Veiled Rose

by Anne Elisabeth Stengl

  “I will return for you.”

  Lionheart pulled to a halt, his heart leaping to his throat. Someone else was in the gardens at this bizarre hour! Someone close. His hat momentarily forgotten, Lionheart sidestepped behind a shrub, taking shelter in its dark shadows. He peered through the branches and saw two figures farther down the way. The smaller one was a woman, but she stood with her back to him and he could not see her face. The other, he recognized in a moment: the Prince of Farthestshore.

  The woman spoke, and her voice was harsh. “I . . . I don’t want you to return!”

  Una! Lionheart’s fists clenched. She sounded distressed. Should he go to her? But one look at the Prince’s face, which the moonlight revealed, and Lionheart held his peace and remained where he stood.

  “Nevertheless,” said the Prince, “I will come back for you.”

  Hate him!

  The Lady’s words hissed through his mind.

  Hate him! Loathe him!

  Lionheart had never before heard that icy voice so full of venom and fire. In that moment, it was almost indistinguishable from the Dragon’s. He shivered and sweated where he stood.

  “Please, Una,” said the Prince of Farthestshore, “let me tend your hurts before I go. . . .”

  Then Una was backing away from him up the path. Lionheart heard her voice, angry and fast, and he only just restrained himself from leaping out to her defense, though from what he would defend her he could not say.

  Hate him, whispered the Lady.

  “Go already, if you’re going to!” Princess Una cried. The dismay in her voice could have broken hearts. Lionheart longed to comfort her. “I wish you’d gone ages ago! I wish . . . I wish you’d never come!”

  Then she rushed up the path at a furious pace, her bedgown clutched in both fists. But the Prince of Farthestshore kept pace beside her, and Lionheart heard him say clearly, “Una. I love you, Una. I will return to ask for your hand. In the meanwhile, please don’t give your heart away.”

  Lionheart saw the expression on the princess’s face as she passed so close to him. He saw the tears, the sorrow, and even the pain. Then she was gone up the path, and the Prince of Farthestshore stood alone in the moonlight, only a few feet from where Lionheart hid.

  Hate! breathed the Lady. Her voice was very small now, as though afraid to be overheard.

  “Preeeowl?” said the cat. It sat at Lionheart’s feet and dropped the jester’s hat. Lionheart gasped, and the Prince of Farthestshore turned and looked directly at him, his gaze piercing the shadows.

  “Prince Lionheart,” he said, “come out.”

  Lionheart stepped forward, aiming a kick at the cat as he went, which the creature dodged with ease. It scampered forward and twined itself about the Prince of Farthestshore’s ankles, flicking its tail and purring smugly. The Prince gently pushed it away with one foot, though it came right back, still purring.

  “Good . . . good evening, Your Highness,” Lionheart said with a deep bow. “Pardon this disturbance, but the cat stole my hat.” He reached out and picked it up, jangling it to emphasize the truth of his words. Why must he feel like a thief caught with his hand in the jewelry box? It wasn’t his fault the cat had made free with his belongings! It wasn’t his fault he’d overheard.

  “Lionheart,” said the Prince of Farthestshore, “it is time for me to go.”

  Lionheart blinked. “Um. Your Highness, my name is Leonard. I am not the person you seem to think I am.”

  “One of mine is threatened,” said the Prince, never breaking Lionheart’s gaze. “She is one of yours as well. I must return to Southlands and liberate her when she calls.”

  Lionheart licked his lips and took a step back, bowing again quickly. Return to Southlands! In that moment, how desperately he longed for his homeland.

  “Come with me,” said the Prince. His eyes were endlessly deep, and they bored into Lionheart’s. Lionheart turned away. “Come with me, back to your kingdom. Together we can face the Dragon.”

  A raging desire to drop that wretched jester’s hat and kick it to the moon filled Lionheart. To kick it all to the moon and follow this Prince back to his homeland. To finally, after all these long years, face the monster and reclaim his kingdom.

