Cressyda
CALESTRAN FLAGS SLICED through the thick, hot air.
Tossed upwards, they floated in a purple blaze against the rusty stone of the surrounding buildings, before dropping in unison to the beat of the pounding drums and trumpet blares.
The dancers waiting on the cobbles caught the flags, whirling them in a flurry of rippling, golden dragons, before leaping and ducking, twirling in time to the steps of the Summer Carnevale.
Moments ago, as she had waited in one of the royal carriages that had processed through the streets of Tormale, she had felt a jab in her side. Turning, she had seen Samsel, leaning across the seat, smirking at her.
‘You’re riding with us now, Little Pet,’ he had hissed. ‘You’re getting too big.’
‘Perhaps you ought to ask Master Jakespurcia for a spell to turn back time, if such a thing exists,’ Samsel had added. ‘Or Mother will get herself another little pet.’
Ottone had kicked his brother and said something about keeping his mouth shut, but Samsel had barely noticed.
‘I’m sure you wouldn’t want to lose your place in the royal carriages,’ he had carried on. ‘After all, you do like a ride. According to Prince Mariso.’
Cressyda had blinked at him. ‘What?’ she had whispered finally.
‘Allowing yourself to be backed up against a corridor wall like a common whore. Naughty Pet.’
Before Cressyda had been able to respond, the carriage doors had swung open to the bellowing of the surrounding crowd.
Trying desperately not to cry, she had followed her brothers into the burning sunshine.
Only when the royal party had taken up their positions on the balcony overlooking Tormale’s main square and the Summer Carnevale spectacle began, had Cressyda allowed her tears to fall.
Below, three dancers launched one of the larger flags into the air as the drums beat faster. The flag soared upwards, twirling above the terracotta roofs to drift suspended against the distant, jagged outline of the mountains. Then it dropped to a roar of applause.
‘Bravo!’ yelled the King suddenly.
The royal party standing on the balcony all jumped in surprise and the Queen dropped her fan.
King Borto seemed oblivious to the alarm he had caused. He giggled to himself, the mirth bubbling up in a series of high-pitched chuckles, childlike and disarming.
Two councilmen standing to Cressyda’s left began whispering, their eyes flicking to the King and back again, their expressions sombre.
Distracted by the outburst, Cressyda did not see the shadow at first.
It took a long moment for it to catch her attention, lingering at the edge of her vision, waiting to press upon her awareness.
Then she turned her head and sucked in her breath.
A gnarled, hunched creature hung from the lip of the balcony.
The hairs on the back of Cressyda’s neck prickled and her forehead throbbed.
The more she stared at it, the more the shadow’s grotesque shape grew sharper. It was like one of the stone gargoyles from Syonno Castle’s battlements come to life. A wide, snubbed muzzle and waxen, blotchy skin stretched over jutting limbs.
Greetings, Princess.
Before Cressyda could stop herself, she screamed.
Chaos erupted on the balcony. Courtiers gasped and staggered back in shock. The King covered his ears, groaning, and the guards drew their swords.
The creature bared its teeth in a delighted grin, before swinging over the edge of the balcony and vanishing into the crowd below.
‘What’s happened? What is it?’ people cried.
But Cressyda could not reply.
Ottone rushed up beside her. ‘The Princess seems unwell,’ he announced. ‘I’ll stand with her in the shade until the end of the ceremony.’
‘Yes, take her away!’ snapped the Queen. ‘We must stop this fuss.’
Cressyda dragged her eyes from the edge of the balcony where the creature had been hanging moments before. She registered the commotion around her in alarm: the King rocking back on his heels moaning; the Queen stroking her husband’s back; and the courtiers looking on in concern.
Ottone grasped her elbow and pulled her away.
They swept past the gathered royal household and into the cool, dark rooms at the back of the tower.
The uproar of the balcony receded as they charged down a flight of stone steps and entered a small, quiet chamber.
An attendant appeared with water and Ottone thanked him, before helping Cressyda into an armchair.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
She looked up into her brother’s comforting, familiar face. His curly dark hair slicked back, his brown eyes full of unease. He was the only person besides Alinore in Syonno Castle who truly felt like her family.
‘Is it what Samsel said in the carriage?’ he persisted. ‘Because there’s no shame in—’
‘But it’s not true!’
She felt sick. Whenever she was reminded of Prince Mariso pressing himself against her in the dark passageway, forcing his lips over her mouth, she felt nauseous. She had not told anyone about it. Not even Alinore.
‘He was … He tried to …’
‘What?’ asked Ottone. ‘Did something happen?’
Cressyda dropped her face into her hands. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. He’s gone now.’
Prince Mariso had departed Syonno Castle at the beginning of the last moon, returning to the Ferente court.
After the night of the Maiden Sacrifice, Cressyda had kept her distance from him.
