Macster - The Last Dragon

From high above, on the hill at the center of the city, Cinderella watched it all with a remote gaze as she stood at the embrasure of her sun-drenched sitting room, in a towering, slender spire of her azure palace. Normally the elderly queen was most concerned with the welfare of her people and took a deep and abiding interest in their lives, but today she was haunted by a decision that could well determine the future of her grandson's kingdom, and nothing else intruded on her thoughts. It was of paramount importance that she not be disturbed until her choice was made.

As if on cue, a deep, sonorous tolling began from somewhere overhead, clanging from the iron throat of a vast bell as the twelfth hour was struck, and Cinderella groaned, rubbing her suddenly aching forehead with one beringed hand. How she hated that bell! She had hated it for nearly two hundred years, ever since her days as a scullery maid slaving away in the manor of her stepmother, the Baroness Tremayne, when it had pealed out its inexorable summons to another day of drudgery and toil. She had longed to have it removed from its belfry but it was an unfortunate tradition of the royal family that could not be altered.

A small smile formed on her lips. At least not all the plagues of her adolescence were still with her. She remembered with relish how she had banished her stepsisters Drusilla and Anastasia to the Third Kingdom, where their ugliness, mutilated feet, and plucked-out eyes made them suitable only for status as Trollines. And of course the aged baroness had died long ago, after living out the rest of her lonely existence as one of the first inmates of the Snow White Memorial Prison.

Sadly she was not the only casualty of time--her dear sweet friends, Gus and Jaq, had passed on as well. Mice had such short lives, after all, more than two thousand generations had gone by since her wedding to the prince. But at least their descendants were still with her, and remained as her closest advisors. The human courtesans often scoffed and sneered at the mice, gossiping behind Cinderella's back concerning her growing senility in insisting on their presence in her assemblies, but she ignored them all. She was the queen, tradition and precedent demanded she be respected, and she knew where true loyalty lay. Her mice had never steered her wrong, they had stood by her when she wept bitter tears in her garret with no one else who cared about her fate, and she was not about to abandon them now for the sake of functionaries and toadies.

In fact, it was to her mice that she had presently appealed for counsel.

Turning away from the window, she walked with stately steps and slow to the wingbacked chair of cyan leather that sat beside the fireplace--more due to her sore feet and aching back than out of any sense of decorum. Settling into the seat, Cinderella sighed in relief and gazed about the comforting chamber, its midnight blue walls and dark-paneled wood seeming ancient and venerable; the bookcases of ponderous, weighty tomes, the vast walnut desk, the ornate paintings, the crystal-and-brass chandelier, and the navy blue carpeting all added to the splendor and luxuriance. Slipping her shoes off, she buried her feet in the soft fur of a bearskin rug, then rested her eyes at last upon the table beside her chair. "Well, Beauregard, have you come to a conclusion yet?"

Sitting back on his tiny haunches, the somehow studious-looking mouse on the table rubbed at his bewhiskered chin with one forepaw. "Hmmm...I don't know, Cinderelly. Read me the letter once more."

Chuckling softly at the old familiar nickname uttered in that precious piping voice--despite the agonies of the deportment master and her own gentle admonishments, the mice never seemed to call her anything else--Cinderella picked up the folded sheet of cream-white parchment and lifted her golden lorgnette into place so as to read the elegant script. "Dear Grandmother, I know that for the last several years you have been most insistent on my finding a wife to provide an heir to the throne, and my advisors have been similarly strident in their views. Thus, although it may come as a surprise to you, I abandon the battle. I have decided there shall be a ball held in my honor which all eligible maidens in the kingdom shall attend, and there I will choose who shall be my queen. So if you would kindly make a special journey to my castle, I would be most gratified to receive your assistance in planning and holding the ball, as well as compiling a profile for my future bride. I will, of course, also be extremely grateful to see your shining countenance once more, our last visit after my coronation was far too brief. Sincerely, Wendell."

After she had finished and lowered the lorgnette, Beauregard sat in silence, his thin, whip-like tail flicking about in time with his rapid thoughts. "Tell me again what the problem is with it?"

