Moonblood (Tales of Goldstone Wood Book #3) by Anne Elisabeth Stengl Read Free Book Online Page B

overwhelmed as she was at the sight of the fire falling from the girl’s lips.
    Then the dragon was running. Her speed was unnatural, like a shadow flitting across the Eldest’s grounds. Embers trailed in her wake. She vanished into the skeletal foliage of the gardens.
    Rose Red tried to draw a breath but couldn’t. “What have I done?” She grabbed hold of Beana’s fur in a grip that should have caused the goat pain. “Oh, Beana! Beana, what have I done?”
    But Beana did not seem to hear or understand her. The goat’s gaze was fixed on the Wilderlands with deadly intensity. Suddenly she whirled on the girl. “GO!” she cried. “Chase after her! Stop her if you can. But go! Get away from here. Now!”
    Rose Red ran. The tone in her goat’s voice was more terrible to her even than her fear of the dragon, and she ran with all the speed she could muster. As though in a dream, she could scarcely make her feet move fast enough. She could not hope to catch the dragon, but she ran anyway, back over the park grounds, bypassing the house, and hastening on toward the Eldest’s City.
    But Beana remained behind, standing above the gorge and peering into the darkness of the trees below.
    For she had heard at last that for which she had been listening those twenty years and more; the song which did not sing to her, so she could understand no words. But the noise of it rang through her head with painful intensity.
    “Lights Above shield us!” she whispered. “It has come for her at last.”

4
    T HE CROWDED STREETS of the Eldest’s City were strung with colored lanterns even in midday. All the folk of the city, from the mayor’s young daughters to the lowliest street urchin, were dressed in their finest. Despite the winter chill, women’s arms were bared to show off gleaming bangles. Bright scarves festooned the men’s necks, trailing behind them like kite tails as they waved and cheered at the passing parade.
    They were desperate to be happy, Lionheart thought as he rode his high-stepping horse down the main street. They were desperate for hope. He wondered, however, how many of those smiles were sincere and how many of them were mere reflections of his own.
    Daylily rode beside him. She had yet to meet his eyes once that day, yet her smiles were brightest of all. She radiated happiness so intense as to be dizzying. But her horse put its ears back and swished its tail, now and then rolling its eyes.
    They came to the mayor’s house, and Lionheart dismounted and turned to assist Daylily, only to find that she had already slid from the saddle herself and settled her skirts. Without a glance his way, she took his arm and allowed him to lead her up the house steps. They bowed and curtsied to the mayor and his lady and his cluster of daughters. Then it was inside for refreshments and small talk while the crowd outside played music and danced in the town square.
    Daylily was brilliant, as always. How the people of Southlands adored her! A man would have to be blind not to see it. She never left his side yet somehow managed to make conversation with every person in the household from the most powerful barons to the lowliest baronets. Lionheart, by contrast, could scarcely put two words together. It did not matter. Everyone knew it was the bride that counted at a wedding anyway.
    “Come, darling,” said Daylily, still without looking at him. She gently directed him by the arm instead. “The people must see you again.”
    He found himself being led up a flight of stairs and around to a balcony overlooking the city square. The square was so packed with celebrants that one couldn’t glimpse the cobbles beneath their dancing feet. When Lionheart appeared above their heads, standing at the railing between two flags, they turned as one body and began to shout. It was a noise like thunder.
    “Prince Lionheart! The crown prince!” they shouted.
    But Lionheart only heard, “Did he fight the Dragon? Did he?”
    He forced himself