by Tanya Bird
‘My lady!’
Petra winced at the sound. Whenever she tried to find a few moments of solitude, someone always came to her. Was it too late to sink into the shadows of the corridor and pretend she had not heard? Perhaps Felipe had returned to their quarters to have another go at her. It was not unusual for him.
‘My lady!
Much closer this time. Definitely too late.
When Petra turned, she was surprised to see Nyla running towards her. ‘Companions do not run,’ she said, resenting the words she was forced to speak. Nyla did not slow down, which was unsettling, because the girl thrived on rules. ‘Whatever is the matter?’
Nyla stopped in front of her mentor, out of breath as she let the skirt of her dress fall to the stone floor. ‘She is bleeding everywhere, and I cannot wake her.’
‘Who?’ It came out as a whisper, because she already knew the answer.
‘Orla.’
What a sight, two of Corneo’s most refined women sprinting along the corridor towards the Companions’ quarters. By the time she reached the main room, Petra was panting. But she pushed on, past the lively fire sucking all the air from the room, through the door on the other side, and down the walkway that led to the bathing room.
She stopped in the doorway to take in the sight before her. Nyla pushed past, collapsing in the pool of blood beside the lifeless Companion. She had wrapped both wrists, no doubt hoping to stop the bleeding. Whatever colour the fabric had been, it was now a vivid shade of red. Petra’s gaze travelled up to Orla’s eyes, which were still open.
‘Help me!’ Nyla sobbed.
Petra blinked and stepped into the room. Kneeling on the floor, the skirt of her dress soaking up the bloody water, she lowered her head to Orla’s chest, listening for a heartbeat or any other sign of life, but all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart. She tried to feel for a pulse, but touching the icy skin only confirmed what she already knew—Orla was dead.
The mentor pushed herself back and grabbed the edge of the wooden tub while nausea rose and fell within her. ‘Fetch the physician,’ she said to Nyla. ‘And send word to Prince Felipe.’
Nyla shook her head, staring down at the corpse. ‘Can the physician do anything?’
‘No.’ Petra pulled herself up. ‘But we still have to send for him.’
Nyla’s hands went over her mouth, stifling a sob. Petra leaned forwards to help her to her feet while keeping hold of the tub.
‘Go,’ she whispered. She watched Nyla flee the room. There were so many things that needed to be done in that moment, and it was Petra’s role to implement everything instilled by her own mentor, including remaining calm and in control of the situation. Instead, she turned and vomited into the tub while her legs shook beneath her.
‘I am sorry.’ The apology was aimed at Orla, but she could not bring herself to look at the girl.
She should have begun cleaning up: herself, the dead Companion at her feet, the room. She should have washed away the fact that a young girl had chosen to take her own life rather than spend one more day in this prison. But she needed air. If she could just get some clean air, she might be able to think clearly.
Stumbling through the door, she made her way through their quarters and out into the corridor. She had planned to stop there, stand by the window and regroup, but she kept walking. Her feet squelched in her shoes and her wet skirt chafed her legs, leaving a red smudge on the ground behind her. A bloody trail. She descended the stairs and passed the laundry before exiting through the small door that led outside.
Air. She needed to breathe clean air and rid her nostrils of the metallic smell of blood.
The cold morning air was like a slap to the face. It was exactly what she needed at that moment. Gulping greedily, she glanced across the lawn. It was still too cold for people to be loitering outside unnecessarily. Just a few moments and she would return upstairs.
But when she looked down at her filthy hands and dress, she realised she could not do it. She could not go back and face that girl and the prince responsible for her death.
How would the king react? It would put ideas in his head, make him fret, and drive his paranoia. Later he would call her to his bed, needing her to reassure him. And perhaps every day after.