Cinderella tapped her nails on the table, pursing her lips. That was the problem with mice, their minds were rather flighty. "On the surface nothing is wrong, Beau. What Wendell tells me is wonderful news, if a bit sudden, and I would normally be eager to travel to his castle and congratulate him on his decision. But there is a strange feeling that I am having. Something just doesn't feel right."

The mouse tilted his head rather comically. "It sounds all right to me. Do you have reason to believe it is not from your grandson? Is it in his handwriting?"

"No. But I recognize it as the work of his head scribe. And it is not unusual for him to delegate responsibility, he is a busy man."

Beauregard frowned, his beady eyes dark and thoughtful. "Would he normally leave such a personal letter to his scribe?"

Cinderella frowned as well. "No. That's not like him at all."

Again silence descended, fraught with dread and worry, as the mouse thought through all the possibilities. The wind blew softly at the casement, setting the chandelier to swaying and tinkling. Then Beauregard asked tentatively, "Do you think Wendell has some indelicate issue he wishes to discuss with you in person, and this letter was simply an excuse? Or...do you suspect foul play?"

"I don't know. That's the trouble, I don't have anything specific to point to, just this feeling." She was quite used to acting on her instincts and wits, she had always been a sharp and intelligent girl from the time of her servitude, and her cleverness had only been whetted and honed by her years as a queen. She knew when to trust her heart--she had learned to do so when a glass slipper had been the only link to her Happy Ever After. And her heart was telling her now that something was amiss. It had done so eight months prior at the coronation, when she had sensed something odd about the prince, and it turned out she had been right, there had been an ensorcellment.

Beauregard scampered across the table to her hand and sat up again, resting his miniature paws on her knuckles as if they were fenceposts. "If the cheese smells spoiled, it most likely is," he agreed. "Well then, I think your choice is obvious."

"Oh?" Cinderella raised one elegant auburn eyebrow. "And what is that, my friend?"

The mouse narrowed his eyes and looked at her as if she were dense. "Why, you must do as the letter says, and go to the palace at once! No matter what is wrong, you can't do anything about it by remaining here. Whether Wendell simply needs his grandmother's advice, or some terrible plot has befallen him, either way it is your duty to go to him, to do all in your power to help."

Blinking, the queen of the First Kingdom sat back and let the weight of this logical and moral reasoning settle over her. It was not a surprise to her, an unseen truth, for ever since she had first read the letter, a voice in the back of her mind had impelled her to do exactly that, to seek out Wendell and apply herself firmly to the task, whatever it might be. But up to this point she had shunted that voice aside, had relegated it to the back of her mind. Despite the humbling conditions of her childhood, she still possessed a healthy amount of pride. Her beauty, or lack thereof, meant a great deal to her, and thus she avoided public appearances as much as possible. That was why she had always remained secretive and rarely traveled, and she had gone into total seclusion twelve years ago after the mysterious death of her daughter Ashley. Out of habit and shame she longed to continue her cloistered lifestyle. A part of her desired to ignore the letter, send only a cordial reply of congratulation, and return to her private estate at the Heart Mansion, letting that be the end of it. One sojourn per decade was enough for her, and her allotted appearance had been only eight months ago.

On the other hand, she knew how selfish such a desire was. That very venture out of her hermitage had proven how crucial it was to remain aware of current events and behind-the-scenes maneuverings. No one had realized the truth of what was going on until it was too late, all had been so caught up in the trappings and finery of the coronation that no one had understood the Evil Queen was secretly plotting and orchestrating it all. Even she herself had been fooled, and this after she had suspected something was wrong with Wendell. For heaven's sake, he had propositioned her, his own grandmother! Not to mention all the references to bones and other canine pursuits. She had simply written it off as nerves after he proved his humility, and if not for the Lady Virginia and her wolven lover, Cinderella would have paid the price for her blindness with her life. As such, if another danger threatened Wendell, even all the Kingdoms, then she could not scurry away and hide from it like one of her mice fleeing from Lucifer the cat. Her kingdom was the oldest, she was the most esteemed monarch of all, it would not do to be thought a coward. And the specific impetus to her concealment from society, Ashley's death, made it even more imperative she not dismiss this call. Her daughter had died because everyone, from Whitney to his advisors to Cinderella herself, had underestimated the demure, sweet quietude of the nursemaid Christine.

