Moonblood (Tales of Goldstone Wood Book #3) (7 page)

Their going was slow, and the morning was well progressed by the time they reached the tablelands above. As soon as they were upon level ground, the stranger pulled herself from Rose Red’s grasp. She was unsteady on her feet, but her face was determined. “Which way to the city gates?” she demanded.

Rose Red frowned. She did not like to think of a dragon, no matter how small and weak, wandering alone through the Eldest’s grounds, trying to find the city. “I can take you there myself,” she said hesitantly, her mind furiously working to come up with some way to dissuade the creature. “I serve in the Eldest’s House. I know the way.”

“Serve in the Eldest’s House?” Flames darted in the corners of the dragon’s eyes, and Rose Red took a step back at the sight. “Have you seen . . .” The dragon paused and ducked her head, blinking as though to drive back the fire. “That is . . . have you heard tell of . . .”

Trying to swallow her fear, Rose Red said gently, “Yes, m’lady?”

The dragon shook her head and turned her back on Rose Red. “Thank you for your assistance. I will find my own way.”

Rose Red felt her heart stop. She realized the dragon was about to run. She dared not lose her. Not now, after she herself had helped the creature to the surface. “Please, m’lady—”

The dragon’s thin voice transformed into a roar. “Leave me alone!”

Rose Red fell back, pressing into Beana, who stood just behind her. She could not bring herself to speak or move, overwhelmed as she was at the sight of the fire falling from the girl’s lips.

Then the dragon was running. Her speed was unnatural, like a shadow flitting across the Eldest’s grounds. Embers trailed in her wake. She vanished into the skeletal foliage of the gardens.

Rose Red tried to draw a breath but couldn’t. “What have I done?” She grabbed hold of Beana’s fur in a grip that should have caused the goat pain. “Oh, Beana! Beana, what have I done?”

But Beana did not seem to hear or understand her. The goat’s gaze was fixed on the Wilderlands with deadly intensity. Suddenly she whirled on the girl. “GO!” she cried. “Chase after her! Stop her if you can. But go! Get away from here. Now!”

Rose Red ran. The tone in her goat’s voice was more terrible to her even than her fear of the dragon, and she ran with all the speed she could muster. As though in a dream, she could scarcely make her feet move fast enough. She could not hope to catch the dragon, but she ran anyway, back over the park grounds, bypassing the house, and hastening on toward the Eldest’s City.

But Beana remained behind, standing above the gorge and peering into the darkness of the trees below.

For she had heard at last that for which she had been listening those twenty years and more; the song which did not sing to her, so she could understand no words. But the noise of it rang through her head with painful intensity.

“Lights Above shield us!” she whispered. “It has come for her at last.”

4

T
HE CROWDED STREETS
of the Eldest’s City were strung with colored lanterns even in midday. All the folk of the city, from the mayor’s young daughters to the lowliest street urchin, were dressed in their finest. Despite the winter chill, women’s arms were bared to show off gleaming bangles. Bright scarves festooned the men’s necks, trailing behind them like kite tails as they waved and cheered at the passing parade.

They were desperate to be happy, Lionheart thought as he rode his high-stepping horse down the main street. They were desperate for hope. He wondered, however, how many of those smiles were sincere and how many of them were mere reflections of his own.

Daylily rode beside him. She had yet to meet his eyes once that day, yet her smiles were brightest of all. She radiated happiness so intense as to be dizzying. But her horse put its ears back and swished its tail, now and then rolling its eyes.

They came to the mayor’s house, and Lionheart dismounted and turned to assist Daylily, only to find that she had already slid from the saddle herself and settled her skirts. Without a glance his way, she took his arm and allowed him to lead her up the house steps. They bowed and curtsied to the mayor and his lady and his cluster of daughters. Then it was inside for refreshments and small talk while the crowd outside played music and danced in the town square.

Daylily was brilliant, as always. How the people of Southlands adored her! A man would have to be blind not to see it. She never left his side yet somehow managed to make conversation with every person in the household from the most powerful barons to the lowliest baronets. Lionheart, by contrast, could scarcely put two words together. It did not matter. Everyone knew it was the bride that counted at a wedding anyway.

