Heartless (19 page)

18

As she came slowly awake, Una’s chest felt as though it had been burned hollow, and her eyes stung. An overwhelming sense of nightmare surrounded her. When at last full consciousness crept in, she could only plead with her own mind.
No, please. Please, be a dream. Just another bad dream.

But it was no dream. She realized that she must open her eyes. She did and found herself lying on her back in a dim and dusty enclosure, gazing up at tight, crisscrossed ropes. A moment later she recognized that she was under her own bed and vaguely remembered crawling beneath it the night before. She rubbed her face, which was crusty with dried tears, unbent her cramped limbs, and pushed herself out from under the mattress.

The silence oppressed her, for she had never before heard anything like it. Always there had been some form of chatter or clatter in the background, servants hurrying hither and yon, coachmen calling in the courtyard, Nurse’s prattle, courtiers and dignitaries – Oriana Palace was always full of sound.

Now all was deathly quiet.

Slowly Una got to her feet. The room was so dim, she could not tell if it was morning or evening. She went to her window and put her hands to the curtains. As she pushed them back, swirling smoke, black and dreadful, filled her gaze. She pressed her nose to the window, trying to see out. Here and there the smoke thinned, and she caught glimpses of the garden, charred and burning.

A heavy movement to the right drew her eye. She glimpsed a great black wing.

Pressing her hands to her mouth, she let the curtain fall back into place and stumbled away from the window into her shadowy room. She stood a moment in the middle of the chamber as though frozen. Then she whirled and darted to her door, wrenched it open, and slipped into the hallway. She closed the door softly, afraid of making noise in that awful silence.

The vast, empty palace loomed about her. She crept along the wall, down the corridor, and turned a corner into another hall, then on to a tall window, which afforded a view all the way down the hill into Sondhold. One could even see the market lawn from this vantage point.

Una looked.

Through the screen of smoke, far down below the hill, Sondhold burned.

Her city! Una clutched the windowsill for support. Her home!

“Father.” She found herself screaming, her voice echoing down the long empty passages. “Father! Felix! Nurse!” She sank to her knees, still clutching the windowsill. Panic seized her, and she succumbed to sobbing without control.

“Leonard,” she whispered.

Only the silence answered.

–––––––

“Dragon!”

Una startled at the voice in the courtyard. She could not guess how long she’d been prostrate on the floor. The hysterics had passed, but she had not moved. Who was there to care if she did not?

But now as the bellowing voice echoed in the courtyard, she scrambled up and tried to peer through the smoke. These windows did not offer the best view of the yard. She picked up her skirts and rushed through the empty halls to her father’s study, with its windows that looked out on the gates and across most of the courtyard.

She came to his door and, from habit, raised her hand to knock but stopped herself. Shaking her head, Una stepped inside. The room was dark as night, for the drapes were drawn. She flung them open and found a fairly clear view before her.

The Duke of Shippening sat on a nervous gray horse in the middle of the smoke-filled yard. “Dragon!” he barked. A handful of soldiers wearing the Shippening uniform lingered by the gate, apparently too frightened to venture farther in. The duke, however, knew no qualms. “Dragon!” he cried. “Come out!”

The great front door of the palace opened. Una’s heart went to her mouth as the man with the white face and the black-red eyes stepped out into the yard.

He’s been inside.

She thought she might faint but grabbed the window frame and made herself watch the scene unfolding below.

“There you are,” the duke cried, spurring his horse across the ashy stones to move closer to the man. The horse tossed its head nervously but seemed more afraid of its master, for it did not bolt though the whites of its eyes showed. “I’ve been calling forever. Where’ve you been?”

“I am here now,” the man said.

“So you are,” the duke conceded. He dismounted and marched up to the man, his face red and swollen like a tom turkey’s. “Where is she?”

“Who?” the man asked.

“You know who I mean.” The duke swore, his voice reverberating. “Did you let her escape like you did her father and brother?”

“If you mean the princess,” the man said, idly rubbing his fingernails on his sleeve, “she is inside.”

“In the dungeons?”

“No.”

“What’s to keep her from waltzing out of there as easily as the king and that puny prince did, I ask you? A fine job you did holding your end of our bargain. ‘You take the city,’ said you, ‘leave the royal family to me.’ Well, I’ve taken the city sure enough, but where’s the royal family? All escaped to Dompstead by now.”

The man with the white face gave the duke a look that sent a chill through Una’s heart, though the duke seemed not to notice. “The princess is inside,” the man said.