Cinderella's eyes narrowed. She would not make such a mistake again. Her instincts once more told her a great danger loomed over them all, and unlike with Ashley or at the coronation, she would not brush it aside. She would follow her heart.

Nodding decisively, she turned back to the still attentive mouse and smiled grimly. "You're absolutely right, Beau. If Wendell needs to be rescued once more from his own folly, then I would be remiss if I did anything other than make the attempt to save him." Rising to her feet once again, she slipped her shoes back on, smoothed the front of her rich gown of periwinkle silk, and turned toward the door. "I may be two hundred years old, but my age shall not keep me from carrying out my duties to family and kingdom."

And with that she passed from the chamber, striding down the hall to fetch a servant and prepare her pumpkin coach. As she went, an expression of determination and resolution tautened the lines of her face. Whoever or whatever lay ahead, it had better be ready to face her distinct disapproval.

Red Riding Hood III took away her hand from her forehead where it had been blocking out the wan sunlight and shielding away a view of her shedding painful tears. Sitting up ramrod-straight in the carriage seat, she looked ahead down the road. Below, at the base of the hill, beyond the entourage of soldiers, footmen, and honor guard, Incarnadine spread like a vast carpet across the valley, as crimson as a river of blood. Flags and banners and streamers flapped and flew everywhere inside the walls, bells pealed out their carillons of joy and celebration, and faintly she could hear the voices of her people raised in excitement and happiness. Slowly she let out a sigh of relief.

She was home. And yet, she did not feel home. After all that had happened, she felt as if she did not belong anywhere, and never would again.

Whimpering softly, the queen of the Second Kingdom lowered her face, setting her gaze on her hands where they lay clasped in her lap. It had all gone wrong. Everything had gone wrong since the day Wolf and his companions had been dragged before her in her throne room. And it was all her fault, because she had refused to see the truth for so long that when it finally stared her in the face and could not be denied, it had shattered her heart and her life.

Once, not so long ago, she would have blamed it all on Wolf, on his lies and savagery. But she could not hide behind that familiar mindset, not anymore. The searing light of truth had broken through the chinks in her armor, collapsed her walls, and burned through her blind eyes so she could see. And what she saw horrified her. Wolves capable of love...Cerise, finding her Happy Ever After, yet deprived of it by her sister's own jealousy and hatred...an innocent wolf burned to death in order to further Carmine's ambitions and power...Wolf's life ruined, turning him into a bitter and lonely person, one filled with righteous anger and calculating revenge...wolves in general persecuted and slaughtered for no other reason than because they were different, because one of them had sinned and she had taken it upon herself to punish the entire race for that one transgression. She was guilty of the most heinous crimes, and deserved to die.

That was why she had fled from the campsite in the Sixth Kingdom, that was why she had prevailed on the Piper to free her, to help her escape. That was why she had kissed him, had resorted to the desperate strategy of trying to seduce him into aiding her cause, when she had no romantic feelings toward him whatsoever. It was true that only in the capital, at her castle, could she affect change, could she reverse her policies and atone for her destructive past. But more than anything she had simply had to get away, she had to flee, to escape the accusatory and vindicated expressions of Wolf and Virginia, the pity of Prince Colin. She could not face them, or herself.

She had cravenly fled them, and succeeded in escaping. But even as she retraced their steps, returned to the border of the Second Kingdom, searched the smashed thorns for a gap large enough to squeeze through--as she traveled back to Pumpkin Village, determined to find someone who would recognize her and help her, she had not been able to flee her own tortured thoughts.

Her thoughts had remained with her on the journey back--as she waited in Pumpkin Village, annoyed and frustrated by the simpering apologies of the Mayor for not identifying her before, suffering through his constant hovering service; as she waited for General Gules to arrive with the carriage that would take her home; and during the last three days of travel eastward. Her mind had been consumed by these thoughts, and still was even now. It had surprised and shocked her at first, she had been certain that as soon as the danger was past, as soon as she was once more among friends and servants and advisors she would be able to relax, to let her guilt and pain be buried, to deny a need for absolution. She always knew her own morality was beyond reproach, that she had no obligation to listen to the opinion and judgment of anyone lower than she, that her sense of right and wrong came from an impeccable source and therefore could never be flawed. She was free of Wolf's blazing eyes, of Virginia's plaintive pleas, of the Piper's impassioned words.

