The Sleeping Beauty (32 page)

She found herself waist-deep, as if she was in a pool of water—except, of course, she was in a mirror at the edge of a churned-up field. Beside her, there was an exhausted firebird, and a very surprised unicorn.

The unicorn yelped and jumped away. The firebird’s eyes pinned in startlement as she fluttered her wings and trilled with alarm.

She ignored them, getting a grip on the frame and pulling herself out, exactly as she would have pulled herself out of a pool of water, getting her rump up on the frame, then swinging her legs out. That went better than she had any reason to believe. “Jimson?” she asked.

“Still here, Lily, and much relieved,” he said from her pocket.

She turned to the unicorn and firebird. The stared at her as if they could not believe their eyes. “Where are Leopold and Siegfried?” she demanded.

“In the Tower,” the unicorn said promptly, the first of the two to recover her wits. “They told us to stay here.”

“And you obeyed them?” she asked incredulously. “Come on! Let’s go! They might need us!”

The unicorn blinked. “You have a point, Godmovver.” And as Lily dashed across the field to the tunnel in the thorns, she shook herself and followed at a weary trot.

It was not easy ground to run across. Every step threatened to turn her ankle, and the gown she was wearing was not exactly constructed for running in.
I should have taken the time to change—
She thought about transforming what she was wearing, but that would take too much time. Illusions were one thing. Actually changing—that was something else entirely.

Halfway across the field, she heard Rosa scream. Cursing the encumbering skirt of her gown, she reached down, grabbed the hem in both hands, and hauled the mass of fabric up to run faster.

As she entered the tunnel through the thorns, she heard a bestial roaring that sounded more as if it had come out of a bear’s throat than a human’s. And just as she was within sight of an open door—

The vines shrieked in a high-pitched cry that sounded like nothing she had ever heard in her entire life.

She had to clap her hands over her ears, and she bent over double; the terrible sound cut through her head like a knife, bringing tears of pain to her eyes. The vines shook with a convulsion that nearly brought the entire tunnel down around her.

For a moment her heart leapt into her mouth as the vines thrashed uncontrollably. Something was killing them—but if they broke through the barrier of their own dead, they could still impale her and the unicorn.

Then the scream cut off abruptly, leaving behind an echoing silence.

And with another convulsion they all straightened, pointing skyward. Then they abruptly shivered into black, bitter dust.

The dust went everywhere, and she found herself coughing desperately to rid her lungs of it. Dashing her hand across her eyes to clear them, Lily ran the last few feet to the open door, and froze at the gory vision that she had stumbled into.

The first thing she saw was Prince Desmond, quite dead, grotesquely pinned to a table by a sword. His eyes stared sightlessly at her, his face bearing a strange expression of surprise.

The second thing she saw was Siegfried cradling a near-fainting Rosa in his arms, touching her face and kissing her, both covered in blood. Her heart nearly stopped.

Then as they both looked up, she realized it was not
their
blood, and her heart started again. “Godm—” Rosa exclaimed, reaching for her.

And the Huntsman rose up from beyond the table, face mad with rage, a sword in one hand, a meat cleaver in the other.

Lily froze. Siegfried had his back to the Huntsman and couldn’t see him. Rosa was looking at her. In another second, the Huntsman would—

The unicorn shouldered her aside and charged the Huntsman, uttering a high-pitched scream of fury.

The Huntsman laughed and dodged, so that the unicorn hit him with her shoulder instead of her horn. She whirled on her hind feet and charged again. He neatly stepped aside at the last minute and parried her horn with the sword. This time the cleaver came down on her neck, inflicting what had to be a mortal wound. The unicorn made a gurgling sound and went to her knees, scarlet blood pouring down her neck, and the Huntsman turned on Siegfried, who flung himself between the Huntsman and Rosa, searching frantically for a weapon.

“Lily! Throw me! Throw my mirror!” Jimson shouted from her pocket, breaking her paralysis. Without even thinking, her hand went to her pocket almost of its own accord, and as the Huntsman raised the sword for another fatal blow aimed at Siegfried, she threw the mirror with a snap of her wrist, sending it spinning for him.

She hit the Huntsman squarely in the face with the edge of the mirror. And it was the Huntsman’s turn to scream. The mirror shattered into a cloud of coruscating motes and a deafening explosion, half blinding her for a moment, and the Huntsman went down on his knees.

Then the cloud condensed back into the shape of the mirror again; the mirror clattered to the floor. But—it was not Jimson’s mirror, with the clear glass and the gold frame. It was a mirror with a sinister, tarnished black surface, and a frame of rotting wood and verdigris-greened bronze.

Lily ran for the mirror and snatched it up. “Jimson!” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat with fear. What had happened?

