‘The Maiden Sacrifices are over,’ she added. ‘They’re finished.’
Ottone blinked as though dazed. ‘I don’t understand … I don’t understand any of this.’
Ignoring him, Cressyda said, ‘Come on, we need to get you into the saddle.’
‘But—’
‘We have to find a village called Silicia. That’s where Alinore’s gone.’
Ottone clutched at her arm, forcing her to look into his face. ‘What happened, Cress? What did you do?’
Images flitted through her mind: fire, smoke and blood. She forced down a surge of fear, goosebumps prickling across her arms. ‘It’s a long tale,’ she said. ‘I’ll explain it on the way.’
Part Five
THE DRAGONSLAYERS
Maylie
MAYLIE PRESSED Acup of bitter-smelling herbs into the young man’s hands.
‘You must drink all of that … Sire? M’Lord? Your Highness?’
He glanced up, his dark hair falling across his face.
Maylie had heard very little of Prince Ottone over the winters. Much had been said about his older brother, the heir, of course – how handsome, clever and skilled he was – but the younger Prince was generally forgotten. She had always had the impression that he was slightly disappointing – quiet, plain and homely – but the young man before her did not match these expectations. Prince Ottone might not dazzle you, but he had a kind, gentle charm.
‘Thank you,’ he said, taking the cup from her, his voice slightly muffled by his swollen lip. ‘Thank you for everything.’
Maylie nodded and wondered if she ought to drop into a curtsey. She had not curtseyed since her days working as a maid in Tormale and she was not sure her aching, tired legs could manage it.
She was still deliberating when he added, ‘Can I see Lady Alinore now?’
‘She’s resting in the next room.’
‘I won’t wake her.’
Maylie nodded. ‘Go on through.’
The young man winced as he climbed to his feet. Holding his side, he limped into the cottage’s lean-to. ‘Thank you,’ he said again, pulling the curtain closed behind him.
Maylie blinked back her tiredness. The oddness of the situation was too much to grasp – the strangeness of the last day and night was beyond her comprehension. She did not think her aunt Tadrie could ever have guessed that courtiers and royalty would cross the threshold of their humble little cottage. Maylie almost laughed at the thought.
She drifted around the room, picking up and putting down soiled bandages and ointment. Since walking through the cottage door, she had tended to the wounds, burns and bruises of her patients without pause. The intense flurry of activity mixed with her overwhelming tiredness had left her numb and exhausted. She longed to hold one of her boys or rest against Chrisanie’s chest for comfort. She yearned for familiar, safe things. But her family were in Silicia’s main square with the other villagers, staying out of the way while she tended to their guests.
Carrying a mixing bowl and cups to the sink, Maylie caught sight of a figure through the window. She paused. Her stomach lurched.
Outside, the Princess stood beside the herb garden, facing the forest. A small, thread-like form with black hair sliding from braids down her back. She seemed to be watching something.
Maylie glanced at the dark band of trees further up the mountainside and thought she noticed a flicker of silver between branches.Taking a fur from beside the fire, she pulled it around herself, grimacing against the sore throb of her hips. Then she stepped outside into fresh dawn light. Watery spring sunshine was creeping down the mountainside, turning the sky pale and milky. The night was finally over and morning was on its way.
Maylie walked around the corner of the cottage to the herb garden. As she passed the henhouse, the chickens clucked and squawked, eager for breakfast.
The Princess turned at the noise. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s you.’
She was still wearing the cloak Maylie had given her last night, its thick, colourless wool worn and lumpy. It was Maylie’s best cloak, but it must be the ugliest thing the Princess had ever worn.
‘Hello, Princess.’