Except, of course, that she was not free at all. They stayed with her, they haunted her, they had a steel grip on her soul. And the reason for that was twofold. The May Queen had removed her hatred of wolves, and without it, she was no longer immune to the emotional and cogent arguments of her former enemies--she could feel, she could care, she could be effected by tales of woe and anguish, by the fact that Duncan had murdered his own father in order to protect Cerise and end the feud. And secondly, the reason for her hatred in the first place, the unwavering well of strength and purpose that had driven and guided her for all her life, had been proven to be a lie. Red Riding Hood had come to her in the shadowed, misty walls of the hedge maze, and despite her own guilt and self-loathing had revealed her mistakes, her naivete, her confusion and prejudice. Her grandmother had insisted that all the teachings she had imparted to Scarlett and then Carmine had been wrong.

It was for this reason most of all that she could not banish the words of her captors from her conscience, why they alternately thundered and whispered, coerced and begged, demanded and appealed. Because without her grandmother's teachings, without her moral compass to rely upon, Red Riding Hood III was adrift in a turbulent sea of faces and emotions and reasons that no longer held any meaning. She needed something to cling to, and she no longer possessed it. With each minute, each hour, each day that passed, she became more and more unhinged. It was no longer simply Duncan, Cerise, and Wolf--now the face of every convicted wolf, every guilty beast that had been brought before her magistrates or her throne, rose from the depths of her being to confront her, to attack her, to simply present itself for inspection and truth. How many of them had been innocent? How many had been the victims of fear and hate, of jealousy and greed, of manufactured plots to discredit them for personal gain, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? How many had she allowed to die for crimes that were not theirs? Their voices cried out to her, she could hear them constantly, crying out through all the years for vengeance, for justice, for understanding.

She had heard them howling in despair as she trundled across the landscape of her kingdom each day, and no matter how loud the sound of clopping hooves and marching boots, no matter how often she immersed herself in inane conversations with General Gules, his men, or her advisors, they would not be drowned out, they would not be silenced. She heard them at night in the quiet stillness of her sumptuous room at each inn where they paused until the following morn; the shadows in the corners and looming across the ceiling were wolven silhouettes come to collect her and obliterate her from the memory of every living person. Their shouts and growls and snarls filled her dreams, turning them into terrifying nightmares that did not depart even upon waking.

Nothing seemed to help. The Royal Apothecary had met them halfway, in a village just beyond the forest of Benjamin Tell, come to check up on her and ensure she had not suffered any sickness or injury during her hostage. Upon learning of her nightly horrors, he had prescribed a foul-smelling and even worse tasting herb, ground to powder and ingested in tea or wine, but it had not produced the desired effect. Her sleep had become more regular, her nerves were calmed, she no longer had dark circles under her eyes, but the nightmares did not end. Puzzled and perplexed, the apothecary had increased the dosage, had added other concoctions and medications until she floated about in a daze of potions and brews, barely aware of her surroundings, as if she had eaten magic mushrooms. But still the guilt could not be purged by some miracle panacea.

Even the news that came by messenger of the breaking of the spell on the Sixth Kingdom had only lifted Carmine's spirits momentarily, as she realized Prince Colin must have been the instigator, that her lustful advances had not denied him his destiny and that he would now be happy at last with the slumbering princess. Her relief and inner joy for her friend and protector had descended almost at once into shame and self-pity as she recalled anew how close she had come to betraying him, and betraying her own ethics. She, the Virgin Queen, who would never be touched by a man, had been willing to debase herself, to wantonly give in to temptation if it would win her her freedom. She had even violently and angrily struck the Piper over the head after he had repudiated her yet again, knocking him out so she could make her retreat. She hadn't even bothered to make sure he would survive the blow, only performing a perfunctory examination and determining he still lived before concealing his body under the brambles, catching up her riding skirt, and racing from the garden without a trace of dignity.

