Moonblood (Tales of Goldstone Wood Book #3) (9 page)

She bowed her head.

Lionheart raised his sword and pointed it directly at the butcher’s chest. “Let her go,” he said.

“Your Highness,” the butcher said without loosening his grip, “the demon must die. She let a dragon into the city. Everyone knows she’s a dragon herself, or a witch. We can’t have her betraying our land no more!”

The man with the noose stepped forward and started to place it over Rose Red’s head. She screamed, her dreadful eyes rolling. Without a thought, Lionheart swung his sword and cut the rope. It fell, frayed, upon the stone walkway. By now the soldiers had broken through to the top, and they stood behind Lionheart, weapons upraised.

“Let her go,” Lionheart repeated and stepped closer, resting the edge of his blade just below the butcher’s ear. “Am I prince or not?”

“Your Highness!” The butcher’s eyes were defiant, his teeth gnashing. “Your Highness, she’s bewitched you! Everyone knows it. Let us hang her and save you—”

“I’ll kill you,” Lionheart said, fire seething in his lungs. He had yet to slay a man in cold blood but had no doubt that in another few seconds he could and would. “I’ll kill you, man.”

The butcher stared into his eyes, gulped, and released Rose Red. She fell upon her face, gasping, and crawled to Lionheart, wrapping her arms around his feet. He knelt and touched her back protectively but kept his sword upraised and his gaze fixed on the butcher.

“The people won’t stand for it!” the bearded merchant cried, spraying spit in his bluster. “They won’t stand for her to live anymore! You’re not thinking clearly for her spells, but it’s the truth we’re telling you!”

Lionheart did not let his sword shift from the butcher, but his gaze turned to the merchant. “There will be no hanging,” he said. “Not by you.”

“The people won’t stand for her to go on working her evil on the land,” someone in the crowd cried. “We’ve seen one dragon already today. How many more will she bring?”

“You escaped those five years, prince!” someone else shouted. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Friend of demons,” someone muttered, and more evil murmurs rippled through the crowd until the sound was thunderous.

The soldiers behind the prince moved into a protective circle around him. The captain said, “You’ll have to give her up, my prince. I don’t think I can protect you if they take it into their heads to swarm.”

“Traitors!” Lionheart snarled.

“That’s what they’re calling you,” someone behind him said.

Lionheart whirled around, his eyes flashing murder. “Who said that?” he cried. “Who voices such treason?”

He saw long faces and shifting eyes, but no one spoke up. The captain said, “You’re on dangerous ground, Your Highness. Walk carefully, now.”

Lionheart bared his teeth and gripped his sword until the veins of his hand stood out. Rose Red, clinging to his feet, sobbed, her shoulders heaving. But suddenly she looked up and said, “Leo, please, do what you must.”

“There will be no hanging today!” Lionheart declared. He stepped away from Rose Red and out of the circle of soldiers, leaping up onto the balustrade along the edge of the wall and balancing there precariously so that the people below could see him. “There will be no hanging!” he bellowed. “We will bring the accused to the mayor’s hall for fair trial and there decide what is to be done with her. In accordance with the law.” He raised his sword above his head. “Your prince has commanded!”

With that, he climbed back down, suddenly pale and dizzy. He knelt and took hold of Rose Red’s elbow, hauling her to her feet and, with the guardsmen surrounding them, marched her back down the stone steps, through the mob and the streets of the Eldest’s City. The crowds were crushing all the way to the mayor’s house, but word had spread. By the time they reached the house, King Hawkeye, Daylily, Baron Middlecrescent, Foxbrush, and all the court who had come to celebrate the prince’s marriage were gathered in the courtyard. Hawkeye sat in a great wooden chair upon a dais, upraised so that he could be seen above the swarms of gathered citizens.

Ungentle in his fear, Lionheart pulled Rose Red up on to the dais and said sharply, “Kneel!”

She flung herself on her knees before the Eldest, bowing her head so that her face was hidden. No expression crossed the Eldest’s face at the sight of her, but he drew his feet back slightly. He turned to his son. “What is this, Lionheart?”

Lionheart breathed heavily, sweat dripping down his face despite the winter air. His clothing stank of dragon smoke. “The people of Southlands bring accusations against this girl, my servant, and wish to see her tried according to our law.”

