Chapter 2
Cressyda
THE FELT DRAGON figurine hung limply from Cressyda’s hands.
She clutched at it more tightly, her palms so slick with sweat that the purple dye had begun to stain her skin.
It was stiflingly hot for the first day of spring, even in the coolness of the Sanctuary.
She longed to take off the thick beaded jacket laced around her shoulders, but Queen Flavria had said that the dark blue overcoat was the finest element of their matching outfits, so it must stay on.
The tap of footsteps sounded on tile.
Master Jakespurcia walked down the aisle of the Sanctuary towards her, the edge of his black Masterhood cloak rippling at his ankles. The red ribbons strung from the ceiling brushed his shoulders as he passed.
‘Good morning, Princess,’ he said, stopping with a bow. ‘Her Majesty told me that we have some work to do this morning?’
‘Yes. It’s my eyes.’
Master Jakespurcia leant closer to her, and she tried not to breathe in his scent of musty robes, dried sweat and the unmistakable, bitter smell of magic.
‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘I see that they’re losing their colour. Come with me.’
She followed him through one of the archways at the back of the Sanctuary into a narrow, dank room overflowing with books and scrolls.
As the door shut behind them, she heard the first mid-morning prayer chant from the priests on the balconies overlooking the apse.
It would not be long before the Maiden Sacrifice service began, followed by the procession through the city to Tormale’s main square for the ceremony.
Cressyda looked down at the dragon figurine in her hands and felt sick.
The whole thing was barbaric. Sometimes there were petitions to seek an end to the treaty, but no one wanted the wrath of the Great Dragon brought down upon Calestra.
So they went along with it each spring, trying to get the whole dreaded thing over with as quickly as possible.
‘Now, when was your last enhancement?’ muttered Master Jakespurcia, riffling through scraps of parchment on a cluttered wooden desk. ‘We mustn’t overdo it. I know you want to look your best, but at twelve winters old, you’re still very young, Princess.’
They both knew that she was here at the Queen’s wishes, not her own, but still they went through this charade every time.
Cressyda sensed that Master Jakespurcia did not wholly approve of the many charms and glamours layered upon her.
There were rules around the frequency of beauty enhancements in the Kingdoms of Galasque, and Cressyda had often overheard ladies-in-waiting swapping names in hushed voices of magic-wielders who would perform extra, forbidden spells at a price.
But she had never known Master Jakespurcia refuse her mother an enhancement.
Such rules clearly did not apply to Her Majesty.
‘It was three moons ago …’ said Master Jakespurcia, tapping a finger on his bearded chin. ‘I suppose we can add a little something extra. But too much is dangerous, Princess. Too many enhancements could permanently damage your appearance.’
Cressyda dutifully nodded. If it were up to her, she would not be here at all.
Sometimes she caught sight of herself in one of the many mirrors in her mother’s bedchamber and, pausing, she would stare into her bright, amber eyes, wondering what she would look like without all the magic.
What she really looked like. It was a peculiar, unsettling thought, but one she would never dare utter aloud.
A young girl of five winters called Klariella had recently arrived at court and captured Queen Flavria’s ever-shifting attention.
The Queen dressed Klariella in Cressyda’s old dresses – the ones that no longer fitted – fussing and cooing over the pretty little thing, taking the child on her lap and carrying her from room to room.
Cressyda tried to assure herself that it was harmless, and Klariella was just another of her mother’s protégées.
There had been several of them the last few winters: delicate, neat little girls to be stroked and nuzzled for a season, then cast aside.
When Lady Alinore had arrived at the Calestran court a moon ago, Cressyda had assumed she too would become one of the Queen’s curiosities.
But either Lady Alinore was too old to take Queen Flavria’s fancy, or her gawkiness was off-putting enough for the Queen to leave her to her own devices.
Because Lady Alinore was certainly odd: unmannered and outspoken.
Cressyda had overheard one courtly lady snigger to another that the girl was ‘almost feral’.
But her presence at court still made Cressyda nervous.
Queen Flavria’s whims were fickle and Cressyda could never risk being replaced.
Still, at least when the Queen was occupied with her playthings, she was not sinking inwards.
Brooding into one of her ‘malaise of spirits’ where she took to her bed with an ailment – a headache, joint pain or a fever – and stayed there for days and days.
At such times it fell to Cressyda to soothe the Queen, sitting in a darkened room, clutching damp hands in long, thick silences.
She had learnt long ago that her mother’s happiness was a fragile thing, a delicate glass spun too thin.
It was her duty to keep it from cracking.
To smile, to flatter, to obey without hesitation. That was what she was for.
‘Just a moment, Princess.’
Cressyda waited as Master Jakespurcia took a pot from the stone windowsill and placed it on a nearby desk. It contained a small rose bush with three blooming pink flowers, their nodding heads bent under the weight of their frothy petals.
‘Stand still, Princess. Look ahead.’
Taking a deep breath, Cressyda lifted her chin and braced herself.
Master Jakespurcia flicked the edges of his black cloak and raised his hands, stretching and flexing his fingers. A low, guttural noise arose from his mouth, the sounds harsh and distorted: the language of magic.
The warm air in the room grew hotter. Sticky and heavy, it seemed to clot and congeal.
It pressed upon Cressyda, growing steadily stronger, like several winds blowing in different directions, roaring with energy.
It was not painful exactly, but it was not comfortable either.
