She pretended she slept but couldn’t fool herself. Her nose was frozen, but Una was too tired and too cold to lift the blankets to cover it, so she pretended it wasn’t cold and failed at that as well. She wondered if the faerie-tale princesses who fell into enchanted sleeps felt like this as they lay for a hundred years, frozen in time. How boring it must be for them after a decade or two. Truly it must be –
An image flashed through her mind.
Quickly as that, the dream came and went. A face of white bone surrounded by black hair, lying upon a golden altar, frozen and still with sleep. Suddenly its eyes were open, filled with fire and gazing at her, burning to her core. As though from a great distance, she heard Leonard’s voice, or perhaps a mere memory of his voice.
“It’s yours! Take it!”
She gasped; her eyes flew open.
Even as she stared up at the familiar embroidered faces of the sun and the moon on her canopy, the vision hung suspended in her mind’s eye, the sound of Leonard’s voice filled her ears.
It was a dream. Nothing but a dream, she told herself.
She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest, and took several long breaths. As she breathed, she became aware of the burning in her hands.
This time, the burns did not go away. When at last her maid came in to stoke up her fire an hour before dawn, Una still lay awake in her bed, grimacing in pain. The burns weren’t severe enough for her to demand an apothecary’s attentions, but they hurt even so. Nurse clucked when she saw them and concocted a soothing ointment, which she spread on Una’s fingers, then made the princess put on a pair of kid gloves to help it soak in. Una obeyed willingly enough, but when she removed the gloves later that afternoon, the burns were as red as before.
“What did you do to yourself, Miss Princess?” Nurse demanded, inspecting them and clucking still more. “Were you grabbing the fire irons in the night? You know you’re supposed to let the maid do her work; that’s why you’ve got a bell to summon her with!”
Una did not try to explain. She did not understand herself. Instead she gratefully accepted the excuse not to embroider and went to sit quietly in her window. Monster placed himself in her lap and started grooming with all the care of a dandy. Absently, Una rubbed behind his ears. His silky fur felt pleasant against the burns.
“Curious, isn’t it, Monster,” she whispered as she looked out across the gardens, on down to the Wood. “Curious how time works. How can a day be so much longer than a month?”
Monster twisted his ears without much interest and switched to washing his other paw.
“Where is he now, I wonder?” she whispered, stroking her cat’s back. Monster started to purr and raised his haunches to welcome a scratch. “You don’t suppose he has forgotten me, do you?”
Monster stated an opinion.
“Yes, well, ‘meow’ is little comfort,” Una said and tousled his ears. “I suppose I can’t expect anything, though. He said he would not be able to contact me. I wonder, how long does it take to slay a dragon? I wonder if he’ll be hurt.”
“Mreeow,” Monster said.
“Oh, don’t say that! No, he will be fine, I know it. He has learned much about dragons, you know, in the Far East. He will be fine, and he will be back by spring.”
“Mreeeow?”
“I just know it, that’s all.”
“What are you talking about to yourself?” Nurse demanded, entering the room with a basket of mending. She was generally disposed to be short with Una these days. Although Una had ceased her random fits of sobbing long ago, Nurse still disliked the mysterious bubble surrounding the princess that she was not permitted to puncture.
“I wasn’t talking to myself,” Una said. “I was talking to Monster.”
“Stop that nonsense and come talk to me instead. I’ll at least listen to you!” Nurse settled into her chair and raised her eyebrows at Una. “Well, Miss Princess?”
“Don’t call me Miss Princess,” Una said. “You only call me Miss Princess when you’re mad at me, and I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Heaven help us, if we aren’t persnickety this afternoon!” Nurse cried. She pulled a long stocking with a hole in the toe from her basket. “Can’t even use a nickname without offending these days . . . Where are you going? It’s too late to go out walking – you hear me?”
Una did not. She’d grabbed her cloak and made a swift exit. Monster trotted after her down the stairs, trilling loudly at her ankles, but she refused to let him follow her outside. Shutting the door in his nose, she ran lightly out into the garden and down to her forest.
