Heartless (21 page)

“Felix!”

The yellow eyes disappeared, and the heavy body that pinned him was suddenly yanked away. Felix rolled over, clutching his chest, and felt the warmth of blood on his hands. He could not see but rather heard the scuffling of two bodies in the dark near him. The world blazed red in the light of a brilliant fire. He saw two men, both unarmed, one taller than the other, and flames poured from the mouth of the shorter.

“You!” the fire-breather roared.

The taller figure, weaponless, charged through the flames. Felix heard a screech, high and terrible. Then his eyes closed, and the flames disappeared as unconsciousness overtook him.

Aethelbald watched the small dragon disappear into the night sky. He turned and hurried back to the clearing, which glowed in the smoldering fires that lingered in patches. He spoke a word, and the fires died as though struck out by many beating hands.

Aethelbald knelt beside the boy. “Felix?” he whispered and, receiving no answer, quickly inspected the prince’s wounds. His eyes narrowed. He removed his cloak and wrapped it tightly around the young prince, then gently picked him up.

Holding Felix close, he spoke a single word to the silent Wood. “Open.”

The gates to Faerie parted.

21

Una woke from convoluted dreams, coughing. Smoke hung more thickly in the air every moment. Yet, while it caused much discomfort, stinging her eyes and annoying her lungs, it did not smother her.

When the coughing spasm ended, she groaned and leaned her head heavily into her hand. She’d fallen asleep at her vanity with her head pillowed on one arm, resulting in a cramp down her neck. Her dreams had been awful – dark and smoke filled – yet now she wished she could crawl back into them. Anything to escape.

She guessed it must be evening, for the shadows in her chamber were deepening into blackness. When she raised her head from her hand and looked into her mirror, Una could scarcely discern her own features. She fumbled across the top of the vanity, found matches, and lit a candle. The flame’s red glow lit up her pale face, casting strange shadows under her eyes. A layer of black ash covered her skin. She rubbed at her cheek but merely smeared the grime in deeper. The whites of her eyes gleamed unnaturally in the glass. She felt oddly frightened of her own reflection and turned away, shivering.

A door slammed.

The sound, somewhere far below her, perhaps on the ground floor, echoed up through the empty halls of Oriana. It was faint, but in that heavy silence it battered her ears like hailstones on window glass. Her heart stopped.

He’s inside.

She leapt to her feet, knocking over her stool. Her foot caught in her skirts, and she stumbled, catching herself on the vanity, rattling the little glass bottles. The candlelight flickered. Una froze, one hand gripping the top of the vanity, the other clutching her skirts, and strained her ears.

She heard nothing but her own breathing, sharp and quick.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s all right. He doesn’t know where you are. He won’t find you.”

But he could. He could go through every room in the palace, and if she stayed where she was, he would find her eventually.

She grabbed the brass candleholder and, cupping her hand to protect the flame, hurried to her door. She pressed her ear against it but again heard nothing. So it was either play cat-and-mouse through the dark halls of Oriana or sit like a rabbit in a trap.

Una put her hand to the doorknob. It creaked as she turned it, but the door swung open quietly enough. She held the candle out before her, but its glow could only pierce some of the shadows in the hall beyond. Nothing moved; no sound reached her ears. She stepped into the hall and closed her door most of the way, afraid to shut it completely for fear of the latch clicking. Every sound was dreadful to her, even her own breath coming in tiny puffs. She stole down the hall, shielding her candle flame with her hand, and turned the corner into the next.

A shadowy form stepped before her.

She stopped in her tracks, her heart leaping into her mouth. The candle wavered and sputtered.

Slowly she found her breath returning. Her own reflection stood before her in the tall, dark window. It was a ghostly shape, oddly contoured in red. Una licked her dry lips and hurried on down the corridor, avoiding looking at window glass as she went.

She reached the door at the end of the corridor and paused there, her hand on the latch. A stairway lay just beyond, leading down to the floor below. It was a servants’ stair, one she rarely used, but she dared not take the main staircase. She stood a moment, listening. Her ears were her only ally in the darkness, and they told her nothing.

But he was inside the palace.