“Come, darling,” said Daylily, still without looking at him. She gently directed him by the arm instead. “The people must see you again.”

He found himself being led up a flight of stairs and around to a balcony overlooking the city square. The square was so packed with celebrants that one couldn’t glimpse the cobbles beneath their dancing feet. When Lionheart appeared above their heads, standing at the railing between two flags, they turned as one body and began to shout. It was a noise like thunder.

“Prince Lionheart! The crown prince!” they shouted.

But Lionheart only heard, “Did he fight the Dragon? Did he?”

He forced himself to smile, even to wave. Then he turned and pulled Daylily up beside him, furious at himself for drawing strength from her presence. But in that moment, he couldn’t bear to face his subjects alone. Daylily glowed, her smile brighter than the sun. She was dressed in gorgeous furs that framed her delicate face to perfection. Clutching his hand in one of hers, she gracefully waved with the other. The people redoubled their cheers. How they loved the Lady of Middlecrescent!

And suddenly, all the sounds of the city faded away, save one. A single voice calling from the crowd.
“Leonard!”

Lionheart, as if coming out of a dream, turned and looked down into the milling throng. His gaze met the wide eyes of a pale girl. The only pale face in the throng of brown-skinned Southlanders.

“Una,” he breathed.

Daylily’s hand on his shoulder startled him. “Lionheart, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” he said, rather too quickly. Then he took his hand from hers, backing away. “Daylily, I must see to something. Wait for me here, and I’ll return momentarily. I swear.”

For the first time that day she looked into his eyes. He thought his heart would freeze.

“Don’t be long,” she said.

He pushed through the cluster of the mayor’s guests, past the Baron of Middlecrescent and his own father. He paused for a moment to take a long cloak from a peg in the hall and, on an impulse, took the silver crown from his head and dashed it into a dark corner. Then, hiding his rich clothing, he slipped through a small door into a deserted alley behind the mayor’s house. When he entered the crowds of merrymakers, nobody recognized him, and he was hard-pressed to push his way through the square to the place where he thought he had seen her. The young people had taken up dancing again, and he was obliged to duck through swirling skirts and swinging arms, taking an elbow in the ribs for his pains.

Then he saw her, white and alone. The people of the city had unconsciously backed away from her, as if she carried the plague. Her face was still upturned to the balcony above.

“Una!” he cried.

She turned, and Lionheart found himself face-to-face with the girl he had once loved.

“Leonard,” she whispered. It chilled his heart somehow to hear her speak the name he had taken while in exile. But he hastened forward until they were beside each other, and still the crowds of onlookers kept a short distance.

“Una,” he said in a low voice. He could scarcely hear himself in that din, but she seemed to understand him. How frail she looked! Her clothing was in rags and her face was like death, with great hollows under her eyes. The last he’d seen her, she had been a hearty, laughing princess with a smile that glowed. The face before him looked as though it had never smiled. “What . . . what has happened to . . . What are you—”

There could be no talking there, in the midst of that crowd. And Lionheart could almost feel Daylily’s eyes above, searching him out in the crowd. He wore a hood over his face but nevertheless felt too vulnerable. Without another word, he caught her hand, drew her into the shelter of his cloak, and led her through the crowd.

The streets of the city were packed with revelers, but at last he saw a near-empty side street and hastened down it. Then he took another and another, until they came at last to the outskirts of the city, where there were no gates and no other people, only drainage ditches.

Leading the girl onto one of the footbridges crossing a ditch, Lionheart let her go and threw back his hood.

“Where is your father?” he demanded.

“I do not know,” said she.

“You are come alone, then?” It was impossible. And yet, by the looks of things, that must be so. “How did you get here? Why was I not given advance notice of your coming?”

“No one knows.”

Lionheart shook his head. “You can’t do that. You’re a princess. You can’t travel all the way from Parumvir to Southlands by yourself!”

“But I did.”

