The Starkin Crown (4 page)

‘Sorry'. Peregrine brooded for a moment then said, ‘Do you know the genealogical tables of all the counts of Ziva, or only our family?'

‘All of the families, of course,' she replied haughtily, but Peregrine did not think she was telling the truth. He wondered if she had studied up on his family before being sent here as hostage, and thought it would be no surprise if she had. He would have done the same.

‘Why does she wear a wreath of weeds? Doesn't she have a proper crown?'

Peregrine was flabbergasted. ‘They're not weeds! It's mistletoe. Can't you see the little white berries? Mistletoe is sacred to the wildkin. It's the winter crown. In spring she will pick and weave herself a new crown of hawthorn, and the summer crown is made of elderflowers. In autumn she wears a crown of autumn leaves and berries'.

Grizelda shook her head in amazement. ‘So strange'.

‘Nicer than wearing a hard crown of metal and jewels,' Peregrine said defiantly.

She gave him a sideways glance, then dropped her lashes. ‘Is it true that her own curse rebounded on her, so that all her children have died?'

Peregrine nodded. ‘Yes, it's true. Though whether it's the curse rebounding no-one can tell for sure. Except that Princess Adora lost six babies, and so now has Aunty Rozalina. I think she blames herself. We have a saying, you know, that curses are like chickens, they come home to roost'.

‘Who is
we
?' Grizelda asked. ‘I mean, you're a starkin, aren't you? Like me? Yet that's not a starkin saying'.

‘I have the blood of all three races in me,' Peregrine said proudly. ‘That is why I will one day be the true king of prophecy.
Born between star-crowned and iron-bound …
in him, the blood of wise and wild, farseeing ones and starseeing ones
'.

She stared at him, and he gazed back, his jaw set, his head held high, trying to read her expression. He wondered if she felt the revulsion that many of the starkin felt about his mixed blood. Mongrel blood, Vernisha the Vile called it, and swore that no-one with such tainted ancestry would ever wear the crown. For twenty-five years she had sat on the starkin throne and worn the starkin crown, and Peregrine's father, the true king, had not been able to wrest it from her.

A roar of excitement went up as a hobhenky carried in a huge oval platter with a roast boar proudly displayed upon it, its head garlanded with ivy and mistletoe. He carried it up to the high table, and Peregrine stood up, saying, ‘I must go. My parents will be wondering where I am'.

‘I don't understand it!' Grizelda burst out. ‘Why are they not packing? Don't they believe me?'

‘Oh, they believe you,' Peregrine answered. ‘Though my father will have sent out scouts to verify your tale'.

‘But they must flee before the army gets here!'

Peregrine looked at her scornfully. ‘My parents won't just abandon the castle. We have old and sick and wounded who couldn't manage to struggle through the snow, and besides, we're better staying here where we have food and shelter than freezing our bums off in the forest. We'll enjoy watching the starkin do that instead'.

‘But … everyone's feasting and having fun! Why aren't they getting ready?'

‘We are always ready,' Peregrine replied in exasperation. ‘My family has been fighting for years, you think they don't plan for surprise attacks? They're not stupid! Besides, it's
Midwinter's Eve. This is one of the most important dates for the wildkin. To leave the rituals undone would be a very bad omen indeed'.

Grizelda gave a superstitious shudder. ‘I just can't understand it. Don't they realise an army's coming to annihilate them?'

Peregrine cocked his head. ‘Can you hear the wind?'

Grizelda shrugged her shoulders impatiently. ‘Well, yes, of course. It's howling like anything'.

‘That army of yours will barely be able to take a step out there. Their best bet is to hunker down and wait it out, and it won't be stopping any time soon'.

‘How can you be so sure?'

He stared at her in amazement. ‘Surely you know one of my mother's Talents is whistling the wind? She's a weather-witch. That army of yours will be buried in snow come morning time'.

‘I thought that was just a story'. Grizelda gazed at Queen Liliana, who was trying to coax Queen Rozalina to eat some of the roast boar. At Peregrine's snort, Grizelda said stubbornly, ‘Well, at least an exaggeration'.

‘It's no exaggeration,' he said shortly. ‘She can call wind and thunder and lightning and rain'.

‘What else can she do?'