What had she become? Her grandmother had said prior to her relinquishing of her hatred for wolves that she was a shell, empty of humanity. But now she failed to see how the state of her mind and soul was any improvement. And still the nightmares came, night and day, awake and asleep, until she never knew anymore where she was or what state she was in. Nothing seemed to matter, only the awful images and sounds that permeated her senses: the wolven cubs that wept and wailed for parents that would never return, the mates separated by iron bars and later by the wall of death, the aged and infirmed coughing and wheezing as they lived alone and forgotten after the executions of their loved ones, too old to hunt...starving and wasting away until the day they too were dragged off as parasites of the community. They demanded justice, and she was too frightened and conflicted and stubborn to give it to them.

If she had known the worries of Wolf and Virginia that she might revert to her old ways and resume her persecution, she would have laughed mirthlessly. That was quite impossible now. For good or for ill she had changed forever, she had seen the face of evil and it was her own. She could never forget what she had learned. But between her obstinacy, her fear, her self-loathing, and the nightmares, she found she would rather be dead than take any action now.

The sound of cheering snapped her out of her dismal, morose reverie, and Red Riding Hood III looked up with disinterest to note they had arrived at the gates of the city. As the crimson carriage and the blood bay stallions pulling it creaked into Incarnadine, surrounded by hundreds of gallant soldiers in rich cloaks and full armor, weapons bristling and the crest of the House of Red displayed prominently on each breastplate and shield, the cheering grew louder. Carmine found herself in a sea of people. They were coming out of the buildings, flowing into the streets, shouting and yelling and celebrating. Overhead, fireworks went off, while bells were ringing in the distance and people were shouting.

"Long live Queen Carmine!"

"Here she is, here she is!"

"She has escaped the murderous Wolf, she has saved us from the wolves yet again!"

"Return of the Queen, Happy Ever After!"

People were throwing confetti everywhere, waving flowers and banners hailing her greatness, crowding close to the carriage even in the broad roadway, heedless of the clopping hooves. Many women were throwing roses, poppies, carnations, chrysanthemums, any flower that came in a shade of red. Men brandished pots and mugs of red ale and toasted her good fortune and health in the years to come.

It was all quite ridiculous--and so utterly worthless. It was false, it was so much dross and vain mammon, it meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Once she had reveled in this pomp, she had basked in it and enjoyed it as her due and just reward. But now she knew better. She was reminded of Wendell's triumphal entry into Kissing Town, which had later turned out to be a hoax of the Evil Queen's. How could they be so fooled? she wondered as she gazed out over the thronging crowd. How could they think any of this mattered? Or that she did? And as for saving them from the wolves, that was the most bald-faced lie imaginable. She had not saved them from Wolf, any more than she had the wolves of the past. In point of fact, she had condemned them to years of hate and death at the hands of the wolven resistance, she had created those who would later bring suffering when otherwise they would have remained peaceful and loyal citizens of the kingdom. Like the Dog Prince, she too was not what she seemed and deserved no respect or glory. Her subjects should not be thanking her or praising her, they should hate her.

As she now hated herself.

The hollow celebration continued in a swirl around her as the carriage drove on, until at last it came to a stop in the central square of Incarnadine. Flanked by General Gules and his staff, she descended from the coach with a soft moan, then tried to present a facade of gentility and appreciation to the watching crowds as she walked toward the drawbridge. She only glanced up once at the statue of her grandmother as a little girl and shuddered, wondering if there was any conceivable way she could discreetly have it removed.

Inside, she was accosted at once by the coterie of her former life--maidservants, ladies-in-waiting, and attendants ready to commiserate over her plight, to gossip and natter on about nothing as they performed her toilet, applied her makeup, and powdered her face; milliners and couturiers ready to choose her wardrobe and dress her according to their standards of decency as they tut-tutted over the state of her current attire; stylists and coiffeurs ready to shampoo and arrange her auburn hair. There were servants galore, messengers and dignitaries, lords and ladies, cooks and butlers, the Master Horse and the sergeant-at-arms, the sewing mistress and the castle decorator, her appointment secretary and all the members of the Royal Council of Advisors. They descended upon her like bees to honey, and she was at once taken aback. She had known, subconsciously, how many people were involved in the day-to-day running of the government and the castle, and her own life, but she had never seen them all together in one place before. It was quite daunting, and it made even more apparent to her her complete lack of understanding of the real world, her overweening arrogance.

