“You!” the fire-breather roared.
The taller figure, weaponless, charged through the flames. Felix heard a screech, high and terrible. Then his eyes closed, and the flames disappeared as unconsciousness overtook him.
Aethelbald watched the small dragon disappear into the night sky. He turned and hurried back to the clearing, which glowed in the smoldering fires that lingered in patches. He spoke a word, and the fires died as though struck out by many beating hands.
Aethelbald knelt beside the boy. “Felix?” he whispered and, receiving no answer, quickly inspected the prince’s wounds. His eyes narrowed. He removed his cloak and wrapped it tightly around the young prince, then gently picked him up.
Holding Felix close, he spoke a single word to the silent Wood. “Open.”
The gates to Faerie parted.
21
Una woke from convoluted dreams, coughing. Smoke hung more thickly in the air every moment. Yet, while it caused much discomfort, stinging her eyes and annoying her lungs, it did not smother her.
When the coughing spasm ended, she groaned and leaned her head heavily into her hand. She’d fallen asleep at her vanity with her head pillowed on one arm, resulting in a cramp down her neck. Her dreams had been awful – dark and smoke filled – yet now she wished she could crawl back into them. Anything to escape.
She guessed it must be evening, for the shadows in her chamber were deepening into blackness. When she raised her head from her hand and looked into her mirror, Una could scarcely discern her own features. She fumbled across the top of the vanity, found matches, and lit a candle. The flame’s red glow lit up her pale face, casting strange shadows under her eyes. A layer of black ash covered her skin. She rubbed at her cheek but merely smeared the grime in deeper. The whites of her eyes gleamed unnaturally in the glass. She felt oddly frightened of her own reflection and turned away, shivering.
A door slammed.
The sound, somewhere far below her, perhaps on the ground floor, echoed up through the empty halls of Oriana. It was faint, but in that heavy silence it battered her ears like hailstones on window glass. Her heart stopped.
He’s inside.
She leapt to her feet, knocking over her stool. Her foot caught in her skirts, and she stumbled, catching herself on the vanity, rattling the little glass bottles. The candlelight flickered. Una froze, one hand gripping the top of the vanity, the other clutching her skirts, and strained her ears.
She heard nothing but her own breathing, sharp and quick.
“It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s all right. He doesn’t know where you are. He won’t find you.”
But he could. He could go through every room in the palace, and if she stayed where she was, he would find her eventually.
She grabbed the brass candleholder and, cupping her hand to protect the flame, hurried to her door. She pressed her ear against it but again heard nothing. So it was either play cat-and-mouse through the dark halls of Oriana or sit like a rabbit in a trap.
Una put her hand to the doorknob. It creaked as she turned it, but the door swung open quietly enough. She held the candle out before her, but its glow could only pierce some of the shadows in the hall beyond. Nothing moved; no sound reached her ears. She stepped into the hall and closed her door most of the way, afraid to shut it completely for fear of the latch clicking. Every sound was dreadful to her, even her own breath coming in tiny puffs. She stole down the hall, shielding her candle flame with her hand, and turned the corner into the next.
A shadowy form stepped before her.
She stopped in her tracks, her heart leaping into her mouth. The candle wavered and sputtered.
Slowly she found her breath returning. Her own reflection stood before her in the tall, dark window. It was a ghostly shape, oddly contoured in red. Una licked her dry lips and hurried on down the corridor, avoiding looking at window glass as she went.
She reached the door at the end of the corridor and paused there, her hand on the latch. A stairway lay just beyond, leading down to the floor below. It was a servants’ stair, one she rarely used, but she dared not take the main staircase. She stood a moment, listening. Her ears were her only ally in the darkness, and they told her nothing.
But he was inside the palace.
Her mind worked frantically. Una could not simply wander through the corridors and empty rooms, hoping to elude him. She needed to hide – somewhere safe, deep inside the palace. Immediately she thought of her father’s treasure hold, down below the basements. It was the deepest, most secret spot in the castle, and she knew where her father kept his key.