The Starkin Crown (26 page)

‘I'll go and get it,' Molly said, her spirits suddenly and unaccountably low. With the help of her crutch, she got to her feet and paused for a moment, but the prince was busy describing to Grizelda exactly what he had seen in his vision. Molly sighed, looped up her skirts through her belt, and
began to limp down the beach. Although the sun had set, the moon glinted on the water and showed the dark silhouette of the boat, rocking gently at anchor. She began to walk out to it, feeling her way forward with her feet, the rocks of the old causeway just below the surface of the bitterly cold water.

‘Why, Molly!'

She heard Peregrine's call and turned back. He was standing by the fire, one hand stretched out to her. ‘It looks … it looks like you're walking on water!'

She gazed at him in bewilderment, wondering at the joyous light in his face.

‘It's a sign,' he said. ‘Now I know all will be well'.

A smile leapt to her lips. She met his gaze and nodded. ‘Yes. All will be well now'.

Then she turned and walked out to the boat, walking upon moon-silvered water.

P
EREGRINE TURNED BACK TO THE FIRE, SMILING.
A
GLOW OF
happiness filled him.

Only when a blind boy can see and a lame girl walk on water shall peace come again to the land, and the rightful king win back the throne …

And he had just seen a lame girl walk on water. He had seen where the spear was hidden. He knew where Lord Grim slept. Tomorrow he would find one and raise the other, and set out to free his parents, and win back the throne for his father. He wondered briefly about the blind boy, and when that part of the prophecy would reveal itself, but trusted it would all become clear in time.

Grizelda had sat down by the fire, her skirts tucked up so she could stretch her long legs to the flames. Oskar lay beside her, his head on his paws. Slowly she unbound her hair, letting it fall down her back in smooth golden waves. Taking her comb from her pack, she began to draw it through her heavy locks in long, slow strokes. She smiled at him.

‘So tomorrow you'll find your fabled spear. Do you really think you'll be able to use it to throw down Queen Vernisha and seize the crown?'

Peregrine frowned. ‘I won't be seizing the crown, I'll be winning it back for my father, the rightful king'.

‘Of course, I'm sorry'. She sighed. ‘A lifetime of propaganda is hard to forget. I've only had a few days to learn the right way to think'.

He felt sorry for his sharp words. He came and sat down next to her, stirring the soup in the pot.

‘What then, Robin?' she asked, leaning close to him, putting one hand on his arm. He could smell her sweet, heady perfume and wondered again where it came from. Had she carried a bottle with her the whole way?
Starkin girls
, he thought, and smiled to himself.

‘What shall you do, when you have defeated Vernisha and won back the crown? You have been fighting so long, what will you do with peace?'

‘Oh, there'll be plenty to do,' he replied buoyantly. ‘New laws to make, and old ones to abolish. Like punishing people for listening to songs and stories! And the roads should really be fixed, they're a disgrace'.

‘But what will you do for
you
,' she insisted softly. ‘Surely you will deserve
some
reward'.

Peregrine glanced at her, puzzled. ‘I suppose so. What, do you mean a new horse? I'd rather have Sable back again'.

‘And you'll need to make new alliances. Forge new relationships'. She looked away, her eyelashes dropping to form perfect golden crescents on her cheeks.

‘Yes, I guess we will'. Peregrine turned to look for Molly, wondering if she was all right.

‘Your father will want to make new treaties,' she said, a shade of impatience creeping into her voice.

Peregrine shrugged. ‘I guess so'.

She put both hands on his arm, looked him straight in the eyes and said, in a slow, clear voice, ‘No doubt he'll want you to marry well, to cement these new alliances and treaties, and to ensure there's an heir to the throne, one that has the requisite bloodlines to ensure the support of the starkin lords'.

Suddenly her meaning became clear to Peregrine. He gulped, and stood up abruptly. ‘Maybe. Probably. I'm not sure. Plenty of time to worry about that!' Blitz moved restlessly on his branch, bells chiming.