Pushing and shoving her way through the mass of humanity, Carmine only wished to attain her chambers, to find privacy and peace, to contemplate her future such as it was, to simply relax and deal with the trauma of all that had happened to her. But her servants seemed to have other ideas. Each and every one of them had something absolutely imperative to say, something that simply could not wait, something that had to be attended to this very moment. There were documents to sign, dates to finalize, pardons to be considered, executions to attend (she cringed inwardly at that thought, knowing who the likely criminals were to be), parties to plan, ceremonies to perform, dedications to be made, foreign ministers to meet. And on and on it went. On one level she understood, a great deal would have happened in her absence that she must catch up on, work piling up and left undone, and of course the whole palace would have been in an uproar over her kidnapping. But on another level she didn't understand, she couldn't understand at all. Was this simply the way things always were, and she had never seen it, had simply accepted it? Or was this her own doing, had she chosen this manner of dealing with royal matters and the public at large? Did all of her servants have this fawning, obsequious attitude because of her example, because it had trickled down from the top? She shuddered anew.

Finally she achieved the foot of the main staircase and managed to commandeer one of her maids, asking her if she would please ready her chamber and a bath to be drawn. She had just made a ringing announcement to everyone that she would meet with each of them personally after she had had time to rest and recover, and was just about to ascend the steps, when General Gules approached her. "Your Majesty, I understand your need for peace and quiet, and I would never wish to intrude or impose on your good graces, but there is one matter you must see to straightaway."

Carmine sighed and leaned imperceptibly against the marble banister of the staircase as she rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "Very well, General, what is it that cannot wait?"

The military man relaxed his posture somewhat and removed his burnished steel helm to reveal his shock of brilliant red hair. His craggy face bore an expression of simmering anger, cruelty, and slyness she found most disagreeable. "Well, your Majesty, seeing as how the traitor Wolf is now responsible not only for the death of the Princess Cerise and threats to your life, but also kidnapping, terrorism, and endangerment to the royal person, I rather thought it to be in the best interests of the Kingdom--and you--if I were to take a platoon of my men and search the Sixth Kingdom for your captors. I could take an ambassador with me to claim diplomatic immunity, extradition proceedings, and so forth. And once I find Wolf and his companions, I could offer suitable...chastisement." He pronounced the final word with something as close to the crack of doom as he could manage.

"NO!" The cry burst from her lips instinctively before she could stop it, and at once the entire chamber went silent as everyone turned to stare at her in stupefaction. General Gules's jaw dropped slightly, and Carmine realized her mistake too late. Such a change was far too much, far too soon. She must be more slow and cautious, moving carefully, if she intended to alter matters, which she was still not certain she could or would do. Yet she also knew her instincts had been correct--she could not do that to Wolf and Virginia. Not just because of their quest, but because it would be wrong.

"I mean, no, that will not be necessary, General," she qualified more sedately and gently. "I am handling the matter of Wolf personally, as I always have, and your assistance is not needed. I have things under control--" A lie. "--and everything is proceeding smoothly, at its own pace and in its own time. Fret not, when the time is right Wolf shall receive what is coming to him." There. That should be suitably vague enough and allow everyone to draw their own conclusions.

General Gules looked dubious at first, but then he smiled slowly and nodded. "My apologies, my Queen. I will withdraw now." He began to back away, bowing.

A thought came to her. "Oh, and one further thing...inform me if you hear anything, any rumor or tale of anything being amiss in the Fourth Kingdom."

As the general nodded again and departed, her secretary approached and Carmine had to fight the urge to tear out her hair. Would they never leave her alone? "Yes, what is it?" she snapped.

"Your Majesty, I only wished to tell you your correspondence is on your desk." The nervous, rabbity fellow trembled before her, clearly aware she was losing her patience.