“Give her to me, then,” the duke said.

Una’s grip on the window frame tightened.

The man with the white face snorted and turned his back on the duke.

“You promised!” the duke cried. “You promised she’d be my wife and the throne would be mine legitimately!”

“That cannot be as long as the king and his male heir are alive,” the man said over his shoulder, striding toward the gardens. “Finish your job by them first. She’s not ready yet anyway.”

“Not ready yet?” the duke thundered. “What’s she got to be ready for? She’s mine, Dragon. You promised! Give her to me!” He ran after the man in the black cloak and grabbed him by the shoulder. The man turned, and suddenly he was grown twice, three times, six, ten times larger, until his body, black and scale-covered and gnarled, towered above the duke, and Una smothered a scream in her hands and leapt back from the window. She closed her eyes, her hands wrapped over the top of her head, willing herself to wake from this nightmare.

But the voices in the courtyard went on.

“I remember every word I ever spoke to you, duke.” The Dragon’s growl filled Una’s head. “I do not forget my word so soon.”

“Then fulfill your promises!” The duke shouted like a petulant child, to all appearances oblivious to the fact that he shouted up at a fifty-foot monster.

“Time!” the Dragon said, and Una fell to trembling at his tone. “These things take time. But if that cringing prince of Southlands was right, it will be well worth the wait.”

Prince of Southlands?

Una’s hands dropped to her sides. “Leonard,” she breathed. She crept back to the window.

The duke stood in the vast shadow of the Dragon, his legs widespread, his arms crossed. The Dragon gazed down on him, his enormous eyes mere slits of fire in his black face. He looked as though he should like very much to swallow the duke whole, but both the duke and the Dragon knew he would not.

“I don’t care about any bargains you made with Southlands,” the duke said. “Our deal is all that concerns me.”

“You have not yet fulfilled your part,” the Dragon said. He snapped his wings, and the soldiers by the gate cowered in terror on the ground, but the duke stood firm.

“I would have if you hadn’t let them go!” he cried, shaking his fist.

“The king and his son are nothing to me,” the Dragon said. “They are your concern. But if it will ease your mind, I will send one of my own to help you in your task.”

“Swear it!” the duke demanded.

The Dragon showed his fangs in an awful smile. “By the fire in the very marrow of my bones.”

The duke, satisfied for the present, made a bow. “I’ll return soon,” he said and turned on his heel. Fire licked from the Dragon’s mouth, but the duke caught his horse and left the courtyard unscathed, his men trailing behind him like so many whipped dogs.

Una crept from her father’s study back into the dark hall. Fear choked her, fear in the recollection that the Dragon could change form and enter the palace, could be inside even now.

But he had not given her to the duke. Not yet.

And her family was still alive.

Why does he not come?

“He will come,” she whispered, rubbing her upper arms. “He will come. I trust him. I know he will come.” She tiptoed down the hall, clinging to shadows. Nothing moved, not a sound reached her ears but her own breathing. The Dragon’s voice ran over and over in her head.

“If that cringing prince of Southlands was right . . .”

She froze, and her hands went to her mouth.

Leonard had gone looking for this monster. This very same beast had destroyed his kingdom. And Leonard had gone hunting for it.

If that prince was right . . .

He’d found it. Of course, they must have met, Leonard and the Dragon. Leonard had gone hunting, and he’d found what he sought, but – Her heart lurched to her throat, then plummeted down to her stomach. “Leonard!” she gasped. New fear rose, spinning inside her so that she could hardly stand. She found herself at the door of her own chambers. With a stifled cry she flung the door wide. She staggered blindly in the dark to the glass doors that led to her balcony and wrenched them open.

Ash and smoke rolled over her, blinding and choking. She put a hand to her mouth and rushed out onto her balcony. The garden below was like a battleground, stripped and burning, small bonfires crackling at intervals. All the white statues were coated in ash.

But she saw none of this. She leaned out over the railing and, between coughs, shouted, “Dragon!”

“Is that you, little mouthful?”

She grabbed the rail for support. The next moment the Dragon’s head reared up out of the smoke and Una found herself eye to eye with her captor. He regarded her through red slits of pupils. “See what a well-trained puppy I am, coming at your call?” Fire streamed through his teeth, and Una thought she would die of fear. “Come, Princess Tidbit,” the Dragon said. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“What . . . what . . .” She covered her face and bowed her head, unable to speak.

