Chapter 60
Cressyda
VOICES DRIFTED THROUGH the window. They spoke in hushed tones, reverent and uneasy, murmuring first the name of King Samsel, then the Maiden Sacrifice.
Hearing them, Cressyda scrambled off her bed, blinking away her drowsiness.
The same black mourning dress she had worn yesterday flopped, creased and crumpled, around her feet, the tight boning pinching her waist as it had all night.
Hurrying to the window, she pushed it wide open into the fresh morning air.
She peered down to see Lady Vienlia and her daughter-in-law, Lady Frankis, walking the length of the front courtyard below, arm in arm.
Cressyda ducked to the side so as not to be seen and turned an ear in their direction. She held her breath, listening.
‘It’s all very confusing,’ continued Lady Vienlia. ‘Are we supposed to pretend that the Princess never existed? What did the King mean in his address this morning that she would soon be relieved of her duties?’
Panic flooded Cressyda’s body. She had known this was coming, of course. Samsel had made it clear last night that he was going to destroy her. But it was still shocking to hear it said aloud by someone else.
An exhale sounded in response. ‘She’s not of royal blood and she never was.’ Lady Frankis’s words were tight and clipped. ‘As the King said, he’s putting the situation in order. It should’ve happened long ago.’
‘It doesn’t seem right …’
‘What’s not right is that the Pet has had all those winters of privilege when she’s nothing more than a fleckless peasant!’
Cressyda flinched. She could not remember ever having spoken a cross word with Lady Frankis before, but clearly that did not matter.
Despite many winters growing up in the same court, this woman hated her.
They had never been close exactly, but Cressyda thought they had always been civil and pleasant to one another.
She had suspected that her position at the Queen’s side irritated many of the courtiers, but it was startling to have it confirmed so starkly. It was what she had always feared.
‘We’ve had to simper and curtsey to that girl when all along she’s no better than us,’ hissed Lady Frankis. ‘She’s a nobody, a nothing. Just a pet. Everyone is saying so.’
‘But the Queen’s wishes …’
‘King Samsel can do as he pleases. And the Queen Mother has taken to her bed with yet another sickness. Even if she hears of it, there’s nothing she can do.’
‘Prince Ottone won’t like it—’
‘Apparently he’s disappeared off somewhere so he can’t be too concerned. And anyway, he’ll have to do as his King says. As will we all.’
Lady Vienlia muttered something inaudible.
‘You speak as if you have some fondness for the Pet, Mother.’
There was a pause and Cressyda craned her neck to hear Lady Vienlia’s answer. She was surprised that the Chief Lady-in-Waiting was defending her position, though she suspected this was due to loyalty to the old Queen more than anything else.
‘I’ve known the Princess for many winters,’ came Lady Vienlia’s soft reply. ‘I was there when she was first brought to the Queen’s chambers. A tiny, wailing baby.’
‘I should keep that to yourself. You wouldn’t want to be mistaken for opposing the new King’s wishes.’
‘No,’ said Lady Vienlia quickly. ‘Of course not.’
Lady Frankis cleared her throat. ‘We must ready ourselves for the Maiden Sacrifice. They’ll announce the name of the girl in the Great Hall soon.’
The patter of footsteps faded away.
Cressyda glanced at her bedchamber door.
Though she could not see the guards, she could feel their heavy presence waiting on the other side.
They had escorted her from the throne room yesterday evening and locked the door behind her.
At some point during the long, fitful night that followed, it had occurred to Cressyda that she had voluntarily shut herself away in this bedchamber for so many winters and yet now she truly was imprisoned in it. How funny.
She stepped back from the window, her thoughts spinning in wild, fevered circles.
In just a few moments, the heavy doors of the Great Hall would swing open, and the courtiers would file in, their silks whispering as they took their places.
They would be breathless with anticipation, every eye glinting with a hunger for spectacle.
Then the herald would appear, scroll in hand, voice sharpened for ceremony, and he would call the name of this spring’s Maiden Sacrifice.
Her name.
There would be a collective gasp, no doubt.
Some might cry out, perhaps in horror or pity.
But after the initial shock had passed, she could already sense the excitement that would rise in its place.
A jittery, delighted tension would settle over the Great Hall.
The drama of it all – so macabre, so rare – would permeate the air.
And, of course, there would be those who felt it was only just. Those like Lady Frankis would think she deserved it.
She had been elevated above them and now she must be torn down.
Because the courtiers were no different from the drunken hordes that filled the main square on Maiden Sacrifice days – they wanted a girl to burn. They wanted blood.
Cressyda squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring a flicker of fear growing steadily stronger.
