Leo snorted and returned his attention to Leanbear. “Stand aside.”
“For your own sake, I will not,” said he.
Suddenly, to the surprise of everyone watching, Daylily stepped forward. With a sneer on her face for the carriage man and Foxbrush, she passed between them and approached the veiled girl. Rose Red had remained silent and trembling throughout the encounter, her goat pressed up against her legs. Daylily stood more than a head taller than she and looked like some ancient goddess to Rose Red, crowned by all that russet hair shining in the setting sun’s light. Daylily’s face alone in that crowd showed neither fear nor anger.
Which made her still more terrible.
Rose Red had been taught social niceties only in the vaguest theory. So when she tried to curtsy, it was not a pretty sight, and her scrawny limbs stuck out at awkward angles. But Daylily’s keen eyes noticed a certain natural grace behind the awkwardness, and her mouth set in a thin line.
“So you are the goat girl,” she said quietly.
Rose Red, still crouched in her curtsy, whispered, “And it please m’lady.”
“Leo has spoken of you,” Daylily said. “Several times, in fact. He is, I believe, fond of you.”
“And it please you,” Rose Red repeated.
Daylily studied the slit in the veil. It revealed nothing of the girl’s face, not even a glimpse of her eyes. “Why are you veiled?” Daylily asked. Her voice was too soft to be heard by any save Rose Red and her goat.
Rose Red gulped. “That is my secret,” she said.
“Does he know your secret?”
Rose Red hesitated before she shook her head.
Daylily did not believe her. She knew very well what those gathered in the yard thought of the goat girl, what they believed she hid beneath all those rags. But Daylily was not one to believe simply because everyone else said it was so. Her own idea began to form then and there, an idea she did not altogether like.
She turned to Leo. “You have asked this girl to become your servant?” she said.
“I have,” Leo replied. His tone was defensive.
“Then why is she not inside being prepared for the journey?”
Leo flung up his hands. “Don’t you hear what they’re saying? They think she’s . . . they think there’s something wrong with her, and they’re scared. It doesn’t take half a brain to see she’s as harmless as a butterfly, but they’re scared out of their minds, the dragon-eaten fools!”
Daylily did not budge in the face of his bluster, but let him talk until he’d quite run down. All the while the household staff watched and the goat girl cringed behind her goat. When at last he had finished, Daylily took a step closer to him.
“Are you the prince?” she asked. “Or aren’t you?”
Leo’s face drained of color.
For a long moment, he did not breathe. Then he turned to those assembled. If his voice cracked when he spoke, it was still deep and full of force.
“I declare to you all, by the blood in my veins, by the sign of the panther, and the blessing of the Silent Lady on the house of my forefathers: This girl is my servant and under my protection. You will treat her as such. I, Lionheart, son of Hawkeye, Crown Prince of Southlands, command it.”
7
ROSE RED SAT IN THE RUMBLE SEAT on the back of the carriage, looking backward up the path down which the carriage rolled. With one hand, she gripped a side bar to keep herself from being jostled out of place; the other hand she wrapped around Beana’s neck as the goat knelt awkwardly beside her.
Rose Red’s head hurt from gazing up the mountain, from watching those familiar peaks grow smaller and smaller, from passing out of forests she knew better than her own face into lands unknown, surrounded by strangers.
Strangers who hated her.
She closed her eyes.
The crown prince! How, by Hymlumé’s light, had she missed that detail? “Hen’s teeth!” she muttered. “What a fool I am.”
The moment she’d understood what Leo said, panic had seized her, and she had flown up through the gate and up the mountain, using secret paths she hoped that he could not follow. But Beana could, and did. The goat had caught up to her by the creek.
“What are you thinking, fool girl?” she bleated. “Get yourself back down there at once, do you hear?”
“He’s the crown prince, Beana!” Rose Red cried, burying her face in her hands. “I didn’t know it! I swear.”