  No! The Lady clutched at his mind. Don’t forget your dream! How will you fulfill your dream if you depend on this man? You must save Southlands. You, and you alone. Take the ring, as I told you, and you will learn how to rid Southlands of my brother’s presence once and for all.

  Her voice was like daggers inside him. It pained him even to consider disobeying.

  Take the ring, and don’t listen to this man!

  The Prince of Farthestshore extended his hand and spoke gently. “Come with me, prince. Now is the time.”

  Don’t forget your dream. He is trying to take it from you!

  Lionheart shook his head and continued backing away into the shadows. “No,” he said. “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am no prince. I am a humble jester. Do . . . do what you think you must, Your Highness, but I’ll have no part of it.”

  The cat spat at him, its ears pinned back. “Peace,” said the Prince, and the creature subsided. Then he spoke to Lionheart one last time. “It is your choice to make,” he said. “You do not have to obey the one who haunts your dreams. Come with me.”

  Lionheart clutched the jester’s hat tightly in both fists. “No!” he said.

  Then he was running up the path, the same way Princess Una had run. He felt as though the Lady herself pursued at his heels, her voice filling his senses.

  Remember your dream.

  10

  THE NETHERWORLD

  THE GOAT FELT all the Dragon’s powers seeking to drive her back. But his barriers had fallen the moment Rose Red sang the song on the Dark Water. Let him do his worst; there would be no keeping Beana from her charge now!

  She barreled through the door and stopped a moment in the front hall, turning this way and that, her keen yellow eyes taking in more than what was readily apparent. She saw how much the Eldest’s House had slipped into the Netherworld. She saw the Dragon’s poisons climbing like ivy up the walls.

  “Bah!” she bleated and trotted across the hall floor, her sharp hooves clattering on the marble. She followed her nose, followed the strongest of the awful stenches, and it took her to the doorway that should lead to a servants’ stair but didn’t.

  Here she paused and dropped all traces of her goat disguise. “May my heart beat with courage,” she whispered in song and in prayer. Then, bracing herself, she stepped through the portal into the darkness of Death’s Path.

  But the Path held no fear for her. The lady knight immediately recognized it for what it was. Although it passed through his domain, this Path did not belong to the Dragon. It belonged to her Master, and she could walk it with ease.

  Her heart rose in her breast as she made long strides down into the darkness. One would have thought from the look on her face that she soared on eagle’s wings. Following the silver light of the lantern, she hastened to the grave of the Brothers Ashiun and knelt a moment in respect to their memory. When she took the lantern from the stone, it yet remained in place to guide future travelers. Such was the power of that light.

  The Asha Lantern’s beam sliced through the half-light and gloom, across the far reaches of the Netherworld. The Wolf Lord did not try to cross her. The Dragonwitch trembled and hid her face. The Black Dogs turned tail and fled, dragging their Midnight behind them. The lady knight hastened down into Death’s world.

  She had passed this way before. This time she was not afraid.

  The veil fell away and lay at Rose Red’s feet. She looked into her own face, reflected back at her in startling clarity.

  It was a face of unreal beauty.

  Wide silver eyes set in a skin like warm gold. Thick black hair with glints of red fell in a tumble down below her shoulders, curling gently about a slender neck. Her lips were full and red. Her cheekbones wer
e fine and distinct.

  But above all, she glowed with a life that was more than life, which shone from every fiber of her being. Hers was a beauty beyond that of mortals. The words of the man she called father returned to her:

  “My Rose Red, you are a Faerie child. Born different from everyone else, and that’s why you look the way you do.”

  “Faerie child,” she whispered.

  “That’s right, sweet princess,” said the Dragon. He stood behind her, and his face was also beautiful, though not so beautiful as hers. “Now you know the truth. You’re not what they have all feared. You’re not the mountain monster. You are more lovely than their mortal eyes could bear to look upon. Thus your mortal father hid you in rags and veils; thus your guardian told you that you must never show your face. People would see at once that you are Faerie and not meant for their world.”

  “Faerie,” she breathed. She touched her face with both hands, gently prodding the soft skin. How clear and sweet was her complexion. How radiant were her eyes. How unreal . . .

