But she’d not worry about that. Not right now. She held Daylily’s arm around her neck and half carried the girl to the kitchens, where she had left the others in stone-faced stupors.
They were all still there, exactly where she’d left them, blinking and rubbing their eyes like those just awaking. The poison yet lingered in their faces, but they were conscious again, aware of themselves and their surroundings.
They were still frightened.
“Where is he?” one of them asked.
“Hush!” said another. “He’ll hear you!”
“We’ve got to get out,” said a third. “Eldest, can you stand?”
Rose Red entered with Daylily in time to see young Sir Foxbrush (who, no matter if five years had passed, still hadn’t grown a beard) assisting the Eldest from his seat at the window. No one looked her way, so busy were they with their own thoughts.
Daylily glanced from Rose Red beside her to Foxbrush and back again. Then she cleared her throat and said sharply, “Foxbrush!”
His head came up, his attention fixed first upon her and then on Rose Red.
He screamed.
The next moment, he had grabbed a poker from the fireplace and charged at Rose Red, striking her across the face. Rose Red was so taken aback that she did not move to avoid the blow. It did not hurt, no matter how hard he hit, but it startled her, and she backed away, losing hold of Daylily. Foxbrush, roaring like a young warrior, swung at her again, this time catching her in the side.
“Please!” Rose Red cried. “Mercy, sir!”
“Out!” he cried. “Get out of here! Go, you devil! Monster!”
Beana bellowed like a bull and charged the young lord, butting him hard in the gut and sending him sprawling. The poker clanged across the floor as it flew from his hand. “Beana, no!” Rose Red cried, afraid that one of the others, who were grabbing weapons and approaching menacingly, would strike at her goat. She cast a desperate look at Daylily.
But the baron’s daughter stood quietly, her gaze averted.
Rose Red grabbed Beana and, though she was hardly bigger than the goat herself, lifted the animal off her feet and ran from the kitchen. A kitchen knife struck the door close to her ear as she went. Once outside, she put the goat down and barked, “Run!”
The two of them fled while the newly liberated prisoners gave hot pursuit, shouting and brandishing whatever makeshift weapons they could find, furious in their terror. For although the Dragon was gone, his poisons lingered, and the frightened men and women must find some vent for their fear.
And Rose Red had forgotten that she no longer wore her veil.
13
THE NEAR WORLD
SHE BELIEVED HIM.
Light of Lumé be praised, Una believed him!
Lionheart may have been sacked. He may have been penniless. He may have been half a world away from his homeland. But as he made his way down Goldstone Hill that night, his heart exulted. He thought he might spread wings and fly all the way back to Southlands! For Una believed, and Una had given her trust.
She’d given him more than that.
Lionheart opened his hand to look at what nestled in his palm. Even in the darkness on the hillside, the white stones shone smooth and the opal fire inside gleamed.
He’d told her the whole story, of course. Everything, from the moment the Dragon arrived in Southlands and enslaved the whole country. He told her how he’d traveled to the Far East and learned how the monster could be defeated. He’d not revealed that little detail, of course. That was secret knowledge. Besides, he didn’t want her to think he would take the ring from her.
And he wouldn’t have. Even as he’d poured out his heart to her, Lionheart had known he could never do as the Lady asked. He would return to Southlands on his own and face the Dragon. But he’d do it without robbing Una.
Then, lo and behold! A miracle had happened. Just as he had turned to go, she’d called out to him again.
“Here,” she’d said, twisting the ring off her finger and pressing it into his hands. “It was my mother’s. I don’t know how much it is worth, but something close to a king’s ransom, I should think. Use it for your journey and . . . and come back soon.”
Lionheart smiled as he remembered her words. Perhaps the storybooks weren’t so farfetched after all? All those foolish songs of Sir Eanrin at which he had scoffed, those touting the virtues of true love and self-sacrifice . . . maybe they weren’t the twaddle of an idiot? For Una loved him and had entrusted him with her ring. And he loved her, and would prove the hero he must be.
Don’t forget your dream!
“You see,” he whispered when the Lady’s voice came to him. “I haven’t forgotten! I’ve got what you sent me here for. I will kill the Dragon yet.”
But, sweet prince, that is not your dream.
Lionheart closed his hand around the ring once more, frowning. “What . . . what do you mean?”
You dream of being prince once more. You said nothing of killing the Dragon.
“I . . . I did. I cannot be Eldest if I don’t kill him.”