“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.