The evening was bitter, promising a night as cold as the last. The trees cast long and longer shadows, but a bit of orange sunlight still dappled the forest floor. Una had taken to coming out to the Old Bridge nearly every day, weather permitting. It was a sweet, solitary spot where she could sit alone with her memories. She liked to recall her first meeting with the jester, when he landed on her after sneaking over the wall, a memory that always brought a smile to her face. Who would have believed that garish lunatic would, only weeks later, steal her heart so completely? This thought made her laugh as well, but always with tears behind the laughter.
Una pulled her cloak tight about herself as she stepped onto the Old Bridge. She sat down and dangled her feet over the edge but did not touch the icy water. A brisk wind blew winter smells of wet leaves and cold earth and perhaps of coming snow into her face. She closed her eyes and, leaning back on her hands and lifting her chin into the wind, let herself dream.
“Hello, Una.”
She looked over her shoulder. “My jester!” She leapt up, stumbling over her cloak. There he stood on the far side of the bridge, his foolish, bell-covered hat in his hand and his hair standing all on end. “You’re back!”
“I could stay away no longer.” He dropped the hat and held out both arms. “Will you come to me, Una? Now?”
She ran two steps forward, her footsteps echoing under the bridge. But she paused. “Lionheart,” she said. “My prince, have you killed the Dragon?”
His arms dropped loosely to his sides. “No,” he said. “No, m’lady, I am not yet a prince. I remain only your jester.” He turned, and shadows from the trees crept over him. “I know you cannot love me, only a jester.”
“Wait!” she called. “Leonard, come back! I do love you just as you are. You don’t have to slay a dragon. You don’t have to be a prince!”
“No,” he said, stepping back into the darkness. “No, you cannot love only a – ”
“My love, come back!”
She tried to run but fell.
She woke up.
Her breath came quickly. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. Sometimes the dreams were so cruelly real.
“Oh, Leonard,” she whispered, “why don’t you return?”
The orange glow of sun was almost gone, and the grays of twilight settled heavily around her. She rose to go, stepping off the bridge into the crunch of leaves and twigs on the path.
“Hello, Una.”
She spun around and screamed.
On the far side of the bridge stood the Dragon.
16
He stepped onto the Old Bridge, and the great shadows of his wings folded around him, and she saw that he wasn’t a dragon. He was a man, and the wings were a long black cloak. His skin was white, white without life, like a thin gauze overlying deeper darkness. His eyes were onyx stones, but within the blackness of each stone shone red fire.
Una choked on her scream and stood with her hands pressed to her throat. She swallowed, and her chest heaved as though she’d held her breath a long while.
The man with the white face smiled, one corner of his mouth turning up before the other, and revealed beneath his lips long, black teeth. He stepped across the bridge, his tall boots knocking hollowly on the wooden planks.
“Hello, Una,” he repeated.
“Who are you?” she gasped. Her feet were as if rooted to the ground.
; His chuckle was deep and smooth as a cat’s purr. “Oh, Una, you know me.”
She swallowed again, and her breath rattled her lungs. He drew nearer, the smile still twisting the lower half of his face. His shadow, great as a tree’s, fell over her like nightfall. His hair was black against his white, white face and seemed to wave and twine about his temples like flames. The air around her thickened, and her hands tightened on her own throat. Una could feel the burns sharp as knife wounds across her fingers.
His smile broadened. “Yes,” he said, showing all his black teeth. “I have waited a long time for this. You have the right fire, haven’t you? It is well I won the game.”
She tried to speak, but her tongue pressed uselessly against clenched teeth.
He leaned forward. She felt the heat of him and thought her face would burn. His lips drew together, and his face neared hers.
In the last possible moment before she suffocated, Una jerked her head away. She drew in gulps of cool night air and rubbed her neck where her fingernails had dug into her skin.