“I know you didn’t,” Beana replied. “But you do now. And you’ve left him in an awful pickle by running off! It took some nerve on his part to stand up to all of them for you, and this is how you’re going to repay him?”
“I cain’t go back there.”
Beana rolled her eyes to the heavens, muttering, “Lumé grant me grace! What did we just spend a whole afternoon arguing over?”
Rose Red did not have the chance to answer, for Leo stumbled through the brush and fell into the creek the next moment. Up to the elbows in muddy water, he bellowed, “Dragon’s teeth!” then glared at Rose Red for all he was worth. “Dragons eat you, Rosie. Why did you run away?”
To Rose Red’s horror, she thought she saw tears glimmering in his eyes. But only for a second.
She got to her feet and scrambled into the creek to help him upright. “I’m so sorry, Leo—Your Highness,” she said, then bobbed another of her awkward curtsies. “I didn’t know who you were or else I’d never ha—”
“And that’s just why I didn’t want you to know!” Leo exclaimed. “Don’t you see, Rosie, the minute you found out, I knew you’d do just what you’ve done. Did you think you were the only person on this mountain who wanted a friend? A friend who could see past names and titles and . . . and veils?”
Rose Red could not answer. She bowed her head, ashamed.
“I knew you’d run off on me.” His voice was tight, angry. “And I didn’t think there was a chance in this world that I’d find you again.” He put out a hand to her, and his voice softened as though afraid to frighten her away. “Rosie, we’ve both kept secrets. But I’m still Leo. You’re still you. Titles and veils and all that nonsense . . . it doesn’t change anything.”
When she looked up, she saw no more trace of tears in his eyes. But they were large and serious when he spoke. “Please don’t leave me again. Come back, and let’s do as we planned.”
“Leo—I mean, Your Highness . . .”
Suddenly he was there again, deep in her mind. The voice that she knew could not be real, but that screamed all of her fears in words of fire.
I’ll make him pay!
She cringed and bowed her head. But Leo was still with her, and he put his hands on her shoulders, gently, as though half expecting her to hurl him across the creek in a second. She didn’t but stood stiff as a board while he carefully held her at arm’s length.
“We can’t be friends anymore, of course,” he said. “It’s not allowed. But you can be my servant, and I can watch out for you, just like we agreed. Nobody can touch you as long as you’re under my protection; it’s the law. Only the Eldest himself can reverse my command. And he won’t. Father’s a good sport, really, if a little stiff on taxes sometimes. And Mother won’t cross Father, so you’re safe. Do you see?”
Don’t leave me, princess.
“You’re not real,” she hissed.
Leo trembled at the sound of her voice, but he couldn’t understand the words. “I’m sorry, Rosie, what was that?” She looked up at him. He thought, if only for an instant, that he caught a glimpse of her eyes through the slit of fabric. Then the folds settled, and he realized he must have imagined it. “Are you coming with me?” he asked.
She nodded.
And here Rose Red was now, riding on the back of that carriage, leaving the mountain far behind her.
Come back to me, princess, or I will come find you.
Rose Red glanced at her goat in the rumble seat beside her, eyes half closed, chewing her cud. She did not hear the fiery voice. No on
e else did.
“I must be mad,” Rose Red whispered to herself.
As though to confirm that thought, her Imaginary Friend sang suddenly from the trees along the roadside.
Beyond the Final Water falling,
The Songs of Spheres recalling.
When you find you must pursue that lonely way,
Won’t you return to me?
Rose Red’s eyes flashed and her breathing came fast. Though she dared not speak aloud with Beana right beside her, she fairly shouted in her mind. Since her friend was only imaginary, he would hear her.
“I will never return!”
My child, sang the bird who was also a prince, I am with you wherever you go. Even as your heart wanders from me.
“You’re worse than my Dream!” Her own voice rattled in her head. “How you plague me. I want nothin’ to do with either of you! I may be mad, I may hear voices, but that don’t mean I’ve got to stay that way.”
Don’t forget that I love you, sang the thrush.
