Chapter 64
Maylie
MAYLIE WADED THROUGH undergrowth with fierce determination, ignoring the scratch and tug of sprawling bushes and bracken.
The vegetation pressed in on all sides, wild and unyielding.
There was no trodden path to follow, only the raw, tangled scrub that grew dense and chaotic, cloaking the slope in a green, unruly mass.
Thorny branches caught at her clothes and thistles bit into her skin.
Every so often, she lost her footing on the rutted, lumpy ground and stumbled, her ankles twisting beneath her, but she did not rest. She pressed on without pause, her breath steady and her eyes fixed ahead.
She must get to the Maiden’s Path.
She must stop this.
Earlier that day, on her way to Tormale, Maylie had heard the shocking, terrible news.
She had been passing through the lowest Mountain village of Farell, a sleepy cluster of stone cottages at the foot of the last mountain, when a dust-streaked herald had ridden into the main square.
She had had enough provisions in her small pack to make it to the city – Chrisanie had made sure of that before she set off – and she had not intended to stop anywhere.
She had wanted to reach the capital before sundown, hoping to request an audience with someone at Syonno Castle that evening.
But since the herald was here, she had decided to pause and listen to his decree.
From a shaded corner beneath the eaves of Farell’s Sanctuary, she had wiped her hands on her skirts and watched as the square filled with villagers.
Children were called in from play, aproned women stepped away from their shops, and men laid down their tools to stand shoulder to shoulder, eyes narrowed towards the stranger on horseback.
It had been past lunchtime, the sky a pale, drowsy blue overhead, and everyone was calm. They knew that had the Maiden Sacrifice been one of their own girls, the herald would have already visited first thing that morning. They could rest easy knowing that they had been spared another spring.
But when the announcement had come, it had stunned everyone.
The herald’s voice had carried clearly through the square, piercing and formal, as he unrolled the sealed scroll and read the name aloud.
For a moment, it was as if the air had paused.
Even the lovetails nesting in the eaves of the Sanctuary fell quiet.
Then the murmurs began, rippling through the crowd.
‘The Princess has Mountain blood?’ someone had gasped. ‘Would you ever have thought such a thing?’
‘I suppose she never were a real princess …’ came one reply.
‘’Tis good, I say,’ a raspy voice yelled out above all the commotion. ‘Let the Calestrans feel the pain of the Maiden Sacrifice for once!’
Shocked and sick, Maylie had stumbled away to the outskirts of Farell, her thoughts reeling and her dread mounting.
The Princess – her daughter – was the Maiden Sacrifice.
Maylie’s breath came in broken bursts, and the ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet. The villagers’ voices faded behind her as she pushed through narrow paths, past weather-worn cottages, barely seeing where she was going.
This was what the Hidden People had tried to warn her about – this was the terrible thing foretold.
And she was too late.
Maylie should have acted sooner. At that moment, the Princess would already be at the ceremony in Tormale’s main square. Perhaps she would already have set out on the Maiden’s Path, flanked by guards, winding her way through the mountains towards death.
As the horror of it had settled over Maylie, her hands had flown to her face, nails dragging across her cheeks leaving bright red lines.
The guilt, the unbearable helplessness. There was only one thought pounding in her head now, louder than anything else – she must do something. She must stop this.
The Princess could not be the Maiden Sacrifice.
It was impossible. Not because of sentiment or station or worth, but because she was Maylie’s daughter and Esmelie’s niece – a girl could not be chosen twice from the same family in two generations.
It was the rule. Maylie had seized upon this technicality and clung to it.
It did not matter that she had kept the Princess’s heritage a secret because the truth existed, and that truth could save her.
Maylie had told herself that if she could explain this to the guards, they would be forced to let the Princess go.
The rule was clear and it could not be broken. She just needed to get to them in time.
Turning, Maylie had started retracing the path she had followed that morning.
Her boots found the narrow track again, though it now seemed steeper and crueller than before.
She snaked her way back up the winding mountainsides between the scattered villages, rushing as fast as her body would allow.
The familiar curves and bends of the trail blurred around her, reduced to landmarks she barely registered in her single-minded determination.
She had refused to stop or rest, even when she had started to pull away from the known trails into the wild scrubland.
Her pace had slowed on the rough, uneven ground and dampness had spread beneath her arms and across her back, the afternoon sunshine beating down warm and relentless. But still, she trudged on.
