Veiled Rose (48 page)

But he hated the Lady more.

“Princess Una,” he said, keeping his voice steady with an effort, “you are young and sweet. You can’t know about such things. I may be only a Fool, but even a Fool must see his duty, and when he sees it, he must follow through. What else can he do and still consider himself a man? Perhaps I cannot help my people. Perhaps I will live long enough to see their destruction and then perish in the same fire. But nevertheless I will go.” He turned away from her and kicked another stone into the passing water. “As soon as I can put together funds enough for the journey.”

The princess regarded him quietly. She smiled a little. “Then I think you are a very brave Fool.”

“If I were not a Fool, do you think I could be brave?”

He looked at her then, deep into those wide eyes of hers. How guileless she was, he thought. How unlike any girl he had ever met before, except . . . except Rose Red.

Rose Red, back when they were both children, and she did not know he was a prince. His one true friend, unconcerned with societal dictums. But that had all changed, of course, as soon as Rose Red learned the truth. And besides, she was nothing more than a mountain girl.

This girl was a princess and his equal. She did not know this, of course, and yet . . . and yet she talked to him as though they were on the same footing. She talked to Lionheart like a friend.

Take the ring!

But he didn’t want to take the ring. He wanted to declare himself to her. To tell her his true name and purpose, to beg her not to receive the Duke of Shippening’s suit. To ask her to wait for him until he had reclaimed his kingdom.

But instead Lionheart crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue so that Una laughed that adorable laugh of hers and exclaimed, “Clown!”

“The things you call me,” he said, sweeping another bow with a jangle of his bell-covered hat. “M’lady, the day lengthens. If I do not return you home soon, questions will be asked, and do you think this humble floor-scrubber will escape a kicking from his superiors for hindering a princess in her daily schedule?”

He offered his arm, and she accepted it, allowing him to lead her back up the hill, away from the Old Bridge. She didn’t let go until they had reached the top tier of the garden, where they parted ways.

Foolish prince,
the Lady hissed.
How do you expect me to fulfill your dreams if you will not obey me?

But for the moment, Lionheart didn’t care. His mind was full of Una.

And the duke.

Shippening and his entourage arrived at Oriana five days later.

Lionheart saw him emerge from his carriage, enormous, full of self-importance. A great imbecile who didn’t deserve to look at the princess, much less woo her.

The words of Captain Sunan of the
Kulap Kanya
returned to Lionheart even as he watched the duke enter King Fidel’s household.
“He is not the buffoon he projects to the world. And his alliances are strong, though even I cannot guess at them.”

Lionheart clenched his fists. Buffoon or not, the Duke of Shippening should never have Princess Una.

The Fool was called upon to entertain the family that night. So Lionheart tuned his lute, adorned himself in jester’s clothing, set the ridiculous hat on his head, and smiled. He would entertain all right. He was not afraid of Shippening.

After supper, the family retired to the primary sitting room. When Lionheart entered, he found Una seated across from Shippening, her hands folded and her face very still. What her thoughts were, Lionheart couldn’t guess; but the duke’s thoughts, as he lazily regarded Una between puffs on his pipe, were all too apparent. The man made Lionheart sick.

Princess Una looked up and smiled his way, but he ignored her. Setting his face into a grin, he struck a sour chord on his instrument.

“What-
ho
! A merry bunch you are tonight!” he cried, springing to the center of the room, making as much clatter and noise as he could. Shippening grunted and sat up, fixing his gaze upon the jester. Lionheart’s smile grew. He knew the duke, too full of himself to recall a serving boy, would not remember him.

“Keep it down, jester,” King Fidel said. “We’re glad to see you, but must you
resound
so?”

“Resound? Your Majesty, I’ve hardly begun to peal!” He strummed another loud, discordant set of strings. “I’ve written a new song,” he said. “Rather, rewritten an old one in honor of our esteemed guest.”

The duke emptied his pipe onto the king’s fine rug. His grin was greasy, and his eyes disappeared behind the creases of his face. “That’s decent of you, Fool. I haven’t heard a good song in ages.”

“A
good
song I cannot promise,” Lionheart said. “But such a song as it is, I give to you. ‘The Sorry Fate of the Beastly Lout.’ ” Then he began to sing:

“With audacity gawky, the Beastly Lout

Would loiter and dawdle and maybe

Try his luck wenching, casting about

To court a most beauteous lady.

“But to his dismay, he was made aware

That his suit was unwelcome before her.

Our poor Beastly Lout felt her pickling stare

’Cause his stories did certainly bore her.

“Ah, sad Beastly Lout, how he tried to be nice,

But his courting just could not amuse her right.

For, you see, his great noggin was covered in lice,

Which is hardly appealing in any light.”

The Duke of Shippening barked a deep laugh. “Now, there’s a song for you!” he boomed. “Bravo! Sing another, boy! And how about a round of something to lighten the mood? The rest of you are stiff as pokers!”

But Lionheart did not move. He cast a glance Una’s way and saw how still she’d gone, though her younger brother was doubled up with silent laughter.

“Fool!” the duke cried. It was so like the voice he’d used to bully his enslaved jester all those years ago that it made Lionheart shudder. “Sing again, I tell you! Set that tongue of yours to work!”

“No,” King Fidel said. Lionheart felt the king’s gaze upon him. “I believe you are done here, jester. Good-bye.”

Lionheart bowed and left the room.