“It’s about that prince of yours, isn’t it?”

Una jerked her head up. “What has become of him?”

“He’s the one who’ll come for you, isn’t he?” the Dragon purred. His enormous tail twitched in the rubble. “The one your heart holds so dear, so pure.” His eyes flickered crimson in the swirling ash.

“What has become of him?” Una demanded again.

The Dragon laughed a billow of flame and turned. He crawled away into the wreckage, trailing laughter and smoke.

“No!” Una pounded the railing with her fists. Her voice came out in choked, furious barks. “Dragon, answer me! What has become of my jester?”

“Your jester?” The Dragon looked over his wing. “Your jester is dead.”

Una doubled over as though struck in the gut. “Leonard,” she breathed, sinking to her knees. “You killed him. I knew it. You killed him!”

“I? No, not I,” the Dragon said. “No, Prince Lionheart killed your jester. Jesters aren’t much use in reestablishing kingdoms.”

Hope, weak but alive, fluttered in Una’s heart. It hurt like a knife, but she clung to it even so. “Lionheart is alive?”

“If you want to call it that,” the Dragon said.

“You’ve seen him?”

“We met on the road between here and Southlands. I chose not to kill him. I’d not killed him the first time we met and saw no use in changing my mind. We made an agreement. Since I am through with his land, I promised to spare his life if he would do me a favor in return. He was willing enough to agree, for he knew I would kill him otherwise. He is back in Southlands – returned triumphantly a few months ago, I believe.”

“He’s alive,” Una whispered.

“Yes, yes, he’s well too, if that comforts you. He’s betrothed to some baron’s daughter, I hear – a childhood friend of his. A splendid match, they say, and such a happy couple.”

Una’s face lost all color, and the world tilted on end.

“He told me of you and your kingdom when we met,” the Dragon said. “I was intrigued by what he said, thinking perhaps I would at last find what I have long sought. And I have not been disappointed. I knew that prince would be useful to me.”

His words filled her mind like poisonous fumes. Bitterness clutched her throat, and she gagged. Blindly, she felt her way with her hands across the balcony, back into her chamber.

“The jester is dead, little princess,” the Dragon called from the garden ruins. “There’s only the prince left.”

Una crawled into her closet and crouched in the shadows, gasping and holding her head.

19

The king’s small escort thundered into Dompstead, Felix taking up the rear, for he found it difficult to ride with a cat slung over his shoulder. As they arrived at the garrison, Felix saw his father whisked out of sight before the prince had a chance to dismount. His one glimpse of Fidel’s face filled him with dread.

Monster leapt from his shoulder and darted into the shadows. Felix cried out and tried to give chase, but someone grabbed his arm.

“This way, prince,” a soldier said, all but dragging him into the fort. Felix, too tired to argue, allowed himself to be hustled down a dark corridor and between soldiers – none of whom recognized him, and few of whom would have cared if they had.

“This is your father’s room,” the soldier said, and disappeared the next moment, leaving Felix in an unlit, deserted hall outside a shut door. Felix tried the door handle, but it was locked. He put his ear to the door and heard voices on the other side, but no one answered his knock. He crossed his arms and slumped with his back against the door.

After what seemed like hours, he heard the sound of footsteps. A young officer, hardly older than Felix himself, appeared with a lamp in one hand and a stool in the other. “I was sent with this for you,” he said, holding the stool out to Felix.

“Thank you,” Felix said. “Can you tell me when I may see my father?”

The officer shrugged.

“What of Oriana?” Felix asked, placing the stool on the ground.

“What of General Argus?”

“I know nothing, Your Highness,” the officer said.

A voice at the end of the hall shouted, “Captain Janus! Captain!”

The officer bowed. “Excuse me, prince.” He was gone the next moment, along with the lantern light. Felix settled onto the stool and waited.

The night crept on painfully slowly after the terror of the evening. The voices continued to rise and fall on the far side of the door, but though Felix knocked at intervals, no one would answer him. Another officer came by after an hour or two and offered Felix a room and a bed, but the prince refused. One physician hurrying from the king’s chamber tripped on Felix’s outstretched legs, cursed him roundly, and then realizing he was the crown prince, endeavored to make amends by telling what was happening inside.

Dragon poison
.

Felix had heard of such things before, of course. In stories and legends, principle characters often suffered such poisoning if they breathed in too much dragon smoke. Many a pathetic tale had been told involving such a death for a hero or his love.