She had often felt his gaze on her during the mingling of the royal households, but she never offered more than a brief curtsey and a murmured ‘Your Highness’.
When he had finally left, she had felt nothing but relief.
Ottone shifted from one foot to the other.
‘Mariso might be a prince but he’s the fourth-born and his eldest brother has already produced an heir.
He’s basically pointless. There are rumours about him – about him, Samsel and some Ferente courtiers.
’ Ottone started pacing back and forth, his words coming clipped and fast. ‘I should’ve guessed something was wrong.
You’ve been so quiet. What happened? You can tell me. ’
Cressyda sighed and dropped her hands into her lap. ‘He thought I might be an easy conquest, but he was wrong. And I suppose …’ She trailed off.
This was the painful part.
‘… he knew he could get away with it.’
Ottone’s expression darkened. ‘How dare he. You’re the Princess of Calestra!’
Her brother meant it truly, though Cressyda only felt the sting of the hidden truth. ‘But I’m not,’ she replied. ‘I’m not really a princess.’
Ottone paused, shock rippling across his features. ‘Don’t say that—’
‘But it’s true.’
They fell silent, turning away from one another. The drumbeats of the Summer Carnevale drifted through the tower.
‘Let’s not talk about this any more.’ Cressyda heaved herself out of the chair and wiped her damp palms on her skirts. ‘You’ll be leaving again soon and you shouldn’t have to worry about these things.’
‘I’ll still worry.’
‘I know.’ Cressyda folded her arms. ‘But I can look after myself.’
Ottone did not look convinced. ‘I suppose you’ll always have Alinore. Where is she? I didn’t see her on the balcony.’
‘She’s watching from the crowd.’
Ottone’s mouth dropped open. ‘Alinore’s in the main square unchaperoned?’ He paced from one side of the room to the other as if he might suddenly run to find her.
‘She’s done it before. She says it’s fun.’
‘And you don’t stop her?’
‘Of course I try, but you know how she gets when she’s decided something.’
Ottone rubbed his chin. ‘That’s true.’ His gaze drifted off to the far side of the room and he stood, smiling wistfully.
Cressyda watched him. She had never seen an expression on her brother’s face quite like that before.
‘Alinore’s going to miss you,’ she said. ‘When you left for the Ferente court, she was gloomy and snappy for moons.’
Ottone shrugged, but he looked pleased.
‘And this time it’s different,’ Cressyda added quietly. ‘This time, after visiting Carniva’s court, you’ll go to war.’
‘I’ll only be part of a small battalion at the borders of the Diaspass Kingdom,’ he replied, but Cressyda could hear the uncertainty in his tone. ‘I’ll barely see the real fighting in the Ofarim Hills.’
‘But still.’ After a pause, she added. ‘Do you really have to go?’
‘I’m the spare Prince. It’s my purpose.’
‘But it’s the Diaspass Kingdom’s feud with Journier, not ours!’ she protested. ‘They supported the rebels against the Proassians to force all taxable trade through their borders. Now it’s backfiring and we need to come to their aid. It’s their own fault!’
Ottone smiled wryly. ‘You should sit on Father’s council. You read so many books, I bet you know more about the situation and its history than most of them.’
Cressyda snorted and rolled her eyes. Though actually, she had often thought as much herself.
She always listened keenly to the councilmen’s debates during mealtimes, considering every argument and weighing them against what she had studied.
Often, she could see the flaws in their reasoning long before they reached a muddled conclusion.
‘You laugh, but it was announced recently that a Princess is going to ascend the throne and rule in a kingdom in the Western Realm,’ said Ottone.
‘Yes, Princess Talia Corenvale of Bavaugh,’ replied Cressyda with a sigh. ‘I heard that too. But that’s the backwards Western Realm, Ottone. They don’t even have Masters. Such a thing would never happen in the Central Realm.’
Despite her dismissal, Cressyda could not help but feel a flicker of curiosity stir. She tried so hard to live within the limits offered to her, shaping herself to fit the mould. It was difficult to imagine anything else.
‘I’ll only be gone a few seasons,’ said Ottone.
‘Meanwhile Samsel goes off to the High King’s court in Galasque to enjoy feasting and drinking all winter long.’
‘That’s his prerogative as the heir; he must be protected.’ Ottone grimaced. ‘At least he’ll be out of your way.’
It was something of a consolation.
‘Just be careful,’ she said.
She still expected to see a tall, stocky boy with wild, dark curls.
But Ottone had changed. His face was as wide and open as it always had been, but now his cheeks were leaner and covered in dark stubble.
His shoulders were broader, and his frame was solid and strong.
Recently, she had noticed a few girls at court glance twice at him in surprise.
‘Don’t worry, little sister,’ said Ottone. ‘I’ll come back in one piece.’
‘You’d better.’