The man with the white face took a step back and licked his lips.
“Pardon me,” he said, his voice velvety soft. “I see you are not yet ready. Invite me to your home.”
Her voice scraped painfully through her throat. “I don’t want you in my home.”
“You do,” he said. “Invite me to your home.”
“No.” Una felt the boil of tears in her eyes.
“Invite me to your home, Una.”
She pressed her hands to her mouth, but tears spilled over and scalded her fingers.
“Una.”
“Will you come home to supper?” Una asked.
“Good girl,” the man with the white face said.
Nurse was in the garden looking for Una. “By Bebo’s crown, girl, where have you been?” she cried when Una stepped into the light of the garden lamps on the arm of the man with the white face. Nurse started when she noticed him. “Who in the – Oh!”
She gasped and drew back, her hands held out before her.
“Good evening,” the man said, smiling. “Is the family already at supper?”
Nurse nodded. Una could not look at her but fixed her gaze on her boots instead.
“Good,” the man said. “We shall join them. I have an invitation to dine. Lead us there.”
“Princess?” Nurse spoke in a small, trembling voice.
“Do as he says,” Una whispered.
Nurse led them to the door and held it for them. Una, her arm looped through the man’s elbow, felt held as though by an iron chain. She did not try to resist his pull.
Monster lurked just inside and trilled a greeting at his mistress but froze still as a statue save for the tip of his nose twitching on his blind face. Suddenly his lips drew back in a snarling hiss. He arched his back and screeched a hideous caterwaul, then darted away up the hall, his tail bristling behind him as he fled.
The man with the white face smiled down at Una. “Handsome cat,” he said. “Strange he has no eyes. Perhaps he could do without other things as well?”
She shook her head, her face pleading.
He laughed, patted her hand, and escorted her after Nurse to the dining room.
Only the king and the young prince were at the table that evening, seated in the glow of tall taper candles. Nurse bobbed a curtsy to them when she opened the door before scuttling off into a corner, where she crouched like a hunted animal.
“Ah, Una,” Fidel said when his daughter entered. “I was wondering – ” His voice died when he saw upon whose arm she hung.
“Good evening, Your Majesty,” the man with the white face said, bowing deeply. “Your daughter has invited me to dine.”
A candle sputtered.
The king’s wine glass shattered on the floor.
Fidel grabbed a carving knife and lunged at the man.
Quick as thought, the man grabbed Fidel’s wrist, twisted him around, and slammed him facedown into the table. Plates and cutlery fell and smashed. Felix leapt to his feet, shouting, “Guards!”
The man with the white face silenced him with a look. Felix fell back in his chair, his mouth shaped in a silent scream even as footsteps sounded in the hall. Guards burst into the room.
“Stay back,” the man with the white face said, turning slowly on the ten armed men who crowded the doorway.
He smiled, and they fell away, one of them crying, “Heaven shield us!”
“Well, Your Majesty,” the man with the white face said, leaning down to whisper in the king’s ear. “That wasn’t very friendly of you.”
“Monster!” the king barked. “Demon!” Wine from an overturned cup ran into his beard, staining his face like blood.
“Sticks and stones, dear king,” the man laughed. His grip on Fidel’s wrist tightened until the king’s fingers went blue and he dropped his knife. The man in the black cloak hauled him upright and turned him to face his guards, who shifted and growled, hands on their weapons. “Everyone out,” the man said, glancing at Felix.
The prince staggered to his feet. “No,” he said weakly. “Release my – ”
“Out, boy, and take the old woman with you,” the man said, chuckling deep in his throat. “Do you think you won’t obey me?”
Felix swayed, his eyes rolling in his head. “Father?” he gasped.
“Go, son,” the king said, sagging in the man’s grasp. “Go on.”
Felix took one unsteady step, then another. Then he ran to Nurse, dragging her up by the elbow and out of the room.