“Why, Majesty,” the duke cried, “I haven’t been so amused in years! Is he hired on to you long term? If not—”

That was all Lionheart heard before the door shut, and even that much scarcely registered in his mind. What had he done? Gone and ruined his chances here in Oriana, that’s what. A Fool? Try idiot, instead! He’d never get the ring now. He’d never return to Southlands. He’d never—

Someone was coming up behind him. He cast a glance back and realized that Princess Una followed him, though her head was down and she did not see him. Sudden resolve fixed itself in Lionheart’s breast. It was now or never.

He stepped back, took her by the arm, and hastily towed her into a side corridor. Taking her by both arms, he made her face him, and suddenly found that he had no words.

The princess stared up at him. Then her face sank into an angry scowl. “What do you think you’re doing?” she cried, pushing him away.

Lionheart could hardly think what to say as her words spilled out in an angry rush. At last he managed in a thick voice, as though he might choke on his own words, “You can’t marry that lout.”

“I don’t intend to marry that lout!” she growled back. “I have no intention of marrying anyone, not that it is any of
your
business!”

“M’lady—”

“You’ve gone and gotten yourself discharged, you fool!”

“No!” Lionheart took Una’s hands and pulled them away from her face. But she turned away, and there were tears on her cheek. He felt like a fiend to have made her cry. “M’lady,” he said, “look at me. Please. I’m not a Fool.”

“I don’t know what else you call a commoner who insults a royal guest and gets himself—”

“No, Una,” Lionheart said. He squeezed her hands in his. “I am not a Fool, not a jester. I am Prince Lionheart of Southlands.”

S
OUTHLANDS

R
OSE
R
ED SAT UP,
blinking slowly as she looked about at the destruction. At first, she did not recognize where she was. Then understanding came to her. The Eldest’s Great Hall, torn to pieces, chunks of its walls and floor smoking and melted. The Dragon had done his work thoroughly.

As Rose Red got to her feet, swaying at first, she realized something more. True, the hall lay in ruins, and smoke still swirled heavily in the air. But that thick smell of poison was fading already.

The Dragon was gone.

“Bah!”

Rose Red turned and saw her nanny coming toward her, climbing through the rubble like the nimble mountain goat she was. For a moment, the memory of a tall woman bearing a silver lantern flashed across Rose Red’s mind, but she shook that away. “Beana!” she cried, stumbled over a few broken stones, and wrapped her arms around the goat’s shaggy neck. “Beana, you’re alive!”

“That I am, girl,” said the goat. Then she bleated again and nuzzled Rose Red’s cheek. “Brave child!”

“Not really,” Rose Red said, speaking into Beana’s coarse coat. “I . . . Beana, I almost let him—”

“So would we all,” said the goat. “There is only one who can stand up to that Monster in the end. Our strength must always give out at last, but his never will. You called him, just as you were supposed to, and all is well now. My brave child!”

Rose Red squeezed Beana one more time, then sat back. “Where’s m’lady?”

She found Daylily half buried beneath rubble but unharmed. At first Rose Red thought she was unconscious, but Daylily was merely in a daze, as though she were mentally working through some complex problem, not newly rescued from Death’s own doorstep. Rose Red helped her gently to her feet and shook her a little, saying, “M’lady, are you all right?”

Daylily blinked slowly at Rose Red. “You rescued me.”

“Not me,” Rose Red said. “It was the Prince what saved us. He sent the Dragon away.”

Daylily closed her eyes and smiled. Only it was more of a sneer. “The prince left us long ago,” she said, then went so quiet that Rose Red wondered if she had fainted while still upright.

“Best get her inside, out of this smoke,” Beana said. “This way.”

With the goat leading, Rose Red helped the baron’s daughter across the ruins to a side door that led into the undamaged passages of the Eldest’s House. As they went, she saw how changed everything was. The weird half-light was gone, replaced by murky but ordinary daylight. No more sensation of walking in two worlds at once. The Dragon had fled Southlands and released the palace back into its own realm, where it belonged.

Rose Red could have wept with relief.

“It’s been five years, Rosie,” Beana told her as they went.

“What?”

“Five years on the outside. At least! You vanished inside, and I waited five years until the way was opened for me to follow.”

Rose Red’s mind hurt at this notion. It had not seemed so long. What could have happened to Prince Lionheart during all that time?

But she’d not worry about that. Not right now. She held Daylily’s arm around her neck and half carried the girl to the kitchens, where she had left the others in stone-faced stupors.

They were all still there, exactly where she’d left them, blinking and rubbing their eyes like those just awaking. The poison yet lingered in their faces, but they were conscious again, aware of themselves and their surroundings.

They were still frightened.

“Where is he?” one of them asked.

“Hush!” said another. “He’ll hear you!”

“We’ve got to get out,” said a third. “Eldest, can you stand?”

Rose Red entered with Daylily in time to see young Sir Foxbrush (who, no matter if five years had passed, still hadn’t grown a beard) assisting the Eldest from his seat at the window. No one looked her way, so busy were they with their own thoughts.

Daylily glanced from Rose Red beside her to Foxbrush and back again. Then she cleared her throat and said sharply, “Foxbrush!”

His head came up, his attention fixed first upon her and then on Rose Red.

He screamed.

The next moment, he had grabbed a poker from the fireplace and charged at Rose Red, striking her across the face. Rose Red was so taken aback that she did not move to avoid the blow. It did not hurt, no matter how hard he hit, but it startled her, and she backed away, losing hold of Daylily. Foxbrush, roaring like a young warrior, swung at her again, this time catching her in the side.

“Please!” Rose Red cried. “Mercy, sir!”

“Out!” he cried. “Get out of here! Go, you devil! Monster!”