by Keyes, Greg
Faster almost went end over end, and her hindquarters came around awkwardly. Then she caught a pace, bounding along the edge of the Snake, back and forth, now slipping out of control, then recovering and gathering her legs to spring. The world jumbled by, and Anne’s fear was so mixed with giddy elation she couldn’t tell the difference. Faster stumbled so hard she nearly plowed her head into the ground, and if that happened, there would be an end to both of them.
So be it then, she thought. If I die, I die, and glorious! Not like her grandmother, wasting like a sick dog in the bed, turning yellow and smelling bad. Not like her Aunt Fiene, bled dry in childbirth.
But then Anne knew she wouldn’t die. Faster had her hooves on a gentler slope, and she became more surefooted. The giant willows at the base of the Snake beckoned her in, but before she entered their concealing shadows she cast a final glance up the way she had come and saw the silhouettes of her pursuers, still on the edge. They didn’t dare follow her, of course.
She had escaped, for the moment. For the rest of the day, if she was lucky.
Faster’s withers were trembling, so Anne got off to let her walk a bit. It would take the guards forever to get down here by any of the conventional routes, and then they had twenty paths to choose from. She smiled up at the gnarled roof of willow, got her bearings, and started back east, toward Eslen-of-Shadows.
“That was wonderful, Faster,” she said. “They didn’t even think about following us!” She brushed her hair from her face. “Now we’ll just find Austra and hide out in the tombs the rest of the day. They won’t look for us there.”
Her blood and Faster’s wheezing were so loud in her ears that Anne didn’t hear the other rider until he had already turned the bend behind her. She spun and stopped still, staring at him.
It was the man on the dun, in the red cape—the latecomer. He was tall and fair, but dark-eyed, a young man, perhaps nineteen. His horse was blowing almost as hard as Faster.
“Saint Tarn, what a ride!” he exclaimed. “Quite mad! You, my lad, are—” He broke off, squinting at Anne.
“You’re no lad,” he said.
“Never have been,” Anne replied coldly.
His gaze was fixed on her now, and his eyebrows went up. “You’re Princess Anne!”
“Am I? And what is that to you?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I thought the Royal Horse was after a thief or a poacher. I thought I’d help ‘em, for a lark. Now I’m confused.”
“My mother sent them, I’m sure. I’ve probably forgotten some dull errand I was supposed to do.” She put her foot in the stirrup and swung back into the saddle.
“What? So quickly?” the man said. “But I’ve just caught you. Don’t I get something for that?”
“I can lose you again,” Anne promised.
“You never lost me,” he pointed out. “I came down on your heels.”
“Not right on them. You were up there thinking about it for a while.”
He shrugged. “You’ve ridden that before, I warrant. I’ve never ridden in Eslen before today.”
“Well done, then.” At that, she turned to leave.
“Wait. Don’t you even want to know who I am?”
“Why should that matter to me?” she retorted.
“I don’t know, but it certainly matters to me who you are.”
“Oh, very well,” she said. “What’s your name?”
He dismounted and bowed. “Roderick of Dunmrogh,” he said.
“Fine, Roderick of Dunmrogh. I am Anne Dare, and you have not seen me today.”
“What a shame that would have been,” he said.
“You’re awfully bold, aren’t you?”
“And you’re awfully pretty, Princess Anne. Tarn’s own horsewoman, I’m bound. But if you say I haven’t seen you, I haven’t seen you.”
“Good.”
“But … er … why haven’t I seen you, if I may ask?”
“I told you. My mother—”
“The queen.”
She glared at him. “Yes, the queen, saints save her. And me from her.” She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know who I am?”
“I saw you. In court. I took the rose of knighthood only nineday ago.”
“Oh! So it’s Sir Roderick, then.”
“Yes. But you were there, along with your sisters.”
“Oh. Yes, I do suppose I stand out, the duck amongst the swans.”
“It was your red hair that bought my attention,” Roderick said, “not pinfeathers.”
“Yes. And the freckles, and this boat keel of a nose.”
“There’s no need to bait a hook to catch my praise,” he said. “I like your nose. I liked it right away, and I’m happy to say so.”
Anne rolled her eyes. “You thought I was a boy.”
“You’re dressed like one! And you ride like one. It took only one glance up close to dispel that illusion.” He wrinkled his brow. “Why are you wearing breeches?”
“Have you ever tried to ride in a dress?”
“Ladies ride in dresses all the time.”
“Yes, of course—sidesaddle. How long do you think I would have stayed in my seat coming down the Snake sidesaddle?”
He chuckled. “I see your point.”
“No one else does. They didn’t care when I was little; the whole court thought it cute. ‘Little Prince Anne’ some called me. When I became marriageable everything changed, and now I must sneak about to ride like this. Mother says fifteen is far too old for childish habits. I—” She broke off, and a suddenly suspicious expression crossed her face. “You weren’t sent to court me, were you?”
“What?” He seemed genuinely astonished.
“Mother would like nothing so well as to have me married off, preferably to someone dull, old, and fat.” She looked at him. “But you are none of those.”
For the first time, Roderick looked annoyed. “All I did, Princess, was to try to pay you a compliment. And I doubt very much that your mother would seek a husband for you from my house. We aren’t grotesquely rich nor are we fawning sycophants, and so find no favor at your father’s court.”
“Well. You are plainspoken, aren’t you? I apologize, Sir Roderick. When you’ve been at court a while, you’ll find just how little honor and truth there is in it, and perhaps excuse me.”
“Smile, and I’ll forgive quite quickly.”
To her dismay, she felt her lips bow of their own accord. For an instant her belly went light and weird, as if she were still plunging down the Snake.
“There. Better than a royal pardon,” he said, and he started to remount. “Well. It was nice meeting you, Princess. I hope we can speak again.”
“You’re going?”
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Besides, I just realized what sort of trouble could come, if we were found together, in the woods, unchaperoned.”
“We’ve done nothing shameful,” Anne said. “Nor will we. But if you’re afraid—”
“I’m not afraid,” Roderick said. “It was your reputation I was considering.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I can consider my own reputation, thank you.”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t trust you. You might tell someone you saw me. I think I must bind you into my service for the rest of the day, as my bodyguard.”
“Now that’s luck. I’ve been under the rose for only a week, and already I’m escorting a princess of the realm. I would be delighted, lady, though I cannot stay for the rest of the day. I have duties, you know.”
“Do you always do what you ought?”
“Not always. But in this case, yes. I don’t have the luxury of being a princess.”
“It isn’t a luxury,” Anne said, spurring her horse forward. “Are you coming, or not?”
“Where are we going?”
“To Eslen-of-Shadows, where my grandfathers sleep.”
They rode a few moments in silence, during which time Anne stole several glances at her ne
w companion. He sat straight, easy, and proud in the saddle. His arms, bared almost to the shoulder by his riding vest, were lean and corded. His profile had a little hawk in it.
For the first time, she wondered if he was who he said he was. What if he was an assassin, a thief, a rogue—even a Hanzish spy? His accent was peculiar, and he did have the northern look to him.
“Dunmrogh,” she said. “Where is that, exactly?”
“South. It’s a greffy in the kingdom of Hornladh.”
“Hornladh,” she repeated, trying to remember the map in the Gallery of Empire. That was south, or so she seemed to remember.
They clopped across the stone bridge that crossed the Cer Canal, enduring the weathered gazes of the stone faces carved on the endposts. Silence settled around them again, and though Anne felt she ought to say something more, her head was quite empty of ideas for conversation.
“Eslen is larger than I thought,” Roderick offered, at last.
“This isn’t Eslen. Eslen is the castle and the city. The island is Ynis. Right now, we’re in the rinns, the low ground between Ynis and the Warlock.”
“And Eslen-of-Shadows?”
“Wait a moment—there.” She pointed through a vaulted opening in the trees.
“Fist of Saint Tarn,” Roderick gasped, gazing down at the city of the dead.
Its outskirts were modest, row on row of small wooden houses with thatched or shingle roofs facing out onto dirt streets. Some were in good repair, with neatly tended yards kept up by the families. More resembled the skeletons that lay within them, rickety frames pulled down beneath creepers, thorns, and years of falling leaves. Trees sprouted up through a few.
There were five circular canals within the borders of the necropolis, one within another. After they crossed the first the houses appeared more solid, built of dressed stone, with roofs of slate and fences of iron around them. The streets and avenues were cobbled there. From their vantage it was difficult for Anne and Roderick to make out more, save that the city rose in height and grandeur as it neared the center, where domes and towers stood.
“We have royal tombs in Dunmrogh,” Roderick said, “but nothing like this! Who are buried in these smallest, poorest houses?”
Anne shrugged. “The poorest people. Every family in Eslen-on-the-Hill has a quarter here, in keeping with their means. What they build and how they keep it is up to them. If their fortunes change, they might move the remains of their ancestors inward. If someone beyond the third canal falls on hard times, they might have to move farther out.”
“You mean to say that a man could be buried in a palace, and a century later find himself in a pauper’s hovel?”
“Of course.”
“That hardly seems fair.”
“Neither is having worms eat your eyes, but that comes with being dead, too,” Anne replied wryly.
Roderick laughed. “You have me there.” He shifted in his saddle. “Well, I’ve seen it. And now I have to go.”
“Already?”
“Will it take more than a bell to return to the keep?”
“Assuredly.”
“Then I should have been on my way already. What’s the quickest way?”
“I think you should find it on your own.”
“Not if you want to see me again. My father will have me sent back to one of our lesser holdings a hundred leagues from here if I miss at my duties.”
“What in the name of Saint Loy makes you think I’d want to see you again?”
For an answer he pranced his horse near, caught her eyes with his own steel blue ones. She felt a sudden surge of panic, but also a kind of paralyzation. When he leaned in and kissed her, she couldn’t have stopped him if she wanted to.
And she didn’t want to.
It didn’t last long, just one brief, wonderful, confusing brush of lips. It wasn’t what she had expected kissing would be like, not at all.
Her toes were tingling.
She blinked, and said softly, “Go along this canal until you reach a street paved in lead bricks. Turn left. It will take you up the hill.”
He tossed his head at Eslen-of-Shadows. “I’d like to see the rest of this sometime.”
“Come back in two days, around the noon bell. You might find me here.”
He smiled, nodded, and without another word, rode off.
She sat, dazed, staring at the black water of the canal, recalling the feeling of his lips touching hers, trying not to let it escape, examining it, each nuance of his word and motion, striving to understand.
She didn’t know him.
She heard hoofbeats approaching, and her heart quickened, both hoping and fearing that he had come back. But when she looked up, it was Austra she saw, her golden locks bouncing on her shoulders, her expression quite cross.
“Who was that?” Austra asked.
“A knight,” Anne replied.
Austra seemed to consider that for a moment, then turned angry eyes back on Anne. “Why do you do these things? You came down the Snake, didn’t you?”
“Did anyone see you?” Anne asked.
“No. But I’m your lady-in-waiting, Anne. And I’m lucky to be, since I’ve no noble blood in me. If something happens to you—”
“My father loved yours, Austra, noble blood or no. Do you think he would ever turn you out?”
Suddenly she realized that tears had started in Austra’s eyes.
“Austra! What’s wrong?” Anne asked.
“Your sister Fastia,” Austra replied steadily, blinking through the tears. “You just don’t understand, Anne.”
“What don’t I understand? We grew up together. We’ve shared the same bed since we were five, when your parents died and Father took you in as my maid. And we’ve been playing games like this with the guard since I can remember. Why are you crying now?”
“Because Fastia told me I wouldn’t be permitted to be your maid any longer, if you couldn’t be curbed! ‘I’ll set someone with more sense to her,’ she said.”
“My sister is just trying to scare you. Besides, we share the risk, Austra.”
“You really don’t understand. You’re a princess. I’m a servant. Your family dresses me up and pretends to treat me as if I’m gentle, but the fact is, to everyone else I’m nothing.”
“No,” Anne replied. “That’s not true. Because I would never let anything happen to you, Austra. We’ll always be together, we two. I love you as much as any sister.”
“Hush,” Austra replied, snuffling. “Just hush.”
“Come on. We’ll go back, right now. Sneak in while they’re still looking. We won’t get caught this time, I promise.”
“The knights—”
“They couldn’t catch me. They won’t say anything, from shame, unless Mother or Fastia asks ‘em outright. And still, they never saw you.”
“It doesn’t matter to Fastia whether I’m an accomplice or if you duped me.”
“Figs for Fastia. She hasn’t as much power as you think. Now come along.”
Austra nodded, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “But what about the knight who did catch you?” Austra asked.
“He won’t tell anyone, either,” Anne said. “Not if he wants to keep his head.”
Then she frowned. “How dare Fastia speak to you so? I should do something about this. Yes, and I think I know
what.”
“What?”
“I’ll visit Virgenya. I’ll tell her. She’ll do something, I’m certain.”
Austra’s eyes widened again. “I … I thought you said we were going back up the hill.”
“This won’t take any time at all.”
“But—”
“I’m doing this for you,” Anne told her friend. “Come on. Be brave.”
“Can we start back in a bell or so?”
“Of course.”
Austra held her chin up. “Let’s go ahead, then.”
They continued across the inner canals, until they came to the royal quarter, where
the streets were all paved with lead bricks, smoothed and slicked by shoes and the brooms of the caretakers, where the stone figures of saints supported roofs flat or slanted and everything was twined thick with pink-eyed primrose and ajister thorn and the doors of the buildings were sealed with sigils and good steel locks.
This last circle was walled in midnight and stars, a bastion of black granite, mica flecked, with spears of wrought iron. The gates were guarded by Saint Under, with his hammer and long, grim face, and Saint Dun with her tear-brimmed eyes and crown of roses.
It was also guarded by a tall fellow of middle years who wore the somber gray livery of the scathomen, the knight-priests who guard the dead.
“Good evening, Princess Anne,” the man said.
“The best evening to you, Sir Len,” Anne replied.
“Here without permission again, I take it.” Sir Len removed his helm to reveal brown braids framing a face that might have been chiseled onto a brick, so stern and angular and flat it was.
“Why do you say that? Has Mother or Fastia been down here asking after me?”
The knight smiled briefly. “I can no more tell you of their comings or goings than I can tell them of yours. It is against my vow. Who comes here, what they do, of those things I cannot speak. As well you know, which is why you come here to do your mischief.”
“Are you turning me away?”
“You know I cannot do that, either. Pass, Princess.”
“Thank you, Sir Len.”
As they proceeded through the gates, Sir Len rang the brass bell, to let the royal dead know visitors were coming. Anne felt a gentle fluttering in her belly, a sure sign the spirits had turned their eyes upon her.
We’ll see, Fastia, she thought smugly. We’ll just see.
Anne and Austra dismounted and tied their horses outside the small courtyard where the dead of house Dare made their homes. There stood a small altar, where lay fresh and withered flowers, candles—some half-burnt, some puddles—mazers that smelled of mead, wine, and oak beer. Anne lit one of the candles, and they both knelt for a moment, as Anne led them in the prayer. The lead was hard and cold beneath Anne’s knees. Somewhere near, a jay scolded a raven, a sudden shrill cacophony. Anne chanted,