Peregrine hesitated. Grizelda smiled winningly and he said reluctantly, ‘She can heal too, with the touch of her hand. That's what makes her one of the Crafty, you know, having two Gifts. Most people only have one'.

‘What's your Gift?'

All her questions were making him feel uncomfortable, but Peregrine could not see how to avoid answering her
without being rude. He was opening his mouth to reply, when Jack barged forward to fill up Grizelda's glass of elderflower wine and accidentally spilt it all over her skirt.

‘Idiot!' she flashed and mopped up the golden liquid with her napkin.

‘Sorry, my lady,' Jack answered stonily, and filled up Peregrine's goblet, all the while waggling his thick eyebrows meaningfully.

Peregrine bit back a grin. ‘If you will excuse me, Lady Grizelda, I must go. I have only a short time to eat before the battle begins'.

‘The battle? I thought you said my brother and the army will be hunkered down, freezing their … backsides off'. The starkin girl sounded disgruntled.

‘Oh, not that battle,' Peregrine replied. ‘Much more exciting than riding out against a few goose-pimply starkin lords. No, I'm talking about the battle I must fight tonight, against the implacable forces of darkness and death!'

She stared at him, amazed, and he grinned and walked away.

P
EREGRINE CLIMBED THE STEPS BACK TO HIS SEAT AT THE
high table. His mother turned and smiled at him, lifting one eyebrow. Peregrine shrugged slightly and took his seat.

Jack took up his position behind him. ‘I think she was sent here to spy,' he whispered as he carved Peregrine some meat and served him from the various jugs and platters on the table. Jack then drew his eating knife from the sheath on his belt and delicately tasted everything on Peregrine's plate before placing it back before his master.

‘Maybe,' Peregrine whispered back. ‘Yet what does she hope to gain? She'll be watched closely the whole time. It's not as if we'd let her eavesdrop on any council meetings, or send messages in secret code'.

‘She wants something,' Jack said darkly.

‘Maybe she and her brother really do want to help overthrow Vernisha,' Peregrine replied. ‘Imagine what it must be like having that horrible woman ruling over you! We can't just assume that Lady Grizelda means us harm simply because she's a starkin'.

‘You can't trust a starkin!' Jack protested.

‘My father's grandmother was a starkin, remember,' Peregrine answered rather sharply. Jack looked mutinous, but said, ‘Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir'.

He stood back, sliding his knives and carving fork back into the sheaths at his waist.

Peregrine waited a few moments, to make sure Jack had suffered no ill effects from the food, then began to eat. Jack was his taster as well as his squire, and so sampled all Peregrine's food and drink in case of poison.

It was not a purely symbolic gesture. Jack's father had been the king's taster for many years and had died horribly three years ago from poison smuggled into the royal gravy jug. Jack, who had then been just thirteen, had begged for the right to inherit his father's position. King Merrik had appointed him taster to the prince and, when Jack had proved loyal and handy, promoted him to the prince's squire. King Merrik had his own taster, Jack's uncle Liam.

The feast continued for several hours, though Peregrine knew just how difficult it must have been for the cooks to stretch out their scant supplies. He knew his mother had led a hunting party into the forest every day for a fortnight, shooting numerous deer, wild pigs, hares, beavers, rabbits and game birds for the feast, while his father's men had cut holes in the ice to fish.

It was close to midnight when two lines of men ran in, spinning flaming torches in their hands so the dark hall was filled with giddy whirligigs of fire. Peregrine closed his eyes, shielding them behind his hand, till Jack bent and touched his shoulder gently.

The men had taken up ceremonious positions all along the
wall, their torches now still and smoking fiercely. Peregrine stood up, allowing Jack to unfasten his short cloak and lay it aside. Jack passed him an oaken spear, carved beautifully with runes all along its length, and a shield woven from willow twigs. He jumped down the steps to the stone-flagged floor, where six pretty girls were sweeping an area free of straw and rushes. Queen Rozalina brought him a crown made of brown oak leaves which rustled as she placed it upon his brow. She kissed him and smiled at him. ‘Fight well, my prince!'