Some who breathed in the poison did not die, however. Some became empowered by it and went on to accomplish mighty deeds. But those were always the villains of the tales, men or women who saw beauty in terrible things, who found dragon poison as pleasing as perfume.

Felix shivered. His father would never be one of those characters, not in any tale.

But some who survived dragon fumes were not evil. For instance, the legendary bard Eanrin, who wrote
The Bane of Corrilond
epic, was supposedly present at the destruction of that kingdom, and he must have been exposed to dragon poison. Yet he neither died nor turned evil but was a hero who figured in a hundred tales, most of which he had written.

“So Father won’t die,” Felix told himself. “He’s too good to die like that.”

Dragon poison
.

Felix shuddered from deep inside himself all the way out. He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. At first his tired mind jumped around without thoughts, slipping instead from a sense of color to color. Then suddenly a picture of burning eyes filled his mind, eyes that pierced through darkness and gazed at him over the palace wall.

He startled and barely caught himself from falling off his stool. He’d been asleep, he realized, and shook himself. Down the hall, pale light came through a solitary window. Felix got up and strode to the window, looking out on the practice yard of the fort. Soldiers gathered in small groups here and there, talking in muffled voices. Many were cleaning weapons. Some were sparring. Dark clouds gathered in the sky to the north. Felix realized after a moment that they were clouds of smoke.

“Prince Felix?”

A physician stood in the doorway of the king’s chamber, looking up and down the hall. Felix trotted back to him and asked in a breathless voice, “How is my father?”

The physician smiled and patted the boy’s shoulder. “He will be well, I believe. I am, I confess, no expert in these matters, but my colleagues and I are of the opinion that His Majesty did not breathe in enough of the fumes to cause permanent harm. He is dizzy and weak, but he should – ”

“May I see him?”

“It might not be best for Your Highness to look on him now,” the physician said. “His Majesty does not appear – ”

Felix growled something unintelligible and pushed past the physician into the chamber. It was a small, dark room with a low ceiling and a tiny fireplace in one corner. A cluster of black-robed physicians was gathered at the foot of a narrow bed on which the king lay.

Despite protests from the physicians, Felix stepped up to the head of the bed, knelt down, and took his father’s hands. Tears sprang to his eyes at the sight of Fidel’s face, so gray and lined. He had aged ten years, twenty perhaps, in one night.

“Father?” Felix whispered.

The king’s eyes opened, and he turned to look at his son. “Felix,” he said. His voice was weak but, to Felix’s great relief, sounded stronger than it had only hours before. “Where is General Argus?”

Felix blinked. He’d expected something a little more tender from the beloved father for whose life he’d feared these last hours. “I . . . I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve not heard if he’s come to Dompstead. I’ve been so worried – ”

“Go find him,” Fidel said. “Bring him to me, and don’t let these fools” – he waved at the cluster of physicians who stood clucking on the other side of his bed – “stop you. You’re a prince, remember. Now go!”

Feeling more like a page than a prince, Felix hopped up and hurried from the room, avoiding the disapproving glares of the physicians. He stood a moment in the hall, unsure which way to go or to whom he needed to speak in order to find news of General Argus. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned right down the hall, came to a dead end, retraced his steps, and wandered until he found a door out into the yard.

–––––––

Several hours later General Argus came to Fidel’s sickroom. The king was out of bed and dressed, sitting by the fire. He nodded when the general entered and bowed.

“Where is the prince, Your Majesty?” the general asked.

“I sent him to find you.”

The general raised an eyebrow. “I would be hard to find. I did not reach Dompstead until a few minutes ago and came directly to you.”

“I know,” the king said. “But the boy needed something to occupy his mind, and a fool’s errand seemed as good as any. What news do you bring from Sondhold?”

The general hung his head. “The city is lost, sire. We were surprised, outnumbered – ”

“I need no excuses,” the king interrupted. “Did you see the Dragon?”

“No, sire, we did but hear rumor of it. I saw the duke, however. It was Shippening. His army came out of the Wood and set upon the city.”

“Out of the Wood?”

“Indeed, sire, impossible though it may seem.”

“What of Una?” the king asked.

“I have seen or heard nothing of the princess, Your Majesty,” Argus said.

The king’s fists clenched. “We must save her.” He rose to his feet, swayed, steadied himself, and repeated, “We must save her, Argus. Now.”

