“I don’t want to see. I know what I am underneath.”
“You know what they’ve told you. You don’t know the truth. Look and see!”
Rose Red took the veil in both hands and pulled it from her head.
9
THE NEAR WORLD
He sees her in a dream, dressed in silks and lace. The light veil that covers her face only just conceals the contours beneath. She is in his arms, and they dance to strange, dark music beneath a hundred brilliant chandeliers.
They dance in the Hall of the Eldest, though nothing is recognizable in the vast, dimly lit room. Lionheart does not need familiar markers. He knows with the certainty that comes only in dreams exactly where he is.
“Rose Red,” he hears his own voice say, “I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for me.”
The veil gently wafts about her shoulders as she tilts her head to look up at him. He longs to see what is underneath. The world is hot around them, but in this place he is cool, and she is soft in his arms.
“I-Is it really you?” she whispers. Her voice is unmistakably Rose Red’s, and yet nothing like the rough little country voice he knows so well. It is the voice of a princess. He smiles down at that soft veil.
“Of course it is, Rosie,” he says. “I’ve come back at last. Come back to face the Dragon.” The words thrill in his heart. Is the time really come? His hand tightens about her waist, seeking her comfort and support. Lionheart never before realized how delicate she was beneath all those rags of hers. And what might lie behind that veil? “What a wonder you are, Rosie. Truly the best of friends. In fact . . .” He licks his lips, afraid of what her answer might be. “In fact, you are so much more than a friend to me. Won’t you lift your veil?”
She says nothing. The heat from the chandeliers is almost unbearable.
His hand reaches out of its own accord, fingering the edge of her veil. “Lift your veil and let me kiss you,” he whispers.
The world erupts in fire.
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.