She shook her head, giddy with the thought, longing to kiss him again.
‘It’s always been you, Alinore.’
She held his face in her hands and pulled him to her.
Their mouths were soft but fervent, their caresses thrilling and eager. He shifted beside her on the bed and clasped his arms around her waist, drawing her close. They lay together, facing one another.
‘I want a new sword,’ whispered Alinore. ‘A really good one.’
Prince Ottone laughed. ‘Consider it done. The best sword flecks can buy for Calestra’s Dragonslayer.’
Then he kissed her again.
Cressyda
CRESSYDA STOOD ONa quiet stretch of mountainside as, around her, dawn gradually gave way to morning. The sky, once a deep indigo, softened into delicate hues of lavender, the first light of day unfurling over the jagged ridgelines. As the sun climbed higher, golden rays spilt across the peaks, casting a warm glow over the mist that lingered in the valleys below. Birdsong began in scattered notes before gathering into a gentle chorus that echoed through the trees and along the rocky slope, while long, dramatic shadows stretched across the land and, above, the snow-caps glinted as if dusted with jewels.
Cressyda watched it all, feeling both small and infinite at once.
She kept telling herself that this was her home; this harsh, undulating landscape was etched into her bloodline, carved into the marrow of her bones by the generations of Mountain folk that had come before her. She wanted to feel some kind of affinity with the land, some kind of connection. She wanted the old fears and anxieties that had plagued her childhood to melt away, replaced by adeep sense of belonging. But that was not how she felt. The mountains were beautiful and majestic, but that was all. They did not rise to meet her with recognition or warmth, they were simply vast and impassive, existing on a scale too grand to notice the small ache inside one solitary woman.
Behind her, she heard the swish of long grass that meant someone was approaching, and her hands at her sides clenched into fists. She turned, expecting to see Maylie again, her heart thudding in her chest, more bitter words bristling on her tongue. She did not know what to make of her birth mother. Conflicting emotions twisted inside of her, shifting and volatile: fury, betrayal and sorrow. Cressyda had so much to say to Maylie – so much to accuse her of – and yet, at the same time, she wanted to say nothing to her at all. Earlier, she had let Maylie hold her as she sobbed, and it had felt wonderful to rest her face on a warm, soft shoulder. Cressyda had yearned to be held by her mother – her real mother – for all of her childhood. And the fact that she could not was the fault of the very woman who was offering her such comfort now. It was maddening to yearn for someone’s love and yet resent them for it at the same time.
But when Cressyda turned, she saw Alinore limping towards her across the mountainside, not Maylie. She felt both relieved and faintly disappointed.
‘You should be back at the cottage, resting,’ she chided.
Alinore shrugged, wobbling to a halt. ‘I wanted to see if you were all right.’
Her face glistened with the ointment dabbed on her blisters, and there were still flakes of ash in her cropped dark hair. Cressyda imagined she looked much the same; her feet were bandaged and stuffed into a pair of battered old boots that Maylie had given her,but otherwise, she was still wearing the dirty, once-white shift she had been dressed in for the Maiden Sacrifice ceremony, and though most of the painted flames had melted from her face, they had been replaced with smears of mud and tracks of soot.
‘You should lean on me,’ said Cressyda as her friend tried to balance. ‘And take the weight off your injured leg.’
Alinore made grumbling noises, but she obediently hooked her arm over Cressyda’s shoulder and rested on her with a sigh. Together they looked down at the peaceful hillside, the village of Silicia nestled off to the left below them.
‘Ottone has gone to find some horses?’ asked Cressyda.
‘Yes. Apparently everything is still confused in the village after the night, but I think he should be able to get some mountain ponies to take us back to Tormale.’
Cressyda’s stomach lurched at the thought of returning to the capital – returning to Syonno Castle and the Calestran court. She could easily imagine the turmoil that would have descended on Tormale last night at the sight of the Great Dragon soaring over its rooftops. The city would have been flooded with terrified screams and frantic footfalls as citizens scattered through the winding streets, seeking shelter in doorways and cellars, clutching children to their chests. Guards would have scrambled to form ranks, bows trembling in their hands, knowing full well that their arrows were useless against something so ancient, so vast. Though the Great Dragon had caused no damage last night, Tormale would still be in uproar, and amid it all, Cressyda would return. The only Maiden Sacrifice to have ever returned in three hundred winters.
‘We should get back as soon as we can,’ she said. ‘If the court has heard of Samsel’s death, it’ll be chaos. We need to restore order.’
Alinore nodded. ‘What do you think everyone will say?’
‘I think …’ Cressyda had been wondering exactly that herself. ‘I think we need to seize this opportunity to take control,’ she replied. She had said this to her brother earlier, that despite their exhaustion and injuries, they needed to act quickly and secure their position before anyone else tried to take it.
‘You are very wise. You always have been,’ said Alinore, her warm breath brushing Cressyda’s cheek. ‘We’re lucky to have you. The whole of Calestra’s lucky to have you. You’ve saved us all – Dragonslayer.’
Beneath her fear and worry about the future, Cressyda recognized that this was true. She felt a small glow of pride, warm and unexpected. It did not erase her doubts, and it did not silence the endless whir of anxious thoughts that clouded her mind, but it was there.
‘You too,’ she replied, gently prodding her friend’s side.
Alinore grinned. ‘What do you think Lady Vienlia will say?’ She turned down the corners of her mouth and impersonated the high, wobbling voice of the Chief Lady-in-Waiting. ‘Howveryunladylike.’
Cressyda chuckled, but her laughter faded to nothing when she remembered the conversation she had overheard between Lady Vienlia and Lady Frankis just yesterday morning, their harsh words and enjoyment at her downfall.
‘Going back won’t be easy,’ she said. ‘I doubt everyone will welcome my return.’
