She bowed her head as though considering her words. “No one has word of the Eldest and his queen. The Eldest’s City is abandoned, and talk is that your father, mother, your cousin, and many others are imprisoned in the House. But no one knows.”
The room was stuffy and hot, although the window was open, allowing in a breeze that tugged the curtains of Lionheart’s bed and struck his face without any cooling relief. The curtains themselves were red velvet, and to his tired eyes the color seemed to blend in and out of Daylily’s hair.
Rose Red was present. He saw her across the room, sitting by the window, huddled deep inside her veils. Oddly, the sight of her filled him with comfort. She, at least, of all the people of his home, was safe. She was alive, and she was near, and she was familiar.
The silence had hung too long in the room. Daylily, looking to see where Lionheart’s gaze rested, felt the sudden need to speak again. “The Dragon,” she said, “has given commands. No one is to leave.”
Lionheart dragged his eyes back to her, though they slid around as though unwilling or unable to rest upon her face. “No one is to leave the Eldest’s House?”
“All of Southlands,” Daylily said. “Father told me this morning. Word has it that the Dragon has created barricades of occult workings across every port and road. Those who have tried to leave have . . . they have been destroyed. Burned.” She was calm as she spoke the words, a bulwark of strength in the midst of the storm. In the presence of that strength, Lionheart found himself both chilled and emboldened. Even as the residual poison in his veins sought to drag him back down, he drew himself up, determined not to be weak before this girl who could speak of her country’s doom in such cool tones.
“Bridges have been set afire,” she said. “They are not ruined completely; people say that because they are of Faerie make they can’t be destroyed. But since the last messengers came, they have been set afire, and they burn so hot that no one can cross them anymore. We are prisoners, cut off from one another. We are at his mercy.”
“Get up, little prince.”
He grimaced as the words shot across his memory. He pushed away Daylily’s hands. “Rose Red,” he said, and the girl by the window leapt to her feet. “Rose Red, bring me clothes, boots, a cloak.”
She hastened to do his bidding, and Daylily stood back from his bedside. “Lionheart,” she said, “you have been sick with fever, and we despaired of your life. You are not yet ready to—”
“Get up and journey into the world.”
The fiery voice in his memory drowned out Daylily’s words. Rose Red returned with the requested items and handed them to him. He sat there, looking from her to Daylily and back again. “Please,” he said, “a moment of privacy?”
“What are you proposing, Lionheart?” Daylily’s face sank into a deep frown.
“I send you to your exile.”
“I must go.”
“Go where?”
“Journey into the world.”
“He told me I must journey into the world. I . . . I believe I must go, must seek help for us.”
“Didn’t you hear what I just told you? Those who have tried to cross have all died. Burned, Lionheart!”
“If he told me to go, then surely he must allow me to cross the borders.”
“We will meet again, Prince Lionheart.”
Lionheart squared his shoulders and drew as deep a breath as his damaged lungs would permit. “This is my duty, Daylily. He has commanded me to go, and I shall do so. I will cross the borders, and I will learn how to defeat this monster. And when I know, I will return.”
“Perhaps you’ll find your throne after all?”
“Now, are you going to let me get dressed, or shall I scandalize you both with the sight of my nightshirt?”
Though the Baron of Middlecrescent protested more vehemently than did his daughter, Lionheart was still Prince of Southlands. He was outfitted to ride before the day was out. The baron refused to give Lionheart his blessing, but at least he rode with wishes for good luck.
Middlecrescent and Daylily agreed to ride with Lionheart as far as the nearest bridge, where they both secretly believed the prince would be forced to stop. It was engulfed in a blaze of heat, though the bridge itself did not burn. Sometimes, the baron thought, young men who refuse to hear the advice of their elders simply need to find out for themselves the hard way. So be it.
Before mounting, Lionheart asked for Rose Red to be brought to him. The servant girl approached her prince, trembling, and went down on her knees before him as though to receive a benediction.
“Rosie,” he said, surprised, “why do you kneel? You’ve never been so formal before me!”
“My prince,” she said so softly that it was difficult to hear. “My good master, I must ask a boon of you.”
Lionheart smiled a little, though his heart was heavy. In Rose Red’s bowed figure he saw the comfort of familiarity. He found himself longing suddenly for the friendship that had once existed between them.