Prince Ottone ignored her. Gathering up his reins, he trotted hisstallion back the way they had come. ‘If the hunt notices we’re gone, I’ll be in trouble,’ he called over his shoulder.
With a sigh, Alinore turned her mare to follow him, looking one last time at the rocky hollow in the distance. She jogged up beside Prince Ottone as they retraced their path down the mountainside, riding together in silence, their eyes fixed on the track ahead.
‘I’m going to miss all of this,’ said Prince Ottone suddenly, his voice low. ‘There aren’t any mountains in Ferente.’
Alinore glanced at his unusually solemn profile, and a knot tightened in her stomach. She wanted to say something light, to make him grin again, but the words would not come. ‘When do you leave?’ she asked instead.
‘At the beginning of the next moon.’
Two nights ago, King Borto had announced that since Prince Ottone was coming of age, he and Prince Samsel must start visiting other courts in the Kingdoms of Galasque. Alinore had been standing in a crowd of ladies-in-waiting in the Great Hall at the time, and she had emitted a little yelp of dismay. She had tried to disguise it with a cough, but her cheeks had still burnt. Without Prince Ottone’s steadying presence, Syonno Castle would seem colder, lonelier.
‘I suppose it’ll be interesting to see Ferente,’ he added, and Alinore could hear him fighting to muster some enthusiasm. ‘I’ve heard that the Ferente knights are skilled in close combat, so it’ll be good to train with them. The Sword Master says I’m getting lazy.’
Alinore pushed down the weight in her stomach, masking it with a quick shrug. ‘You do need to improve your defence,’ she said.
Prince Ottone laughed, his seriousness ebbing. ‘Oh I do, do I? And how would you know that, Lady Alinore?’
‘Sometimes I watch the fighting drills.’
Every morning, while Cressyda was reading or doing something equally boring, Alinore sneaked off to one of the east corridors that overlooked the practice ring and watched the squires duel below, noting their stances and attacking styles.
Prince Ottone’s brow creased. ‘Why do you do that?’ he asked.
‘I do it because …’ Alinore licked her lips, wondering if she should answer truthfully. Surely she could trust Prince Ottone? ‘I do it because I’m teaching myself to fight.’ She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. ‘I’m going to train as a squire, then become a lady knight,’ she added, and waited for his reaction.
Last winter, Alinore had stolen one of the old practice swords from the Sword Master’s quarters. When she was younger, her father had sometimes shown her duelling positions while her maid looked on disapprovingly, muttering aboutoverindulgence, and at first it had felt clumsy and foolish to try them again. The sword had been too heavy for her wrist, the balance strange and her fingers fumbling. But she had kept trying, day after day, repeating the footwork, whispering the names of the strikes under her breath. Soon her arms had learnt the rhythm, and the awkwardness had melted into something steadier, almost graceful.
Initially, Cressyda had laughed with her, clapping or cheering whenever Alinore managed a smooth transition between manoeuvres. But lately, the Princess had begun to watch with a faint frown, her amusement cooling into something more cautious. Yesterday, while Alinore was practising a guard shift, Cressyda had folded her arms and said, almost sharply, ‘Aren’t we a bit too old for games?’
But for Alinore it was not a game. Each time she raised the blade, she felt closer to the memory of her father, to daring tales from his battles and the way his eyes would shine with fierce pride when he spoke of honour and courage. Alinore had started practising in theearly mornings while Cressyda still slept, away from her friend’s disapproving eyes. In the stillness of dawn, the sword was her secret defiance. It was the only time within the walls of Syonno Castle that she felt strong.
‘A lady knight?’ said Prince Ottone, his expression unreadable.
Alinore met his gaze without flinching. The words sounded strange when spoken aloud, almost foolish. She knew it was a peculiar ambition – possibly even an impossible one – but in her heart it felt more right than anything else.
‘That’s … interesting.’
Alinore’s shoulders relaxed and she let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding. ‘Perhaps when you return from Ferente you can show me what you’ve learnt? I need to improve my defence too.’
He turned to look at her and she felt his dark eyes studying her face. Then he nodded.
Behind the next ridge came the distant sounds of the hunt – horses snorting, bridles jingling and the rise and fall of laughter. They were close to rejoining the others. Their moment, fragile and secret, was about to be swallowed back into the noise of the day.
‘You mustn’t tell anyone,’ said Alinore quickly. ‘I don’t want anyone else to know.’
Prince Ottone smiled, not the easy grin he gave when teasing her, but something warmer, sweeter. ‘Your secret is safe with me.’
Cressyda
CRESSYDA SAT INbed, staring at the far wall of her chamber, sniffing. Distantly, she could hear the revelries of the Winterwane Feast wafting from the Great Hall: shouts, laughter and the thumps of dancing feet. Longing clutched at her chest. It was a Calestran celebration she actually enjoyed, and she hated being unwell and away from it all.
She shifted on the feathered mattress and there was aclink. A tray lay by her hip, set with tea, broth and crackers. She gazed at the meal, feeling her mouth fill with saliva. Her stomach gave a painful twist. Then she forced herself to look away.
Alinore had carried the rattling tray into their room earlier this afternoon. ‘You’ve only got a sniffle, not the pox,’ her friend had moaned. ‘You’ve been in bed all day. Just eat something and you’ll feel better.’
Cressyda knew Alinore was right, but she had outgrown more than one of her dresses recently and Queen Flavria had startedpouting in disapproval. ‘Your waist is thicker, my child,’ she had sighed a few days ago. ‘Such a shame.’
Cressyda’s gaze drifted to the stack of books on her bedside table, and her spirits sank lower. She knew she ought to use this time to read, but the thought filled her with weariness. She had scoured every tome in the castle library, sifted through every brittle scroll in the Sanctuary, and still she had not found the answers she was looking for. She had even attempted to peek though the magical books in Master Jakespurcia’s office, but the door was always locked. Fighting back despair, she had resolved to begin again, to comb through every page and scroll as though for the first time. Perhaps she had missed something. Shemusthave missed something. Because there had to be an answer – she just needed to find it.