Hawkeye nodded, the deep lines of his face sagging. “Have the people a spokesman?”

Lionheart whirled on the crowd. “Who among you wishes to bring charges against this girl before your Eldest?”

There was some scuffle, but finally the bearded merchant from the wall stepped forward, wiping his face and removing his hat as he made many bows before the king. “Your Majesty,” he said, “my name is Sparrowclaw—”

“Make your accusations, fat one!” Lionheart spat. Hawkeye reached out and touched his arm, gently drawing him back. “Hush, my son. Let the man speak.”

The merchant wiped his face again with a lace-edged kerchief, but he made his voice loud enough to ring through the courtyard. “Your Majesty, my Eldest, everyone knows this girl—this creature—before you is a demon. For years the people of Southlands have been uneasy knowing that she resided within your House . . . at your great mercy, of course. But how can one look at her and fail to see the goblin she is?”

Rose Red remained bowed in a lump before the Eldest, her forehead pressed into the wooden slats of the dais as the merchant continued to say his piece. “Before the years of our imprisonment, all Southlands was concerned by the favor given this person by the prince. ’Twas said she ensorcelled him, serving in his own private chambers for who knew what ends? Then, as you know, sir, she called the Dragon to our land. Did we not all see the way our Enslaver fawned over the girl? She alone of all our people did not suffer from his poison. She alone could cross the bridges. We may have been captives, Your Majesty, but we were not blind! We may be commoners, but we are not stupid!”

“Ignorant dogs—” Lionheart hissed, but his father spoke more sharply this time. “Silence, boy.”

“Five years, Your Majesty!” the merchant cried. “Five years of slavery, of fear, of nightmares!” The crowd rumbled in response, all those merrymakers clad in their festive best for the wedding celebration, their faces scarred with past fears and present hatred. “Five years,” the merchant continued, made brave by the support he felt about him, “which Prince Lionheart escaped! He does not understand, Your Majesty. This witch has clouded his mind!”

Lionheart brandished his sword, but Hawkeye rose and took hold of his arm. “Lionheart, I am still king,” he said. “Stand down.”

“And today,” the merchant continued, “she has brought another dragon into our midst. Did we not all see the monster that flew over our heads just now? Were there not those among us who saw the dragon disguised as a foreign girl, leading our prince from the city?”

People in the crowd cried their agreement. Lionheart paled and took a step back, his face a mask of fury.

“Then who do we find,” the merchant went on, “carrying our prince back from this encounter? The demon girl!”

He pointed at Rose Red where she crouched, and the crowd took up their former cry. “Demon! Friend of dragons! Monster! Witch!”

Lionheart felt defeat surrounding him. He turned to his father and spoke with dismay. “Will you not hear her defense?”

Hawkeye nodded, taking a seat once more. He seemed suddenly so much older than he was, ancient and frail. And Lionheart knew that no matter what Rose Red might say, his father would have to honor the wishes of the people.

Cursing bitterly, Lionheart knelt and put an arm across his servant’s shoulders. “Rosie,” he said. “Dear Rosie, can you stand and give a defense?”

She shook her head.

“Is there no one who can speak for you?” Lionheart ground his teeth. “They will not hear me. They’ve decided I’m bewitched. But is there anyone else you can ask to stand by you?”

Rose Red slowly sat up and raised her eyes to Daylily. Beautiful Daylily, in a golden gown, a crown upon her hair, furs about her shoulders. Daylily who knew better than anyone all that Rose Red had suffered during the Dragon’s reign in Southlands. Daylily, who had seen Death’s realm.

The Lady of Middlecrescent gazed back at Rose Red a long, silent moment. Did she recall the shadows of that Netherworld? Did she recall the skeletal throne by which she had sat when Rose Red had come to fetch her back? Did she see only the death of her dreams or, worse still, their fulfillment?

It did not matter. Daylily’s gaze shifted from Rose Red to Lionheart and back. Then she bowed her head over her clasped hands and refused to look up again.

Rose Red turned to Lionheart. “No one will speak for me,” she whispered.

Lionheart closed his eyes. “What can I do for you then, Rosie? What can I do?” But she had no answer.

The prince stood up and faced his father. “Please, Eldest, you cannot order her death. I tell you she is innocent. She did not bring the Dragon here, nor the creature that we saw today. I know this girl; I’ve known her a long time. She is loyal and truehearted. And she is innocent; I swear upon my hand.”