‘Don't you think it would be better to plan for all contingencies now?' she said persuasively. ‘The starkin lords only supported Vernisha because her blood was pure. If you could assure them that your heirs would be of starkin blood, it could make all the difference. Whatever happens tomorrow, you will need the starkin lords' support if you wish to rule all of Ziva'.

Peregrine took a deep breath. ‘There is much in what you say,' he answered carefully. ‘And I am sure my parents will consider how best to win the starkin lords' support once they have won back the throne. However, I know that my parents would never try to force me into a marriage for purely political reasons. You may not know that their marriage was a love match, and has been blessed with much happiness. They will want nothing less for me'.

She touched his wrist gently, smiling coyly. ‘But such a union does not have to be for purely political reasons'.

He pulled his wrist away. ‘No, it doesn't. But I certainly would not wish to promise marriage to anyone until I had fallen in love. Which I hope very much will happen one day'.

Peregrine hoped he had made his meaning clear. From the sudden anger on Grizelda's face, he thought she understood. There was a moment's awkward silence. Peregrine was trying to think of something to say to ease the tension when Grizelda drew a deep breath.

‘Well then, that's that. I think we should drink a toast to the success of your mission'. She turned and rummaged in her pack, drawing out two delicate silver goblets and a black leather bottle.

Peregrine was dumbfounded. ‘Is that Molly's mead?'

She smiled. ‘I knew you liked it, so I thought to bring some for you'.

‘Does Molly know?'

She flushed with annoyance. ‘Well, no, but surely she'd not mind. She was happy enough for you to drink it last night'.

Peregrine gestured to the silver goblets, which she had set up on the stone table. ‘Have you been carrying these around with you all this time?'

She smiled. ‘Well, I wasn't sure if the Erlrune's would have all the necessary luxuries of life. I wasn't expecting to end up in a bog!'

Peregrine smiled rather absently. She uncorked the leather bottle and poured some of the sweet-scented golden liquid into the goblets. ‘It does smell like summer, doesn't it,' she said, smiling into his eyes. He looked away, flushing.

‘To better days!' she cried and passed him a goblet. He took it and she raised her goblet to his, and drank deeply. Peregrine looked down into the goblet. Did the mead seem rather cloudy? Did it smell rather rank? He did not drink.

‘It's bad luck to refuse a toast,' she said lightly. ‘Drink up'.

She drank another mouthful, keeping her eyes on his. Holding her gaze, Peregrine lifted the goblet to his lips,
noticing how pale she had grown and the faint sheen of sweat on her brow. Her pupils dilated.

‘No! Your Highness! Don't drink!' Jack sprinted from the grove of trees, dropping an enormous load of kindling and dragging his sword free of its scabbard. Startled, Grizelda spun around, her own mead spraying in a golden arc. Jack was only a few strides from her, murderous rage in his eyes, his sword swinging high.

‘Kill, boy!' Grizelda screamed. ‘Kill!'

Oskar launched himself forward, snarling, leaping for Jack's throat. At the same moment Grizelda turned on Peregrine and slammed her hand into the base of the goblet, smashing it into Peregrine's face. The mead sprayed into his eyes, burning like acid. Peregrine screamed in agony. Falling to his knees, he lifted his hands to his eyes, unable to see a thing.

Chaos all around him. Peregrine could hear the savage sound of a dog snarling, jaws tearing. He could hear Jack screaming hoarsely and Blitz screeching. A few hard thunks, and then a high-pitched yelp. ‘Oskar!' Grizelda screamed. Then quick footsteps ran past him and he heard splashing. The pain in his eyes and face was intense. He struggled to his feet, trying to see, but his vision was nothing but a red haze.

‘Jack! Jack!'

A low moan. A few whimpers. Silence.

The iron door to the queens' cell scraped open. ‘Up you get, my lovelies,' the gaoler jeered. ‘The queen is ready to pass judgement on you'.

‘I am the queen,' Liliana said quietly. ‘You would do well to remember that'.