“Guards next,” the man with the white face said, his voice smooth and pleasant. “If you would be so kind?” He took a step toward them, the king held before him. One by one, the guards backed from the room, each one gasping as though great weights pressed on his lungs.
“Come, Una,” the man said, turning to the princess, who stood with her back pressed to the wall, her hands over her face. “Take my arm. We’re going for a stroll.”
King Fidel roared and struggled, but the man in the black cloak tightened his grip still more until the bones of the king’s wrist were close to snapping. “No fuss,” the man said. “Come, Una.”
She slipped her hand through his elbow.
The three of them, thus linked, followed the guards, Felix, and Nurse down the corridor to the great entrance hall of the castle. There most of the household was already gathered – lords, ladies, and servants alike – looking at each other in quiet puzzlement, like people in a dream, none knowing why the others were there. A little maid saw the entourage from the dining room – first the prince and Nurse, then the guards, then the king gripped by the man with the white face. She screamed and collapsed against a footman in a dead faint.
The man with the white face looked upon them all. Then he spoke a single word. “Out.”
The hall filled with screams. Men and women tore and scratched at each other as they streamed through the great doors out into the yard and gardens, rushing as one body for the gates. Even the guards followed. Una lost sight of Felix and Nurse.
Soon the three of them – the man, the king, and the princess – were alone.
The man with the white face flung the king to the floor. Moaning, Fidel pushed himself to his knees, but the man kicked him down. Una cried out and tried to run to her father, but the man put out a hand, blocking her. Una grabbed the hand and bit into it, and animal sounds snarled in her throat. The man looked at her and laughed, shaking her off as if she were a small kitten. She tried to leap at him again, but a single glance froze her in place.
The man with the white face turned back to Fidel, crouched on his hands and knees. “Out,” the man said. “Follow your people.” He stepped forward, and Fidel, still on his knees, crawled back. “I don’t need to kill you,” the man said, “as long as you do as you’re told.”
The king crawled backward all the way to the threshold, unable to tear his eyes from the man’s shadowed face. Once Fidel was outside, the man with the white face
allowed him to rise to his feet.
“Una,” the king cried, holding out his hands, the one blackened and bruised.
“She stays with me,” the man said, stepping outside into the courtyard. Night wind grabbed his cloak and flared it out behind him.
“Never!” Fidel started forward but fell away as a burst of flame billowed toward his face.
The black cloak expanded, swelling like storm clouds into vast wings. The man raised his hands, and they were talons, cruel and curved. The red in his eyes swirled and swelled until it engulfed the blackness in raging heat. Fire spilled from his mouth, and he grew and towered over the king, high as three stories, reptilian scales gleaming in the glow of his own fire. Fidel screamed and fell on his face. The Dragon’s roaring laugh lashed the sky.
“She stays with me,” he said, “as a testimony of your good faith not to trouble me with armies and battles! Burnt human flesh sours good air. Go now, little king. I’ll let you know my good pleasure in time. Be prompt in obedience. Go!”
The king fled through the gates in a cloud of foul smoke and fumes.
The Dragon turned on Una, who hung on the door, all but fainting. Great red eyes pierced her own, gazing deeper and deeper, until she thought her spirit and soul were consumed in fire.
But somewhere deep in the recesses of her heart, something remained unburned. She grasped at it, gasping with the effort. The Dragon leaned closer, flames licking through his teeth, and she collapsed on her knees. Yet a small knot of peace lingered beyond the flames, cool and unsoiled. She took hold of it in her mind, clutching it close.
“He will come,” she whispered.
The Dragon drew back his head, and she slumped against the doorpost, her hair falling to cover her reddened face.
“Ah,” the Dragon said. “I see.” Smoke poured from his nostrils. “Very well. You’ll be ready in time.” He turned away, his tail sliding against her, knocking her back into the palace, and he crawled into the darkness of the garden, lighting the way with flames in the leafless stems and shrubs. “Go to your room, little mouthful,” he called over his shoulder. “We shall see much of each other, but for now you may retire.”
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