Her eyes went to the wall then, recalling the Companion who had escaped over it. Petra had turned a blind eye and let her flee, along with her prince. She had promised to find Petra’s son. That was the reason she had let Aldara go. Not the entire reason though. The girl had figured a way out, and who was she to deny someone an out? Now that Companion wrote to her regularly, always with the same disappointing news.
‘He was not there. I am so sorry.’
Perhaps she should go over the wall, but she did not have an elaborate plan. The narrow steps along the wall would only lead her to the top, where she would be forced to jump and likely die on the rocks below. Was that better than what awaited her inside?
‘My lady?’
She gasped and turned, surprised to find Velma, the young laundry maid who delivered her private letters, standing there. The maid’s gaze moved down her dress, eyes widening.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, shifting nervously. ‘Are you hurt?’
Petra had come outside to get some air, so why could she not breathe? ‘No.’
Velma watched her for a moment. ‘Whose blood is that?’
It was all of theirs—every Companion who suffered before and after her.
She held out her bloodstained hands, staring down at them. When she did not answer, Velma asked, ‘Should I fetch someone for you?’
Should she? No. Petra did not want to return inside. ‘I need to get out of here,’ she breathed.
Velma glanced behind her at the empty doorway before asking, ‘Do you mean out of the castle or… outside its walls?’
Petra blinked as she processed the question. She should have dismissed it and returned inside—calm, composed and ready to deal with the practicalities of what had just taken place. She should have scolded the girl for even asking such a question. Swallowing, she replied, ‘Outside its walls.’
Chapter 2
Perhaps Velma was waiting for Petra to snatch the words back, laugh them off and say it was all a big joke, because she looked very unsure in that moment. Petra opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. Did she want to take them back? It was not too late.
‘If you’re sure, I might know a way,’ Velma said, watching the mentor closely.
Petra swallowed, mind racing. She was not even sure if the girl was capable of helping her without getting them both in a lot of trouble.
‘Are you prepared to leave right now? With nothing but the clothes on your back?’
If she said no, she would have to return upstairs. She knew she would lose her nerve if she had time to think it through. ‘Yes.’
Velma looked torn for a moment, then, as though making up her mind about something, stepped past her. ‘Follow me.’
She did not know why she obeyed so blindly, but Petra turned and followed.
They walked along the stone wall, through the courtyard, which would soon be full of maids carrying baskets of laundry to be hung, until they reached the west wall. The ground was covered in mud and ice, so they kept to the narrow path that led all the way to the stables. It was the perfect opportunity for Petra to stop and question the maid, to take back some control over what she was about to do, but she did not have it in her. If Velma could be trusted to deliver and receive letters on her behalf, perhaps she could be trusted to get her out of the castle.
The whinny of a horse reached them from the mounting yard, and Petra jumped at the noise. Velma glanced over her shoulder but said nothing. When they were close to the stables, the maid held up a hand and they both stopped walking. A few grooms stood with horses, chatting as they brushed the animals down. Velma pointed to the cart outside the stalls, where a lanky boy stood shovelling straw into a wheelbarrow.
&nb
sp; ‘That’s Hugon. I’m going to marry him one day,’ Velma announced.
Petra closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I see.’ She glanced about at the trees around them, wondering why on earth she had followed this naive girl.
‘He’ll leave here shortly,’ Velma continued. ‘Soon as the cart’s loaded.’
Petra’s gaze returned to the boy. ‘You mean unloaded?’
Velma shook her head. ‘The old straw has to be taken away.’ Seeing that Petra was confused, she added, ‘The guards never check the cart because of the smell.’
The mentor’s hand went over her mouth as she digested the proposal. ‘You want me to leave here in a pile of horse manure?’
‘You’ll have to cover yourself with it.’
Press, press, press.
She raised a hand to her forehead as she tried to think past the panic and grief twisting inside her. A few moments earlier, she had been considering leaping off the top of the wall to be free of this place. Now, presented with a much safer out, she was having second thoughts about the entire thing. Where would she go if she made it through the gate? She could never return to her family. That life was over, and she would only bring danger to them.