"Oh...thank you." Trying to recover a modicum of manners, she inclined her head graciously, then quickly took her leave, hurrying up the stairs as fast as her riding skirt and decorum would allow, before anyone else could think of an excuse to detain her.

Once inside her bedchamber, she threw herself down on the vast canopied bed and wept, wept long and fiercely until there were no more tears to weep. She knew not why or for what she wept--her sister, her family, her throne, her kingdom, Wolf, herself, her lies and self-delusion. When she was through she felt more cleansed than she had imagined possible, but still it was not enough. More was needed. She could not simply pity herself, she must make amends, she must change matters. But how? How could she do it, do what went against every fiber of her being? Even if she could admit now that she was wrong, that Wolf was innocent and so had his father been, that she had destroyed Cerise's life--even then, that would never satisfy Wolf. Or her conscience, for that matter. But to go even further, to pardon all wolves as Wendell had done, to reverse the laws and end the persecution...it seemed unthinkable. She did not know if she had the strength or the goodness in her to do it.

Yet still, something had to give, things could not stay as they were. And if she could not make the changes, if she could not bring herself to undo the damage she had done, there was another who could. Wolf. He was a prince of the House of Red. If he were all that was left of the family, the people would have no choice but to accept him, and as king he could easily wipe the books, rewrite the laws, shove down the people's throats that wolves were not evil creatures and deserved respect and honor. All it would take was one act on her part.

Slowly, Carmine sat up on the bed, wiped her eyes, and looked about the rich, regal furnishings of her boudoir, the golden vanity, the leather settees and satin chairs, the oak bookcases and wardrobes, the velvet curtains and silken bedclothes, the paintings and dressers, the armoires and tapestries. More of the same empty finery. It was in this very room that Wolf and Virginia had captured her; it seemed fitting that things cyclically return to this spot. Here also Virginia had mentioned that a wolven soldier had freed them from the dungeon. She would have to learn who that soldier was, and assuming he had not already fled the castle, protect him from the wrath of General Gules, in return for his noble act that might well have saved the Kingdoms, and opened her eyes.

It would be her last act.

Slowly, listlessly, she rose from the bed and crossed the room, trembling every step of the way, her limbs feeling hollowed out, her heart scraped raw and bleeding, until she reached the small maple desk beside the fireplace. On the blotter, beside the inkwell and quill, lay an assortment of items--a pile of letters, the seal of the House of Red, parchment and ribbons, Lord Rupert's signet ring...and a letter opener for loosening wax seals, its blade long, gleaming and sharp.

Carmine bit her lip and reached out shakily to clutch the delicately chased hilt of the poniard, her emotions warring back and forth inside. Did she want to do this? Yes, and no. Would it solve all her problems? No, probably not, but at least she would be out of the picture, no longer holding her kingdom back, no longer interfering with progress and the way things must be...no longer haunted by her guilt. But was this right, was she choosing truly out of self-sacrifice and the good of all, or simply her own cowardice and weakness? The Piper had said she would disappoint and abandon her family and ancestors more if she did not change, if she did not make the choice herself, but it hurt so very much. She wanted the pain to end. She was pathetic, she was running away from her obligations, from her past, from the truth. Yet she could not resist the increasingly attractive and powerful yearning to die, to escape. She was weak, she could see that now, but it did not make her able to do what must be done. It might be foolish, it might leave the kingdom in chaos, it might put Wolf's life and the other wolves in greater danger, or it might finally bring about healing and unity and peace. But the ultimate factor here was, as always, her selfishness, which she could see no way to change. What she wanted, peace and the elimination of her nightmares, mattered more than anything else.

She lifted the letter opener, studied it almost in detachment, then wrapped her fingers around the hilt, tightened them until her knuckles were white, and closed her eyes for a moment. She placed the blade against her chest, the touch of its sharp tip felt even through the thick fabric of her tunic. She silently apologized to her grandmother for not being the queen she could be proud of. She opened her eyes again and took one last look around the room, at all she would be giving up and leaving behind. She looked down at the desk, ready to write the note to General Gules concerning the wolven soldier, and a general apology to all of her advisors, servants, and subjects for her mistakes, her sins, and the fact that her reign had come to this choice. Then she would take her own life.

