I scan the room. He’s telling the truth: all around me are other pairings, standing in the same position as us (including the king and queen, though Her Majesty looks uncomfortable in my uncle’s embrace). And I don’t dislike the sensation of having Siegfried hold me.
‘But I don’t know the steps.’
‘It’s easy. I’ve been watching you – you dance well. And I have a feeling you’re a quick learner, Your Grace.’ He takes my right hand in his left and settles his other hand in the small of my back, smiling down at me. ‘You’ll pick it up.’
There’s no time for me to argue. The orchestra starts playing and Siegfried begins guiding me around the floor. Luckily the steps are straightforward enough, and I fall naturally into the rhythm of the music. Every so often Siegfried tightens both hands around my waist and lifts me high into the air, and I can’t help laughing. It’s the nearest I’ve come to flying for a long time.
The ball ends in the early hours of the morning, and I feel as if I’ve barely been asleep when the castle bell wakes me. It is tolling insistently, over and over: a deep, resonant chime that echoes among the towers and vibrates through the foundations of the building. Rubbing my eyes, I go to the nearest window and unlatch the long shutters. It’s early still – very early. The sun is only just above the horizon, gilding the clouds in the eastern sky. Someone knocks on my bedroom door.
‘Come in.’
It’s Letya, bleary-eyed and wearing her dressing gown and nightcap. Lucien is hard on her heels.
‘What’s happening?’
‘You need to get dressed.’ He drags his fingers through his hair. ‘We’ve been summoned.’
Seven
I wrap my arms across my stomach as it seizes up, but Lucien shakes his head. ‘Not just us – I mean, the whole court.’ Letya is going through my wardrobe. ‘Hurry – Her Grace just needs a robe, or something to go over her nightdress.’
Letya pulls out a grey satin overdress; I slip my arms into it and do up the buttons as she fastens a belt around my waist.
‘That’ll do.’ Lucien takes my hand and starts walking briskly; I have to jog to keep up with him.
‘You still haven’t told me what’s happening.’
‘A punishment. The court has been summoned to the arena to witness it.’
‘A punishment? For what reason? And who?’
‘You’ll know soon enough.’ He stops abruptly in a corridor, glances from side to side and takes me by the shoulders. ‘Whatever you see, Aderyn, don’t say anything, or do anything. Don’t react at all.’ He’s gripping my shoulders so firmly it hurts. ‘Please – will you promise me?’
‘I promise.’
There are voices approaching. Lucien grabs my hand again and we hurry onward. More and more people join us, all moving in the same direction. Eventually we emerge onto a railed balcony, open to the cool morning air. The balcony stretches along one side of the Citadel, and there’s a smaller, higher balcony at a right angle to it. Both overlook an open space: a natural, grassy amphitheatre in the side of the mountain upon which the palace is built. The flightless servants who work in the Citadel are crowded behind the fences that enclose this arena at ground level. The arena itself is empty at the moment. But my eye is drawn towards two tall stone pillars with various metal rings and sets of manacles hanging from their sides.
I clutch Lucien’s hand tighter. He’s trying to push through the throng to a space at the far end of the balcony, where it follows the line of the wall away from the amphitheatre. But before we can get there, someone calls my name.
A servant approaches us and bows. ‘Your Grace, His Majesty has requested that you join him in the royal box.’
I turn slowly and find the king watching me, Odette and Aron next to him. He beckons. Letting go of Lucien, I join them on the smaller balcony.
The king nods briskly. ‘That’s right. Come and stand here, with your cousins.’ He runs his hand down the curve of my back as I pass, and I hold my breath so that I don’t shudder. Odette’s eyes are red-rimmed.
Aron murmurs in my ear, ‘Remember, cousin, there are no secrets here.’
‘What’s that you’re saying, my son?’ The king leans nearer.
‘Merely wishing my cousin a good morning, Father.’
‘And it is indeed a beautiful morning. Though not, perhaps, for everyone. We are here to see a punishment for treason, niece. Treason leads to instability, and instability threatens the entire kingdom. Tell me, my dear, have you heard of nobles having their wings clipped?’
‘No, uncle.’
‘It is an old punishment. But Cygnus I chose to retain it when he reformed the Honour Codes. Ah, here is the miscreant.’
Dark Guards appear from the rooms below the balcony. And held between two of them, his head bowed and bloodied, is Lord Hawkin.
I bite my lip, but my pulse is thrumming so hard that I’m sure the king must be able to hear it. One of the guards salutes the balcony. ‘Shall I read out the charges, Your Majesty?’
The king waves a hand in consent, and the guard unrolls a scroll.
‘Rees, Lord Hawkin, stands accused of malicious agitation against the crown and collaboration with foreign agents. Having confessed the same, he is hereby sentenced to have his wings clipped.’
‘Have you anything to say, Lord Hawkin?’ the king calls out. ‘We will hear you, if you wish to beg for mercy.’
Hawkin lifts his head, though it seems he has trouble focusing on the royal box. ‘I am an old man, Your Majesty. I have served the kingdom well. I have spoken nothing … nothing but the truth. If I have spoken to the wrong people, a true king would forgive my indiscretion –’
‘Enough.’ The king waves a hand, and Hawkin is gagged. ‘Carry out the sentence.’
On the main balcony an elderly woman – Lord Hawkin’s wife? – begins pleading for clemency, but no one pays her the least attention. The guards manacle Hawkin’s shoulders and wrists to the pillars so he is stretched between them. Two more guards come forward with lit torches, and a third with an axe. The smoke from the torches drifts upward; the smell of it turns my stomach. I want to grip the railing in front of me, to hold myself up, but Lucien told me not to react …
Beside me, Odette’s fingers brush against my own. A sudden burst of affection for my cousin steadies me; hidden by the folds of our gowns, we hold hands.
‘Chins up, my dears,’ the king murmurs. ‘We will at least do Lord Hawkin the courtesy of giving him our full attention.’
I raise my head, fixing my gaze on a patch of ground just in front of the spot where Hawkin is chained, so I don’t have to see what is about to happen.
But I can still hear. I hear him moaning in terror. I hear his shrieks of agony as both his arms are hewn off. Screams that go on and on, echoing off the mountainside, as the stumps are cauterized.
Until, suddenly, the screams stop. There is a long, drawn-out wheeze, and then silence, and the stink of blood and burnt flesh drifting upward on the breeze.
‘Unfortunate,’ the king observes. ‘It appears the trauma was too much for him.’
I risk a glance towards Lord Hawkin’s wife. She is slumped on the ground, unconscious, a clear space around her as if the other courtiers are afraid that something – his treason, or her grief – might be catching. Down in the amphitheatre the Dark Guards are already dragging the body away, leaving smears of blood across the emerald grass. The hacked-off limbs are left attached to the posts; a true crow is already eyeing them hungrily.