Her mind worked frantically. Una could not simply wander through the corridors and empty rooms, hoping to elude him. She needed to hide – somewhere safe, deep inside the palace. Immediately she thought of her father’s treasure hold, down below the basements. It was the deepest, most secret spot in the castle, and she knew where her father kept his key.

Fidel had shown her the key in its secret drawer in his desk a few years before. There was only one key and one lock, for the treasure hold was always guarded by eight armed men at a time. No one had ever succeeded in penetrating it. As far as Una knew, no one had yet bothered to try. Surely it would be a safe place if she could but retrieve the key.

She stepped into the narrow stairway and hurried down it, holding the candle carefully before her to light each step. These were older steps, made of stone, the tops worn from frequent use. She had to be careful as she descended the spiral. Each turn she made was an agony, for her imagination told her what to expect in the darkness around every bend. But there was nothing, and she reached the door at the end of the stairs.

Her heart hammering, she stepped into the hall. This hall also had a row of tall windows, and she turned her face away from them, not liking to see her own pale figure tiptoeing in the reflected world beside her. Her feet made no sound on the thick rug, and she made her breaths as light as possible. All was silent.

A few turns later, she came to her father’s study and stepped inside, shutting the door softly. Here she breathed in momentary relief. The room was dark, full of strange shapes. Gilded candle sconces on the wall gleamed in her candle’s glow. But the dragon smoke had not penetrated so thickly here. It still smelled like her father.

Una set her candle down on the desk and felt around for the secret drawer. Her hand bumped a sheaf of papers, knocking them from the desk. She gasped and tried to catch them, but they hit the floor and scattered. She stood as though paralyzed until the sound cleared from her ears, replaced once more by silence. Taking a deep breath, she reached with trembling fingers to once again feel for the secret drawer. She found it and fumbled a moment with the little mechanism. It sprang open with a snap, and her fingers found the key. It was three inches long, made of iron. She held it tightly in her fist, as though merely by possessing it she was rendered safe. Then she slipped it into her pocket, retrieved her candle, and returned to the door.

Una paused with her hand on the latch. How she longed to stay there, in the comfort of her father’s study! If only she dared crawl into his big chair and curl up there, breathing in his smell. Perhaps it would be enough? Perhaps she needn’t dare those dark halls again?

But no, it was not safe. Like a mouse she wished to crawl deeper and deeper, to bury herself in darkness so no one could possibly find her. She had the key and must go.

Una crept back out and darted down the hall, around another bend, then another, coming at last to a long back staircase that led down to the basements and below. She’d never used it herself, having never before ventured into the storerooms. As she opened the door, dank air rose to meet her. Shivering so that her candle flame danced back and forth, she stepped into the stairway and started down.

Somewhere overhead, a door slammed.

It was upstairs, probably on the same floor as her chambers. He must know now that she was not in her rooms. She strained her ears, unable to breathe.

Nothing.

Panic billowed inside her, and she gathered her skirts in her free hand and started down the stairs, nearly running. But these steps were even more worn with age and use, and she slipped, tumbling forward.

She put out her hands to catch herself, one grabbing hold of the metal stair rail, the other pressing into the wall on the other side.

Her brass candleholder bounced on the steps. The flame went out, and the candleholder continued clattering and ringing all the way down into the darkness.

She choked on a scream and continued down the stairs, faster now, gripping the rail and the wall to support herself in her descent. All was pitch-black, so Una could not see the steps before her, and many times she would have fallen if not for her death grip on the railing. As though in a dream, she felt she could not run fast enough; weights pulled her feet back, restraining her. A sharp cramp shot through her side, up through her rib cage, but she did not slow. Down the stairway she wound, past the main levels of the palace, far past the basements. Her hand brushed doors leading into the primary storage rooms, but she knew these were not the sanctuary she sought. Only when she reached the bottom of the stairs did she stop.

There was no door here, only an opening carved into the rocks of Goldstone Hill, leading into a fairly wide passage. Una slipped into the opening, still keeping one hand on the wall, and followed the passage to its end. The air was stale, and the stones that she could not see under her feet were rough, but terror of discovery drove her on. She came to the door at the end of the passage, felt around in the darkness, and found the lock attached to a large chain that held in place a heavy bolt across the door itself.

She’d have to lift the bolt in order to enter the king’s treasure hold.

She realized in that moment that she would not be able to lock herself in.