But what looked back at her out of the mirror was not Jimson.

It was the Huntsman. The Huntsman, as she had never seen him. His face was contorted in a rictus of terror, his mouth open in a silent scream, as two skeletal black
things
seized him by the shoulders. He glanced at one of them, and turned his gaze back to her, clawing at the surface of the mirror frantically.

His captors were inexorable. His face receded into the black depths, mouth still open in a scream she was glad that she could not hear, as they hauled him down, down, and at last, were gone. Then there was only the mirror, black and empty. “Jimson?” she sobbed. Where was he? What had happened to him?

“I’m—here, Lily,” said a hoarse voice beside her, and she looked down, startled. What looked up at her might have been wearing the Huntsman’s clothing, his body even—but the face?

The face was Jimson’s.

Before she could even begin to react to that, Siegfried’s frantic call dragged her attention back to the three against the wall. “Godmother! You must help Leopold! He’s dying!”

She stumbled over to them, but from the Prince’s pallor and his shallow, catching breaths, it was obvious that there was nothing she could do in time. “I—I’m not a healer,” she said helplessly. “He’s hurt more than I can mend—I can’t help him—“

“I…can…” coughed another voice. Bleeding terribly from the wound in her neck, the unicorn lurched to her feet and staggered the three steps it took to get to them, falling to her knees beside them all. With a last effort, she flung her head across Leopold’s chest so that her own wound bled into his.

“Fweewy…given…” she gasped.

As the light in her beautiful golden eyes faded, she sighed once.

Then she was gone.

Leopold opened his eyes with an effort at the sound of hoarse sobs. It was not something he had expected to do, actually. He should have been dead. He couldn’t imagine why he wasn’t dead. He knew he had taken a fatal wound, and a moment ago the world had been fading away around him. He couldn’t imagine why now he was feeling better by the moment.

“Lie still,” said the Godmother—how had she gotten there?—with a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’re still healing.” Healing? And then he saw past her.

He could only lie there in bewildered wonder, watching Siegfried cry with terrible grief as he cradled the head of the dead unicorn in his arms.

THE BALCONY WAS A GOOD TWO STORIES
above the crowd, and as Lily looked down on the sea of faces below her, for the first time in her life she experienced a great deal of trepidation.

She glanced to the side, where Jimson stood in a uniform the Brownies had designed especially for him. Not overornamented, not overelaborate, and, she hoped, not uncomfortable. In black, of course, to match “Queen Sable’s” ubiquitous black, for Jimson was the Queen’s personal Guardsman so far as anyone other than Siegfried, Rosa and Leopold knew. His slightly pointed ears, that betrayed him as some form of Fae, were hidden beneath a helmet.

Lily still was not sure what had happened when the mirror hit the Huntsman. Jimson just got thin-lipped when she asked, and said, “Let’s just say that under certain rare circumstances, someone evil’s fate can catch up with him—and that allows for an exchange between our world and yours. I hadn’t planned on that, though. I had only planned to drag him over into my world, where he couldn’t threaten you anymore.”

Well, whatever had happened, she was grateful for it.

She should have known that Jimson was Fae of some sort, though. After all, he had been alive longer than she had.

She held up her hand where he could see it, and they both watched it shake.

“It’s called
stage fright,
my love,” he said, quietly. “Don’t worry, everyone gets it.”

Well, that was comforting. Sort of.

This was her own fault, really; she had wanted to address the largest number of the people of Eltaria that she could to cut down on rumors and wild stories, and this was the result. She would just have to tell the butterflies in her stomach to settle down, grit her teeth and get through it.

She took a deep breath, and with a gesture hidden from those below, invoked the spell that would allow her voice to project to the farthest point of the crowd. It was a good thing that the Palace had been built with a view to making mass addresses like this, because otherwise she had no idea
where
in the Kingdom it could be done. But she, Jimson, Rosa and Siegfried all stood on the seldom-used East Balcony, and there was nothing in this direction but acres of practice fields and lawn. Not that long ago, those fields had held a small army of adventurers vying for Rosa’s hand. Now they seemed to hold every man, woman and child in Eltaria.

“People of Eltaria,” she said.
Oh, heavens. Do I sound nasal? I sound nasal. I sound like I’m whining—
“We thank you for coming here today. This day, this moment, marks a turning point in the history of our Kingdom. For centuries, we have lived in fear of the surrounding lands, for Eltaria is small and rich, and a tempting morsel for others to swallow up. For centuries we have worn out our Kings, sending them to early graves, forcing them to confront invader after would-be invader. For centuries our bravest warriors have spent
their lives dashing from one trouble spot to another. But today, that is at an end.”