‘I wouldn't go saying that to her Majesty's face, sweetheart,' he replied, bending so he could haul her to her feet. ‘She has a nasty habit of cutting out people's tongues'.

Liliana jerked her arm free of his grasp but said no more. She felt sick with fear. It had been hard to keep despair at bay after Pedrin had failed to convince Vernisha to swap them for her daughter. The six days were almost over and still they had not managed to escape their dungeons. Tom-Tit-Tot had tried to steal the keys to their cells, but had been chased with a halberd and had lost the very tip of his tail. Liliana had been able to heal his tail, but the indignity had upset the omen-imp, as had his failure to rescue his master. It was an impossible task, though. The castle was stuffed as full of soldiers as a Yule cake was stuffed with currants and candied peel.

Outside the cell, the low glare of the smoky torches made Liliana flinch and cover her eyes. Rozalina gripped her arm and together, shorn heads held high, the two queens made their slow way along the corridor, prodded from behind by sharp halberds. Another cell was opened by one of the gaolers, and Merry and Zed came stumbling out. Like their wives, they were dressed in animal skins and both wore rough hats with donkeys' ears sewed to them. They looked grey and exhausted, but did their best to walk with their heads high and their backs straight. They smiled at each other but were not allowed to speak or touch.

Up endless winding stairs the four prisoners clanked, the shackles and other cruel confinements locked again in place. They shuffled down the long corridor into the banqueting hall, where a crowd of courtiers were once again stuffing themselves on a gargantuan feast. Liliana saw roast boars' heads, venison pies, frumenty, a fricassee of baby kid and
bacon, oat biscuits smeared with smoked fish, meatballs with onion sauce, gilded peacocks, cheese and quince dumplings, and a vast steamed stingray served with oysters. Her stomach growled loudly and saliva sprang into her mouth. Even though Tom-Tit-Tot had done his best to bring them food and drink, it had not been easy for him and it was many days since she had last had a full meal.

Soldiers poked and prodded them up the hall with the sharp points of their halberds. Liliana imagined she was wearing a sweeping gown of golden silk with cascading sleeves, and that she was having difficulty walking because of her high-heeled crystal slippers and the crown of glowing jewels upon her head. The stink that came up from her own body made this fantasy difficult to maintain, but she did her best.

Vernisha reclined on her throne, gobbling down oysters that Lord Goldwin was feeding her, a false smile pinned to his face. She was dressed in an extraordinary gown of purple silk, cut very low across her bulging décolletage and sewn with enormous purple flowers. Her pug dog was dressed the same, purple velvet slippers on his feet. Vernisha's hair had been styled in extravagant ringlets, which stuck out from under the dazzling starkin crown.

She leant forward at the sight of the four prisoners in their filthy animal skins, her fat cheeks creasing in a smile. She snapped her fingers at Lord Goldwin. ‘Bring me my marchpane. My night is about to get much sweeter'.

Lord Goldwin frowned and gestured to a servant, who brought forward a platter of marchpane, formed into fanciful shapes and gilded.

She selected a piece shaped like a fire-breathing grogoyle and crammed it into her mouth. ‘Mmmm-mmm,' she
mumbled. ‘Delicious!' She swallowed it down and licked her fingers.

‘Look, our guests have arrived! Don't they look fine? Not so high and mighty now'. She sniggered, and the crowd all laughed. They were as richly and extravagantly dressed as the pretender-queen, so perfumed and painted and jewelled it was hard to tell what their real faces would look like.

‘Well, tomorrow is Twelfth Night and the end of that ridiculous, outdated period of peace. I must thank my darling Lord Goldwin, though, for really it's been much more entertaining keeping you alive a few more days. I've had time to refine my plans too. Burning you at the stake was much too quick!'

She selected another piece of marchpane, this time shaped like a jester with donkey's ears. She broke off the head and offered it to the pug dog, who wolfed it down, the stump of his tail wagging happily.