by Tanya Bird
The Royal Companion
Tanya Bird
Copyright © 2017 by Tanya Bird
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
For Luke.
Contents
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Map
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Where to now?
The Common Girl (extract)
Prologue
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Acknowledgments
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Prologue
They hanged the man outside of the church, in front of his family, his neighbours and a white-faced priest clutching the book of God. The body swung gently above the spectators, eyes bulging, head tilted at an unnatural angle. The only noise was the creak of the rope and the violent sobs of his widow.
Aldara wished she were back on the farm. She had never seen a man hanged to death. It was so rare in her village that the prince’s men had been forced to construct the simple gallows just for the occasion. Noblemen rarely ventured this far south, leaving matters of the law in the hands of the local church. But one man from Roysten had sold Prince Pandarus a filly with an abscess, so Pandarus had made the journey from Archdale Castle to make a display of his intolerance of crime, which was a thinly veiled intolerance of the poor.
When Prince Pandarus spoke, there was a collective flinch among the crowd.
‘Let us remember the kingdom that Syrasan is,’ he said, seated on his horse next to the creaking gallows. The silk lining of his cloak flashed as he raised an arm to gesture. ‘One of integrity. Crimes against the people who are risking their lives every day to keep you safe will not be tolerated. Let this man remain here as a reminder.’
Blank, hungry faces stared up at him. But not the widow, whose eyes would not open. A tortured noise rang from her as she clutched the head of her son against her dress, trying to shield his view. Aldara swallowed down the lump forming in her throat and used the hood of her cloak to shield her own sight.
‘We need to start moving,’ Dahlia whispered. ‘We cannot miss him.’ She took hold of Aldara’s laundered cloak and pulled her through the crowd as it began to disperse. The mud sucked at their boots as they moved out into the centre of the road, waiting for Pandarus to reach them. ‘My lord,’ she called, curtsying low as if standing on swept stone.
Aldara watched the hem of her mother’s dress soak up the stagnant water around her feet. Pandarus did not slow his pace.
‘I have nothing for you,’ he said, increasing the distance between them and his grey mare.
Dahlia stood upright. ‘I need nothing from you but a moment of your time, my lord. I wish to introduce you to my daughter before your departure.’
Pandarus reluctantly stopped his horse and looked at her. The two men flanking him stopped also, each with a hand on their sword. He pushed his thick cloak over his right shoulder, revealing a red ‘S’ on his arm, as though they needed reminding he was a member of the royal family. He turned his bored expression to Aldara. His hands loosened the reins a little.
Dahlia gestured for Aldara to step forward. She did as she was told, dropping into a small curtsy. Once she was upright, she removed the hood of her cloak as her mother had instructed. The cold air made her ears ache. Dahlia had forced her unruly hair into a low bun, and sections of it were blowing about her face in protest. She reached up and tucked them behind her ears.
Pandarus looked at the mud-splattered hem of her once blue dress and then slowly moved his eyes up to her face. ‘What is your name?’
‘Aldara, my lord.’
‘And what is your age, Aldara?’
‘Fifteen, my lord.’
‘Ah, not yet of age.’
Dahlia stepped forward. ‘She will be sixteen in the warm season, my lord. And she reads and writes.’
Aldara stared at her mother, not recognising the tone of her voice. It was laced with desperation. Dahlia’s pride usually kept her composed, even in the cold season when the food was gone. Having realised her own uncharacteristic behaviour, Dahlia collected herself, standing before Pandarus as though she was wearing something other than rags. Every hair was in place, released from its tight prison on wash days only. It was not even permitted time to dry.
Pandarus’s eyes remained on Aldara. ‘Have you seen a man hanged to his death before?’
She looked up at him and shook her head. ‘No, my lord.’
‘Was it difficult for you to watch?’
Aldara glanced down at his boots. She had never seen such clean boots, and wondered whether his horse had collected him from the front step of the castle. ‘The grief of his family was very difficult to watch.’
Pandarus raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you believe the punishment to be unjust?’
Aldara could feel her mother holding her breath. ‘The real punishment is to his remaining family, who must now feed themselves and find a way to survive without him.’
He glanced back at one of his men with a smirk. ‘Short-sighted criminals do not think through consequences of their crimes.’
‘Hunger has a way of drowning logic.’ She bit her lip to stop her mouth.
Pandarus looked back at Dahlia. ‘I have met your daughter. What is it you want?’
Dahlia read him. Her time was up. ‘She is intelligent and she is beautiful. I thought you may have use for her at Archdale.’
‘I have no use for her personally.’ He kicked his horse forward. ‘However, write to me after her next birthday and we can reassess.’
