The king crawled backward all the way to the threshold, unable to tear his eyes from the man’s shadowed face. Once Fidel was outside, the man with the white face allowed him to rise to his feet.
“Una,” the king cried, holding out his hands, the one blackened and bruised.
“She stays with me,” the man said, stepping outside into the courtyard. Night wind grabbed his cloak and flared it out behind him.
“Never!” Fidel started forward but fell away as a burst of flame billowed toward his face.
The black cloak expanded, swelling like storm clouds into vast wings. The man raised his hands, and they were talons, cruel and curved. The red in his eyes swirled and swelled until it engulfed the blackness in raging heat. Fire spilled from his mouth, and he grew and towered over the king, high as three stories, reptilian scales gleaming in the glow of his own fire. Fidel screamed and fell on his face. The Dragon’s roaring laugh lashed the sky.
“She stays with me,” he said, “as a testimony of your good faith not to trouble me with armies and battles! Burnt human flesh sours good air. Go now, little king. I’ll let you know my good pleasure in time. Be prompt in obedience. Go!”
The king fled through the gates in a cloud of foul smoke and fumes.
The Dragon turned on Una, who hung on the door, all but fainting. Great red eyes pierced her own, gazing deeper and deeper, until she thought her spirit and soul were consumed in fire.
But somewhere deep in the recesses of her heart, something remained unburned. She grasped at it, gasping with the effort. The Dragon leaned closer, flames licking through his teeth, and she collapsed on her knees. Yet a small knot of peace lingered beyond the flames, cool and unsoiled. She took hold of it in her mind, clutching it close.
“He will come,” she whispered.
The Dragon drew back his head, and she slumped against the doorpost, her hair falling to cover her reddened face.
“Ah,” the Dragon said. “I see.” Smoke poured from his nostrils. “Very well. You’ll be ready in time.” He turned away, his tail sliding against her, knocking her back into the palace, and he crawled into the darkness of the garden, lighting the way with flames in the leafless stems and shrubs. “Go to your room, little mouthful,” he called over his shoulder. “We shall see much of each other, but for now you may retire.”
Una crawled inside and, with a last great effort, shut the door.
17
Caught up in the flow of people streaming through the gate, Felix struggled to break free, determined not to be separated from his father and sister. He lost hold of Nurse somewhere in the crush and could not find her again. He was helpless, pulled against his will down the road away from the palace and toward Sondhold. Nearly halfway down the hill, he spotted an opening in the crowd and darted for it. He broke from the swarm, tumbling off the road into a ditch. Mud spattered his face and thorns bit his hands, but he breathed in relief.
Shaking his head and pushing back thorns, he sat upright and tried to take stock of his surroundings. Screams battered the air around him, and he realized that they did not come only from those fleeing the palace.
Stumbling, he climbed out of the ditch and up the rough hillside until he found a large boulder projecting from the ground. Pulling himself up on top, Felix owned a view of both the palace above him and the city spread out below.
The city was in flames.
Felix felt his heart in his throat and thought it might choke him. Sondhold was under attack. Even in the harbor he could see ships’ masts burning like torches. And what of Ramgrip, the old fortress built long ago to protect the city? All was dark there, cast into shadow under the glare of the fire in the city.
But who would attack Parumvir? They were at peace with all the surrounding kingdoms, had been for over a hundred years. Fidel had no enemies, couldn’t possibly have them.
“Father,” Felix whispered, gazing at the burning city, hearing sounds of terror that chilled him to the bone. He felt very young and very small.
Steeling himself, he leapt from the boulder and tumbled to the rough turf. He was on his feet in a moment and running toward the palace as fast as his legs could bear him. He needed to find his father.
The white walls seemed ghostly in the evening as he pounded uphill toward them. His steps slowed unwillingly, for a terror hitherto unknown rose in his breast as he neared those familiar walls. It was most like fear of the dark; a fear not of what the darkness could hide, but of everything the dark represented and the very absence of light. This was the sensation that coursed in his veins, filling him with dread as he approached his home.
In the darkness above the wall he saw suddenly two balls of fire that shredded the night sky with wicked light. Realizing that they were eyes, Felix threw himself on the ground. Horror gripped him as he cowered on the hillside, certain those eyes had seen him, certain he would be devoured.