Her hands fell to her sides. ‘Why are you helping me? Do you understand what might happen if the king finds out?’
Velma pressed her lips together before replying. ‘I wash enough linen to know what happens behind closed doors in this place.’ She glanced down at Petra’s blood-soaked dress. ‘Were you with child again?’
Again. A fair question given her long history. Petra looked down at her bloodied dress and noticed she was shivering. ‘It is not my blood.’ Orla’s face flashed in her mind, and she closed her eyes against the image. When she found the strength to open them again, she whispered, ‘I will do it.’
Velma nodded. ‘Wait here.’
Petra watched from the trees as Velma made her way to the stalls to speak with Hugon. The other grooms looked up but, seeing who it was, returned to their work. Obviously the maid’s presence at the stables was not too out of the ordinary.
Hugon stopped his work and leaned on the pitchfork, watching as Velma came towards him. As they spoke in hushed tones, Hugon glanced over in her direction, shaking his head. Understandable. There was great risk, and he did not even know her. Velma moved closer to him, speaking for another minute before he finally nodded.
Oh God. What am I doing?
Velma turned away from the boy and made her way back to Petra, twisting her apron in her hands the whole time. ‘He’ll stop on the track, just down there,’ she said, pointing to the spot. ‘Be ready to climb in. He can take you north, but only as far as Chelia.’ She frowned up at Petra. ‘Do you have somewhere to go?’
Petra swallowed. ‘I will figure it out.’
‘Do you have any coin?’
She glanced down at the jewels on her wrists and fingers. ‘I have items to trade.’
Velma shifted her weight. ‘I told Hugon you would pay him.’
Of course she had. Why else would he risk his life for her? Petra reached for the large gem hanging from a chain around her neck. ‘Good thing I am overdressed for the occasion.’
A crow flew overhead, its shadow passing over them.
‘How long until King Nilos comes looking for you?’ Velma asked.
Petra shook her head, thinking. ‘I do not know. It might take him some time to figure out I am not here.’
‘Then he’ll come for you. He loves you. More than the queen, they say.’
It was not love, but the easiest response was a nod. He would come for her because she belonged to him, and he would turn the kingdom upside down until he found her.
* * *
‘I need you.’
It was always the same. ‘You do not need me.’
‘I do. If you were to leave—’
‘I cannot leave.’
He kissed her stomach. ‘Because you love me?’
‘Because you will not let me go.’
* * *
She would need to get out of Corneo. Perhaps she could go to Lord Belen’s manor in Wripis and ask Aldara to help her come up with an actual plan. The princess owed her that much. If anyone learned of her part in their escape, she would be labelled a traitor. But she had been rendered powerless the moment the Companion promised to help track down her son.
‘I think the less you know, the better.’
Velma nodded. ‘I have to get back.’ She hesitated before reaching out and giving Petra’s hand a brief squeeze. ‘I really hope I don’t see you back here.’
‘Thank you,’ Petra whispered.
Velma began to leave, then looked back. ‘And I hope you find your son.’ She turned and hurried back up the path towards the castle.
It seemed everyone remembered the one pregnancy that had not been terminated.
Blood had dried on Petra’s hands, and her skin felt like paper. She wiped them on the skirt of her dress, but it did not help.
She looked over at Hugon to gauge his progress. He had just returned to the cart with a wheelbarrow full of old straw and was now shovelling it in. Slipping between the trees, she made her way down to the waiting spot Velma had pointed out. With her back resting against a trunk, she looked about, expecting the guards to come for her at any moment. At one point she thought she heard shouting and worried they were already looking for her, but it was just the grooms’ conversations carried on the breeze.
The more time that passed, the faster her heart raced. Her mouth went dry, and she was no longer aware of the cold air as she sweated beneath her gown. No cloak, no water, no food. It was not too late to return to the castle, to explain her absence, to prepare the dead Companion for her burial. But then what? She would have to welcome another, train her, and hand her over to Prince Felipe. As much as she liked to think of herself as strong, she knew she did not have it in her to ruin another life.