The women curtsied, their eyes on the mud. They listened as the slush of hooves moved past them. When they rose, Dahlia narrowed her eyes on her daughter.
‘Let’s go,’ she said.
Chapter 1
Aldara stood with Loda in the broken shade of a budding maple. Every few minutes the tall mare rubbed her sweaty head against Aldara, who struggled to maintain her footing against the weight of it. Loda. Her Loda. She would be left behind with the rest of them.
The family did not have the luxury of pets. Their animals had a use or they were eaten. Loda was the exception, a gift from her father on her tenth birthday. Her mother had been furious, insisting Isadore sell the thoroughbred for something that could be put to work. Much to everyone’s surprise, the filly did not get sold. Six years later they stood together as old friends.
Her brother, Kadmus, was sowing barley on the other side of the fence. He had stripped down to a linen undershirt that clung to his wet body. A straw hat protected his face from the harsh midday sun. She remembered weaving the hat for him when she was twelve years old. It was full of mistakes, and he wore it e
very day of the warm season.
Kadmus had worked with a newfound intensity for the past two weeks, ever since Pandarus’s men had visited. He had watched the men circle her, like a horse at the yards, inspecting her confirmation and commenting aloud as though the family was not in the room with them. They had instructed her to let out her hair and eyed her small breasts. They had asked her questions that made her father turn his eyes to the ground. Kadmus had left then. He had walked out of the small house and begun working. And he had not stopped since.
‘Kadmus,’ she called to her brother. ‘Join me in the shade before you cook.’
‘I need to finish this,’ he said, without looking at her. He never looked at her anymore.
‘Then you should have used the perfectly good harrow we have in the barn. You would have been finished days ago.’
‘The horses mess up the field,’ he said.
She rolled her eyes. Hitching up her dress, she took a handful of mane and swung her leg over Loda. She never used a saddle anymore, and Dahlia was forever scolding her for it. ‘Ladies don’t ride bareback.’ It was no secret her mother wanted her to grow up.
Before she had even gathered the reins, the mare lurched into a canter. Aldara did not bother with the gate. She cleared the fence in one smooth stride and landed with minimal disruption to the freshly sewn seed. Within a few paces she reached Kadmus and bent low to snatch the rake from his hands. She came to a stop a few yards away from him. He stared at the hoof prints in front of him and the upturned seeds. She had ruined his perfect rows. He glanced up at her and squinted against the bright sun.
‘Don’t you think I have enough to do around here? How about helping instead of creating more work before you leave?’
At least he was talking.
‘How about you stop punishing me as if my leaving is my choice?’ She threw the rake at his feet. ‘I don’t want to go!’
Kadmus bent over and rested his hands on his knees. He was still out of breath from his work efforts. The defiant expression faded from her face, and her eyes welled up. She looked away then.
‘Do you think I want to be sold off like the livestock? I don’t want to go,’ she repeated. Her voice was softer then.
Kadmus retrieved the rake off the ground and continued working. He was not angry with her. He was angry at his mother for selling his sister, and his father for letting her. He was angry because even though they needed the gold, he knew it was not only about the gold. Dahlia had conspired this uncertain future for her only daughter for years, and he could not fathom why.
‘Father lets her do as she pleases,’ he said, covering the exposed seeds with the toe of his boot. ‘He could have said no.’
Aldara studied him. The neck of his shirt was yellow and frayed. He needed new clothing, and without the gold from her sale, he would not get it. The kingdom was still at war, and even if their crop was successful, they would not be guaranteed a sale.
‘No one says no to our mother,’ she said. ‘And perhaps she knows something we don’t.’
‘That woman knows everything. It’s terrifying. If you had been born a boy, we would have had two more years.’
‘If I had been born a boy, I would have been considered useful and not been sold at all.’
‘You’re as useful as any man when you actually work.’
He leant on the rake and looked at her for a long moment. There was more he could say, but Isadore was walking towards them with a pail of seed.
‘What are you two plotting?’ he asked, handing the pail to Kadmus. ‘On second thought, I don’t want to know.’ He gave Loda a rough pat on the neck.
‘It’s too hot for sowing,’ Aldara said. ‘We want to go for a swim.’
Isadore laughed. ‘You’re only here a few more weeks and you’re still trying to weasel out of work.’
‘It’s not appropriate for ladies to swim. You better get used to fanning yourself at the castle,’ Kadmus said.
He enjoyed baiting her and always made a point of not smiling. Isadore’s eyes went to his feet. Any mention of Archdale had that effect on him.
‘It’s not appropriate for you to swim naked, but we can’t keep clothes on you,’ Aldara replied, keeping the conversation moving.
‘Why don’t you put that useless mare back in the stable and bring back a horse that can work,’ Kadmus said. ‘And the harrow.’