She had failed her daughter once and she was not about to let it happen again.
She tore through thorny underbrush, climbed over moss-slick boulders, shoved aside low-hanging branches that whipped her face and arms. The sting of it barely registered.
She struggled on, her stride long and grim, even as the burn in her thighs grew fiercer and the dull throb in her left hip began to blossom into something harsher.
She kept going, swivelling her head left and right, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Maiden’s Path.
Then, at last, she saw a patch of woodland ahead.
It was not what she had hoped for, but she still huffed in relief.
At least it would give her a moment’s respite from the heat of the sun.
She was thinking of little else when she stepped beneath the nearest tree, swallowed into the coolness of its shade.
The hush of the canopy wrapped around her, muffling the sound of her footfalls and the pulse pounding in her ears.
She welcomed it, leaning briefly against a trunk as her thoughts spun in half-formed fragments – the Princess, the Maiden Sacrifice, death – but before any of them could settle, something caught her eye.
A wink of silver. Quick and bright, gone in an instant.
She turned her head and saw it: the shadow.
Stop, it said.
Maylie licked her dry lips, fighting back a scream of fury. She could not face the creature now; she did not have time to waste. She was about to turn away, when it added, You are going the wrong way.
She paused.
The hamadryad stood clear and beautiful before her, greenish tendrils of hair winding from its head, beady eyes so dark they were nearly black. It was making no attempt to hide from her. Its whorled, shimmering face watched her expectantly.
How do you know where I am going? She kept her tone purposefully brusque. Not a manner that befitted addressing the Hidden People. But the hamadryad showed no sign of offence. Its impossibly delicate features almost seemed anxious.
You are looking for the Maiden’s Path.
Maylie wiped a hand across her brow. Yes, she replied.
Like all Mountain folk, she had glimpsed the path a few times in the distance. It twisted its way up mountainsides through remote land between the boundaries of the villages. No one sought it out except the girls travelling towards their deaths.
I can show you where it is.
Maylie tried to ignore a prickle of hope. She kept her voice curt. Why?
I did not protect you once. I am in your debt.
Despite everything, Maylie believed the creature was truthful. There was something oddly sincere in its demeanour.
You must speak with the Great Dragon, it added.
Maylie almost stepped back in surprise. What do you mean?
You have met it before.
A memory surfaced of a mighty, towering beast with flashing talons and curved fangs.
Its shimmering scales catching the light in shifting hues of red and gold, as if the sun itself had been trapped beneath its skin.
Smoke wafting from its nostrils, thick and acrid, and its vast wings beating the air with thunderous force, stirring up gales that flattened trees and sent stones tumbling down the mountainsides.
No, replied Maylie, trying to push the recollection aside. It was an incident she had always tried to forget. I need to find the Princess. I must tell the King’s guards that they have chosen the wrong girl.
The hamadryad regarded her with a long, unblinking stare.
I need to find the Princess, Maylie repeated.
It is too late. The Great Dragon must have a soul before sunset. It is the ancient treaty.
But they cannot have her! It’s—
One of your own made the treaty with the Great Dragon.
I know that! Maylie snapped. She considered walking away and continuing on alone. She would surely come across the Maiden’s Path at some point.
Perhaps it is time to strike a new bargain, said the hamadryad. Follow me. All will become clear.
Maylie glanced behind her at the deserted mountainside. She saw nothing familiar, just tussocky boulders and scrubby bushes. It was possible the hamadryad was right and she had been walking the wrong way.
You must trust me, added the hamadryad.
Maylie winced. She was not sure she had another choice. So be it.
The creature’s small mouth lifted in something like a smile. I will show you the way, it said.
Maylie hesitated. I do not understand any of this, she said.
The words felt small and feeble against the magnitude of what she was facing.
The dread that had caught hold of her earlier that day had swelled into a roiling mass of fear.
It was not just fear for the Princess, it was grief reborn, piercing and fresh, tearing at wounds she had spent winters trying to bury.
She had already lost too much. Esmelie’s memory was still a hollow space in her life, a loss that echoed through every spring since her sister had walked the Maiden’s Path.
Maylie could not bear to lose anyone else.
The hamadryad made a clicking noise like the clatter of branches in a breeze. It was a gentle, soothing sound. Follow me, it replied. Follow me.