Chapter 12
Alinore
THEY WALKED ALONG the corridor, arm in arm, stepping in unison, their shoes tapping on the terracotta tiles, their long winter skirts hissing and swishing.
From somewhere behind them came the clanging bells of the Sanctuary, distant chimes echoing along corridors, ricocheting up to the battlements, tolling the hour.
‘So where’s this painting of a woman with a dragon?’ asked Alinore.
‘Just a bit further.’
‘I hope this is worth it, Cress.’
The Princess had asked Alinore to do away with naming formalities. Only if they were in the presence of others was Alinore careful still to address Cressyda as ‘Princess’.
‘You’ll like it, Alinore. I know you will.’
They were walking through the east side of the castle, in a musty, dim, forgotten section on the first floor.
‘I thought it was down here …’ muttered Cressyda. ‘Yes! Look, there it is.’
They approached a large, unframed canvas, hung slightly crooked on the wall.
‘It’s Princess Tiannie,’ said Cressyda. ‘The last Mountain Princess. And the first Maiden Sacrifice.’
Alinore gazed up at a dark-haired woman standing in a wild landscape. Her brown eyes stared boldly ahead and she had one boot resting upon the crown of a huge dragon. It was possibly the most magnificent thing Alinore had ever seen.
‘Is she wearing armour?’ breathed Alinore, letting go of her friend’s arm and stepping closer.
‘Yes, Princess Tiannie was a warrior.’
‘Like a knight?’ Alinore asked. ‘A lady knight?’
‘Princess Tiannie was the eldest daughter of King Senbie. She had a younger brother and several sisters too. All the songs say that when her father was killed during the battles over this land, Princess Tiannie stepped up to lead the army.’
Alinore blew out her cheeks. ‘That’s amazing.’
Thick leather stitched into plates covered Princess Tiannie’s torso and her right hand rested on the pommel of a sword that curved from her hips to her feet.
Alinore had always imagined that the lady knights in the tales would look like this: fierce and strong.
She had once told her childhood maid that she longed to travel the realm and fight in battles like her father, and she had been scolded for peculiar ambitions.
‘Ladies don’t do such things,’ her maid had said.
But here was a lady who did. And not just a lady, but a princess.
‘Princess Tiannie was a real warrior?’ asked Alinore.
‘Yes. There’re scrolls about her in the Sanctuary …’ Cressyda paused; then her voice dropped to a low murmur. ‘I read one that said—’
‘You actually read one of the ancient scrolls?’ said Alinore, rolling her eyes. ‘You’ll read anything.’
Alinore found her friend’s interest in books baffling. Cressyda could spend a whole morning thumbing through tome after tome from the library, head bent over the pages, brow creased with concentration. It was so boring.
‘I read an account of the first Maiden Sacrifice that said … well, it might’ve meant that …’ Cressyda’s voice trailed off uncertainly, the rest of her words petering into silence.
But Alinore was too busy staring at the painting to notice.
The dragon filled the bottom section of the canvas, its long, muscular body coiling back and forth, its great haunches crushed against the lower left-hand corner.
Black scales glistened at the creature’s flanks, arched spikes bulged on its back and fine, tawny fur sprang from its chin.
‘Is the dragon dead?’ she asked.
The beast’s slitted, inky eyes were open, but they looked vacant.
‘I suppose so,’ replied Cressyda with a shrug. ‘Otherwise it would eat her.’
‘Why does the painting look strange?’
The canvas was not like the other paintings hung around the castle; its edges were unframed and crinkled, and the texture was rough, the shapes of the Princess and the dragon looser and cruder.
‘It was made by Princess Tiannie’s people and must’ve survived King Freddini Tangello’s siege of this land. There are others like it around the castle, showing the mountains and some older Kings and Queens from before this became Calestra, but a few are damp and damaged.’
‘Are there any more old ones of dragons?’
Cressyda smiled and shook her head.
Alinore looked back at the painting, and then stood up, squaring her shoulders. She mimicked Princess Tiannie’s stance, raising one foot in the air and hovering her hand on an imaginary sword.
‘How do I look?’
Cressyda laughed. ‘Foolish. As always,’ she said. Then something caught her attention, and her gaze strayed down the corridor.
Alinore turned to see two guards marching towards them, expressions unreadable.
‘His Majesty King Borto requests the presence of Lady Alinore in his chambers,’ said one guard with a bow.