Ten minutes later, she heard a cart approaching. Pushing off the tree, she peered between the trunks as Hugon made his way towards her. The reins were relaxed in his hands while he whistled a tune, no doubt to warn her of his approach.
Only once the cart was directly in front of her did she dare step out onto the road. The horse stopped, and for a moment she worried she might not have the courage to climb in. There was a good chance she would be found, maybe even executed. He continued to whistle while gesturing for her to get in. She sucked in a breath, then moved to the back of the cart and climbed up.
The overwhelming smell of urine and manure made her throat close and her stomach heave, but she lay down and began pushing large handfuls of the filthy straw over herself. Hugon jumped down and walked around to help, whistling the entire time. He used the pitchfork to push the straw over her until she was fully covered. When her stomach heaved again, she wormed a hand up to cover her nose and mouth. The cart lurched forwards, and she worried the straw would shift as they swung side to side over the bumpy surface.
The screech and crunch of the portcullis rising made her heart squeeze. As predicted, no guard came to check the cart. No words were exchanged. A moment later, they rocked into motion and she heard the portcullis lower behind them. One more gate and then they would be outside the walls. She listened for the noise in front, but the only sound was that of footsteps approaching.
‘You’ll have to wait’ came a voice much too close to her.
Petra held her breath.
‘What’s the problem?’ Hugon asked, his tone easy-going.
Footsteps moved around the cart. ‘No one in, no one out,’ replied the guard.
‘Why is that?’
‘A death in the castle.’
Petra’s lips pressed tightly together. At least there was no mention of her.
‘How long will the wait be, do you think?’ Hugon asked.
The guard paused at the back of the cart. ‘As long as it takes. I just follow orders.’
‘Sorry about the stench,’ Hugon said.
&nb
sp; The guard coughed as the smell took over the air.
‘Corneo’s finest horse shit,’ Hugon said before resuming whistling.
The footsteps moved on, quicker that time. Petra heard another guard complain of the smell, but no one let them pass. The horse became restless, taking a few steps back.
‘Easy, boy,’ Hugon called.
More waiting.
Petra wondered how much longer she could keep still. The guards on the wall above could see straight into the cart. Finally, a guard appeared behind them and shouted through the gate. ‘Suicide. Let him through.’
Suicide.
One word that conjured images of Orla’s naked form, lifeless on the floor. She finally exhaled at the sound of the gate lifting. She felt dizzy from holding her breath, and with the prospect of being outside the walls that had held her captive for so long. The cart rolled forwards, and although she could not see past the straw covering her, she noticed a change in light as the sky opened above her.
They descended a gentle slope down to the main road, and a few minutes later Hugon reached back and pushed the straw off her head, his face appearing above her.
‘Thought you might like some air,’ he said. ‘Best keep the rest of you covered though, just to be safe.’
She nodded, her lungs expanding, taking in the clean air. She tried not to look at the straw because the smell was bad enough. Instead, she watched the sky. Grey clouds stretched in all directions, the cold season’s final attempt to hold on. She tried to remember how far was it from Chelia to Wripis, where Lord Belen’s manor was located. Everything she knew about geography had been learned from lessons and books. Prior to that, she had never travelled far from Pamid, a village in the south of Corneo where she had grown up. Aside from weeds and a few sturdy animals, nothing really survived that far south. Her family had done what most families did, learning to live with the little they had and hoping they had a daughter pretty enough to capture the attention of the royal men.
A few hours later, the roads grew noisy, and Hugon turned in his seat to cover her properly once more. He was kind enough to try and pick some of the cleaner parts of hay. She heard the laughter of children as they entered the village. The sound made her breath catch. How long had it been since she had heard that noise? Years. So many years.