“Tell me.”
“I don’t know,” he says, trying to ward off her hands, which latch onto his face like roots gripping soil. “I don’t know. How can I?”
“I can make you a king,” she says. “A king like no other in the history of the world. This power I possess.”
“I don’t know what I want!” Leo repeats. “Why must everyone pressure me? It’s always push, push, push . . . but I don’t know who I am yet.”
The Lady continues as though he has not spoken. “I can set you free. I can send you down a path without cares or expectations, where you may become whomever you will.”
He tries to close his eyes and shield himself from her gaze but cannot. “I don’t know,” he whispers.
“Tell me what you want.” Her white hair surrounds him like a cloud, but the ends of it strike his face like tiny, biting snakes. “The time is near. You must make your choice and let me fulfill your dreams for you.”
“I’ll make my choice when I’m jolly well ready!”
“Soon.”
Blood oozes from the stinging cuts on his cheeks.
“Tell me what you want, and I will make it so.”
“When I know what I want, I’ll tell you. Agreed?”
The stinging stops. Leo opens his eyes and sees her hair, still in a billow about him, but soft and gentle now as droplets of mist. And the Lady’s eyes smile.
“Agreed.”
2
DAYLILY RECEIVED A LETTER sealed in red wax and stamped with the image of a seated panther. She rolled her eyes heavenward when she saw that seal, then braced herself, broke it open, and read the letter’s contents in a quick glance.
“Dragon’s teeth,” she murmured, though it was not a ladylike phrase.
“What have you there, my lovely?” asked Baron Middlecrescent. He appeared at her elbow like some bad fairy, and she had no choice but to hand over the letter.
“Light of Lumé!” said the Baron. “This is better than I’d hoped.”
“I thought he was to come here, Father,” said Daylily. Not a trace of rebellion could be found in her voice, but her eyes may have flashed beneath those long lashes.
“And now you’ll go there instead. A fine thing indeed, and his invitation is a sure sign of favor.”
But for all her pretty arrangement of curls, Daylily was no fool. She had read between the lines and knew that young Leo’s real sentiments were quite different from those expressed in ink. Her face remained calm, however, and she went about the necessary preparations for her journey to Hill House.
It was the most forsaken and loathsome location imaginable for a summer holiday, she concluded before her father’s carriage had carried her even halfway. She was used to spending her holidays with friends in Middlecrescent City, enjoying the society there, the balls and assemblies and theatrical performances. There was more than one young man of certain birth who had proven himself most ardent in his admiration of the baron’s daughter. And while Daylily bestowed favors on no one, she was not opposed to receiving favors herself.
Yet here she found herself trundling across bridge after bridge, passing towns of excellent societal repute, even bypassing the Eldest’s City itself, on her way to some remote house in remote mountains where no one in her right mind would want to pass half a day. And under strict orders to beguile, bewitch, and otherwise entrance a boy for whom she had no use whatsoever.
Life was cruel.
But nobody who saw her passing would have guessed at the thunderous thoughts behind Daylily’s face. She kept herself in excellent order (though her pillow, had it possessed a voice, may have complained of a few vicious poundings in the small hours of the night).
The carriage rolled through the Barony of Idlewild, and now the road led increasingly upward. Soon enough, Daylily found herself gazing back down on the world, and she had to admit, it was a thrilling view. Then the woods grew tall all around her, and villages were few and far between.
One night, while resting herself before the great fire of a mountain inn, she heard a sound such as she had never heard before. She raised her face from a cup of steaming cider and inquired of her goodwoman what it was.
“A wolf, m’lady,” said her goodwoman.
“Ah,” said Lady Daylily, taking another sip. The sound came again, and it gave her a delightful shiver. “Are there many wolves in this part of the country?”
“More than anywhere else, they say,” her goodwoman replied. “Once upon a time, ’tis said the Wolf Lord himself hunted in these mountains. But that was long ago.”
“A legend,” said Daylily with the tiniest shrug. “A Faerie story.” But she was pleased to hear that lone wolf cry a third time. A smile touched the corner of her mouth.