Alinore gazed up at a dark-haired woman standing in a wild landscape. Her brown eyes stared boldly ahead and she had one boot resting upon the crown of a huge dragon. It was possibly the most magnificent thing Alinore had ever seen.
‘Is she wearing armour?’ breathed Alinore, letting go of her friend’s arm and stepping closer.
‘Yes, Princess Tiannie was a warrior.’
‘Like a knight?’ Alinore asked. ‘A lady knight?’
‘Princess Tiannie was the eldest daughter of King Senbie. She had a younger brother and several sisters too. All the songs say that when her father was killed during the battles over this land, Princess Tiannie stepped up to lead the army.’
Alinore blew out her cheeks. ‘That’s amazing.’
Thick leather stitched into plates covered Princess Tiannie’s torso and her right hand rested on the pommel of a sword that curved from her hips to her feet. Alinore had always imagined that the lady knights in the tales would look like this: fierce and strong. She had once told her childhood maid that she longed to travel the realm and fight in battles like her father, and she had been scolded for peculiar ambitions. ‘Ladies don’t do such things,’ her maid had said. But here was a lady who did. And not just a lady, but a princess.
‘Princess Tiannie was a real warrior?’ asked Alinore.
‘Yes. There’re scrolls about her in the Sanctuary …’ Cressyda paused; then her voice dropped to a low murmur. ‘I read one that said—’
‘You actually read one of the ancient scrolls?’ said Alinore, rolling her eyes. ‘You’ll readanything.’
Alinore found her friend’s interest in books baffling. Cressyda could spend a whole morning thumbing through tome after tome from the library, head bent over the pages, brow creased with concentration. It was so boring.
‘I read an account of the first Maiden Sacrifice that said … well, it might’ve meant that …’ Cressyda’s voice trailed off uncertainly, the rest of her words petering into silence.
But Alinore was too busy staring at the painting to notice. The dragon filled the bottom section of the canvas, its long, muscular body coiling back and forth, its great haunches crushed against the lower left-hand corner. Black scales glistened at the creature’s flanks, arched spikes bulged on its back and fine, tawny fur sprang from its chin.
‘Is the dragon dead?’ she asked.
The beast’s slitted, inky eyes were open, but they looked vacant.
‘I suppose so,’ replied Cressyda with a shrug. ‘Otherwise it would eat her.’
‘Why does the painting look strange?’
The canvas was not like the other paintings hung around the castle; its edges were unframed and crinkled, and the texture was rough, the shapes of the Princess and the dragon looser and cruder.
‘It was made by Princess Tiannie’s people and must’ve survived King Freddini Tangello’s siege of this land. There are others like it around the castle, showing the mountains and some older Kings and Queens from before this became Calestra, but a few are damp and damaged.’
‘Are there any more old ones of dragons?’
Cressyda smiled and shook her head.
Alinore looked back at the painting, and then stood up, squaring her shoulders. She mimicked Princess Tiannie’s stance, raising one foot in the air and hovering her hand on an imaginary sword.
‘How do I look?’
Cressyda laughed. ‘Foolish. As always,’ she said. Then something caught her attention, and her gaze strayed down the corridor.
Alinore turned to see two guards marching towards them, expressions unreadable.
‘His Majesty King Borto requests the presence of Lady Alinore in his chambers,’ said one guard with a bow.
Alinore looked at Cressyda, her eyes wide.
‘I’ll accompany Lady Alinore,’ said the Princess.
The guards did not respond.
As they walked together down the passageway, Alinore leant close to her friend and whispered, ‘Do you think I’ve done something wrong?’
