THE DRAGON LANDED in the heart of the flames, atop the pile of rubble that only moments before had been Starflower and her foe. As he landed, screams rose up about him, a macabre chorus. How many died in those first few moments would be impossible to guess, but the others fled without thought, with no emotion save the overwhelming, consuming fear that gripped them by their throats and squeezed.
The Dragon raised his wings above his head, lifted his face to the sky, and sent up a fountain of flame, a ghastly parody of the pure water that had so recently flowed in the same spot. It shot to the heavens, raining sparks upon the surrounding gardens. Fire caught and spread swiftly across the grass, across the hedges, across the winding white paths. Stable hands screamed to each other as the stables caught, some rushing inside to save the horses, others taking flight through the far gate.
The people inside the Eldest’s House, as the sounds outside besieged their ears, ran to various windows and looked out upon the fiery maelstrom. They saw the screaming men and women, saw the fires swiftly spreading. Most of all, filling their vision so that they could not look away no matter how dearly they might wish to, they saw the Dragon in place of the white monument that had symbolized their liberty.
Queen Starflower stood amid her attendants, many of whom were shrieking inarticulately. And as she looked out upon the destroyer standing on the ruins of her namesake’s statue, fire bursting from him in a stream to the heavens, she believed she looked upon her death. In a whisper, she spoke a protective blessing: “Silent Lady, shield us!” But she spoke without hope.
Foxbrush and other men of the court hastened to the palace windows as well and, seeing what terror waited beyond the glass, formed together and hurtled toward the great front door, armed or otherwise, united in rage. Foxbrush was squeezed to the back of the crowd, though his shouts were as loud and angry as those of his fellows.
But King Hawkeye, his old bones quickened by the sights and sounds around him, ran to the same hall and raised both his arms in a commanding gesture. “Stop!” he cried. “The fumes—”
His voice was drowned as the foremost young men flung wide the door.
Like a tidal wave, noxious fumes poured into the hall. The men struck first by the wall of venomous heat fell as though dead to the floor. Those farther back, as the poison filled their lungs, felt their outrage melt away in a surge first of absolute terror, then of utter despair. Noble and common man alike went down on their knees with the weight of it.
The Eldest saw this effect before the fumes reached him, and his face twisted in dismay. Then he too felt the poison take hold of him in a grip that promised, like a constrictor’s, to strengthen with time.
All this happened in a matter of moments, and as the following moments ticked away their small eternities, the Dragon’s poison worked its way into every room, every passage, every cellar and attic chamber in all the Eldest’s House, filling the lungs, then the hearts of each household member.
Save one.
Deeming his work complete, the massive beast swallowed his flame, and the world was suddenly dark as night in the cloud of his smoke. He looked out from where he sat in the ruin of the fountain and spoke a single word.
“Out.”
This command worked twofold. First, every fire that blazed in the hedgerows and across the stable roofs instantly snuffed out like a candle under glass, leaving behind only noxious smoke. Second, people of the household poured from every door and filled the yard around the Dragon. Even those who could barely stand for the poison tottered forth, servant supporting nobleman, nobleman supporting servant. They arranged themselves in groups, and the Dragon smiled.
As he smiled, his eyes scanned the crowd like a scythe cutting through a field. Those on whom his gaze fell even for an instant felt themselves collapsing inside as though the marrow of their spirits had suddenly corroded. But those awful eyes did not linger on any one person; instead they continued searching the crowd until at last the Dragon spoke again.
“Where is the princess?”
The people fell to the ground, unable to answer.
“Where is the princess?” the Dragon repeated.
Still no one could answer. If anyone thought of Lady Daylily, somewhere on the grounds riding, no one could have spoken her name even had that one wished to. The Dragon hissed, flames licking from his tongue. Then he crawled down from his perch on the rubble, like a monarch descending from his throne. The ground shook beneath him, and all the people of the Eldest’s House trembled.
“Where is the princess?” he demanded yet again, fire dripping from his jaws like saliva from a mastiff’s jowls. Then his attention was drawn by the sight of King Hawkeye in the middle of the throng, where his steward and several barons had tried to shield him, struggling to his feet and pushing the men aside.
“Ah, the little kingling,” the Dragon said. As he drew nearer, the people scattered in screamless terror, creating an open path to the Eldest. But the aging king, despite the bitter smoke, drew himself up tall and faced the Dragon.