Veiled Rose (45 page)

Lionheart woke with a start and wondered where he was. His face was covered in sweat, and the blankets were much too hot. He sat up in darkness, pushing the covers back and wiping his forehead, his breathing loud in that stillness. One small window above his bed was cracked open, and a soft breeze blew through.

Dreamlike voices rang in his head.

Leave him alone! He is mine!

He is the key to the princess’s undoing. I will have my rights.

Touch him and you’ll regret it, brother. He belongs to me!

Through the open window, a sudden burst of moonlight shone through. As it fell in a patch on Lionheart’s blankets, the voices ended abruptly, as though severed. When they were gone, Lionheart doubted he had truly heard them.

He remembered where he was. Parumvir. Palace Oriana on the hill above the city of Sondhold. He had been hired to serve as jester and floor-scrubber and had, only a few hours before, given his first performance.

He hunched his shoulders and bowed his head, exhausted but too disturbed by the dream to go back to sleep. How awful the Great Hall of the House had looked! Beautiful but otherworldly.

And how strange that he should dream of Rose Red. Years had passed since he’d spared a thought for his childhood friend. Was she keeping her promise, watching over his family, those imprisoned in his father’s house? He could only hope.

Hope, and return as soon as possible.

But first he had to get that ring. The oracle had spoken.

“Preeeowl?”

Lionheart startled at the unexpected sound, but the next moment, something large and fluffy hopped up onto the bed beside him and set up a thunderous purr. A big tomcat rubbed its head against his shoulder and flicked a tail in his nose.

“Dragons eat you,” Lionheart growled. “How did you get in here?”

The cat’s purring stopped. It put its nose right up to Lionheart’s and hissed in no uncertain terms. Even by moonlight, Lionheart could see that the cat had no eyes. This handicap earned it no sympathy, however. Lionheart was a consummate cat hater. He tossed the creature from the bed, only just avoiding a severe scratch down his cheek.

“Rrrrrrrrowl!” said the cat, and began pointedly grooming a paw. Then, with a suddenness that took Lionheart by surprise, it leapt across the room to the chair by the fireplace, where Lionheart had carefully folded and set his jester’s garb for the night. Before he could make a move, the blind cat took his jester’s hat between his teeth. Then it was out of the room like a shot, the way it must have entered, through the cracked window. Lionheart had just time to swear, but not enough to snatch the hat back before it disappeared with a forlorn jingle.

He leapt up and peered through the glass. His window looked out upon the kitchen gardens in the upper tier of Oriana’s grounds. The cat sat in a patch of moonlight, grooming its tail. The hat lay beside it.

“Iubdan’s beard!” Lionheart grabbed a pair of trousers, hauled them on with his nightshirt flapping down to his knees, and was out of the room in a moment. A few disoriented turns, and he managed to find his way out to the kitchen gardens. There the cat waited, still grooming its tail as though it hadn’t another concern in the world. But when Lionheart approached, it perked its ears at him, hissed, and grabbed the hat. Lionheart darted forward but missed and landed hard on his knees, watching that plume of a tail dart off down the garden path. His hat jingled from the cat’s mouth.

“You monster!” Lionheart cursed the beast and gave chase. The cat stopped and waited until he had almost caught him before dashing on again. The creature was a devil with a fluffy tail.

“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.

T
HE
N
ETHERWORLD

T
HE 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 were 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.”