Veiled Rose (22 page)

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 one 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.

S
o 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.

T
HE
B
ARON OF
M
IDDLECRESCENT
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.