She nodded.
And here Rose Red was now, riding on the back of that carriage, leaving the mountain far behind her.
Come back to me, princess, or I will come find you.
Rose Red glanced at her goat in the rumble seat beside her, eyes half closed, chewing her cud. She did not hear the fiery voice. No one else did.
“I must be mad,” Rose Red whispered to herself.
As though to confirm that thought, her Imaginary Friend sang suddenly from the trees along the roadside.
Beyond the Final Water falling,
The Songs of Spheres recalling.
When you find you must pursue that lonely way,
Won’t you return to me?
Rose Red’s eyes flashed and her breathing came fast. Though she dared not speak aloud with Beana right beside her, she fairly shouted in her mind. Since her friend was only imaginary, he would hear her.
“I will never return!”
My child, sang the bird who was also a prince, I am with you wherever you go. Even as your heart wanders from me.
“You’re worse than my Dream!” Her own voice rattled in her head. “How you plague me. I want nothin’ to do with either of you! I may be mad, I may hear voices, but that don’t mean I’ve got to stay that way.”
Don’t forget that I love you, sang the thrush.
“I’ll forget, all right. ’Cause it’s nothin’ but a pretty story . . . a children’s tale. Where were you when my old dad was taken and I was left to starve? Dreams and stories . . . they cain’t be depended on. I’ve got to make my own way now. And Leo—Prince Lionheart, that is—he’s goin’ to help me. He’s my good and kind master now.”
The Prince’s voice was faint, singing as though across a vast gulf.
Don’t forget my name. . . .
And when that voice had faded, the Dream’s remained.
I will come find you.
Behind the prince’s carriage, in which both Lionheart and Foxbrush rode in stony silence, came the coach of the Baron of Middlecrescent’s daughter. Daylily sat alone inside; her serving woman, at her order, had climbed out to sit in front with the driver. Thus Daylily had time to think many thoughts as she followed Prince Lionheart down the mountain.
Prince Lionheart and his little protégée.
“What secret is she hiding?” Daylily whispered. “There’s something more here than meets the eye. These fools are scared to death of her, but why then is Leo so . . . so”—she bit out the word—“smitten?”
Daylily thought she knew the answer. What is more, she determined to verify her hypothesis at the first possible opportunity.
The Starflower Fountain stood in the front courtyard of the Eldest’s House. It was two stories tall, a fantastic piece of workmanship carved in white marble, portraying Southlands’ famous historic heroine, Maid Starflower, Panther Master’s daughter, wearing very little, truth be told. A tiny stone bird sat on one shoulder, a classic icon in every depiction of the maid, the meaning of which everyone had long since forgotten. The maid herself stood with one arm raised above her head, the other flung out before her as though to ward off the monstrous wolf that stood opposite her, baring its marble teeth. Her body formed a crescent arch, and her proportions were haphazard at best. The fountain was nevertheless revered as a great depiction of that lady after whom half the girls of Southlands were named.
Queen Starflower stood beside her husband on the steps facing the fountain. She was not a beautiful woman like her namesake. But she was strong. King Hawkeye was proud to have her as his queen and depended on her in countless ways of which his subjects had no knowledge. The queen knew, however; she knew without question how indispensable she was to her husband. And she also knew how important it would be for her son to have a capable wife. Lionheart was a handsome boy but weak. Stubborn as well, which Starflower considered the most dangerous form of weakness. It would take a strong woman to manage him as he managed the kingdom.
The two carriages and several horsemen who served as escorts passed through the Eldest’s gardens and on through the gates leading to the Eldest’s House itself. The House was not fortified, for it was no fortress but rather a palace of tall spires and minarets and sweeping wings, the grandest house in all of Southlands. Its structure had a strong northern influence, including the great hall with doors opening east and west, but built of orange-hued stone, it was distinctly southern in effect. Many of its passages were open to the elements to keep air moving, for the atmosphere of Southlands was balmy at best, oppressive at worst. Servants stood in doorways, waving fans, and though ladies of fashion wore many petticoats, their shoulders were bare and their hair piled up to keep it off their necks.