Chapter 17
Cressyda
THE GREAT HALL rang with chatter. Scents of roasted hog, sweet milk and honeyed pastries wafted through the air from the long trestle tables heaped with food strung from one end of the room to the other.
Courtiers gossiped and guffawed, their laughter echoing off the high stone walls, while musicians played lively tunes from the balconies, their voices weaving through the din, conjuring the revelry of the Maiden Sacrifice feast.
Cressyda stood beside the Queen on the dais, watching the spectacle unspool before them.
Though she kept her expression composed, she could feel the heat of gazes flicking in their direction and lingering particularly on the tall, angular figure of Prince Samsel standing a few paces to her right.
He had just returned from a winter visiting the Ferente court and though Cressyda was delighted to have Ottone back, she did not welcome the return of her eldest brother.
She knew she was in the minority; everyone else at court seemed thrilled to have the heir among them again.
At nineteen winters, Samsel was of prime marrying age and Cressyda had recently overheard ladies-in-waiting, councilmen and servants alike wonder why he had not yet chosen a bride.
Many speculated if the Prince would marry a girl from one of the Kingdoms of Galasque’s six other royal families or from Calestra itself.
Those with eligible daughters hoped for the latter.
But Samsel’s absence had been a joyous time for Cressyda.
She could mingle with the King’s court and sit in the family’s private salon in the evenings unafraid of sharp interruptions or sly glances.
No one was bending her words or watching her every step.
Now he had returned and the freedom she had tasted was about to vanish.
Cressyda had stood in the front courtyard yesterday as the Princes’ travelling party trotted through the gates. She had watched stony-faced as Queen Flavria welcomed home her eldest son with ecstatic wails and tears.
Dismounting, Samsel had embraced his mother and stared right at Cressyda over Queen Flavria’s shoulder. His eyes were hard and narrowed.
‘My, how big you’ve got, Little Pet,’ he had hissed when it was her turn to step forward and greet him. ‘At seventeen winters you’re almost a young lady.’
With bile burning the back of her throat, she had bent and kissed his hand before turning with relief to embrace Ottone.
Any hope she had harboured that Samsel’s absence had softened him evaporated at that moment. He was just as horrible as he had always been – perhaps worse, since he had returned bigger and stronger.
Trumpets sounded from one of the balconies above and a hush settled over the room.
King Borto walked slowly forward. He had been unwell again recently, suffering a never-ending cycle of sniffles and fevers over the last winter that often confined him to his quarters.
It had turned his great chest sunken and stooped his broad shoulders.
Cressyda had been shocked at the sight of him earlier that day and she could tell by the whispers of the Calestran court that she was not the only one.
‘My loyal subjects,’ he called, his voice raspy and thin. ‘It is an honour to serve you on this, the two-hundred-and-ninety-ninth Maiden Sacrifice. Let us all toast the life of this spring’s maiden, offered today to spare us from the terror of the Great Dragon.’
Everyone took their seats, and the hall was filled with the sound of scraping chairs and the bustle of gowns.
As Cressyda followed the Queen to the High Table, she caught sight of Alinore at the very back of the room, where the out-of-favour courtiers and lesser nobles sat, and the sharper edges of her nerves softened.
Though Alinore had started avoiding attending royal occasions whenever possible, she had reluctantly agreed to stay close by tonight, unable to refuse Cressyda’s keen pleading.
They had been quarrelling more recently, irritating each other with their stark differences, but that could not break the unspoken tether between them.
They were still best friends. The closest of allies.
Sisters. And with Samsel back at court, Cressyda felt that she needed Alinore by her side.
‘We share our lands with those most ancient creatures of chaos,’ said the King. ‘And since the time of our first High King, King Freddini Tangello, we have had a treaty with the Great Dragon to spare our region from attack …’
The Maiden Sacrifice was always a grim occasion, but today Cressyda thought it had been particularly harrowing.
You could never be sure how the chosen girls would react – sometimes they were silent and stoic, sometimes they were limp and weepy, but this one had been angry.
Cressyda had stood in the city’s main square, strung with sashes and Calestran flags, and watched as the young woman was brought forward, surrounded by guards.
