She shook her head, more hair falling down her back. ‘Don’t call me that. I’m not a princess, not really.’
Maylie blinked in surprise. ‘What shall I call you then?’
‘I was hoping you could tell me that.’
Maylie’s hands quivered. She longed to touch this woman – her daughter. Her fingers itched to hold the smooth, soft cheeks, to stroke back the trailing wisps of hair, to clasp her tightly, and make up for the winters they had been parted. She had a sudden memory of the screaming, red-faced infant from the past and she was filled with wonder. That same baby who had been formed inside her was this woman. Despite the odds, they had both survived.
‘I know who you are,’ added the Princess, jutting out her chin. ‘You told the Great Dragon that we’re related so you must be … you must be my mother.’
Mother. The word ripped through Maylie, tearing open a place she had spent eighteen winters stitching shut. Somewhere filled with wounds she had never dared name.
‘Yes,’ she replied simply.
They stood quietly, watching each other.
‘I was told that my mother was a woman called Esmelie Tuchi from the Pits and that she was dead,’ said the Princess finally.
Maylie flinched at the mention of her sister. ‘No, that’s not true.’
‘So whatismy name then?’ asked the Princess, her voice strained. ‘Or did you not even name me before you gave me away?’
‘Your name?’
‘Yes, that’s what I asked you. Surely it’s the least you can tell me.’
Maylie was finding it difficult to follow the conversation. She could not stop staring – her eyes raking over every detail of the Princess’s face, over every dip and slope of her body. It was peculiarly overwhelming, but she recognized what was happening. This was how she had felt when her sons were born, looking on their shrivelled, hunched bodies for the first time. She was in love.
‘I suppose I wanted to call you Esmelie,’ she said. ‘After my sister.’
‘Esmelie.’ The Princess seemed to move the word around her mouth, as though chewing on it. ‘So she was a real person?’
‘Yes. Esmelie Tuchi was my sister, but she wasn’t from the Pits, not really. She changed herself to Esmelie Drucelli when we moved there and … well, it’s a long, sorry tale.’ Maylie tried to push away the dark, horrible memories that came surging forward.
The Princess folded her arms. ‘Then why is your sister’s name on my record?’
‘Because I gave her real name when I …’ Maylie trailed off, unable to speak it aloud. ‘Anyway, the Queen called you Cressyda,’ she added. ‘And that’s a fine name too.’
The Princess’s amber eyes flashed and her top lip curled back. ‘Yes, that’s what myrealmother named me.’
Maylie knew this was meant to hurt her and it did, a little. Butshe was too astonished by what was happening to really feel the slight.
‘Those two boys who left the cottage when I arrived …’ The Princess’s voice had lifted a few notches. ‘They were your sons?’
‘Yes, I’ve three boys. The oldest is called Gredie and he’s away at the moment with friends. Then there’s Harie and the youngest is Rozowie.’ She wanted to say more – to tell the Princess all about her family – but she stopped herself. Perhaps it was too much.
‘And the man? He’s your husband?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But not my father?’
Something inside Maylie tightened painfully. She wished she could say yes. Chrisanie was such a wonderful father.
‘I’ve not seen your father since before you were born. I don’t know what happened to him. But he were of Mountain blood too.’
The Princess looked away. Her shrunken form seemed to wilt further.
‘Chrisanie would love to meet you though,’ added Maylie. ‘And the boys. They’d be so excited. They’ve never met a princess. And they’d like to have a sister …’
