked Samsel’s voice behind her. ‘This is taking too long.’
The journey seemed endless.
As time had worn on, the brightness of afternoon had dulled into twilight, the sun slipping behind the distant peaks, casting long, warped shadows that spilt across the trail.
Her skin prickled beneath the layers of brocade and embroidery, the chill of approaching night seeping through.
All around them, it was unnervingly still.
The procession had become a silent march.
No birdsong echoed from the scrubby trees; no rustle of small creatures stirred in the underbrush.
Even the wind had quieted, as though the mountain itself were holding its breath.
‘Are we almost there?’ Samsel called, not for the first time, his voice prickling with irritation and just the edge of unease.
Cressyda guessed he must be regretting agreeing to accompany her and leaving the Calestran court milling about at Syonno Castle without their new King. She swallowed back a smirk of pleasure at his discomfort.
‘Not yet, Your Majesty,’ came the response again from one of the guards. His voice was calm, practised, but tired. ‘Soon.’
They plodded on, the silence folding back over them. Only the crunch of hooves on gravel and the occasional snort of a horse broke the stillness.
Cressyda kept her gaze fixed on the winding path ahead, trying to ignore the ache in her thighs and the throb in her soles.
Her legs felt carved from stone, unfeeling and rigid, her feet hot with blisters that had burst long ago.
Every step was a silent scream. But she could not afford to stop.
Not when she was so close. As soon as they reached the end of the path – wherever that cursed, hidden summit lay – she would need to move swiftly.
She gritted her teeth and pushed forward. Her mind was already plotting, fingers curling unconsciously into fists at her sides. She had only one chance.
Then one of the guards said, ‘There it is, Your Majesty. The end of the path.’
A collective breath escaped the men. Even the horses seemed to sense the change; a few snorted softly, hooves shifting nervously against the loose pebbles.
The path, long, narrow and mercilessly winding, simply ended.
There was no gate, no arch, no altar or carved marker to signify a sacred place.
It just stopped at the base of a wide, sloping incline of shale and stone.
A pale, barren mound stretched upwards, its surface strewn with shards of grey rock and crumbling scree.
Cressyda tilted her head, trying to make out what lay beyond the rise, but her vision blurred in the low light. The summit was obscured in a haze of shadow and jagged silhouettes. She could see the suggestion of large, uneven boulders, but they melted into the dimness. She shivered.
‘What happens now?’ asked Samsel.
‘The farewell,’ another guard replied.
Cressyda heard the soft jingle of harness and the creak of leather as someone dismounted. A moment later, fingers brushed against her collar, fumbling with the fastenings. She instinctively flinched, her shoulders tensing, but the guard’s touch was gentle.
‘The robes, Princess,’ he muttered. ‘We must take them.’
‘Oh.’
She stood still as he approached her again and unclipped the ties at her throat.
She felt momentary relief when the weight fell from her shoulders, before a chill nipped at her bare arms. Beneath the robes, she wore only the simple, sleeveless white shift required of Maiden Sacrifices: clean, plain, and designed to show nothing but fragility.
‘And the shoes,’ the guard added.
Cressyda looked down at her feet. The slippers that had once been ivory and embroidered with gold were now tattered beyond recognition, scuffed and torn from the long, punishing walk.
Dirt and blood smeared the fabric. They had served their purpose.
With a wince, she stepped out of them and left them behind, the earth cool beneath her feet.
‘It’s time for us to part, Little Pet.’
Cressyda had not noticed Samsel dismount. She turned with a jump to see him standing close to her. He loomed in the fading light, the opals on his tunic catching the last glimmers of dusk, glinting like the eyes of something predatory.
‘I think this has all worked out perfectly,’ he added, his voice silk-soft and cruel. ‘I get to bid you one final farewell.’ He smiled. ‘Do you have any more requests?’
‘Say goodbye to our mother.’
Samsel’s features darkened. ‘The Queen is no concern of yours. When she recovers from her latest sickness, I shall get her a new pet. You will be forgotten.’
‘You’re wrong,’ replied Cressyda, her voice steadier than she felt.
Though the Queen was selfish and difficult, Cressyda did not believe that the woman she had called ‘Mother’ these last eighteen winters would be diverted so easily.
In her own strange way, Queen Flavria cared for her and truly believed Cressyda was her daughter. That was not something easily replaced.
But Samsel was not listening. ‘It seems a pity to destroy you,’ he replied. ‘But I suppose it must be done.’
He stepped even closer and Cressyda could smell the harsh scent of cologne mixed with sweat.
His gaze pawed over her face, and then dropped down her body to her neck, catching on something just above her collarbone.
He frowned. Reaching out a hand, his fingers brushed the edge of the ribbon tied around her neck, his nail scratching her throat.
Without thinking, Cressyda smacked him away.
The sound cracked through the hush like thunder. Her palm stung instantly, but the sensation grounded her, sharp and real.
One of the guards gasped. The other three went still.
Samsel’s eyes widened in shock. Then rage twisted his face into something monstrous. He lunged at her.
But Cressyda turned and ran.
She bolted up the slope, her bare feet slipping on the treacherous shale.
Stones rolled beneath her, cutting into her feet, drawing fresh blood.
The wind pulled at her shift as she climbed, the cold biting deeper, but she did not stop.
She could feel Samsel’s fury behind her, his eyes boring into her back, but she did not dare turn.
She scrambled on, up into the darkening heights, knowing that she must act quickly.
I am here, she called in that strange language of gesture and instinct that had swirled in her blood since birth, lying powerful and dormant.
Something crackled inside her, pulling at her tired, sore body and bending the remnants of her energy into words. Her hands moved without her thinking, her breath caught the rhythm of something old, and magic poured into the surrounding darkness.
I am here, she repeated. I have come to see the Great Dragon.