“Rosie!” Beana bleated, drawing up behind her.
Don’t leave the mountain.
This last came in the faintest whisper; then Beana trotted around and stood before her, the ragged veil dangling from her mouth. She dropped it in Rose Red’s lap and stood there watching as the girl carefully slid it back into place. “You’re quite determined, aren’t you?” Beana said, and her voice was heavy.
Rose Red checked the edges of the veil to be sure everything was as it should be. Then she nodded. “I’ve got to leave, Beana,” she whispered. “I’ve got to get off this mountain or . . . I know I will die.”
“It’s impossible!” Beana bleated. “It’s dragon-eaten foolishness, girl, and you don’t understand! It’s—”
Her voice trailed off suddenly amid a flood of silver music flowing down from the tree above.
Both goat and girl looked up, unable to see for the blinding sunlight through the branches. But they heard the lyric voice of the wood thrush throwing his heart to the sky in the joy of his song. And both their hearts lifted at the sound, though what else they may have heard—what words perhaps may have emerged out of the trilling tune—they could not have told each other for the world. It affected each of them differently. For Rose Red, that song drove out all the fire of the voice in her head, leaving her calm, allowing her to breathe fully again.
To Beana, the song gave peace. Peace she did not altogether want, but peace nonetheless. She bowed her head and drew a long breath. “If you must go, I cannot stop you,” she said. “I would if I could, but such is not my place. Let me give you something, though, child. Because I might be unable to protect you once we’ve gone to the low country, let me give you something with which you may protect yourself. As long as I know you have it, I won’t be so afraid every time you’re out of my sight.”
Rose Red gave her goat a puzzled shrug. “What could you possibly have to give me?”
“It’s a name.”
“I’ve got a name. I’ve got the name my old dad gave me.”
“This isn’t your name. But it’s a powerful name, and one I want you to hold on to. Give me your ear, Rosie!”
The girl leaned forward, and the nanny goat whispered through the veil, “Keep it in your heart, my love, and treasure it down deep. And when you have need . . . it doesn’t matter when, or how, or what . . . if you have need of any kind, call on this name, and you will have help. I’ll give it to you in your own tongue, darling, though you may not understand it.”
Then she spoke a word, harsh and soft at the same time, which sounded odd coming from her goat mouth. The sound of it sank through the girl’s mind and flowed down to her heart, where it rested, strangely comforting.
Eshkhan.
Rose Red stood up, shaking her head. “Don’t be daft, Beana. I don’t need anythin’ silly like that to help me. I’ve got you, and I’ve got a strong constitution that has served me right enough so far. And I’ve got Leo. He promised he’d watch out for me, and I know he means it.” If there was a trace of desperation in her voice, only the goat heard it. She continued on down the mountain, Beana trailing behind her. “So you needn’t be tellin’ me Faerie stories to make me feel better. I’m a big girl and I can handle myself.”
“Suit yourself, child,” said the goat softly. “But you know it, and that’s all I care about for now.”
They progressed through the forest in silence, passing by the creek, neither one looking at the trail that led back to their cottage. They would not walk that path again. After all, Rose Red owned nothing that she might take with her. All that remained were memories, many of them painful now. So they said nothing but continued across the creek and down to the deer trail, neither speaking.
Beana’s thoughts were consumed with that Other, that one unlike all others, whom she sensed with such terror. They would draw nearer to it, the farther down the mountain they journeyed. It would know they were coming. And it would call to Rose Red. Her skin trembled with terror at the thought, and many times she was tempted to stand upright, to shed all pretenses, to force the girl to remain in hiding.
She would not. No, by grace and good courage, Beana would continue as she had been all these years, and perhaps by some miracle she would succeed.
Rose Red’s thoughts were full of Leo. He would protect her. Had he not promised? He would take her in and give her work, and she would become his servant. Leo, her best friend, now her best master. What a good and true servant she would be, as faithful as a . . . as a goat. She would bless him with her service in every way, and eventually she would win over the people of his household. They would see with what a true heart she poured herself into her tasks. They would see.
And they would know that she could not be a monster.
It’ll never work.
“Shut up,” she hissed low enough that Beana, trotting behind her, could not hear. “Shut up, shut up!”