That was the signal for Jimson to toss the firebird, who had been sitting quietly in his cupped hands, into the air. She arrowed upward and burst into flame, causing oohs and aahs from the crowd, and surely some people were wondering how on earth this little creature, potentially dangerous though she was for her size, could defend a kingdom.

Of course, it wasn’t the firebird that Lily was talking about. The firebird’s flare signaled something quite a bit more impressive. And a very great deal more dangerous.

From where they had been waiting, soaring in slow, lazy circles high above the palace, hidden by the glare of the midday sun, the dragons came.

Four of them.

This was the culmination of Siegfried’s plan, the one that had fairly won him Rosa’s hand. Oh, how she had laughed aloud when he told her, because it was perfect. And as the years went by, the defenses would only get stronger. Kings and Queens would come and go, even Godmothers—but the Dragons would remain, increasing in numbers with every century until not even an army of Dragon-slayers could defeat them.

The people below were already looking up at the firebird; beyond the firebird, four little dots of color came slowly spiraling down out of the sky. A few people in the crowd, keener eyed than most, spotted them first. As they drew nearer, more and more folk noticed, began pointing, murmuring. Then as it became apparent that these winged things were not, in fact, birds…as it became obvious that they were bigger than folk originally thought…as it became
very
obvious that they were much, much bigger than folk thought, and that they were, in fact, dragons, the murmurs increased to a dull roar that sounded like a distant ocean.

The dragons backwinged and settled to graceful landings on the peaked roof of the palace, spaced out equally behind the royal party.

Then, as one, they lifted their heads and blew out huge plumes of flame that joined into a canopy of many-colored fire above the heads of those on the balcony. The roar of the flames and the heat were just a little bit uncomfortable, even fifteen feet below.

The murmuring cut off abruptly. Every eye in the field was fixed on the dragons and their flame. Before anyone could take it into his head to panic, Lily spoke again.

“People of Eltaria, I present to you the Guardians of the Border.”

She paused, as the dragons cut off their flames and gazed benignly down on the crowd.

“You will have heard that Prince Siegfried of Drachenthal, here beside us, won the hand of the Princess Rosamund with his answer to the final test of the competition—the question of how to best protect our land, not only now, but well into the future. Finally we can reveal his brilliant answer.” She did not stint on the warmth and approval she projected into her words. Siegfried had gotten the idea just before Rosa was kidnapped, but had not been aware just how many dragons the Godmothers knew. Nor how many were ready to jump at the chance for secure homes where they wouldn’t be harassed by treasure-hunters. When he suggested it tentatively, Lily had nearly proposed to him herself.

Siegfried blushed crimson. Fortunately, he didn’t have to say anything, or she was fairly sure he would have stuttered.

“As Guardian for the East, we present Beryl of the Clan Buchenwurm. She and her kin will dwell in the caves of the mountains of the east.”

Beryl, a dragon who had made Sharpstone’s eyes fairly pop out of his head with desire when he first saw her, was a slender and graceful
creature of emerald green, with wingwebs exactly the color of young beech leaves. She nodded her head to the crowd, a glint of amusement in her eyes. Sharpstone’s interest had not been lost on her, and as Beryl herself was a young dragon with no hoard yet to speak of, and Sharpstone was not bad to look on and had quite the impressive hoard…well Sharpstone was a very attractive prospect to
her,
as well. So far as Beryl was concerned, Sharpstone’s presence only sweetened an already-honeyed bargain.

“As Guardian for the West, we present Thundershrike of the Clan Windrider. He and his mate and their kin will dwell on the ledges of the western border. They will have the additional boon that as they protect us, so we will protect their eggs and young with a permanent detachment of the Guard stationed with them. That detachment, of Eltaria’s finest, will henceforth be called the Dragonguard.”

Thundershrike was an old dragon, enormous and proud, the color of blued steel. His Clan was rare; dragons did not usually like to lair in the open, and their nests were vulnerable to attack. He inclined his head to Lily, every line of him expressing gratitude.

“As Guardian for the North, we present Kukris, of the Clan Parbellum. He and his kin will dwell in the mines that the Dwarves have emptied of their treasures, and in addition, will serve as guards to the Dwarven convoys conveying their precious cargo to our capital.”

Kukris was everything that people thought of when they thought of a dragon. Red and gold, fierce and strong, his ornamental spikes were particularly long, his teeth particularly large and sharp. He had been the first to accept, for Parbellum had long ago made their peace with the Dwarves of their homeland, and their numbers were putting a great deal of stress on the available lairs. This was an opportunity they would never have refused.

“And as Guardian of the South, we present Precious Peony, of the
Clan Wazashi. She and her clan are new to these lands, but are long in friendship with the peoples of their own. They will dwell along the river canyons, and above Lake Arrowhead, in the wind- and water-caves there.”

