‘My girl,’ she murmured so quietly it was barely audible. ‘My poor child.’
Below them, in the main square of Silicia, the bells of the Sanctuary began ringing once more.
Maylie knew they ought to go inside the cottage before prying villagers came wandering about. Snatches of what had occurred in the night would have already started circulating and everyone would need answers. Soon the whole tale would have to be told.
But not yet.
For now, Maylie would keep holding her daughter; arms clasped around the small, strong figure. This time, she would not be the first one to let go.
Alinore
ALINORE OPENED HEReyes to see a face looking down at her. It was discoloured and puffy, but she would recognize the dark, thick curl of hair and the wide set of shoulders anywhere. Prince Ottone was watching her with a keen, expectant gaze.
‘Am I dead?’ she asked. Her body felt heavy and dull. She experimentally wiggled her toes and they moved, but the sensation was muted.
‘Thankfully not.’
The familiar, deep rumble of his voice instantly soothed her, and Alinore relaxed back against the bedclothes. She sighed and almost coughed. A strange, tart taste lingered in her mouth and her chest felt sore, as if she had sat too long beside a smoking fire. A vague memory slipped into her mind: a pair of gentle hands pressing a hot mug of liquid to her lips while whispering calming words. Then darkness.
‘I’m injured,’ she announced, remembering searing, white-hot pain.
‘That makes both of us.’
As the last wisps of drugged sleep slipped away, Alinore glanced around the small, dim room. There were heaps of child-sized clothes strewn across the floor and three beds squashed against the walls. She was lying on one of the narrow straw mattresses with a faded patchwork quilt folded up to her chin. Tugging it away, she saw red blisters scattered across her arms and chest. She prodded one. Something was softening the jagged edges of her pain, but even through the numbness she could feel a tender ache. Looking up, she saw that Prince Ottone was still watching her, his features lit by the pale, early-morning light glowing at the single small window. ‘What happened to your face?’ she asked.
‘Not much. It’ll heal and leave a few scars. Luckily, I never had any good looks to lose. One advantage of not being handsome.’
He was sitting on the edge of her bed, the warm bulk of his leg pressing into her side.
‘I think you’re handsome,’ she said before she could stop herself.
‘You do?’
She shrugged and looked away, blushing. Whatever herb concoction she had taken seemed to have also loosened her tongue. ‘I suppose I’ll be left with a few scars of my own,’ she said, easing herself upright and pulling the patchwork blanket over her arms again.
‘You can’t fight a dragon without sustaining a few injuries, Lady Alinore.’
Visions of a huge, writhing form crashing down upon her clouded Alinore’s mind. She saw streams of fire, gushing black blood and menacing yellow eyes. Panic surged and she clawed at the bedclothes, her knuckles blanching.
‘Don’t worry, it’s gone,’ said Prince Ottone, placing one of hishands over her own. His skin was rough and warm, the pressure of his palm gentle but firm. ‘You’re safe now.’
Slowly, the fear began to subside.
‘I did kill a dragon,’ she replied finally. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Cress told me.’
He shifted as if to move his hand away, but she curled her fingers around his thumb, holding him still. He looked surprised, but then smiled.
‘Is Cress all right?’ she asked.
‘She’s in shock, I think. We all are. But she’s alive.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Just outside. She said she wanted to get some fresh air.’
Images of thrashing scaled tails and long swiping talons still filled Alinore’s head. ‘I feel a bit sick,’ she admitted. ‘And sort of … odd.’