They’ll never trust you behind that veil, and you dare not show your face to them. Not as you may show it to me, my beautiful prin—
“I won’t hear another word of yours!” She dared not speak the words out loud, so she mouthed them silently behind the veil. “I won’t hear you anymore. I’m leavin’, and there’s nothin’ you can do to stop me, ’cause you’re only a nightmare! I’ll follow Leo down this mountain, and in that fresh air down lower, I won’t dream no more. I’ll sleep like a little baby, I will, and I’ll never see you again!”
You will see me again.
She increased her pace and would not answer.
You were meant to be mine.
She came to the end of the deer trail and stepped out upon the path leading down the mountain. Beana emerged behind her, and the two of them picked their way down.
Leave the mountain if you dare. See how the dogs below will bark and worry your bones. See how Leo, his good deed done, will forget all about you save when he remembers the nuisance you cause him.
“I won’t hear you no more,” she muttered.
“What’s that, child?”
“Nothin’.”
See how they will abuse you. And then, you will return to me.
Rose Red shook her head. She would die before she came back.
If you do not,
said her Dream in a whisper like seeping poisons,
if I do not see you at my doorstep within a year and a day, I swear to you . . . I swear by that cursed stone of gold upon which I slept those long centuries . . . I will come for you myself. And you will not like that. No, you will not like that at all.
The gates of Hill House gleamed below her as the sun touched their polished hinges, and Rose Red was suddenly terrified almost beyond bearing. But Beana pressed up beside her, and Rose Red touched the goat’s forehead between her horns and drew comfort from her. “I’m leavin’ with Leo,” she said in a firm voice. “And there ain’t nothin’ nobody can do to stop me.”
“I won’t try to stop you, girl,” Beana said. “Though I’m against it. Well, shall we knock or just barge inside? Perhaps we could leave a calling card and let them get back to us at their leisure.”
The girl and the goat approached the gate, leaving the forest behind them. And Rose Red did not hear the whisper that blew among the shadows of the trees, then vanished like a puff of smoke.
A year and a day, princess.
I
N SOME WAYS,
it had been the longest summer of her existence. In others, Daylily had to admit, it had been a singularly pleasant one, and she was rather sorry to see it drawing to a close. There was something so fresh and, simultaneously, so ancient about the air of the mountains. An out-of-this-world sensation such as she had never experienced in the social hubbub of Middlecrescent.
She sat in her bedroom, gazing out the window. Daylily could not put a name to her present feelings. She was not one to be anxious, but was she, perhaps, a little concerned at the prospect of leaving Hill House? Here she had enjoyed peace; peace edged with that hint of danger that the country folks’ rumors and superstitions delightfully fed. It was a danger like the fears children experience in the night, when they know beyond doubt that something lurks under the bed, though their parents may not believe.
Nothing like the dangers of conspiracy. Nothing like the dangers of failure.
If anything, this thought caused Daylily’s brow to smooth even more perfectly into a beautiful mask. “I am a child no longer,” she whispered to the window, to the dark green forest of the mountain. “And this is not a child’s game.” No, her father’s Plan was certainly no game, but there would be a winning and a losing side nonetheless. She must be certain of her position.
Dragons eat that goat girl, whoever she might be!
Her goodwoman entered the room, dragging an empty trunk behind her. She curtsied to her mistress. “Am I disturbing you, m’lady?”
“No, do continue,” Daylily said with a wave of her hand. Her servant set the trunk in the middle of the room and started gathering Daylily’s belongings.
They were leaving Hill House on the morrow. Daylily was struck now by how quickly the summer had flown. And she would return to her father’s house with . . . with what?
She rose, straightening her skirts and touching her hair to be sure each curl was properly in place. Properly in place, up here in the mountains, meant just the slightest bit out of place, a few tendrils escaping here and there as would appeal to a boy of Leo’s nature. Too much perfection might frighten him. “Lay out my green for tomorrow’s journey, goodwoman,” Daylily said as she passed from the room. Her maid, who knew the baron’s daughter perhaps better than anyone in this world, could not have told a soul what Daylily’s thoughts were from what she could see on her lady’s face. If someone had asked, she would have curtsied and said, “M’lady is herself, and her thoughts are her own. Pardon me, I have work to which I must attend.”