“I’ll forget, all right. ’Cause it’s nothin’ but a pretty story . . . a children’s tale. Where were you when my old dad was taken and I was left to starve? Dreams and stories . . . they cain’t be depended on. I’ve got to make my own way now. And Leo—Prince Lionheart, that is—he’s goin’ to help me. He’s my good and kind master now.”
The Prince’s voice was faint, singing as though across a vast gulf.
Don’t forget my name. . . .
And when that voice had faded, the Dream’s remained.
I will come find you.
Behind the prince’s carriage, in which both Lionheart and Foxbrush rode in stony silence, came the coach of the Baron of Middlecrescent’s daughter. Daylily sat alone inside; her serving woman, at her order, had climbed out to sit in front with the driver. Thus Daylily had time to think many thoughts as she followed Prince Lionheart down the mountain.
Prince Lionheart and his little protégée.
“What secret is she hiding?” Daylily whispered. “There’s something more here than meets the eye. These fools are scared to death of her, but why then is Leo so . . . so”—she bit out the word—“smitten?”
Daylily thought she knew the answer. What is more, she determined to verify her hypothesis at the first possible opportunity.
The Starflower Fountain stood in the front courtyard of the Eldest’s House. It was two stories tall, a fantastic piece of workmanship carved in white marble, portraying Southlands’ famous historic heroine, Maid Starflower, Panther Master’s daughter, wearing very little, truth be told. A tiny stone bird sat on one shoulder, a classic icon in every depiction of the maid, the meaning of which everyone had long since forgotten. The maid herself stood with one arm raised above her head, the other flung out before her as though to ward off the monstrous wolf that stood opposite her, baring its marble teeth. Her body formed a crescent arch, and her proportions were haphazard at best. The fountain was nevertheless revered as a great depiction of that lady after whom half the girls of Southlands were named.
Queen Starflower stood beside her husband on the steps facing the fountain. She was not a beautiful woman like her namesake. But she was strong. King Hawkeye was proud to have her as his queen and depended on her in countless ways of which his subjects had no knowledge. The queen knew, however; she knew without question how indispensable she was to her husband. And she also knew how important it would be for her son to have a capable wife. Lionheart was a handsome boy but weak. Stubborn as well, which Starflower considered the most dangerous form of weakness. It would take a strong woman to manage him as he managed the kingdom.
The two carriages and several horsemen who served as escorts passed through the Eldest’s gardens and on through the gates leading to the Eldest’s House itself. The House was not fortified, for it was no fortress but rather a palace of tall spires and minarets and sweeping wings, the grandest house in all of Southlands. Its structure had a strong northern influence, including the great hall with doors opening east and west, but built of orange-hued stone, it was distinctly southern in effect. Many of its passages were open to the elements to keep air moving, for the atmosphere of Southlands was balmy at best, oppressive at worst. Servants stood in doorways, waving fans, and though ladies of fashion wore many petticoats, their shoulders were bare and their hair piled up to keep it off their necks.
Everything was so beautiful yet so hot after the mountain air. Even Daylily found herself momentarily longing for Hill House and the cool breezes of the high country.
King Hawkeye and Queen Starflower stood outside, surrounded by attendants, to receive their son. Prince Lionheart bowed to them both and accepted a stern kiss from his mother. Then he indicated Daylily and Foxbrush and said formally, “I have invited my cousin and Lady Daylily of Middlecrescent to stay awhile with us. At your pleasure, of course, Father.”
Hawkeye nodded, and the barest hint of a smile touched the queen’s face as she glanced from Lionheart to Daylily and back again. But Daylily’s face was unreadable, and her son seemed distracted. This did not bode well, and Starflower’s smile was replaced with a line.
Rose Red hopped down from the back of the carriage, arranging her veils as best she could and clinging to Beana’s tether like a lifeline. The queen’s gaze fixed upon her as an arrow to the mark. Rose Red shuddered; she felt as though that mighty lady could see right through her veils, down to the marrow of her soul. She bowed her head and curtsied deeply.
“Bah,” Beana grumbled.
“Who is this person?” Starflower asked her son.
“My servant,” Prince Lionheart said, his voice calm, though a trace of worry lingered on his face. “She’s an orphan I met in the mountains. I’ve engaged her to work in my personal service.”
Starflower studied her son, analyzing not only what he had said but also how he had said it. Then she turned to Foxbrush, her favorite nephew, her eyes asking him silent questions. But even faithful young Foxbrush averted his eyes and shuffled his feet, unwilling to give information.
“Why does she wear that veil?” King Hawkeye asked. His voice was kindly enough.
Lionheart licked his lips, then shrugged. “Birthmark. She’s embarrassed.”
Starflower looked to Daylily, whose face told her nothing. Her own eyes narrowed at her son.
Lionheart cleared his throat and said in a stronger tone, “I’ve given orders that she will be under my protection, and that any who disturb her will suffer my displeasure. Is this agreeable to you, Father?” His eyes flickered to his mother’s.
Hawkeye nodded. “Of course, my boy, if that is your will.”
That is how Rose Red was brought into the Eldest’s House and officially admitted into Prince Lionheart’s service.
8
So tell me, is this what you want?”
Lionheart opens his eyes and finds that strange dark face surrounded by white hair bending over him. He gasps, but she smiles at him, and her smile eases his fear.
“Is it?”
“What . . . what do you mean?”
“You have the girl, this little friend of yours, safely in your service. You have proven yourself able to step up to your role as Prince of Southlands and make others do your bidding. Is this then what you want? Is this the life you have chosen, the dream you desire above all others? Do you wish to be the prince you were born to be?”
He sits up, and her face pulls back. Her clothing blends into the night’s shadows. All he can see is the light from her eyes and the glow of her long, long hair. She is horrible and beautiful.
“I don’t know what I want,” he says. “I don’t want to be trapped, that’s all I know.”
“Trapped, my sweet one?”
“You know. Forced into a role just because it’s expected of me.”
Her smile grows. “You want freedom. I can give you that.”
Lionheart shakes his head. “You can’t make me other than I am. I am Prince of Southlands, and I need to be a prince. There�
�s no two ways about it.”
“Not when you are one of my darlings,” says she. “Wait a little longer. I will set you free.”
He nods and closes his eyes.
The Lady turns from him and steps out of his dreams back into her own world, seating herself upon her dark throne. Her brother is there, lurking in the shadows. She feels the heat from his eyes and it annoys her.
“What is it?”
“Don’t even think about breaking the rules,” says he. He steps into her line of vision, his eyes ringed in flames, his black teeth gnashing. “She is mine.”
“I never said she wasn’t.”
“You gave her to him. My princess! My prize! You gave her to him like a gift.”
The Lady shrugs. “She’s not what he wants. She’s only a means.”
“A means to what?”
“A means to get him on the path to his own self-discovery, so that I may at last discern what his true desire is and”—she hides her smile behind a hand—“give it to him.”
“But the girl is mine.”
“You’ve not kissed her yet.”
“I will!”
“Not now that she has fled the mountain, you won’t.”
Flames fall from between his teeth and land in sparks upon the misty floor. “She will return within a year and a day.”
“Or what?”
“Or suffer my wrath.”
“And tell me, brother, how will this wrath of yours manifest itself?”
He does not answer, but his sister sees everything she needs in his face, and it does not displease her.
1
THE BARON OF MIDDLECRESCENT eyed his daughter from across his desk. This desk was more like a throne really, a true seat of power from which the baron controlled his barony and, truth be told, the baronies of more than a few of his peers. All in the name of good King Hawkeye, of course; Middlecrescent was unbendingly loyal. If ever his views crossed the Eldest’s, it would only be because Middlecrescent was best positioned to recognize benefit to his liege lord. If he pulled a few strings here and there, subtly gainsaying his master’s wishes, manipulating his pawns into positions he deemed more suitable, it was only with the best interests of King Hawkeye at heart.
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