The prince stared at her, disbelieving. Anger welled up inside him. How could she come here now? Of all times! He had given her up, the sweet princess of Parumvir, the girl he had adored, from whom he had accepted promises and gifts. He had given her up for the sake of his kingdom, and how dared she come to him now? It was too much.

Get rid of her,
whispered the cold voice in his head.
You don’t need her. You have your dream. Get rid of her, or she’ll take it from you!

He gazed at her again, taking in her haggard appearance. No one would have known she was or ever had been a princess. And there was more, an almost feral quality behind her haunted gaze. Lionheart found himself swallowing back fear. “What has become of you, Una?”

“I could ask the same,” she whispered.

“No, I mean it.” He gazed into her hollow eyes. They held more than weariness and heartache. “There is something odd about your face. Something not—”

Una smiled. It was a mere ghost compared to the smiles he’d known back when he was court jester for her father at Oriana Palace. “Again, I could say the same.” She stepped closer and reached her hand to his face. “That beard . . . ”

He caught her hand and pushed her away. “This is no time for jokes.”

She withdrew, wrapping her arms about herself. The winter wind blew sharply; she must be freezing in those rags of hers. “Then it is true,” she said. “You have killed him.”

“Killed whom?”

“My jester.”

Lionheart swallowed. Then he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, Leonard!” She tried to touch him once more, but he backed away and turned from her.

“I’m not Leonard, Princess Una,” he said. “I thought I told you that.”

The girl said nothing for a long moment. Then, in a quavering voice she asked, “Where did you go?”

“Here, obviously. Back to Southlands.”

But the girl shook her head. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t!” he growled, clenching his fists. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m not sure you do either. You aren’t speaking rationally.”

“Leonard—”

“That is not my name, and I wish you wouldn’t use it!” His head throbbed suddenly at the sound of his own voice. How far had he fallen that he could bring himself to speak so cruelly to Una? Una, who had laughed at his antics. Who had provided him with shelter when he was in need. Who had so innocently, so carelessly, given him her heart. He hated himself.

Get rid of her!
whispered the Dark Lady.

“I did exactly what I told you,” he said wearily, unable to meet the tattered princess’s gaze, “went exactly where I said I would, back . . . How long ago was that? Many months! I left your home and traveled directly down here, just as I had purposed while enjoying your father’s hospitality.”

“And you fought the Dragon?”

Her voice was like a knife in his gut.

“Killed him, even?”

She was close to him now. For a moment, he no longer saw the dark hollows under her eyes. He saw only the sorrow . . . sorrow, mingled with faint hope. She reached out to him again. “Please tell me, my prince.” He backed away and leaned against the bridge railing, drawing long breaths. But she followed him, standing close, with her thin hand resting beside his. “Tell me how it happened.”

Lionheart struggled to collect his thoughts. What could he say? He could not tell her how it had truly happened. Of course he had his reasons, and who would judge him if that person ever once stood in his shoes? But these words sounded cheap even in his mind. He could not speak them.

“The Dragon was gone by the time I arrived,” he said, which was true enough, “leaving my kingdom in ashes, my people rendered near helpless with fear, my father near crazy with sorrow.”

“You never saw the Dragon?”

He could not meet her gaze. “Don’t think it’s been easy. I maybe didn’t fight a monster, but the work I’ve had to do, the blood, sweat, and tears I’ve poured into rebuilding my people, and will have to keep pouring out for years to come before we’ll ever reach our former—”

“You never saw the Dragon?”

He whirled upon her then, his teeth grinding, his eyes wide. “Aren’t you listening to me? It was gone by the time I got here.”

“That’s not what he said.”

Lionheart felt the blood drain from his face. Looking at her, he thought that he gazed into the eyes of the Dragon himself. He shuddered and could scarcely find breath to speak. “What?”

“He said you made an agreement.” The girl’s voice was low as she spoke. Low and hot. “That he wouldn’t kill you and would let you return home if . . . if what? What was your side of the bargain?”

She knew. By the Silent Lady, by everything holy and unholy, she knew already! That’s why she’d come.