He smiled back at her then took the mask she passed him, made from the hide and antlers of a stag. A low thunder of drums announced the arrival of his opponent. A tall man, twice Peregrine's weight, bounded into the lit archway. He was dressed in red and wore a holly crown upon his bushy dark hair, the red berries glowing like droplets of blood. He carried a spear made from the wood of a holly tree and wore a mask fitted with stag antlers.

Peregrine and the horned man saluted and then ran forward to clash their spears together. It was a ceremonial battle, so neither wished to hurt the other. It was as much a dance as a battle, each attempting to leap higher or twirl faster. The crowd cheered and called encouragement, but no-one laid bets. The outcome of this battle was always the same, and had been for centuries. Peregrine, acting the role of the Oak King, the ruler of the summer months, at last laid low the Holly King, ruler of the winter months, and wrested his crown from him. Everyone cheered and toasted him and, panting slightly, Peregrine went and laid the crown of holly leaves at the Erlqueen's feet, sweeping off his own crown.

‘Thank you,' Queen Rozalina said in her low, sweet voice. ‘Well fought! And happy birthday, Peregrine'.

‘Fifteen now and old enough to fight a real battle,' he replied exuberantly.

She smiled wistfully and drew him close so she could kiss his cheek. ‘Don't be in too much of a hurry to grow up,' she said, then ruffled his hair affectionately.

A toast was called for Peregrine's birthday and his victory over the King of Winter, and everyone stood up, clanking their horn cups together and shouting a huzzah. Grizelda stood up too, and raised her cup to him. Peregrine grinned and returned the gesture, and then lifted his cup to the high table and the crowd.

Servants marched in with platters of midwinter pudding, blazing with blue fire. Oohs and aahs sounded all around the room. Peregrine bounded back to his place, stripping off his heavy antlers with relief.

Jack took his spear and shield and mask from him and stowed them away neatly in their chest, then cut him a slice of pudding with his knife. Before placing it on Peregrine's plate, he tasted some, then stood waiting to see if he would fall writhing in pain as his father had done. Nothing happened, so he offered the pudding to Peregrine on bended knee.

Peregrine ate with pleasure, knowing they would not eat so well again for a very long time. When his bowl was half-empty he mentioned to Jack to eat the rest. Apart from the small mouthfuls he had tasted, his squire had been on duty all night and so had had no chance to eat any supper of his own. By the time the feast was cleared away, there would be only scraps left and very little pudding. Peregrine knew Jack loved midwinter pudding.

The servants scrambled to clear away the dirty plates, and the trestle tables were dismantled and put outside in the corridor, leaving everyone to stand against the walls. Only
the royal family stayed seated, and Stiga, who huddled in her rocking chair by the fire. Peregrine looked for Grizelda and found, as he had expected, that she looked outraged to be treated like anyone else in the crowd. His father noticed too, and beckoned one of his squires, who ran to find her a stool.

The Yule log was brought in, garlanded and beribboned. Young men danced all around it, leaping and cartwheeling. As the huge oak trunk was carried around the hall, the glowing ashes of the fire in the hearth were smothered with a heavy blanket, sending smoke billowing out into the room.

When the smoke had cleared, a fire was laid with the charred remains of last year's Yule log, and the new green log was arranged upon it and anointed with salt and wine.

At midnight, the candles were snuffed and the torches quenched, so that chill darkness descended on the great hall. The wailing of the wind sounded very loud.

After a long moment of silent contemplation, standing quietly in the pitch blackness, Queen Rozalina struck a piece of flint with her steel file. A single bright spark flew out, and she caught it adroitly with a tinderbox filled with a small handful of dried moss draped with charred cloth. A red spot sprang to life on the cloth, slowly unfurling like a glowing flower, and the wildkin queen bent and blew gently on its golden heart. At once a small flame leapt up, and everyone cheered.

Ceremoniously Queen Rozalina carried the tiny dancing flame to the fireplace, and knelt on the hearthstone. Very carefully she lit the tinder under the Yule log. Everyone held their breath, and released it in a communal whoosh as flames began to lick up the sides of the great oak trunk. People cheered and clapped, and one by one came with their candles to light them from the newly kindled fire.

Jack stiffened as Grizelda came to the dais, looking up at Peregrine to ask, ‘What does it all mean? Why do they put the fire out and then relight it again?'