‘… unlikely.’
Alinore inhaled as if the breath had been knocked out of her.
‘You’re a skilled fighter,’ he added quickly. ‘That much is obvious. But you’ve not had all of the other training. What about archery, battle strategies and magical tactics?’
‘I would learn that as part of my squireship,’ she snapped. ‘I know there’s plenty more for me to study.’
‘And what would you plan to do with such training?’
Alinore drew herself up tall. ‘Join the High King’s army,’ she said. ‘You know that.’
Prince Ottone chewed his lip. ‘You think fighting is noble, but it isn’t. There are no heroes in war.’ His voice was clipped and unusually strained. ‘I’ve seen it with my own eyes now – horrible things that I wish I could forget.’ He rubbed his face. ‘There’s no glory in it, just blood and chaos.’
Cressyda’s snarling words floated into Alinore’s mind: ‘You think that he was a hero, but you’re wrong.’ She shook her head fiercely.
‘My father died for this country.’
‘Yes, I know,’ replied Prince Ottone. ‘But there’re no lady knights in the Kingdoms of Galasque. I don’t doubt you could do it, but who will let you?’
‘Lord Lassiaro—’
‘Your father was a great knight, but Lord Lassiaro has had many knights,’ said Prince Ottone, raking a hand through his dark hair. ‘I met him once at the Ferente court and he’s just a crusty old man. Even if he remembers your father, I don’t think he will grant you a squireship.’ He hung his head. ‘I’m sorry but it’s the truth.’
Alinore’s chest had tightened with every painful word, squeezingtears up the back of her throat. She turned away, blinking hard, desperate that he should not see her break.
‘I’m not trying to upset—’ Prince Ottone began, his voice gentler than it had been, almost pleading.
‘Please go.’
‘But—’
‘Please!’
A silence stretched between them.
Alinore could feel Prince Ottone standing there, his presence at her back, unmoving, uncertain. At last, she heard him clear his throat; when he spoke, it was quiet, almost formal. ‘As you wish, Lady Alinore.’
The scuff of boots on tiles, and then the door creaked shut.
After a beat, Alinore let out a wail of rage. She covered her face with her hands and dropped to her knees.
Prince Ottone did not believe she could do it.
No one believed she could do it.
Maylie
SHE HEARD THEsoft thud of footsteps across the wooden floorboards. Then the straw mattress dipped as Chrisanie slipped back into bed beside her.
‘All is well?’ she whispered.
‘Yes. Just a bad dream.’
Moments ago, she had woken to the sound of a thin cry from the cottage’s lean-to. Pushing away the blankets, she had been about to get up when Chrisanie had gently pressed her down. ‘I’ll go,’ he had said. ‘You need to rest.’ She had lain back, her fingers moving to her lower stomach, which was still tender. She knew her husband was right, but she felt the pull of her son’s cry like a siren song.
‘It were Rozowie?’ she asked.
Chrisanie made a grunting noise of agreement as he curled his body around her own, his bare feet chilled from the floorboards.