Before the King had climbed to his feet to begin the rites, the girl had started screaming obscenities.
It was difficult to hear exactly what she was saying over the roaring of the bonfires and the jeering of the drunken crowd, but it was easy to guess.
She was a poor girl from one of the Calestran border towns with Mountain blood in her ancestry and she had not wanted to die.
She had not wanted to be eaten by the Great Dragon.
Or slain. Or burnt. Whatever happened to all the girls who were chosen.
It had taken three guards to hold her down and four blows to the face until she was finally quiet.
‘… the treaty formed by the Mountain folk has protected all of us for many winters,’ continued the King. ‘And we honour it today. Let us all raise a toast to the maiden.’
The King glanced off to his left where one of his advisors stood on the steps of the dais. The man mouthed a name, and the King nodded.
‘Join me in honouring the life of Hadesie Aldero of Sorole,’ said King Borto, raising his goblet. ‘She has saved us from the Great Dragon.’
‘Hadesie Aldero of Sorole,’ chorused the courtiers in the Great Hall, their drinks held high.
Cressyda sipped at the wine, trying to forget the girl slumped upon a horse earlier that day, led by guards out of the main square, on her way to the mountains. On her way to death.
‘And now, we shall eat!’ announced King Borto. He clapped and attendants around the hall sprang forward, spooning food upon plates.
Under the watchful eyes of Queen Flavria, Cressyda picked at the many dishes of food that came and went. When her mother was not looking, she managed to pop a whole pastry ball into her mouth, enjoying the buttery, rich taste.
‘Good evening, Princess.’
The voice made Cressyda jump and she almost choked on her food. Turning, she saw Prince Mariso of Ferente standing behind her. He had been seated at the other end of the table with the King’s household and Cressyda had not noticed him approach.
‘Hmm?’ she managed, hurriedly swallowing down her mouthful.
‘May I have the honour of the first dance?’ he asked.
The dark velvet of his jacket made his blue eyes sparkle and accentuated the soft paleness of his hair.
He had accompanied Prince Samsel and Prince Ottone home to spend a few seasons with the Calestran court and his appearance had caused another stir of excitement within the Queen’s household.
Three eligible Princes was almost too much to hope for.
Prince Mariso’s ‘handsome, fair features’ had been widely commented on.
Alinore had told Cressyda that she thought Prince Mariso was fine-looking, but his swordplay – which she had observed from the hallway above the practice ring yesterday – was frankly shocking for a Prince who must have spent winters under the instruction of a Sword Master. What a waste.
‘Have you promised your first dance to someone else?’ Prince Mariso asked.
Looking up, Cressyda saw that servants were clearing tables from the centre of the Great Hall and lugging more wine barrels through the doors, ready for the dancing to begin.
‘I … I haven’t promised a dance to anyone,’ she finally replied, her cheeks flushing.
‘Then may I take it?’
‘Yes. Of course, Your Highness.’
Prince Mariso bowed.
Over his shoulder, Cressyda could see a cluster of court girls watching their exchange hungrily. After Samsel, Prince Mariso was the most sought-after partner at this evening’s Maiden Sacrifice feast.
‘I’m delighted to have acquired the fairest partner in the room,’ said Prince Mariso.
Cressyda shook her head, her cheeks glowing brighter.
‘You must be inundated with offers.’
She shook her head again.
At Calestran celebrations the eligible male courtiers dutifully danced with Cressyda every now and then, but she was generally overlooked.
No one was quite sure where she fitted into the hierarchy of the court, and besides, Queen Flavria made it clear with her tuts and frowns that she preferred to keep her pet by her side.
Though many an admiring glance was cast Cressyda’s way, few dared get too close.
‘You flatter me, Prince Mariso. I’m the one honoured by your request.’
This seemed to please him. He offered her his arm and led her from the royal dais on to the floor of the Great Hall.
Cressyda’s palm tingled where it rested on Prince Mariso’s sleeve. She was aware of the Queen’s disapproving gaze cast in their direction, but she did not care. Lately, it seemed that she kept upsetting her mother. She was too tall, too big, too healthy.
‘The Arcing Dragon Waltz,’ announced the caller.
‘This is my favourite dance,’ said Cressyda.