Read Online Moonblood (Tales of Goldstone Wood Book #3) by Anne Elisabeth Stengl - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anne Elisabeth Stengl
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another day.
Lionheart lay amid the wreckage of the dragon’s wake.
He would live his death of a life.
“Leo! Leo, no!”
Hands plucked at his sleeves, his shoulders. Through the numbing haze of the smoke, Lionheart thought he saw a wafting veil. “R-Rosie?”
“Leo, I’m so sorry!” Rose Red cried. She wrapped her arm behind his lolling head and neck, grabbing hold of his shoulders. With a grunt of effort, she hauled him into a sitting position. “I’m so sorry!” she repeated. “I came as fast as I could, but I couldn’t find her, and they wouldn’t let me through the gates, and I only just came . . . oh! I thought you were goin’ to get it!”
Lionheart coughed violently. His stomach heaved and contracted at the stench all around him.
“We’ve got to get you out of here.” Rose Red shook her head as though to clear her own mind. Then she braced herself on her stumpy legs, strained a little, and lifted Lionheart to his feet. He vaguely recalled in his stupor how, from the time they were children, she’d always been able to toss him around like a rag doll. Such amazing strength she had! “Put your arm round my neck. That’s right. Now this way.”
They moved awkwardly, and Rose Red shielded him as they went from the licking flames. Lionheart wondered distantly how much she had overheard and was grateful that she asked no questions. She half carried him from the bridge and out of the smoke that was rising in a tall column to the sky, a memorial to the young dragon’s presence.
“Come on, Leo.” Rose Red spoke in a soothing, encouraging voice. “Let’s get you back to—”
She broke off, freezing in place.
The dragon’s smoke had served as a signal. A large crowd of city folk, their terrified faces contrasting horribly with their merry clothing, approached with makeshift weapons in hand. They too paused, hundreds of frightened eyes taking in the sight of their singed prince in the arms of the veiled chambermaid.
Then someone shouted:
“Demon!”
5
T HE CRY WAS TAKEN UP .
“Demon!”
“Friend of dragons!”
“Monster!”
As the shouts rose, the courage of the people rose as well. They swarmed the prince and the girl, dragging them apart. “No!” Rose Red cried, trying to cling to Lionheart. “Help him! He’s hurt—”
Lionheart, his head full of smoke and fire, held tight to Rose Red without thinking and shouted at those who struck her. But his strength had left him, and before he had time to react, she was pulled from him. Others stood around him, supporting him and saying, “Are you hurt, Your Highness? Did she harm you?”
He shook himself, staring after the mob into which Rose Red had disappeared. They were flowing toward the city gates. He struggled to pull himself into full consciousness. “What are they doing?”
“They’ll hang the little beast at last,” someone said. “She’s bewitched our land long enough.”
It took a moment for the words to fit inside his brain. Then he shouted. Energy surged through him and he burst from the arms of those who would help him and raced after the mob. With speed he did not know he possessed, Lionheart caught up with the tail end of them, bellowing for all he was worth. “Unhand that girl! Do you hear me? Unhand her, I say!”
But the crowd was beyond hearing now. They flowed back into the city and round to the city gates, climbing the stairway to the top of the southern wall. In an older, crueler age, Southlands had hanged its criminals from this wall, a gruesome welcome to all those who would enter the Eldest’s City. This practice had been abandoned within the last two generations. But the people had not forgotten.
Lionheart beat at the heads of those in front of him, desperate to force his way through the throng. Some thought to fight back, and he received a punch in the eye and a cut lip before the terrified townsfolk recognized their prince and disappeared as quickly as possible. But he could not break his
Lionheart lay amid the wreckage of the dragon’s wake.
He would live his death of a life.
“Leo! Leo, no!”
Hands plucked at his sleeves, his shoulders. Through the numbing haze of the smoke, Lionheart thought he saw a wafting veil. “R-Rosie?”
“Leo, I’m so sorry!” Rose Red cried. She wrapped her arm behind his lolling head and neck, grabbing hold of his shoulders. With a grunt of effort, she hauled him into a sitting position. “I’m so sorry!” she repeated. “I came as fast as I could, but I couldn’t find her, and they wouldn’t let me through the gates, and I only just came . . . oh! I thought you were goin’ to get it!”
Lionheart coughed violently. His stomach heaved and contracted at the stench all around him.
“We’ve got to get you out of here.” Rose Red shook her head as though to clear her own mind. Then she braced herself on her stumpy legs, strained a little, and lifted Lionheart to his feet. He vaguely recalled in his stupor how, from the time they were children, she’d always been able to toss him around like a rag doll. Such amazing strength she had! “Put your arm round my neck. That’s right. Now this way.”
They moved awkwardly, and Rose Red shielded him as they went from the licking flames. Lionheart wondered distantly how much she had overheard and was grateful that she asked no questions. She half carried him from the bridge and out of the smoke that was rising in a tall column to the sky, a memorial to the young dragon’s presence.
“Come on, Leo.” Rose Red spoke in a soothing, encouraging voice. “Let’s get you back to—”
She broke off, freezing in place.
The dragon’s smoke had served as a signal. A large crowd of city folk, their terrified faces contrasting horribly with their merry clothing, approached with makeshift weapons in hand. They too paused, hundreds of frightened eyes taking in the sight of their singed prince in the arms of the veiled chambermaid.
Then someone shouted:
“Demon!”
5
T HE CRY WAS TAKEN UP .
“Demon!”
“Friend of dragons!”
“Monster!”
As the shouts rose, the courage of the people rose as well. They swarmed the prince and the girl, dragging them apart. “No!” Rose Red cried, trying to cling to Lionheart. “Help him! He’s hurt—”
Lionheart, his head full of smoke and fire, held tight to Rose Red without thinking and shouted at those who struck her. But his strength had left him, and before he had time to react, she was pulled from him. Others stood around him, supporting him and saying, “Are you hurt, Your Highness? Did she harm you?”
He shook himself, staring after the mob into which Rose Red had disappeared. They were flowing toward the city gates. He struggled to pull himself into full consciousness. “What are they doing?”
“They’ll hang the little beast at last,” someone said. “She’s bewitched our land long enough.”
It took a moment for the words to fit inside his brain. Then he shouted. Energy surged through him and he burst from the arms of those who would help him and raced after the mob. With speed he did not know he possessed, Lionheart caught up with the tail end of them, bellowing for all he was worth. “Unhand that girl! Do you hear me? Unhand her, I say!”
But the crowd was beyond hearing now. They flowed back into the city and round to the city gates, climbing the stairway to the top of the southern wall. In an older, crueler age, Southlands had hanged its criminals from this wall, a gruesome welcome to all those who would enter the Eldest’s City. This practice had been abandoned within the last two generations. But the people had not forgotten.
Lionheart beat at the heads of those in front of him, desperate to force his way through the throng. Some thought to fight back, and he received a punch in the eye and a cut lip before the terrified townsfolk recognized their prince and disappeared as quickly as possible. But he could not break his
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