Daylily’s eyes narrowed.
“It ain’t safe!” Rose Red insisted. “He ain’t safe, and I’m goin’ straight to him, just like I promised Leo. But it don’t matter if he burns me to a crisp. I’ve got to do as I promised the prince, and I will. It don’t matter if I never come back. But you—”
“Do you honestly believe I have so weak a will?”
Rose Red could not breathe under Daylily’s hard countenance. She curtsied deeply there in the dark before that great horse. “M’lady, what would my master do if you were taken too?” she whispered. “Think of Leo.”
“I am thinking of Leo,” Daylily said. “Take my hand and come up behind me. We are going to the Eldest’s House to fulfill your promise.”
Still Rose Red hesitated. Daylily’s voice became very dark. “Remember, you are my servant as well.”
Hating herself, hating the world, hating that Dragon and especially Daylily, Rose Red obeyed. With the lady’s assistance, she scrambled up onto the gelding’s back and clung to Daylily’s belt as they continued down the road. The baron would pursue them, she suspected, might catch them before they even reached the next bridge. Or perhaps they would find themselves at a dead end at the bridge, for had not the messengers said all the bridges were burning?
Before the night was through, they approached Starling Bridge, which separated Middlecrescent from Idlewild. Like all the great bridges of Southlands, it did not span a river but a gorge. Some said that ancient rivers had once flowed throughout Southlands, cutting the ground deeply; if so, those were long since gone, replaced by younger rivers in shallower beds. But the gorges remained, and grown up inside them were the dark Wilderlands where nobody dared walk, though nobody could say why. It was an unspoken rule far stronger than mere superstition.
Be that as it may, Rose Red did not like to think what she and Daylily would do if the bridge did burn. The nearest crossing was many days’ ride east, and they would not make it were the baron to give pursuit.
But they saw Starling Bridge from a distance, white and shining and free of flame. Rose Red breathed in relief at the sight. Daylily urged her horse across, though it shivered and protested. Its hooves clattered like drums on the boards and braces. Rose Red heard the whispering of the trees below them, like the sound of the sea.
Then they were across and on their way into Idlewild. Rose Red breathed deeply, perhaps in relief, and turned to look back the way they had come.
Starling Bridge burst into flames behind them.
Lionheart rode hard for many days, and when he came to the mountains in the north, he left his horse behind and crossed over on foot. He could only hope the Dragon did not spot him.
Lionheart grew ever more thankful for the time he’d spent tramping about the countryside of Hill House. It had toughened him up for this long journey through the Circle of Faces. He did wish he had brought more food and less gold. It weighed him down, and what good did it do? He met no one. The highland shepherds and miners who lived amid these mountains had all fled when the Dragon came. Lionheart wondered if any of them had escaped Southlands.
He came at last to the crest of a hill from which, when he looked south, he could see his kingdom spread before him, covered in a haze of smoke. He turned quickly from that sight to look north.
The sun was dazzling in a clear sky beyond the Dragon’s canopy. It glittered upon the Bay of Chiara, the wide blue expanse that separated Southlands from the mainland save for a narrow isthmus. Only twice before had Lionheart seen the Chiara, when his father brought him along on visits to Shippening and Beauclair. Its beauty never failed to make him catch his breath, even now in his fugitive state. His heart thrilled at the prospect before him, not only the greatness of the sea, but also the greatness of freedom.
Freedom.
He cursed himself when he realized what word he’d dared think. This was exile, not an escape! He was duty bound to find what he sought and then to return. Yet somehow he could not suppress the excitement that rose inside him, and he started on the downward path with an eager step.
A shadow passed over him.
Lionheart yelped and ducked behind a rock, crouching down with one arm flung over his head. There was precious little light beneath those thick clouds, but the Dragon’s wings, swooping over him, nevertheless cast a shadow. Lionheart’s throat clogged as he breathed in a gasp of poison. So this was the end of his brave venture! Here, crouched like a rat hiding from a terrier.