Read Online Moonblood (Tales of Goldstone Wood Book #3) by Anne Elisabeth Stengl - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Elisabeth Stengl
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way through; he could not find Rose Red.
He saw a guardsman standing on the fringes of the mob, surrounded by a cluster of soldiers. They uncertainly held their weapons ready. Lionheart raced to the captain, shouting, “Send your men! Cut down these fools and find the girl!”
“Your Highness,” the captain said, his face pale, “they want a hanging, and a hanging they’ll get. We don’t want more dragons in these parts.”
“Dragons?” The prince lunged forward and wrested the sword from the captain’s hand. Grabbing the man by the cloth around his neck, Lionheart pushed him against the wall and pressed the blade against his throat. “By all the powers of Death and Life-in-Death, if you won’t send your men, I’ll cut out your heart and feed it to the dogs!”
The captain gasped an answer, and Lionheart backed away, releasing his hold. He held on to the sword and plunged into the mob. He heard the captain give a shout, and suddenly Lionheart was flanked by soldiers. They pressed through the crowd, and the people, seeing the weapons, parted and let them by. Lionheart thought he would smother in that mass of hatred and blind fear, but he pressed on up the stairs, his sword blade forward to plow a path. The stairs up the wall were narrow, and he feared he would never make it through in time. Fire still blazed in his mind, battling with the cold voice in his head that whispered, She doesn’t matter. Hold on to your dream! She doesn’t matter, my darling.
“She does!” he roared. “Out of my way, you devils!” He knew it was hopeless. How could he gain the top of the wall before they flung Rose Red over the side?
Just when he thought he must give up, another voice spoke, drowning out the mob’s din, the fire, and the dark whispers of the Lady. It was a voice he recognized.
Make way, it sang.
The crowd before Lionheart parted. With a last burst of energy, he reached the top and found himself face-to-face with a burly man—a butcher, by the stains on his hands—and a bearded merchant, and several other self-appointed leaders of the mob. One of them was twisting a thick noose. The butcher held Rose Red by the shoulders, driving his fingers into her collarbone.
Just as Lionheart gained the top of the stairs, they tore the veil from her face.
Lionheart stared once more into those hideous, moon-wide eyes set in a craggy, bald head. The skin was pasty as dead fish but harder than granite, the jaw set with jutting teeth. For a moment, Lionheart faltered. He gazed into the awful eyes of his childhood friend and shuddered.
She bowed her head.
Lionheart raised his sword and pointed it directly at the butcher’s chest. “Let her go,” he said.
“Your Highness,” the butcher said without loosening his grip, “the demon must die. She let a dragon into the city. Everyone knows she’s a dragon herself, or a witch. We can’t have her betraying our land no more!”
The man with the noose stepped forward and started to place it over Rose Red’s head. She screamed, her dreadful eyes rolling. Without a thought, Lionheart swung his sword and cut the rope. It fell, frayed, upon the stone walkway. By now the soldiers had broken through to the top, and they stood behind Lionheart, weapons upraised.
“Let her go,” Lionheart repeated and stepped closer, resting the edge of his blade just below the butcher’s ear. “Am I prince or not?”
“Your Highness!” The butcher’s eyes were defiant, his teeth gnashing. “Your Highness, she’s bewitched you! Everyone knows it. Let us hang her and save you—”
“I’ll kill you,” Lionheart said, fire seething in his lungs. He had yet to slay a man in cold blood but had no doubt that in another few seconds he could and would. “I’ll kill you, man.”
The butcher stared into his eyes, gulped, and released Rose Red. She fell upon her face, gasping, and crawled to Lionheart, wrapping her arms around his feet. He knelt and touched her back protectively but
He saw a guardsman standing on the fringes of the mob, surrounded by a cluster of soldiers. They uncertainly held their weapons ready. Lionheart raced to the captain, shouting, “Send your men! Cut down these fools and find the girl!”
“Your Highness,” the captain said, his face pale, “they want a hanging, and a hanging they’ll get. We don’t want more dragons in these parts.”
“Dragons?” The prince lunged forward and wrested the sword from the captain’s hand. Grabbing the man by the cloth around his neck, Lionheart pushed him against the wall and pressed the blade against his throat. “By all the powers of Death and Life-in-Death, if you won’t send your men, I’ll cut out your heart and feed it to the dogs!”
The captain gasped an answer, and Lionheart backed away, releasing his hold. He held on to the sword and plunged into the mob. He heard the captain give a shout, and suddenly Lionheart was flanked by soldiers. They pressed through the crowd, and the people, seeing the weapons, parted and let them by. Lionheart thought he would smother in that mass of hatred and blind fear, but he pressed on up the stairs, his sword blade forward to plow a path. The stairs up the wall were narrow, and he feared he would never make it through in time. Fire still blazed in his mind, battling with the cold voice in his head that whispered, She doesn’t matter. Hold on to your dream! She doesn’t matter, my darling.
“She does!” he roared. “Out of my way, you devils!” He knew it was hopeless. How could he gain the top of the wall before they flung Rose Red over the side?
Just when he thought he must give up, another voice spoke, drowning out the mob’s din, the fire, and the dark whispers of the Lady. It was a voice he recognized.
Make way, it sang.
The crowd before Lionheart parted. With a last burst of energy, he reached the top and found himself face-to-face with a burly man—a butcher, by the stains on his hands—and a bearded merchant, and several other self-appointed leaders of the mob. One of them was twisting a thick noose. The butcher held Rose Red by the shoulders, driving his fingers into her collarbone.
Just as Lionheart gained the top of the stairs, they tore the veil from her face.
Lionheart stared once more into those hideous, moon-wide eyes set in a craggy, bald head. The skin was pasty as dead fish but harder than granite, the jaw set with jutting teeth. For a moment, Lionheart faltered. He gazed into the awful eyes of his childhood friend and shuddered.
She bowed her head.
Lionheart raised his sword and pointed it directly at the butcher’s chest. “Let her go,” he said.
“Your Highness,” the butcher said without loosening his grip, “the demon must die. She let a dragon into the city. Everyone knows she’s a dragon herself, or a witch. We can’t have her betraying our land no more!”
The man with the noose stepped forward and started to place it over Rose Red’s head. She screamed, her dreadful eyes rolling. Without a thought, Lionheart swung his sword and cut the rope. It fell, frayed, upon the stone walkway. By now the soldiers had broken through to the top, and they stood behind Lionheart, weapons upraised.
“Let her go,” Lionheart repeated and stepped closer, resting the edge of his blade just below the butcher’s ear. “Am I prince or not?”
“Your Highness!” The butcher’s eyes were defiant, his teeth gnashing. “Your Highness, she’s bewitched you! Everyone knows it. Let us hang her and save you—”
“I’ll kill you,” Lionheart said, fire seething in his lungs. He had yet to slay a man in cold blood but had no doubt that in another few seconds he could and would. “I’ll kill you, man.”
The butcher stared into his eyes, gulped, and released Rose Red. She fell upon her face, gasping, and crawled to Lionheart, wrapping her arms around his feet. He knelt and touched her back protectively but
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