“Princess?” The voice in the stairway was deep and terrible. “I know you’re down here.”

She fumbled in her pocket for the key, pulled it out, and tried to insert it in the lock. It wouldn’t go in, her fingers trembled so.

“Come out, princess. There’s no use hiding.”

The key slipped from her fingers and clinked on the stones below. She knelt and felt around in the darkness, desperate to find it. Light suddenly poured into the stone passage, casting her shadow sharply onto the door before her. Shielding her eyes with her hands, she turned and saw the figure standing at the end of the passage, holding high a lamp.

“There you are,” he said.

“Duke Shippening!” she gasped.

The duke stepped into the passage, his face lit from below by the red glow of the lamp. A long knife hung at his belt. “A merry chase you’ve given me, wench,” he growled. “What possessed you to come down here? Thinking to lock me in the dungeons?” He snorted a laugh and advanced across the stone floor, his hand held out to her. “Come here, girl.”

Una crouched on the floor. There was no escape but by the way she had come. Her eyes were wide like a hunted animal’s in the lantern glow.

“Come here,” the duke said. “You’re leaving with me. I’ve waited long enough, I think.”

“No,” Una said, shaking her head.

“What? You’d choose that Dragon over me?” He snorted again. “Well, that ain’t an option. You’re coming with me, going to make me king. Legitimate, even.”

“No.”

He reached out a great hand like a bear paw and lunged. Una ducked and darted under his arm, propelling herself with her feet, her hands scraping the floor. But she tripped on her skirts, and the duke grabbed a handful of hair and pulled her back. She screamed.

“Let her go.”

Una and the duke looked to the end of the passage. The Dragon stood there in human form. His obsidian eyes locked with the duke’s, and fire glowed behind his gaze.

“What for?” the duke growled. “She’s mine!”

The Dragon did not answer, did not move. But the duke obeyed, his fingers slowly uncurling from the tangle of her hair. Released, Una crawled away from him to the space between the Dragon and the duke. She curled up, her hands over her head, her back pressed into the wall.

“Get out.”

“She’s mine, Dragon!” the duke cried, trembling in rage. “You promised her to me to make me king!”

“She’s not ready.”

“Ready for what? She doesn’t have to be ready for nothing! She just has to live long enough to put me on the throne.”

“Get out.”

The duke strode forward until he stood over Una, his big boots stepping on the edge of her skirts, but he did not touch her. “I’ve already done with the heir. The king is nothing without his son, and she’s next in line! I’ve waited long enough. When will you fulfill your end of the bargain?”

“When you have fulfilled yours.”

The duke swore and lurched forward until he stood eye to eye with the Dragon. The duke snarled like a wild animal in the Dragon’s face. “I’ll get the king. But you’d better give me what I ask in return, demon!” He disappeared up the dark stairway, taking the lantern light with him.

But the passage was not dark. Una looked up and saw light, fiery and hot, glowing from the eyes of the Dragon.

“Up, little mouthful,” the Dragon said. “Back to your rooms.”

Una slid up along the wall and, keeping her gaze on her own feet, moved to the base of the stairs. She felt the heat, the horrible heat, emanating from the Dragon’s body as she passed him. She proceeded up the long stairs, in an upward journey that seemed an eternity. The Dragon followed soundlessly.

At last she reached the main level and stepped out of the close darkness of the stair into the spacious darkness of Oriana’s empty halls. She went on down the hall, not waiting to see if the Dragon followed her. In three steps, she paused.

“My brother?” she whispered.

The Dragon’s voice, disembodied, full of heat, hissed in her ear. “Killed this evening, not two hours ago.”

Una ran. Across the hall she fled, around a corner to the main staircase, up two flights to her chambers. She burst into her room, slammed the door, and crumpled to her knees.

“Felix!” she cried.

–––––––

Morning came. The sun cut a single beam through the dragon gloom and shone in a pool just inside Una’s window. Una, leaning against her bedroom door, watched it settle there. With an effort she pushed herself to her feet and crossed her room, kneeling at last in the little circle of light. She tilted her black-smeared face, and tears rolled down her cheeks. She caught them on her hands and watched them trail through the grime. More tears came, and more. She leaned forward, her hair hanging in tangles about her, and sobbed desperate and awful sobs.