Alinore looked at Cressyda, her eyes wide.
‘I’ll accompany Lady Alinore,’ said the Princess.
The guards did not respond.
As they walked together down the passageway, Alinore leant close to her friend and whispered, ‘Do you think I’ve done something wrong?’
Cressyda shook her head, but she looked uncertain. ‘Don’t worry, I’m here.’
Alinore felt a hand reach out and squeeze her arm.
They stopped before large, carved double doors.
‘Lady Alinore, House of Mattinias,’ called out an attendant.
The doors opened and Alinore followed the guards inside.
She had not been in the King’s chambers before and she looked around at the swathes of velvet adorning the walls, the gold-inlaid ceiling and the cluster of hunting dogs asleep before the fire.
While she quickly dropped into as conventional a curtsey as she could manage, Alinore saw with relief that the Queen was in attendance: a familiar presence standing beside her husband.
Both of them were dressed in matching silver robes for the Last Snow Feast.
‘Peace be with Your Majesty, King Borto Donolaino of Calestra,’ said Alinore, her voice high and strained. ‘And peace be with Your Majesty, Queen Flavria Donolaino of Calestra.’
Behind her, Alinore heard the soft tap of Cressyda’s shoes close to her side.
The King cleared his throat. ‘Lady Alinore …’ he began. He paused, scratched his beard and turned to his wife.
A look Alinore did not understand passed between them.
‘Lady Alinore, we must speak with you,’ said the Queen instead. She was dazzling as always, with crystal droplets strung through her black hair and a face impossibly fresh and dewy. ‘I’m afraid we’ve had some terrible news.’
Alinore noticed the downcast expression of King Borto and fear crept into her chest.
‘A message arrived this morning from Lord Lassiaro …’ the Queen continued.
Father. This was about her father.
‘… Lord Lassiaro has received word that there have been a number of fatalities in his army fighting the Journian rebels,’ said the Queen, her voice echoing around the chamber. ‘Your father has been killed.’
Alinore blinked.
Behind her, she heard Cressyda gasp.
‘His battalion was mistaken for Proassians and the Journian rebels took them by surprise.’
Alinore stood, swaying on her feet. It couldn’t be true. Her father would come back. Of course he would. He always came back.
‘Sir Thomaso died in honour, serving his country,’ said King Borto. ‘He was a great man.’
Was a great man. Was.
‘We are truly sorry for your loss, Lady Alinore.’
Alinore was drifting out of herself, watching the scene unfold from above. It did not feel real. She had received a letter from her father two moons ago, its contents brisk and cheerful, as usual. He could not be gone. The King must be mistaken.
‘You’ll need to take time to come to terms with such a tragedy,’ said the Queen. Then she quickly added, ‘But we must also make some arrangements as to your new circumstances.’
Alinore felt the sting of salt on her lips and realized she was crying.
‘Lady Alinore?’
Alinore’s head snapped up. ‘Yes, Your Majesty?’ she managed.
‘I said there are things we must discuss.’
Alinore stared back at the Queen blankly.
‘The villa in Galasque has already been sold. As have most of your father’s possessions. There’s a living female cousin in the Beautomonte region. A farmer, I believe. Have you ever met?’
‘My home’s gone?’ Alinore whispered.
The Queen nodded. ‘There were some … debts that needed clearing.’
Alinore felt her legs buckling beneath her. She staggered and someone grabbed hold of her, hauling her upright again.
‘Mother, I should like Lady Alinore to be my companion,’ said Cressyda.
Alinore looked up to see the King and Queen exchanging glances.
‘She can move into my bedchamber and attend me,’ Cressyda added. ‘She doesn’t need to go and live with a cousin she’s never met – she can stay with me. Please.’
There was a pause.
‘The decision lies with you, my Queen,’ muttered King Borto. ‘It’s your household.’
‘The expense—’ began the Queen.
‘I’ll share my things. It won’t cost anything.’
Alinore was dimly aware of the voices around her, but all she could really hear was the roar of her own heartbeat in her ears.
‘Please, Mother.’ Then, quietly, Cressyda added, ‘I’ve never asked you for anything before. Please let me have this.’
The Queen sighed. ‘As you wish it, my child.’
Alinore felt the clasp of the Princess tighten around her, then her legs gave way and she fell to the floor, sobbing.