‘Perhaps ’tis the water itself,’ she said. ‘That would make sense.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘’Tis fresh mountain water. I’ve not seen him manage anything while washing dishes.’
‘Manage what?’
Chrisanie was not usually so probing, but they were talking about their son and Maylie could hear the note of anxiety in his voice.
‘Rozowie … directs and bends the water. He moves it.’
Above them, a spider scurried from one beam to another.
‘’Tis a new one on me,’ said Chrisanie.
Maylie elbowed him. ‘’Tis not a joke.’
‘I know. Have you ever heard of such a thing before?’
‘Vaguely.’ She turned to look at her husband. ‘Elemental magic. ’Tis a difficult thing to hide.’
Many Gifts could be disguised – Maylie had her suspicions about the abilities of a few Silicia villagers – but something like this would be hard to explain away.
‘We must be careful with him,’ she repeated.
Perhaps one day, when Rozowie was older, he would want to go to Galasque and train to be a Master. But Maylie hoped not. Mountain folk liked to stay by their mountains. She knew that more than anyone.
Chrisanie wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. ‘’Tis getting late,’ he muttered into her ear. ‘Time to sleep.’
Maylie lay quiet, listening as her husband’s breathing grew deeper and longer.
Outside their cottage, she could hear the scratch and scuffle of the chickens settling down for the night in the henhouse, and the stamping and shifting of their nanny goat. Further still, she could hear the distant sounds of the mountains: the smash of tumbling rocks, the gush of streams, the howl of animals … and something else.
The creature was still calling to her.
She knew that she must answer.
TWO DAYS BEFORE THE 300TH MAIDEN SACRIFICE
Cressyda
SITTING BEFORE HERdressing table, she pressed her fingertips to her eyes. They stung. All night she had lain awake, listening to the comings and goings of horses and carriages in the front courtyard. Everyone was flooding back to Syonno Castle in preparation for the upcoming revelries. It was set to be a glut of celebrations, each more significant than the last: the Maiden Sacrifice, the funeral of King Borto and the coronation of the new King. No one wanted to miss it.
The castle had been quiet and neglected for so long that the flurry of commotion felt magnified. Suddenly the corridors echoed with chattering voices and muddy footprints scattered the terracotta hallways. The air of the castle had become heavy with the presence of bodies and excitement. And amid it all had come the news that Master Jakespurcia had died in the night.
Cressyda had been told by the maid who brought in her breakfast tray that morning. The castle was abuzz with murmurs that it had been a mercy. The Master had been old, they said, and suffering. Hispassing was a release. But Cressyda did not agree. She had tried to visit his sickbed again yesterday afternoon, only to be turned away by the physicians because he was sleeping. ‘Come back tomorrow,’ they had said. And now he was gone. Cressyda had been relying on Master Jakespurcia to tell her more. Without him, she was back where she started. Adrift in uncertainty.
A knock at the door startled her. A maid entered and hurriedly babbled that the Queen was coming. Cressyda had just enough time to rise from her stool before her mother appeared.
A shape swathed in black loomed at the threshold. Queen Flavria entered the room, her wide skirts rustling. ‘Not dressed yet, my child?’ she asked.
Cressyda plucked at the ties of her silk robe. ‘No, Mother.’
‘But my household are about to gather in my chambers.’ The Queen caught sight of a breakfast tray laden with fruit tarts and honeyed porridge left on a side-table, untouched. She paused. ‘You still have not eaten?’
‘No, Mother.’
The Queen gave an approving smile. ‘I’ve also been fasting since the passing of our dear King, may he rest with the Great Creator.’ She stepped close and touched Cressyda’s cheek.
