Perhaps a soft and vulnerable woman was not so soft and vulnerable after all.
“Very well, Father,” she spoke in a fearfully gentle voice. “I swear to you, I will do the impossible. I will get you this gold and make myself worthy in your eyes once more. Then”—flames flickered in her throat—“you will give me back my wings.”
“Idle boasts,” said he.
She roared. Her woman’s face twisted almost beyond recognition, and fire fell from her bleeding lips. “Wake me up!”
The Dragon laughed at her. Then he put up one hand and snapped his fingers.
The dream vanished.
1
SHARP ROCKS TORE at the girl’s bare feet as she ran. Her aching body cried out for relief, for rest, but she dared not stop.
Water lapped near her. Now, at high tide, the ground on which she ran was no more than a narrow stretch of pebbled beach with ocean extending forever on either side. Behind her were the mountains, but she would not look back. She could still hear the howls echoing and reechoing from peak to peak until she thought she might go mad. She fixed her gaze forward, struggling to see through the thick fog that rose up from the ocean and threatened to smother her. Yet the Path was firm beneath her bleeding feet.
The Wood watched her approach, its gaze curious and hungry.
She stumbled along the isthmus, crossing the bay from her own land to the greater Continent of the north. The Wood grew thick here. She had no choice but to pass into its welcoming arms if she wished to continue her flight.
The mist was so heavy she could not see two steps ahead. But she felt when the ground softened, the sharp rocks of the isthmus giving way to moss and crackling leaves. Her arms reached ahead as though to push the mist away; from her wrists dangled rough cords that chafed her skin.
She caught a glimpse of gold. No more than a glance, like the fleeting burst of sunshine through storm clouds, vanishing in an instant. Yet she turned to that sight, her eyes wide and desperate. For a moment, she stood as though blind. Then she saw it again, this time a form as well: slender legs, a shining coat, a powerful body disappearing into the shadows of the Wood.
Perhaps she dreamed it. It did not matter. Where else could she turn now that the world she knew was shattered?
A sob choked her, and she stumbled to her knees. How desperately she wished to lie down, to close her eyes, to will away the visions in her mind. But the howls were still too close in her memory, so she forced herself up and staggered on blindly, pursuing that distant golden form.
The Wood’s dark arms encircled her as she plunged headlong into its domain. She felt no alteration as she stepped out of the mortal world into that place without Time, for her mind was spent.
But a voice without words spoke to her heart in a language she scarcely understood. She followed the voice, propelled by an urgency beyond fear and all human need. It sang to her as she fled:
See the truth, my child. See the truth and speak!
It was a night that would have gone down in history even without the events that followed.
Every night, the merry Faerie folk of Rudiobus Mountain found excuses to dance and sing and dance and sing some more, so that in itself was not unusual. But not every night marked the birthday of Queen Bebo . . . which was especially momentous considering the queen was so ancient that no one, not even her husband, would dare guess her age. The idea that she should have a birthday at all thrilled her subjects. They considered it so brilliant an occasion that they could bear to celebrate it only once every hundred years.
Bebo sat in splendor beside her raven-haired husband and watched with a smile while her subjects danced in her honor. She wore an ancient crown of goblin work (wrought in the ages before goblins forgot their craftsman skills), and a veil of delicate silver covered her hair.
The queen’s cousin, Lady Gleamdrené Gormlaith, stood beside Bebo’s throne, a jeweled goblet in her hand, ever ready to serve. She kept her eyes downcast, but a not-so-demure smile curved her lips. She was aware of how many doting swains turned their gazes her way, how many hearts beat in desperate hope that she might bestow favors upon them: a smile, a glance even. And oh! to think she might grace one of their number with a dance!
Lady Gleamdrené was the most desired woman in all Ruaine Hall. And she knew it well.
The young bucks pretended indifference. They shuffled their feet and elbowed their friends’ ribs. They talked in loud voices of exploits in the great Wood beyond Rudiobus, hoping their voices would carry above the pipers’ playing and strike Lady Gleamdrené’s ears. A few even vowed to themselves that, before the night’s end, they should ask to take a turn about the dance floor with Queen Bebo’s fair cousin.