  “You understand now what you may be, unveiled,” said the Dragon. “Fairer than the fairest blossom. Thus you are named Varvare, the loveliest rose.”

  His hands were on her shoulders, lost in the thickness of her hair. Slowly he turned her from the mirror to face him. “They would have kept you captive, Princess Varvare. They would have kept you bound by lies. But I reveal who you truly are. Beyond rival. Beyond compare.” His face was close to hers now. “Let me kiss you, my sweet.”

  Rose Red met him eye to eye.

  “No,” she said.

  The Dragon vanished. So did the mirror, the chandeliers, the polished stone floor on which the dragons had danced. Rose Red found herself once more in her servant’s dress, though the veil was gone from her face. Despair threatened to overwhelm her. Her lantern was gone, and the darkness, the potent smell of poison from every corner, grappled with her senses. She turned about, seeking some sign of her whereabouts. Was she yet in the Village of Dragons? Or had he transported her elsewhere by some dark art?

  The Dragon’s throne caught her eye.

  It was a hideous creation, up on a black marble pedestal and carved like intertwining dragon skeletons, polished and dreadful. Bloodstained, it stank of death.

  Seated on the pedestal, her feet dangling over the edge and her hands folded in her lap, was Lady Daylily.

  “M’lady!” Rose Red cried and darted toward her. The pedestal was taller than she expected, and when she reached it she could not touch Daylily’s feet as she stretched up her hands.

  Daylily looked down at her, moving her feet slightly away. “So you’ve come,” she said. “I told you not to.”

  “I’m here to fetch you home, m’lady,” Rose Red said. “Please, come down!”

  “Your veil is gone.”

  “I can catch you if you jump. I’m stronger than I look.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I knew the secret behind your veil long ago.”

  “Hen’s teeth,” Rose Red muttered. She glanced about and saw a small stairway cut into the marble block. She hurried up and came around beside the Lady of Middlecrescent. “I don’t know where he’s gone off to, m’lady. But we’d best get while we can! I think I can find the way out of here. I’ve walked Faerie Paths before, though none like this.”

  Daylily’s eyes were colder than stone when she turned her gaze on Rose Red. “The poison does not affect you, does it, goat girl.”

  Rose Red didn’t know how to answer. It affected her, to be sure, but it did not shatter her inside the way she saw it shattering Daylily. “Please, m’lady,” she said. “I’ve got to get you back. What would Leo do if you—”

  “Leo? Ha!” Daylily’s laugh was harsh. “Do you think Leo cares for me?” Her face twisted into such an expression of bitterness that Rose Red would not have recognized her. “I’ve watched my dreams die. Every one of them, burned to oblivion. I will never marry Prince Lionheart. I will never fulfill the expectations placed upon me. I wish—” Her eyes narrowed, and her hands twitched as though she might want to hide her face. But she did not. She stared into Rose Red’s eyes, and the Lady of Middlecrescent was as unveiled as the chambermaid. “I wish you would go and let me die.”

  “You see what would happen were you mortal as she, princess.”

  The Dragon appeared before the pedestal, within reach of Daylily’s feet. Rose Red clenched her jaw and, with strength her tiny frame should not possess, hauled the lady up and back, positioning herself between Daylily and the Dragon.

  The Dragon smiled. “Everything would be so much easier were you a mortal child,” he said. “The poisons would work faster on your brain. You’d have asked for my kiss ages ago!”

  “I ain’t askin’ now.”

  “No, you are not.” He folded his arms. His face was not beautiful now as it had been when they danced. It was ghastly white, and his eyes were black save in the depths of his pupils, where the fire glowed. “It would have been different, too, had I won Prince Lionheart in the game. But no. My sister must take him, manipulate him for her own pleasure.” He snarled, and sparks shot between his teeth. “She’s so selfish sometimes, I wonder how she can live with herself.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Rose Red said. She felt Daylily sagging behind her and turned just in time to catch the girl and hold her upright. She was not fainted, merely too worn out to stand anymore. Her spirit was broken, and her body failed as well. Rose Red gnashed her teeth in frustration and turned to the Dragon. “I only know that my good master has gone to find out how to kill you.”

