‘What will we do without him?’ sobbed the Queen.
Cressyda glanced at the casket on the stone plinth. King Borto was finally at peace after moons of worsening health where his limbs twisted into gnarled shapes and his eyes grew watery and distant. The royal crown rested on the lid of the casket, its sides studded with diamonds and sapphires. Soon it would sit upon a different brow.
‘Have you heard word from Samsel?’ she asked.
The Queen released her. ‘Not yet, but I should imagine he is on his way. It’s such a shame he did not see the King before he died. I suppose it could not be helped.’
Cressyda pursed her lips. ‘You did tell him that the time was approaching,’ she said. ‘Ottone managed to get back all the way from Journier—’
‘It makes no difference now, Cressyda.’ The Queen sniffed, tears still streaming down her cheeks. ‘Anyway, tomorrowcourtiers will be permitted into the Sanctuary to pay respects, and the day after, we will open the gates to the public. So say your goodbyes now.’
Cressyda edged closer to the plinth. Smoke from the incense billowing through the Sanctuary burned her eyes and she found it was not difficult to force some tears. She turned her face towards the Queen, so her mother would see evidence of her sorrow, but as she looked upon the body of King Borto entombed in the casket, Cressyda felt almost nothing. He had been afflicted with a long, wasting disease that no medicine or spell seemed able to cure. Everyone in Syonno Castle had spent the last season knowing his death was imminent. She told herself that she had already grieved and her time of lament had passed. But she knew it was more than that. Like almost everyone else, King Borto had never thought of her as anything more than his wife’s pet. He had mostly ignored her when he could.
After a pause, she stepped back, hopeful this display of stoic grief was enough to placate the Queen. Now she must address what had been worrying her all night, what had been on her mind since the announcement of the King’s death. The nearest guard was several paces away and the priests were standing at the back of the Sanctuary, hands pressed to the floor in prayer, eyes closed. Even so, Cressyda moved closer to the Queen and lowered her voice.
‘Mother, what will become of me?’
The Queen blinked. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Samsel will return as King and … he won’t want me around,’ she said.
The Queen looked confused. She had never seemed to notice the hostility between her son and Cressyda. As a child, Cressyda had tried to tell the Queen about Samsel’s jeering and jibes, and showher the bruises from his pinching and prodding, but Queen Flavria had always simply shaken her head in response and said lightly that brothers could be a menace sometimes.
‘I’ve no rightful place at court,’ added Cressyda. ‘No security.’
‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
‘But—’
‘I can’t talk about this now, my dearest is dead!’ the Queen wailed, falling to her knees, sobbing.
Cressyda stared down at her mother: the fine, fashionable clothes, the smooth, braided locks and the neat, even features. There were few wrinkles or grey hairs despite the Queen’s forty-four winters: the work of constant charms and glamours. The Queen might not have been eating much this last moon, but she had still had her ladies preening and primping her.
‘I can’t bear it, Cressyda! How will I carry on?’
Cressyda resisted the urge to grab the Queen’s thin shoulders and shake her.
‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ she murmured, bending and helping the Queen back to her feet. ‘It’s a great tragedy. Is there anything I can do?’
‘Just stay with me.’ She took Cressyda’s face in her hands. ‘My sweet, pretty child.’ She ran a finger over Cressyda’s cheek, then paused, sobs fading. ‘When was your last enchantment with Master Jakespurcia?’ she asked. ‘Your eyes are looking a little dull.’
Cressyda jerked away.
‘You need to take care of yourself, Cressyda. You’re such a beauty, it’s a shame to spoil it. I know Master Jakespurcia is ill, but perhaps one of his apprentices could conjure something for you?’
Even in the depths of grief the Queen could still care about such things.
‘Mother, I haven’t had breakfast yet,’ said Cressyda. ‘I could fetch something for you too? You must eat.’
The Queen sighed. ‘Maybe a piece of fruit?’ Her gaze flicked up and down Cressyda’s figure. ‘Something light for both of us.’
Cressyda nodded and curtseyed, trying to ignore a familiar prickle of failure.
‘But don’t be long,’ the Queen called after her. ‘I need you.’
With fingers clenched into fists, Cressyda escaped the Sanctuary, hurrying out through its thick double doors. Guards fell into step behind her, the clink of their armour matching the tap of her footsteps as they crossed a courtyard and entered the main castle.
Bright light sliced through the corridor windows and Cressyda gulped at the crisp, pure air. It was a warm, clear morning, almost spring. She did not want to return to the stuffy darkness of the Sanctuary, but she knew that she must. She needed to force the Queen to face the reality of what lay ahead under Samsel’s rule. She wondered what Queen Flavria would think if –when– Samsel revealed that she was one of the Mountain folk, because surely that was what he would do. The Queen had always insisted that she was her daughter, but without the protection of King Borto, things would be different. Samsel would not allow them to continue this farce.