“But, my son,” said the Eldest quietly, “does your word count for anything now?”

Lionheart stared. Of all the blows in his life, that one struck the deepest.

The Eldest shook his head and continued to speak in a low voice that only Lionheart and Rose Red could hear. “You have lost their trust. Don’t think I have not seen. And where does that leave me, Lionheart? I am not long for this world, and when I die, I must pass on rule of my kingdom to one who will not be able to lead. For who will follow you now? Does any man in all of Southlands trust you, who abandoned them in their suffering, who did not return until the danger was past?”

Tears of rage filled Lionheart’s eyes, burning more than dragon fire. “It wasn’t like that, Father! You know it wasn’t!”

“What I know or don’t know matters little,” said Hawkeye. “What the people, your subjects,
believe
is what matters now.” He shook his head and stood once more, stepping around Rose Red and pacing to the end of the dais. He raised his hands, commanding the attention of all assembled in that yard. “I hereby give to my son, your prince, the duty of passing sentence upon the accused.”

Angry mutters filled the yard, and Lionheart, as he looked out upon the crowd, saw the fury on each face. They did not think he would do as they wished. They did not believe he could pass the sentence they required. And what would be his fate if he did not give them their will? The Council of Barons and their cold vote. The loss of his inheritance.

The Lady Life-in-Death stood beside him, an unearthly presence. She whispered in Lionheart’s ear.
Your dream, sweet prince. Don’t give it up now!

He turned his gaze from the crowds down to Rose Red. She looked up at him, wretched, pleading, and hopeless. He shivered at the sight of her, and she saw and ducked her face, wrapping her arms over her head.

Do what you must, my darling.

“What is your decision, Lionheart?” Hawkeye asked.

Lionheart’s whole body sagged with weariness. Suddenly he whirled upon the crowd and said in a loud voice, “I sentence the accused to banishment. She shall be sent into the Wilderlands, and should she venture to the high country again, she shall be subject to immediate execution. That is my sentence!”

Rose Red gave an inarticulate moan, and the people raised a great cry. Lionheart firmly took hold of the girl’s arm and dragged her to her feet, refusing to look at her. A cart was sent for, and he himself stepped into it and pulled her in after him. Holding his sword at his side and ordering the guards to surround them, they set out through the streets of the Eldest’s City to North Gate, which overlooked the deep gorge that created the boundaries of the Eldest’s grounds. Garbage and filth flew through the air as they went, most of it striking Rose Red, some smattering across Lionheart’s burned garments. He steeled himself against the blows and put an arm around Rose Red as protectively as he could. She trembled in his hold as though she would fall to pieces in a moment.

The cart rolled through the gate, and they came to King’s Bridge, vast and incredible and older than the city. Already people lined the edge of its span, as near to the gorge as they dared venture. The driver drove the cart through the crowds and to a halt. Lionheart pulled Rose Red down and escorted her to the gorge.

They gazed down the cliff to the Wilderlands below. The thick-growing trees were like an enormous green serpent snaking its way through the chasm. A small footpath, from centuries gone when the people of Southlands had once dared climb down, was still faintly discernible.

Rose Red continued to tremble, and she clutched suddenly at the prince’s arm. “I’ll die!” she gasped. “Leo, I’ll die!” She wanted to say more, but nothing else would come.

Lionheart rested his hand for a moment on top of hers. “Rosie,” he whispered, “what else can I do?”

Then he pushed her from him so that she fell to her knees. “Go!” he cried. “Never return to Southlands.” He brandished his sword above his head. The watching crowds fell into a horrible quiet, craning to see what happened.

Rose Red gazed at the prince and his sword, her eyes taking in all of him, that face she had loved, that man she had vowed in her heart to serve unto death. And now she had done so, for in that moment, her heart died. The heart that had loved Prince Lionheart.

She said nothing. She got to her feet, shaking so that she felt she would not be able to make the downward climb. Then she stepped to the edge of the cliff and started down the narrow path. As she disappeared from view, Lionheart and his soldiers, followed by the crush of people behind, stepped closer to the edge to watch her descent. The drop was not so deep here, and though she stumbled, she went quickly, as though fleeing the hounds of hell. The forest below seemed to swell, to creep, grasping, up the rock wall.