  “I know.”

  “And when he returns, that’s just what he’s goin’ to do. Then . . . then you’ll be sorry.”

  The Dragon’s snarl turned into another horrible smile. “He’ll never fight me, Princess Varvare. Your puny mortal prince is destined for another fate. And he will never fight me.”

  Rose Red suddenly felt she could not hold Daylily. She knelt down, bringing the pale lady with her, and they crouched there before Death’s Throne as the Dragon approached and climbed the stairs.

  “Lionheart is destined to fulfill his dream,” said he. “He will return to Southlands and reclaim his kingdom. He will marry Lady Daylily and make her his queen. Such has he dreamed, and such will my sister do for him. And where does that leave you, my darling? My treasure?”

  Daylily curled into a tiny ball, her head pressed into Rose Red’s chest. Rose Red wrapped both arms around her as though she could protect her. But her strength was running out. She’d given all she had, and it wasn’t enough.

  “He will forget you,” said the Dragon. “He already has. Do you think he has once stopped to consider you in all these years? For it has been years, my sweet, years and years in the Near World while you have wandered in my realm. He’s a different man now, and whatever you meant to him then, you mean no longer.”

  Her heart opened, and the poison flowed in. Rose Red could not stop it. It was like drowning. She felt the fear and anguish wash across her uncovered face, revealing everything to the Dragon’s gaze. She wished for her veil, but it was gone.

  The Dragon’s smile grew. “My fumes work such beautiful marks upon your countenance, princess. I’ve never seen you more vulnerable. It enchants me.”

  He knelt down before her and the cowering Daylily. His long white hands reached out and cupped her face so gently, like a lover. Smoke poured from his mouth, and his eyes burned bright. He murmured, “There is no one left for you, child. I am all that you have. Will you allow me to kiss you now?”

  She had no voice with which to speak, for her fear had struck her dumb. But her lips formed the word.

  “No.”

  The fire in his eyes flared, and hot embers fell upon her face so that she screamed and crumpled over Daylily, covering the lady with her body. But the Dragon grabbed her wrists, burning her skin with his touch, and pulled Rose Red upright, forcing her to look at him.

  She stared in ho
rror, unable to tear away her gaze as his face lengthened and covered over with scales and his cloak became wings. His hands dropped hers and became great claws tearing the pedestal beneath him. As he grew, he backed onto the floor below, and soon towered over the throne, over Rose Red and Daylily. His flame burned through the darkness, revealing the highest crags of the cavern, miles above. One arm reached out and tore at the stalactites, and if Rose Red and her lady had not been crouched beneath the Dragon’s body, they would have been crushed in debris.

  Fire poured from his mouth onto the floor, surrounding the throne and the pedestal in a lake of flames. The smoke that rose from it was like a thousand ghostly faces howling in silent screams.

  Then the Dragon whispered to her.

  “You have a friend nowhere, princess. The Prince has dammed up the flow of his compassion against you. Even the knight he sent to guard you has fled my fire. No servant from his courts will stretch out a hand to help you. All heaven has abandoned you; you are alone. See the companions of your childhood from whom you once took comfort?”

  The smoke took on flesh and blood, forming faces she knew: Lionheart, Beana, the man she called father. They turned and looked at her, one by one.

  “What are they worth?” the Dragon said. “Cast-down child, see how the cowards spit upon you and hate you when you most need them! Behold!”

  The effigies distorted into fierce masks, their arms raised against her, then vanished in heat and smoke. The Dragon dominated her view.

  “You have no friend left in this world or the other. I have sent word throughout all regions, summoning every prince of darkness to set upon you this night, and we will spare no weapons. We will use all our infernal might to overwhelm you; and what will you do, forsaken one?”

  His face, both dragon and human, was close to her own now, and his hot breath seared the skin from her cheeks. “Will you let me kiss you?”

  Rose Red opened her mouth to answer.

  But suddenly a white light shone so brilliantly that for a moment she thought her own fear had blinded her. Then she heard a voice calling through the smoke and flame: