CHAPTER FIVE

THE PRINCESS

“THEY'VE SEEN US!” Austra gasped.

Anne leaned around the side of the oak, fingers gripping its rough skin. Behind her, her cream-colored mare stamped and whickered.

“Hush, Faster,” she whispered.

The two girls stood in the shadows of the forest at the edge of the rolling meadow known as the Sleeve. As they watched, three horsemen made their way across the violet-spangled grass, heads turning this way and that. They wore the dark orange tabards of the Royal Light Horse, and the sun glinted from their mail. They were perhaps half a bowshot away.

“No,” Anne said, turning to Austra. “They haven't. But they are looking for us. I think that's Captain Cathond in the lead.”

“You really think they've been sent out to look for us?” Austra crouched even lower, pushing a lock of golden hair from her face.

“Absolutely.”

“Let's go deeper in the woods, then. If they see us—”

“Yes, suppose they do?” Anne considered.

“That's what I just said. I—” Austra's blue eyes went as round as gold reytoirs. “No. Anne!”

Grinning, Anne drew her hood over her red-gold hair, then took Faster's reins, gripped the saddle, and flung herself up. “Wait until we're out of sight. Then meet me in Eslen-of-Shadows.”

“I won't!” Austra declared, trying to keep her voice low. “You stay right here!”

Anne clapped her thighs against her horse's flanks. “Faster!” she commanded.

The mare broke from the woods in full gallop, a few leaves swirling in her wake. For perhaps ten heartbeats the only sound was the muffled thumping of hooves pounding damp soil. Then one of the mounted men started shouting. Anne glanced back over her shoulder and saw she had been right: Captain Cathond's red face was behind the shouting. They wheeled their white geldings to pursue her.

Anne shouted in joy at the rush of wind on her face. The Sleeve was perfect for racing, long and green and beautiful. To her right, the forest was dressed in spring leaves, dogwood and cherry blossoms. Left, the Sleeve dropped a steep shoulder down to the marshy rinns that surrounded the island of Ynis and bordered the broad river Warlock, which lapped honey-gold against his banks.

Faster was living thunder, and Anne was the bright eye of lightning. Let them try to catch her! Let them!

The Sleeve curved around the southern edge of the island, then turned right, climbing up to the twin hills of Tom Woth and Tom Cast. Anne didn't wait for the Sleeve to bend, however, but twitched the reins, commanding Faster into a sharp turn, sending clots of grass and black earth flying, veering them back into the woods. She ducked branches and held tight as the horse leapt a small stream. A quick look back showed the horsemen cutting into the woods earlier in hopes of heading her off. But the wood was thick with new growth through there and would slow them.

She had ridden, though, the tract that had been burned off a few years before. It was relatively clear, a favorite cutoff of hers, and Faster could whip around the great-girthed ash and oak. Anne crowed as they sped beneath one tree that had fallen aslant upon another, then up a hill, right, and back out onto the Sleeve, where it curved up to Tom Woth and Tom Cast. As she gained altitude, the topmost towers and turrets of Eslen castle appeared above the trees to her right, pennants streaming in the breeze.

When the men emerged from the wood again, they were twice as far behind her as they had been when they began the pursuit, and there were only two of them. Smugly, she started around the base of Tom Woth, headed back toward the south edge of the island. There was no challenge to it now; when she came to the Snake they wouldn't even see her performance. A shame, really.

“Good girl, Faster,” she said, easing up the pace a little. “Just don't go skittish on me, you hear? You'll have to be brave, but then you can rest, and I'll find you something good to eat. I promise.”

Then she caught motion from the corner of her eye and gasped. The third horseman, through some miracle, had just entered the Sleeve almost at her elbow. And worse, a new fellow on a dun wearing a red cape appeared just behind him. A hot flash of surprise burned across Anne's face.

“Hey, there! Stop!”

She recognized the voice of Captain Cathond. Her heart drummed, but she clapped Faster fiercely, circling the hill. Tom Woth and Tom Cast together looked like an ample woman's breasts. Anne rode right down the cleavage.

“You'd better slow up, you damned fool!” Cathond shouted. “There's nothing on the other side!”

He was wrong. There was plenty on the other side—a spectacular view of the verdant rinns, and far below, the river, the southern fens. Coming from between the hills, there was a terrible and wonderful moment when it seemed the whole world was spread before her.

“Here we go, Faster!” Anne cried, as they crossed the lip over nothing and all of Faster's feet were in the air. Now that it was too late, she felt a thrill of fear so sharp she could nearly taste it.

An instant stretched to eternity as Anne lay flat and knotted her hands in Faster's mane. The warm musk of horse, the oil and leather of the saddle, the rushing air were her whole universe. Her belly was stuffed with tickly feathers. She shrieked in delirious fear, and then her mount's hooves struck the Snake, a narrow gorge slithering down the steep side of the island.

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 new 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,

“Saints who keep my fathers and mothers,
Saint Under who defends, Saint Dun who tends,
Keep my footsteps light here
Let them sleep or wake as they please,
Bless them, keep them,
Let them know me, if only as a dream.
Sacaro, Sacaraum, Sacarafum.”

She took Austra's hand. “Come on,” she whispered.

They skirted the great house where the bones of her grandparents and great-grandparents lay, where her uncles and aunts held midnight courts and her youngest brother Avieyen played with the toys in his marble crib, around the red marble colonnaded pastato and wide-arched valve of bronze, past the lesser mansion, where her more distant cousins no doubt plotted, as they had in life, for a position amongst their more august relatives. On to the crumbling stone walls and wild, straggling trees of the horz.

Over the years, Anne and Austra had worn a regular path back to the tomb, enlarging the hidden way as their bodies grew—not by cutting, of course, just by pushing and prying their way along. The Wild Saints had made no complaint, stricken them with no fever or blemishes, and so they thought themselves safe in that small modification. Also in the steps they had taken to hide their secret—strategically placed mats of rudely woven grapevine, a rock moved here or there.

What really kept it hidden, Anne was sure, was Virgenya's will. She had hidden for over two thousand years from everyone but Anne and Austra. She seemed to want to keep it that way.

And so, after a few moments on hands and knees, Anne found herself once more before the sarcophagus.

They had never been able to move the lid any further, not even with a wooden lever, and after a time Anne had come to believe she was not supposed to look inside, and so she stopped trying.

But the little crack was still there.

“Now,” she said. “Have you got the stylus and the foil?”

“Please, don't curse Fastia on my account,” Austra pleaded.

“I'm not going to curse her,” Anne said. “Not really. But she's become insufferable! Threatening you! She deserves punishment.”

“She used to play with us,” Austra reminded her. “She used to be our friend. She made us overdresses of braided nodding-heads and dandelions.”

“That was a long time ago. She's different, now, since she married. Since she became our mistress.”

“Then wish for her to be the way she was. Don't put any ill on her. Please.”

“I just want to give her boils,” Anne said. “Or a few pocks on her beautiful face. Oh, all right. Give those here.”

Austra handed her a small, paper-thin sheet of lead and an iron scriber. Anne pressed the lead against the coffin lid and wrote.

Ancestress, please take this request to Saint Cer, petition her on my behalf. Ask her to dissuade my sister Fastia from threatening my maid, Austra, and to make Fastia nicer, as she was when she was younger.

Anne considered the sheet. There was still room at the bottom.

And fix the heart of Roderick of Dunmrogh on me. Let him not sleep without dreams of me.

“What? Who is Roderick of Dunmrogh?” Austra exclaimed.

“You were looking over my shoulder!”

“Of course. I was afraid you would ask for boils for Fastia!”

“Well, I didn't, you busybody,” Anne said, waving her friend away.

“No, but you did ask for some boy to fall in love with you,” Austra said.

“He's a knight.”

“The one who chased you down the Snake? The one you just met? What, are you in love with him?”

“Of course not. How could I be? But what could it hurt for him to love me?”

“This sort of thing never turns out well in phay stories, Anne.”

“Well, Cer likely won't pay attention to either of these. She likes curses.”

“Falling in love with you could easily be a curse,” Austra replied.

“Very funny. You should replace Hound Hat as court jester.” She slipped the lead foil through the crack in the lid of the sarcophagus. “There. Done. And now we can go.”

As she stood, a sudden dizziness struck her between the eyes, and for an instant, she couldn't remember where she was. Something rang brightly in her chest, like a golden bell, and the touch of her fingers against the stone seemed very far away.

“Anne?” Austra said, voice concerned.

“Nothing. I was dizzy for an instant. It's passed. Come on, we should get back to the castle.”