Daylily avoided the library. She always avoided the chance of meeting Foxbrush, particularly since that conversation they’d shared a few weeks back. She’d known from the moment she set eyes on him that he was no more than a stuffed shirt, but a superstitious stuffed shirt was even worse. He was too well educated, had spent too much time at court to hide behind the excuse of a rustic country upbringing. It was silly for a lad of his station, who could boast the lineage he did, to believe in Faerie stories and monsters. Daylily made it a point to shun him.
The house was busy, though she passed no one in the corridors. She could hear the bustle of packing and travel arrangements being made. Tomorrow, she and the two young sirs would set out from Hill House and journey together to the low country and across Baron Blackstone’s land. Then they would part ways, Daylily for Middlecrescent, the boys for the Eldest’s City. Or at least, this was the plan.
But it would not be much longer, if Daylily had any say in the matter.
She found Leo in the Blue Room. This was one of the many pointless rooms to be found in houses such as Hill House. Its sole purpose for existence was to be decorated, painted, and otherwise fitted out in shades of blue, many shades of which did not blend happily together. A lord or lady knew they had truly arrived when they could afford to have a Blue Room in their household, and Dame Willowfair was proud of hers. People seldom sat in it of course, for it was difficult to think anything but blue thoughts within its walls. But it provided a solitary spot in the house, and Leo liked it for that reason.
He sat in an overstuffed chair of blue velvet, to all apparent purposes studying a large textbook, but in reality, staring into the fireplace. His face was as empty as a face could be when he looked up to meet Daylily’s eyes. But he offered her a smile. “Hullo. How’s the packing going?”
“Well enough,” said Daylily, and her voice was sweet, but not nearly so sweet as her face when she settled into a low chair across from Leo’s. She was wearing a rich sienna-hued gown that contrasted starkly with the hues of that room, giving her skin a glow and her hair a fine sheen. It would be impossible not to admire her, even if she had not arranged herself to look so very fetching while seated.
Leo noticed. He even admired. He simply didn’t care.
They looked at each other, then looked away, then looked at each other again. This little exercise continued for about three rounds, and still Leo neither spoke nor seemed to notice the faraway sorrow that Daylily was so carefully painting on her face. She sighed and almost gave up then and there. But her father’s voice still spoke in her memory:
“Did I ask you to love him?”
“I have enjoyed these last few months, Leo,” she said, her eyes gently veiled with long lashes. She waited a few poignant moments before softly adding, “Have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Have you enjoyed these last few months?”
He shrugged. This summer had not been what he had hoped, and his sleep had been less than restful. When the sun rose, Leo’s spirits failed to rise with it, and no amount of strong coffee had enabled him to clear his fuzzy head. That blasted dream returned every night, always with the same demand:
Tell me what you want.
All he really wanted right now was an answer from Rose Red, but he’d not seen her since that night in the graveyard. And perhaps he’d dreamt that too. Moonlight and graveyards and beings that disappeared in a waft of rags . . . definitely not the stuff of waking hours.
He closed his eyes and sank his head into his hand. “It’s been right enough, I suppose,” he answered. “For summer, you know. Better than last year at Upperwold, where they made me attend an entire concert devoted to Poet Eanrin’s work. A misery.”
Daylily licked her lips. “Perhaps next year will be better still?” she suggested. “You might consider visiting Middlecrescent.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged again. Why did she have to come and talk at him just now? Why did girls talk so much anyway? He wanted to be alone, and he wanted a quiet snooze, a chance to catch up on sleep before beginning tomorrow’s long journey. A chance to—
Suddenly Daylily stood beside him, one soft hand removing his from his head, the other gently stroking his cheek. Leo came wide awake, blinking up at her, and noticed now how pretty all that red hair of hers was. Almost as pretty as it had been out in the forest with the light shining through the leaves and landing on it in bursts. What a brave creature she had looked that day, so beautiful and strong as she led the way up the mountain. A woman fit to be queen if ever there was one. And she was gazing deep into his eyes.