Precious Peony looked very different from the others; her snout was shorter, her wings more ornate, and she was more snakelike. Her scales shone like opals or pearls in the bright sunlight, and she bowed rather than nodding her head. Unlike the others, Peony’s sort of dragon was as much at home in water as in the air. It had been the idea of the dragon champion attached to Godmother Elena’s Kingdom to recruit her and her clan; like Clan Parbellum, they were beginning to feel crowding in their island home and welcomed the chance to split the Clan and make a new home here.

“This is the treaty we have made. The dragon clans are to act as our defenses on the borders and protect the Dwarven mines in the mountains. In turn, we are to provide them with food, which the Crown will pay for out of the Privy Purse, in the form of special herds and flocks which will be pastured nearby. We are also to help them defend their lairs and nests from attack. And in return for the special protection they afford the Dwarves, and the gift of shed skin, the Dwarves will supply them with ten percent of the production of their mines, with which to build their hoards. We believe this treaty will be of immeasurable value to the Kingdom of Eltaria and lead to a firm foundation of alliance with dragonkind that will only strengthen our security as the years pass. People of Eltaria! What say you?”

The acclaim was slow to start—these were, after all,
dragons
—but after a moment, a few started to cheer. More joined them, cheering or applauding, and more still, until at last the entire crowd roared its approval, and the dragons lifted their heads and roared back until the roof shook.

Lily waited patiently for the cheering to stop, which it eventually did. When she had relative quiet again, she took another deep breath. She had been looking forward to this part for
months.

“As you know, the Prince and Princess were wed two months ago. His solution was discussed, negotiated and, as of today, is in place. Flocks have been moved to their new homes. The dragons are today picking out their lairs. The Prince and Princess have been administering to the day-to-day needs of the Kingdom under the eyes of the Council and us. And now it is time. This day, we, Queen-Consort Sable, do hereby abdicate all pretensions to the crown, giving over the rule of Eltaria to King Siegfried and Queen Rosamund. Long live their majesties! Long live the King! Long live the Queen!”

This, of course, was completely unexpected for everyone but the four on the balcony, and after a moment of silence, as she placed the Royal crown on Rosa’s head, and Jimson took the State Crown from its box and put it on Siegfried’s, the roar that went up actually rocked the balcony under their feet.

Then she stepped back into the Palace, to let the new King and Queen properly greet their subjects.

“Someone is likely to have a polite tiff at usurping the coronation,” Jimson observed, as they made their way back to the Queen’s suite. Everything that Lily wanted had already been sent back home to her Castle. It only remained for the two of them to leave.

“Someone can have all the tiffs he wants,” Lily retorted. “The last time we had a coronation, there was nearly a war amongst the priests and clerics over who was going to get to perform it. Now they can all blame that ‘foreign interloper, Queen Sable’ and unite in their umbrage.”

Jimson threw back his head and laughed. She loved that laugh. She loved to make him laugh. She had always known he was witty, but she had never known what a good sense of humor he had. The past two months had brought many revelations.

“Now, have we gotten everything taken care of?” she asked as they passed through the doors of the suite and closed them behind themselves.

“Well, let’s tick off the list.” Jimson marked off the needed tasks on his fingers. “Dragons, abdication, coronation.”

She nodded.

“Rosa knows the mirror spell, so any time she needs to consult with us or have a lesson in magic, she can just step through.”

“And Siegfried has the firebird to advise him on magic and whatever the Tradition is going to try to sneak by him.”

“We’ve cowed the Council into acting as a Council should, and not trying to bully them.”

Lily laughed. “Or Siegfried has. That one day he roared at them, it was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud.” She ran through the list in her mind. “There will still be problems. And Eltaria will
still
need its very own Godmother. It’s too wealthy and too full of magic not to.”

Jimson snorted. “Eltaria will still need the Godmother, the Queen-Godmother, and the—what would you call me?”

“Utterly captivating. I cannot wait to get back home so we can drop all the ‘Queen and her guard’ nonsense. I was so tired of stepping through mirrors every time I wanted to seduce you!” She gave him her “look” through lowered lashes.

“And here I thought
I
was the one doing the seducing!” He kissed her nose. “All right, then—”

For the last time, Lily discarded the persona of Queen Sable, and with it an invisible burden she was only too glad to set down. She and Jimson each picked up an identical hand-mirror from the table beside the “traveling” mirror.

“Mirror, mirror, in my hand,” they chanted in unison—and a green face appeared in each. Now, of course, she realized that the green
color was just the result of the image having to pass through the veil between their worlds.

“Godmother Lily!” said the one in her hand, and “Master” said the one in Jimson’s.

“Is everything ready for us at home, Apprentice?” Jimson asked, a little sternly.