THE EVENING OF THE 300TH MAIDEN SACRIFICE
Cressyda
CRESSYDA TRIPPED ONa jagged stone embedded in the dirt, her foot giving way beneath her. A cry caught in her throat as she stumbled forward, nearly collapsing on to her knees. The weight of her ceremonial robes pulled at her, dragging her back, and dust scattered.
‘Hurry up!’ barked Samsel’s voice behind her. ‘This is taking too long.’
Cressyda squeezed her eyes shut, her jaw tightening as she forced herself upright. Her legs trembled under her, but she locked her knees and straightened her spine, ducking her face away so he would not see the scowl she was barely managing to suppress. She longed to turn on him, to scream that the pace would be quicker if he had not insisted that she should walk. They had barely passed beyond the city walls earlier when he had yanked her from the saddle, his fingers digging into her arm with bruising force, and thrust her to the head of the party. Maiden Sacrifices were meant to ride with honour, borne aloft on the finest mare from the King’sown stable, revered in their final moment. But her defiance at the ceremony in the square had embarrassed Samsel, and this was his petty revenge. She could feel it in every stone that bruised her soles through the thin slippers, in every ache of her legs as they carried her upwards against her will. She could still hear the venom in his voice as he had hissed through clenched teeth, ‘You can walk up the mountain, you wretched whore.’
The heavy red robes dragged behind her as Cressyda trudged on, catching on thorns and roots. She had climbed this rutted path for longer than seemed possible. Occasionally, the trail would seem to relent. The ground levelled out, and a flicker of hope would rise within her, fragile and foolish. Perhaps this was the summit. Perhaps they had arrived. But always, just as the ache in her limbs began to ease and her breaths came a little fuller, the path would curve around a bend, and the illusion would break. Another steep slope would rear up before her, crueller than the last, again and again.
The journey seemed endless.
As time had worn on, the brightness of afternoon had dulled into twilight, the sun slipping behind the distant peaks, casting long, warped shadows that spilt across the trail. Her skin prickled beneath the layers of brocade and embroidery, the chill of approaching night seeping through. All around them, it was unnervingly still. The procession had become a silent march. No birdsong echoed from the scrubby trees; no rustle of small creatures stirred in the underbrush. Even the wind had quieted, as though the mountain itself were holding its breath.
‘Are we almost there?’ Samsel called, not for the first time, his voice prickling with irritation and just the edge of unease.
Cressyda guessed he must be regretting agreeing to accompanyher and leaving the Calestran court milling about at Syonno Castle without their new King. She swallowed back a smirk of pleasure at his discomfort.
‘Not yet, Your Majesty,’ came the response again from one of the guards. His voice was calm, practised, but tired. ‘Soon.’
They plodded on, the silence folding back over them. Only the crunch of hooves on gravel and the occasional snort of a horse broke the stillness.
Cressyda kept her gaze fixed on the winding path ahead, trying to ignore the ache in her thighs and the throb in her soles. Her legs felt carved from stone, unfeeling and rigid, her feet hot with blisters that had burst long ago. Every step was a silent scream. But she could not afford to stop. Not when she was so close. As soon as they reached the end of the path – wherever that cursed, hidden summit lay – she would need to move swiftly.
She gritted her teeth and pushed forward. Her mind was already plotting, fingers curling unconsciously into fists at her sides. She had only one chance.
Then one of the guards said, ‘There it is, Your Majesty. The end of the path.’
A collective breath escaped the men. Even the horses seemed to sense the change; a few snorted softly, hooves shifting nervously against the loose pebbles.
The path, long, narrow and mercilessly winding, simply ended. There was no gate, no arch, no altar or carved marker to signify a sacred place. It just stopped at the base of a wide, sloping incline of shale and stone. A pale, barren mound stretched upwards, its surface strewn with shards of grey rock and crumbling scree.
Cressyda tilted her head, trying to make out what lay beyond the rise, but her vision blurred in the low light. The summit wasobscured in a haze of shadow and jagged silhouettes. She could see the suggestion of large, uneven boulders, but they melted into the dimness. She shivered.
‘What happens now?’ asked Samsel.
‘The farewell,’ another guard replied.
Cressyda heard the soft jingle of harness and the creak of leather as someone dismounted. A moment later, fingers brushed against her collar, fumbling with the fastenings. She instinctively flinched, her shoulders tensing, but the guard’s touch was gentle.
‘The robes, Princess,’ he muttered. ‘We must take them.’
‘Oh.’
She stood still as he approached her again and unclipped the ties at her throat. She felt momentary relief when the weight fell from her shoulders, before a chill nipped at her bare arms. Beneath the robes, she wore only the simple, sleeveless white shift required of Maiden Sacrifices: clean, plain, and designed to show nothing but fragility.
‘And the shoes,’ the guard added.
Cressyda looked down at her feet. The slippers that had once been ivory and embroidered with gold were now tattered beyond recognition, scuffed and torn from the long, punishing walk. Dirt and blood smeared the fabric. They had served their purpose. With a wince, she stepped out of them and left them behind, the earth cool beneath her feet.
‘It’s time for us to part, Little Pet.’
Cressyda had not noticed Samsel dismount. She turned with a jump to see him standing close to her. He loomed in the fading light, the opals on his tunic catching the last glimmers of dusk, glinting like the eyes of something predatory.
‘I think this has all worked out perfectly,’ he added, his voicesilk-soft and cruel. ‘I get to bid you one final farewell.’ He smiled. ‘Do you have any morerequests?’
‘Say goodbye to our mother.’