“Your Majesty,” Argus said, “I have sent word to garrisons all across Parumvir. Men are coming to help us. But meanwhile our position here in Dompstead is all too vulnerable. With the men I have, I’m not sure I can protect you sufficiently.”

“What are you saying?” Fidel asked.

“Sire, I must beg you to pull back. I lost too many men yesterday. We are weakened beyond belief, and you say there is a dragon involved as well?” Argus shook his head. “I beg you, my king, you must retreat to one of your northern fortresses, away from here at all costs.”

“No.”

“Go into hiding until we have a chance to rebuild.”

“No.”

“If we attack now, we will be destroyed. We’re not strong enough, sire.”

The king turned his back on the general, gazing deep into the fire. “He warned me,” he muttered. “He warned me of this very day. And now the beast has her. What’s to stop the rest of his prediction from coming true? My own daughter.” He clutched his side as though in pain but waved off Argus’s offered arm. “We must save Una,” he said. “Before it’s too late.”

“Your Majesty – ”

“Send Felix to the north,” Fidel said, strength returning to his voice.

“Send my son, but I cannot go as long as that monster holds her.”

“Sire,” Argus spoke gently. “We have no assurance that she is yet living. I . . . I fear it may not be so, and you must accept that she might be – ”

“That would be almost too much to hope for,” Fidel said. “No, we must save her or know for certain that she is dead. I will not leave otherwise. Gather your men as quickly as you can, Argus. We will return to Oriana.”

–––––––

It wasn’t true, Una decided.

She crawled out of her closet hours later and sat down at her vanity.

It couldn’t be true.

Hunting up matches, she lit a candle and set it off to her right. As though it were any other evening, she took up her brush and ran it through her tangle of hair – twenty strokes, fifty, one hundred.

It isn’t true,
she told herself.
The Dragon is a liar. Leonard wouldn’t forget me.

She changed from her ash-covered dress into another ash-covered dress.

I promised to trust him
.

She poured cloudy water into a bowl and tried to wash her hands.

How can I be worthy of his love if I do not trust him now?

She looked at her face in the mirror, deathly white, streaked with soot, eyes wide and tearless.

“I will trust him,” she said.

–––––––

Felix gave up searching for General Argus and instead occupied himself hunting for Monster, whom he’d not seen since their arrival the night before. This search was also unsuccessful, and he realized partway through the day that he had not truly slept in well over twenty-four hours. The instant that realization struck, he was overwhelmed with exhaustion. He sat with his back against the wall of the barracks and, ignoring the glances of passing soldiers, fell immediately into deep sleep.

He was awakened by a rough hand shaking him. “Wake up, Prince Felix.”

Felix blinked blearily up into the face of the same young officer who had brought him a stool last night. At the same time he became aware of a great commotion in the garrison yard – the ring of metal and the stamp of boots, officers shouting commands – which in his weariness he had slept through. “What’s going on?” Felix asked, rubbing his eyes with one hand and pushing himself upright with the other.

“The king is mustering for attack,” the officer said. “They will set upon Sondhold day after tomorrow.”

Felix came fully awake at those words and sprang to his feet. “Where is my father? I must have a horse and a weapon – ”

“A horse you have, Your Highness,” the young officer said. “And a weapon. But you ride north with me this evening. Your father is sending you – ”

“No!” Felix flashed. “No, he’s not!” He turned and ran from the officer into the busy yard, only just avoiding being trampled by hurrying soldiers. The officer trailed behind him, shouting, but Felix ignored him. He spotted his father on the far side of the yard, standing beside a tall horse and speaking to General Argus. He darted up to him, gasping. “Father, let me help.”

Fidel looked sternly down on his son. “You’re not yet gone, Felix?”

Felix smothered the hurt that rose inside him and tried to make his voice firm. “Let me help you, Father. I can fight; I’ve been trained.”

“You are riding north with Captain Janus,” Fidel said.

“But, Father – ”

Fidel grabbed Felix by the shoulder, his fingers pinching. “I have no time for this, son,” the king growled. “I won’t have you put in harm’s way as well. This discussion is over.”

Felix knew there could be no argument. Captain Janus approached, and the prince turned and followed him back across the yard. An escort of ten waited there with a horse for him, and Janus handed him a small sword, which he strapped to his side before mounting. Felix swung himself into the saddle and paused a moment, looking around the yard. “Monster,” he muttered, sick at heart about leaving his sister’s pet.

“The north road, men!” Captain Janus called, and the company set off at a brisk pace, leaving Dompstead behind.