Cecilia may have been told of this creature but she could never have imagined it in action. The panther springs from doctrini to doctrini, ripping out a throat here, slashing a neck there with steel-tipped claws. It is so beautiful that Cecilia almost forgets what she must do. The doctrinis’ screams echo through the street, the wet sounds of their dying an undercurrent. No one comes to help – people tend to mind their own business if it means the difference between life and death. Cecilia advances at a crouch from barrel to barrel.
One by one the doctrini fall, their knives no match for the beast. Cecilia cannot take her eyes from the spectacle, even when lifeblood sprays across her face like a lover’s slap. At last, the panther turns to Lorena. Cecilia steps from the shadows and rests her knife just beneath Queen Seymour’s ribcage, hard enough for her to feel its blade.
“Haltrasc,” Seymour says again, and the panther stills. The master of the doctrini steps behind the beast, rope wound around his hands. They must make an interesting tableau: two women frozen with the blade between them; the third woman trembling on the ground beneath a panther’s bared teeth, and the only man there awaiting his orders from a safe distance.
“We appear to be at an impasse,” Seymour says, the tremor in her voice belying her otherwise calm demeanour.
“My people outnumber yours,” Cecilia says.
“Less than they did a moment ago.”
Cecilia smiles despite herself.
“Call your beast off and come with me now and I will not slit your throat,” she says.
“I have a better bargain,” Seymour says. “Allow me and Haltrasc to go and we will leave Perfugi and not return, nor will he kill your servants.”
“He may take my companion’s life, but he will not escape those ropes,” Cecilia says, indicating the doctrini.
“Very well. Allow us to go and he will not kill your companion.”
“Your Majesty?” Lorena says, her voice lighter than usual, her face softer than it has been in many years. It reminds Cecilia of the way Lorena used to treat her, before she took Cecilia’s mercy for granted. She has been growing above her station.
“I shall miss you,” Cecilia tells her.
Lorena’s face barely has time to crumple before the panther lowers his muzzle and, with a single bite, rips out her throat.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cleves
Anarrow bridge is all that connects Cnothan castle to the mainland of Elben. The town that serves the castle and its environs perches at the mouth of the bridge, and there’s a clear view along the coast to Cnorgleo, sitting on the glittering Fietherford. Cnothan Town is unusual among the six palaces of Elben in that it serves as both a port and a castle town. This conflagration of uses makes Cnothan all the dearer to Cleves: despite her royal upbringing, she has never been one to require two objects when she can make do perfectly well with one. It is one of the many reasons she has never understood the Elbenese fashion for taking multiple spouses, if one has the money.
As she rides through the settlement, with its market stalls on each side of the main road, her people dip their heads and call out in pleasure at the sight of her. She enjoys playing up to their expectations. She never leaves the castle without a retinue of animals: lifting a piglet onto the front of her saddle to make the children laugh; sending Lelij the gargoyle to carry coin to a few of the stallholders in exchange for pastries. It makes them love her, and if her kingly husband has taught her anything, it is that earning the love of one’s people can never be considered too costly. If portraying herself as a harmless eccentric will gain their loyalty, she will play the part.
The docks are on the far side of the main thoroughfare. As she alights from her horse, she can already see a flotilla of smaller boats bumping across the waves from the larger ship, anchored further out.
“Maharron, malingi!”A figure shouts from the prow of the foremost boat, before vomiting into the sea.Greetings, stranger.She cannot see him clearly yet, but she would recognise the burr of his voice anywhere. She raises a hand in response, knowing that the wind would carry her words away from the figure, not towards them.
As the boat reaches the dock, Cleves strides towards it, signalling to the workers to help the occupants climb onto land. Johana embraces her with a broad smile. Everything about him is broad and comforting.
“The sea does not agree with you, cousin,” she says, hoping that he will follow her lead in speaking Elbenese, not Ezzonidian. She belongs to this country now – in public, at least. While many foreign languages are spoken here, especially in the port towns, it would raise suspicion to have a queen be seen consorting in strange tongues.
“Alas, it does not. I agree with it, though. And I agree with this excellent country you now call home. Show me all of it, I beg you.”
Cleves pats him on the shoulder. “Should we embark upon the grand tour immediately, or shall I fill your newly empty stomach first?”
Johana bows, and a trace of vomit falls from the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps some sustenance.”
Behind Johana, a group of men swathed in brown cloaks kneel, awaiting her acknowledgement.
“Your friends are less colourful than they once were,” she says.
“Not my friends. Merely my companions upon the voyage,” Johana says, watching the men with distaste. Lelij sniffs them. The one closest to him leans away from the gargoyle, and Lelij rewards him with a long, damp lick.
Cleves addresses the men. “Rise, good sirs, and make yourselves known to me.”
The one who Lelij licked peers up at her while surreptitiously fending off the gargoyle’s further affections. Several pendants hang among the folds of his cloak. Cleves spies the crooked horns of Cernunnos among them. “We are most honoured to have been invited to your fair country by His Majesty the King,” he says.