All night she had replayed her conversation with Samsel, the weight of his words rolling over her again and again.
Each cruel truth he had revealed echoed in her mind with the sickening clarity of a Sanctuary bell.
She had scoured every syllable, every nuance of his voice, searching for a loophole, a path, a crack in the walls closing in around her.
But there had been none. She had paced the length of her bedchamber until her legs became too weak, finally collapsing on the bed, drifting into restless sleep.
It had been a disturbed, broken night of dreams and in the cold, clear morning light, she could see that nothing had changed. She was trapped.
The only people who might have been able to help her – the only people who would have wanted to help her – were far away outside the city. When Alinore and Ottone finally heard the news, it would be too late. She would already be in the mountains, facing the Great Dragon. Facing her death.
Cressyda was so consumed by these spiralling thoughts that, at first, she did not hear the voice.
Waves of dread and disbelief kept crashing through her. She wrung her hands, knuckles pale and breath shallow, imagining her name read out in the Great Hall over and over again; imagining herself crowned the three-hundredth Maiden Sacrifice.
But the voice came again, low and insistent: The Great Dragon is waiting for you.
It was a faint whisper tickling at her consciousness.
Cressyda’s eyes snapped open as a bitter taste flooded her tongue. She knew what this was – it was a creature. One of the Hidden People.
The Great Dragon is waiting for you.
Usually she fled from these voices, shutting down her thoughts and covering her ears, praying that they would leave her be.
She was about to do just that again now – cursing these creatures for plaguing her when she was already so fearful – but then she paused.
Swallowing down the familiar prickle of alarm, she stilled and listened.
Distantly, she heard the clink of armour from the guards outside her door, and the light clatter of hooves in the front courtyard as horses rode in and out of the castle gates.
Beyond that, there was hushed nothingness, thick and waiting.
In that strange quiet, with fear snaking through her stomach, Cressyda made a choice. In a surge of desperation, she decided she must reply. She must be brave. She had spent so long ignoring the Hidden People, but now she needed help. If these beings were calling to her, perhaps they had answers.
Cressyda stood up straight, looking around her seemingly empty bedchamber.
She had never tried to speak to one of the Hidden People before and the very thought filled her with terror, but she knew that she must try.
Taking a deep breath, she parted her lips, intending to speak aloud, but instead, she felt an involuntary force take over her body.
She jolted in shock as her hands moved by themselves in an unfamiliar gesture.
Then the words she had been about to say folded in on themselves, vibrating like thoughts through her head.
What do you mean? she asked.
The air thrummed, snapping and crackling.
She gasped and looked down at her trembling fingers, her stomach clenching with nausea.
She did not understand what had just happened.
Her head felt fuzzy and tender, as if she had spent the night drinking fine wine, and her chest heaved as if she had been chased down a corridor.
Where are you? she managed to call again, the words quivering through her mind.
She swivelled her head, looking left and right. Then, losing her balance, she staggered, grasping the window frame, dizzy with the charge of energy coursing through her and the strangeness of it all.
No response.
Please?
There was a scuttling, clicking sound that Cressyda vaguely remembered. A memory stirred of a squat, bandy-legged shadow with needled talons.
I know you! she cried. You live in the castle nursery. I have seen you before.
A scratchy shriek like a bark of laughter.
Cressyda reminded herself that these were not creatures to be trusted. She scrunched her fingers into fists, and waited.
I know you too, Princess, came the reply. Mountain Princess.
Cressyda frowned, the hairs on her neck prickling. Mountain Princess?
A pause.
What do you know of me? she persisted, ignoring the ache squeezing her forehead and the sickness still curdling in her stomach.
Mountain blood runs through your veins. It is how you can see us. It is how you can speak to us. It will allow you to parley with the Great Dragon.
Cressyda’s gaze fell on the tapestry hung on the opposite wall, which was rippling slightly, as if disturbed by a breeze. Behind it was the cupboard sunk into stone where she kept her ribbons.
The Great Dragon is one of you? she asked, edging towards the tapestry. I will be able to speak with it?
Yes, Princess.
Can I … Can I convince the Great Dragon to let me live?
A snigger, then a scuffling noise.
The price of a life is required.
Cressyda crept closer. What do you mean?
But the voice was beginning to fade, as if the creature were moving away.
Wait!
Cressyda lurched forward and snatched back the tapestry, flinging open the cupboard door. She heard a scrabbling noise and saw a flicker of something at one corner, behind her box of ribbons.
Then all was still.
What do you mean? she cried. Can you help me?
But there was no reply.
The creature had gone.