Beana lunged again at the gate, pressing her body against the bars. “Don’t you dare admit her! Leave her alone!”
“But she’s come calling, my lady,” said the Dragon. “How rude would I be to leave her waiting?”
He was gone. Smoke swirled where he had stood.
Beana bleated, and her hooves tore up charred turf as she raced around the wall, desperate to reach the far side in time. “Rosie!” she called as she ran, though she knew her voice would not carry far enough. “Rosie, don’t go in!”
She rounded that side of the wall in time to see the little chambermaid and the baron’s tall daughter before the gate. She saw, as they could not, the Dragon standing just beyond, opening the door to admit them. They entered with hesitant steps, feeling his eyes upon them but otherwise unable to sense his immediate presence. Beana gave a last despairing bleat. “Rosie!”
The gate slammed shut, ringing and final.
Rose Red stood just inside the courtyard of the Eldest’s House, Daylily close behind her. She gazed through her veil at the strange landscape this yard had become. The beautiful Starflower Fountain lay in a smoldering pile. Some of the marble stones still glowed red, and the faces of that lady and her wolf nemesis were melted beyond recognition. Only the stone wood thrush, which had sat upon Starflower’s stone shoulder, remained recognizable.
Smoke surrounded everything in a haze, and the air was thick in their lungs. All was deathly quiet, a stark contrast to the screaming, blazing terror that yard had been when last Rose Red had seen it.
“The gate is shut,” Daylily said. Neither of them had heard it slam. Other than their own voices and breathing, not a sound could be heard in that place. Daylily licked her lips. “Perhaps a breeze caught it.”
“No,” Rose Red whispered. “No, I think not.” She took a step forward.
And froze.
Something was wrong. Not just the smoke, not just the ruin. She had known it would be thus, had prepared herself for it over the course of the long journey from Middlecrescent. She had even prepared herself for the sight of the stables, decimated beyond recall and smoldering like the remains of a great bonfire. Of course the Dragon would destroy them and probably feed upon the creatures inside, poor luckless things. Not on Beana, though. No, Beana must be fine. She must be; Rose Red wouldn’t consider any other possibility. But while dragons could, according to folklore, live entirely on their own self-sustaining fire, they notoriously craved flesh and blood to supplement that diet.
Rose Red swallowed, refusing to let her mind pursue that track. She took another step, then stopped once more.
Something was terribly, terribly off.
“We’ll get nowhere dithering here,” Daylily said. “Now we’ve come, we’ve come. Might as well go through with it.” Gathering her heavy skirts, she began making great strides across the courtyard into the swirling smoke. Rose Red stifled a cry and instead hissed through her teeth, “M’lady, wait!”
“Wait for what?” Daylily’s voice was like ice, though it trembled faintly. Rose Red wanted to draw her back from the house, from the rubble of the fountain, from that great front door which, though shut, seemed to beckon to them. A heavy presence lurked within the smoke. The presence of the Dragon, the presence of his poison, and . . . something more.
“It’s not safe,” Rose Red said.
“Really? I would hardly have guessed.” Daylily set her shoulders and continued across the courtyard, around the remains of the fountain, and up the front steps. And though she hated every step she took, Rose Red had no choice but to follow.
They entered the Eldest’s House. They did not see the Dragon holding the door for them to pass inside. They did not hear Beana crying out to them from the gate. They entered the Eldest’s House, and the door shut behind them.
The Dragon was, and always had been, King.
There was no time in this world. The shadows never shifted, never stirred. One might sit unmoving for hours, breathing in the searing scent of his poison, and it seemed like moments. His eyes, invisible, watched from every corner, for this was his house now, his kingdom, and there could be no hiding.
Queen Starflower sat before her long mirror in her private chambers, gazing upon but not seeing her own face. She was alone. She had always been alone. The others were all dead, she knew with a certainty beyond doubt. Perhaps they had never lived. Perhaps they too were nothing but a dream bound to die in this world to which she had awakened. Her husband, her son, her nephew . . . nothing but phantoms in this world, this dark, smoke-shrouded reality where dreams must die.
A voice called in some passage beyond her chambers.