pondered the likelihood of that knight knowing about a Lady Juana who had been stolen away by Sultan Tariq. It must have caused a scandal at the time.
Leonor set aside her knife with a sigh. It wasn’t likely that those men would be relatives.
She felt oddly nervous, as though she was on the verge of making a momentous decision. Her stomach was in knots and, most curious of all, her hands were shaking.
There must be a way to use the arrival of the Spanish knights to learn more about Mamá. This was a rare chance to talk to someone who might have heard about Lady Juana. If she let it slip by, she would never forgive herself. She had to speak to one of those prisoners.
The image of the knight in the crimson tunic came into focus at the back of her mind. Despite his chains, he had an air of command about him.
Mind working furiously, Leonor pushed the fruit bowl towards Alba. ‘Figs?’
Alba shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’
Leonor frowned and glanced at Constanza.
‘Constanza? Figs?’
‘No, thank you.’
Leonor stared at her sisters, both of whom ached to know more about their mother, just as she did. She clenched her fists. She was going to speak to that Spanish knight.
And if her father found out? Her heart thumped. She opened her mouth and swiftly shut it again. The knots in her belly were warning her that she was on her own with this. It was too dangerous to involve anyone else. If she was caught, she alone must bear the blame. Her plans must remain secret.
She glanced towards the door arch. Inés sat in the outer chamber, keeping close to her charges, as usual. Her father’s habit of punishing servants for the Princesses’ sins meant Leonor couldn’t discuss this with Inés either.
She toyed with her eating knife. Watched and guarded as they were, it wouldn’t be easy.
Yet somehow, she must manage it without inflicting her father’s anger on someone else.
Her gaze lit on a curl of manuscript next to Constanza’s lute.
A letter! She would write the Sultan a letter.
With luck, she’d never need to dispatch it, and the letter could be kept purely as a safeguard, in case she was caught. The Sultan’s wrath was legendary, and if Leonor was discovered to have visited the prison, she doubted he would listen to reason. He might, however, read a letter, especially one she had written before speaking to the knight. The letter would set out most clearly that she had acted alone, and it would stress her fervent wish to learn about her mother’s family. The Sultan must be made to understand she couldn’t rest until she knew more.
‘Inés?’
Inés appeared in the door arch. ‘Princess Leonor?’
Leonor smiled. ‘Please fetch another lamp. I shall need parchment, a quill and some ink.’
Her duenna’s eyebrows rose. ‘You wish to write?’
‘Aye.’
‘Very well, my lady.’
* * *
Shortly after cockcrow, Leonor was waiting behind a group of soldiers as the door of the prison scraped open. It had been surprisingly easy to persuade a castle guard to escort her there. The man she had approached—Yusuf—clearly had no clue he was speaking to one of the Princesses. He’d been eager to earn a little gold and no questions had been asked. So here she was, heavily veiled and disguised in the clothing of a maidservant.
Despite the ease of getting to the prison, Leonor was shaking from head to toe. If the Sultan found out... None the less, she had convinced herself that the letter she’d tucked into her jewel box would exonerate Yusuf from all blame.
The soldiers in front of her were laden with sacks of bread and flasks of ale for the prisoners. Also waiting to go inside were a handful of people who undoubtedly had paid handsomely to visit the noble Spanish captives. Leonor did her best to blend in and prayed no one noticed how much she was shaking.
Unhappily, she was the only woman and she soon realised that was enough to attract attention. Her throat was dry. This was the hardest thing she had done in her life. Not knowing what to expect, she forced herself to step into a stuffy corridor. Yusuf kept close.
They passed through another door and entered a room filled with many prisoners. Sight of so many men crammed together turned her insides to water. The smell was appalling; it caught in the back of her throat, so sickly sweet it was hard not to gag. Death crouched in every corner. Sounds were ugly. Someone was screaming in pain. Gaunt and hungry men swore at each other as they elbowed each aside to get to the food. It was grim beyond her worst imaginings.
These were her father’s enemies.
Leonor’s stomach lurched as it hit home. God have mercy, these men were here on her father’s orders. This was what her father did, he imprisoned wealthy enemies and held them until a ransom was paid for their release.
When a harsh remark was directed her way, Yusuf pressed close and muttered for her to hurry. Leonor didn’t need reminding. This was no place for a woman, that much was plain.
‘I’ll be quick,’ she whispered.
Hairs prickled on the back of her neck, the pinched faces of the captives scrabbling for bread told her that some had scarcely eaten in weeks. And these were the fortunate ones. She wasn’t going to think about what happened to those without the means to pay any ransom.
She had long been aware of the Sultan’s cruel streak. She had always resented the way he insisted that his daughters passed most of their days locked in their apartment like birds in a cage. But this! It was hard to take it in.
Her father governed Leonor and her sisters with an iron fist, but still the Princesses had been granted their moments of freedom. They’d been given gifts and privileges.
A couple of years ago, they’d learned to ride. Three beautiful grey ponies had arrived at the castle and that summer, on moonlit nights, the veiled Nasrid Princesses had ridden out accompanied by a troop of household knights. Naturally, they’d had to ignore their escort of knights, and the only person who could speak to them had been the eunuch acting as their riding instructor. It had been such a joy to escape the castle for a while. And the Princesses had learned to ride well, albeit in the darkest hours when no one was about to see them.
Leonor stared about her at the men her father had incarcerated and her throat worked. It was hard to accept that the charming and amusing father who occasionally appeared to shower his daughters with silks and jewels was the same man who lodged his noble captives in so rank a place.
As she struggled to reconcile the two images of her father—the generous parent and the cruel tyrant—her head began to throb. It was so confusing.
Willing herself to focus on finding the knight in the crimson tunic, Leonor searched the room. Luckily, in the sea of chaos—of wounded, haggard men—that bright tunic was easy to see. She found him kneeling at the side of his injured friend. She stepped closer. His tunic was somewhat the worse for wear and his dark, handsome face was tight with worry. Was his
