"Their claims are equal." Sir Guy's mood seemed to be lightening.
The ghost drifted forward, making hand signals, pantomiming.
"She." Matt frowned, following the pointing fingers. "He...and she?"
The ghost joined his two hands in front of him.
"He means that they should wed!" Alisande cried. "Aye, here's the way to unravel the coil! Two claims of equal strength, united—and Ibile's throne is secure! None could doubt that their offspring would be rightful heirs!"
Sir Guy turned away, looking thunderous.
Yverne glanced at him, then turned back to Alisande, wide-eyed. "By your leave, Majesty—I had liefer abdicate."
"Abdicate?" Alisande stared. So did Rinaldo—wounded.
"I will forswear my claim to the throne." Yverne lowered her eyes demurely. "I will forswear it for myself, and for all heirs of my body that I may bear."
"Why, how is this, lady?" Prince Rinaldo cried, woebegone. "You cannot wander homeless!"
"She cannot, nor can she take up again her father's estates, for her mere presence within Ibile will be a focus for discontent, and an impetus toward rebellion," Alisande said. "Lady, you must wed or be exiled."
"Then I shall be an exile," Yverne answered, without a moment's hesitation. "I shall retire to some hidden hermitage where none shall ever find me, provided..." She glanced up at Sir Guy's back.
"Provided?" Alisande prompted. "What is this proviso? Mind you, the idea itself is excellent—you would be removed from contention for the throne, but you, or your heirs, might be found if there were need. But what is your proviso?"
"That Sir Guy de Toutarien shall escort me to my place of exile," Yverne said, "and shall himself choose that hiding place, so that none other may ever know of it."
Sir Guy looked up in surprise.
Yverne met his eyes, then looked down and blushed.
Prince Rinaldo stood taken aback, amazed, elated—and crestfallen. "Milady, do not! 'Twould be hard, immensely hard on you, to be shut away from the world so, never to return to your home! You are too vibrant, too filed with joy of life, and take too much delight in company to endure such solitude! And will there not still be the promise of rebellion? For no one will believe that anyone would willingly give up a kingdom to become a hermit! I am your friend, at least, and would not see you miserable!"
"I will not be miserable," she said quietly, and glanced at Sir Guy.
He met her gaze, and his face fairly glowed. She blushed again and lowered her eyes once more, but he did not take his gaze from her face.
"What say you, Sir Knight?" Alisande demanded. "Will you escort the lady hence, far from Ibile, and find her a hermitage secure? Will you swear never to reveal it to any soul, living or dead."
"I will," Sir Guy said, "and will ever keep faith with her!" Rinaldo looked woebegone, and Matt's heart went out to him. To labor so long on the slenderest of hopes, to be exalted with victory one second, and cast down to despair the next!
"All wounds shall mend," Friar Tuck said gently, "those of this land—and those of its people. All wounds shall mend, and joy shall fill them once again."
"Mine, too?" Alisande turned slowly to Matt. "And yours, Lord Wizard? Nay, have you cast me so much into grief that your own is assuaged? Have you healed the hurt to your vanity by the wounds you have given my heart? Are you so lofty now, knowing that you have trod on a queen? Are you—"
"My lady, enough!" Matt stepped forward, hope budding in his heart. "You mean you care?"
"Care! Would I have fought my way across all of Ibile, aye, and grieved my soldiers and their wives, and all of Merovence belike, if I did not care? Would I have gnawed out my heart, hollowed my breast, stained my cheeks with rivers of...Oh!" She caught his arms in a fierce, iron-coated grip. "Matthew! I was so a-frighted that harm would come to you, that I would find your tattered corpse, that I would come too late...or that you might...might have..."
"I didn't." After all, she was a queen, and in public—but the last thing Matt would have wanted would have been to see her humiliated, even if they'd been in private. He looked long and deeply into her eyes and wished he would never have to look away. "I'm still here," he murmured. "I'll always be here—and I'm free of my rash oath now, free to take another. Only this time, I'll mean it."
She stared at him, her face paling. Then, abruptly, she let go of him and turned away, her face reddening.
But Matt understood, now, the pride of a queen. He smiled and couldn't take his eyes off her.
There was a huge hullabaloo from the hole in the wall.
Everybody spun about just in time to see three huge forms hurtle past and hear voices saying:
"Let me be, I tell you!"
"Nay! Thou art wounded sore!"
"Not as sore as your head! Look, I can fly—see?"
"He does not fall quite so fast, 'tis true..."
"He cannot lift. We must!"
The three forms pulled back into sight—two dragons with a dracogriff in the middle.
"I can land, at least!" Narlh squawked. "Let go—I can land!"
"Don't listen to him!" Matt called. "Bring him inside!"
The dracogriff was horribly burned. Wing feathers were scorched all along his left side, and large patches of his hide were missing. He squalled in sudden pain. "Easy, there! Y'didn't have to jam me against the stones, y'know!"
"I regret," Stegoman huffed. " 'Tis so small a hole, do you see...Aside, small and soft ones! Our comrade is wounded; we must come unto the wizard who can cure him!"
"Aside!" Alisande called. "Stand aside! Let them pass!"
The soldiers crowded back, opening up an aisle from the stairwell—and two huge dragons limped into sight, Stegoman and a stranger. Between them, supported by their upraised wings, growling and protesting and complaining every inch of the way, limped Narlh. "Look, I...I can make it on my own...all...all right? I...don't need any help, I...Ouch! Go easy, there!"
"Narlh!" Matt cried. "You're wounded!"
"A scratch," the dracogriff snapped. "A little burn. So what? Look, it's not as if I can't fly, y'know!"
"He cannot," Stegoman explained to Matt. "He has chased off the last of the gargoyles—in truth, I should say he fought half of them himself."
"He is a doughty fighter," the other dragon said in tones of awe, "and wondrous in his valor. He is a source of great pride to us, that the blood of dragons flows in his veins!"
"I just did what I had to," Narlh muttered, lowering his eyes.
"As do any of us! But thou didst fight, with never a thought for thine own safety—or life! Nay, thou shalt dwell in honor in Dragondom for as long as thou shalt wish, whenever thou dost wish! We shall be elevated by thy presence."
Narlh looked up at Matt, an incredulous joy in his eyes.
"The last was the most huge," Stegoman explained to Matt. "He was half again my bulk, and his wings were granite. He struck me with them, battered me, would have knocked me out of the sky—had not this berserker pounced upon him with a scream of fury, struck at him again and again, enduring his flailing attack and his flame whiles the dragon folk beset the gargoyle and tore him apart. I take my life from thee this day, Narlh! I will be mightily honored if thou wilt let me claim brotherhood with thee, among all Dragondom."
"Well...if you really want to..."
"Let's see to those wounds first," Matt said briskly.
"By your leave, Lord Wizard." Friar Tuck stepped forward. "I have some small skill at this. Good monsters, will you step aside with me?"
"Awright, awright!" Narlh grumbled. "Just make it fast!"
Matt grinned and turned back to his favorite view, Alisande's eyes. "Looks as if we came out of it all right, Majesty."