‘Good idea,’ Isadore said, looking up again. ‘When the work is done, we will swim.’
Aldara smiled to herself as she turned Loda towards the barn. She rode along the fence line, so as not to disturb any more seed. The sun poured down on her, its warmth stinging her skin beneath her threadbare dress. But she did not wish it away, for soon enough the cold would arrive and leech the warmth from her bones.
Chapter 2
Aldara dismounted. She could feel the heat of her mother’s fury. Dahlia stood with her hands clasped tightly and her eyebrows fused. She had removed her apron and put on her good dress, which had once been a vibrant green. Aldara was not sure if it was a sign of respect for the guards or if she was trying to pretend she was not poor. She may have been able to hide the calluses on her hands, but there was no hiding their poverty.
Aldara glanced over at the guards waiting in the nearby shade, suffocated by their embroidered tunics and knee-high boots. They showed little interest in their surroundings. It was not a social visit after all. She walked towards Dahlia, Loda trailing behind her, using her spare hand to brush horse hair from her dress. There was no sign of her father. The man who usually managed to be everywhere at once was suddenly nowhere to be found. Perhaps he could not witness the sale of his only daughter.
Her eyes flicked to the bare paddocks behind the barn where their failed barley crop had just been cleared. Too much rain, and then nothing. She could taste the dust that the breeze carried. Kadmus crossed in front of her, carrying cups of water for the guards. He tried to smile at her, but it was an uncomfortable lie for both of them. She recalled his words from earlier that morning; he had said no to their parents as if the decision was his. He had told them he would find more work, even though he barely slept as it was. They all knew there was no more work. Families found other ways to survive, like selling their least useful members.
Dahlia did not see it as a sacrifice. She told them it was an opportunity. She spoke of Aldara’s life at Archdale as if it would be a better life, an easier life. She seemed sure of it. Isadore had said nothing as he stared into his thin soup. Dahlia reminded them that the gold would ensure they ate in the cold season when the rest of the village was starving.
‘Aldara will have more food than she will know what to do with,’ she had said before fleeing the room.
‘You smell of horse,’ Dahlia said, once Aldara was close enough to hear. She snatched the reins from her daughter’s hand.
Aldara kept her eyes on Loda. ‘I am sure they have baths at Archdale.’
The guards were shifting their weight from foot to foot, looking at the sun to gauge how much daylight they had left. She was delaying them. Dahlia reached down for the small hemp bag by her feet. It contained all of Aldara’s belongings, none of which would be of any use to her at Archdale. There was a clean dress, some undergarments, and a wooden hair comb that struggled to contain her hair. It was the one thing she wanted to take. There had been a woman selling them in the Roysten marketplace, and her father had seen her slow down to look at them. They had all kept walking without saying a word, knowing there was no money for such things. A few weeks later Isadore had found her cleaning tack in the barn and handed her the replica he had made by hand. She had wrapped herself around him as though she were ten years old again.
‘Kadmus will ride with you,’ Dahlia said, pulling Aldara from the memory. She was holding the bag out for her to take.
Aldara took the reins back from her mother. ‘Then I shall ride also.’
Dahlia snatched them back from her. ‘You will ride in the cart with the guards. There wil
l be no more discussion about the horse.’
Kadmus walked over to Dahlia and gently pried the reins from her hands. ‘I will ride Loda to the castle. We need to build up her stamina and prepare her for work,’ he lied.
Aldara reluctantly took the bag from her mother and looked at her properly for the first time that day. She searched her face for signs of grief. All she saw were blackened eyes and creased skin, a result of little sleep and too much outdoor labouring. She appeared much older than her thirty-eight years. Isadore often reminded Aldara that she looked just like her mother did when he first met her. He would smile as he described her. Aldara could not picture a youthful version of her mother.
‘Will I be allowed to write?’ she asked, forcing Dahlia to meet her eyes.
Her mother reached out and began tucking stray strands of hair behind Aldara’s ears. She was not gentle.
‘The castle staff will instruct you on those matters. Now off you go. Your father needs help, and you have delayed the king’s men for long enough.’
‘Where is he?’ She glanced at the barn again.
‘Trying to keep us fed.’
Aldara could turn and walk away from her mother, but she did not know how to leave her father. Of course there was no choice in the matter. She moved her feet, one in front of the other. Her legs felt as though they were shackled and weighted. There was still opportunity for Isadore to appear, shouting he had changed his mind and could not see it through. He could tell Dahlia he would not let her go with strangers, that it was better to have nothing and be with people you love. But there was no shouting, only the slow shuffle of footsteps on the crusted earth, and the heavy thud from her chest.