She winced as something tacky and cloying coated her skin.
Then all became still.
Master Jakespurcia cleared his throat. ‘All finished.’
Cressyda twitched; her face felt tight and itchy.
She noticed that the rose bush on the desk had lost one of its flowers.
The bloom had shrivelled to nothing. She knew it was called energy transfer.
One of Master Jakespurcia’s apprentices had conducted a few lessons on it in the castle’s schoolroom last winter.
Energy transfer was the main principle of magic and a skill that must be studied throughout a Master’s lifetime.
‘Thank you, Master Jakespurcia Magnamion the Patient,’ she said because she knew she ought to.
Master Jakespurcia bowed. ‘Now you’re ready for the upcoming celebrations,’ he said. His eyes fell upon the felt dragon in her hands. ‘A Maiden Sacrifice totem. You made that yourself, Princess?’
‘Yes.’ Cressyda uncurled her fingers to reveal the purple dragon figurine, tiny scales embroidered upon its sides and threads of red, orange and yellow spurting from its mouth like flames. It had taken her two days of diligent stitching.
‘Very fine work, Princess. It seems a shame that it’ll be tossed into the fires.’
Cressyda did not reply. She thought the part of the Maiden Sacrifice ceremony where the children came forward and threw the dragon totems into the bonfires was probably the most enjoyable of the whole miserable service.
‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Princess?’
Cressyda raised her head and looked at the old Master. He was a short, thin man with long, silvery hair that he wore oiled and braided. Deep lines scored his face and hands – unusual at the Calestran court where most nobles bore some sort of beauty enhancement.
‘I wondered if …’
‘Yes?’
But Cressyda could not quite pluck up the courage to do it.
Whenever she was alone with Master Jakespurcia, her heartbeat would quicken, and the words she so desperately wanted to speak would teeter on the edge of her tongue.
She longed to ask him the truth. The truth of where she had come from – the truth of who she really was.
But she could never quite bring herself to do so.
‘Princess?’ Master Jakespurcia pressed.
Cressyda shook her head. ‘That’s all, thank you.’
Master Jakespurcia bowed. ‘I must get ready for the Maiden Sacrifice now.’ He began riffling through the assortment of books and papers piled around the room.
It was Cressyda’s cue to leave. She had missed her chance. Again.
She moved towards the door, cursing herself silently for not being bolder, not speaking when the opportunity had been right in front of her.
A thousand things she could have said spun uselessly in her mind, tangled with frustration and shame.
She was so wrapped up in her own bitter thoughts that she barely registered the change in the air – a shift so slight it could have been a trick of her imagination.
But then she saw it.
A shadow stirred near the threshold, darker than the dimness around it, and for a breathless moment she thought it might just be the play of sunlight against the uneven stone.
Yet it moved again, sliding and stretching, flickering up the wall.
Its edges were tattered and its features remained undefined, a blur of menace that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.
Goosebumps prickled her arms and a hot flush of fear rose to her cheeks.
Cressyda had seen things like this for as long as she could remember: faint shapes drifting at the edges of her vision that no one else took notice of.
She had learnt to ignore them; to pretend that she did not see hazy, soft forms flickering at the corners of her eyes, or hear hissing, clacking voices echoing through the castle walls.
She knew without asking that it was strange and wrong.
But she had never come across a shadow like this before: so close and so vivid.
She screamed.
The shadow wavered. Its tall, slender form seemed to look directly at Cressyda, as though in surprise. The longer she stared at it, the more it began to take shape. A terrible face appeared: a woman, red-eyed and weeping.
Greetings, it hissed.
The word was like a nail scratching through Cressyda’s head, at once vibrant and terrible.
She had heard faint whisperings from these creatures around the castle in the past, but none had ever spoken directly to her before.
The sensation filled her mouth with a bitter, sharp taste that made her want to vomit.
‘Princess? What’s wrong?’ Master Jakespurcia grabbed hold of her arm and she jolted backwards, hitting her head on a shelf of books. The blow broke her gaze and when she looked up again, the shadow had vanished.
Cressyda felt a rush of woozy relief.
It was gone.
But her body still shook with the shock.
She could not forget that horrible, ghostly face, awful and gaunt.
It was different from the creature she sometimes saw in the nursery, which was squat and bandy-legged with talons like long, curved needles.
And unlike the shadow that haunted the south turret, which was tiny and slithering with a deep, whistly voice.
This creature had looked almost like a woman.
‘Princess?’
She turned to Master Jakespurcia, every muscle in her body rigid, and forced herself to meet his gaze.
Her breathing was ragged, each inhale catching in her chest, but she wrestled it into something that resembled calm.
Summoning what little composure she had left, she shaped her trembling lips into a smile.
‘I just … I just felt sick, Master,’ she said.
He watched her closely. Something like suspicion flashed across his features.
‘Are you all right, Princess? Did you … see something?’
Cressyda did not want to tell Master Jakespurcia about the shadows.
Instinctively she knew it was not something that she should share with anyone.
Least of all a Master. Besides, she was not sure she could even explain what it was that she saw and heard.
All she knew was that it was strange and horrible – it was wrong.
‘I saw nothing, Master.’
‘Are you sure—’
But Cressyda was already hurrying away, her tight, stiff clothes rustling. ‘I saw nothing,’ she called again over her shoulder. ‘Nothing!’