It was then that her eyes fell on the letter on top of the stack--crisp, creamy-white parchment, folded neatly, sealed with wax like any other missive from a fellow monarch or a courtier of the elite. But what drew her eyes was the green ribbon tied around the letter...and, pressed into the wax, the embossed seal of the House of White.

The letter opener tumbled from her suddenly slack grip as she gasped softly. What could this mean? Had some Fourth Kingdom official written her to apprise her of the situation there? Or had Virginia lied to her after all, was Wendell perfectly safe and well, with no Ice Queen threatening their lives and lands? Shakily she reached out and picked up the letter, untying the ribbon, popping the seal with her fingernail, and unfolding it, wondering what she would read, what she wanted it to say and what she didn't.

As her eyes scanned the calligraphy of the letter, all thoughts of suicide, of wolves, of hate and pain and loss, were released from her mind like the four and twenty blackbirds bursting from their pie. Stunned, she sat down heavily in her chair, unable to believe what she was reading. An invitation from Wendell. Virginia revealed to be a witch and traitor. The pardon of wolves rescinded. A request for the names of all wolves who had sought clemency in the Fourth Kingdom. It was impossible. It said all the things she would once have wanted to hear. In fact it dovetailed neatly, almost word for word, with everything she had accused Virginia of in her throne room. She shuddered as she realized how, just a week ago, she would have believed every word of this letter, would have fallen for the trap as easily as she had been fooled by the Dog Prince at the coronation. It would have been music to her ears. It horrified her how blind and foolish she had been...how much she had changed since then, in such a short time.

Recovering her poise, she examined the letter again, read over every word, considered all the implications. Clearly this was a forgery, a summons from the Ice Queen to trick her into coming to Wendell's palace and being frozen as all the others had been. It was exactly as Virginia had claimed. It was too pat, too perfect, it could be nothing but a pack of lies. But then she frowned. How was it, then, that it matched precisely her speech in the throne room? It was almost as if someone had been listening...

Freezing in place, Carmine swallowed hard. A detail that had escaped her before, a detail related by Virginia when she had not truly been listening or willing to believe her, surfaced in her mind. The girl had mentioned that when she and Wolf had escaped from Wendell's palace to begin their quest, ice demons had been breaking into the room where the Evil Queen's magic mirrors resided. Suppose they had taken the demonic glasses to their mistress? She could have used the Spying mirror to observe the entire confrontation in the throne room. The Ice Queen could even be watching her this very moment...

Very slowly she set the letter down on the desk. Even though it would be pointless if the Ice Queen had been watching her a few moments ago, let alone on the journey west, she adopted a haughty and pleased expression, even as inside she was screaming in fear and her thoughts were racing feverishly. What was she to do? She had this knowledge now, she could not deny it to the rest of the Kingdoms. But would anyone believe her? She had only circumstantial evidence. Still, she must do something. And she knew exactly what it was. The matter of the wolves was far too complex, too emotional, too overwhelming for her to deal with now, perhaps ever. But this, this was something she could face head-on, a way she could atone for her sins, a way she could give back to the Nine Kingdoms and restore her reputation. She could answer the letter, pretend to be fooled, and at the right moment, strike back at the Ice Queen.

Cupping Lord Rupert's signet ring in her hand, she squeezed it as she gazed up to the portrait above the fireplace, to the stern, beautiful, and proud countenance of Red Riding Hood the First peering down at her. What would her grandmother do? What would she want her to do? Braving the Ice Queen's sorcery would be dangerous, bold, and reckless--it could even get her killed. But then, she smiled to herself, wasn't that the whole point? If she succeeded, then the Kingdoms would be saved, she would regain her confidence, and perhaps she could find the wherewithal to confront her demons, lay to rest her nightmares, and approach the wolves with vision, honesty, and understanding. And if she failed...then there would be no need to end her life herself, and Wolf could do what had to be done to save his people. Either way, the matter would be resolved.

With a proud, confident air she did not truly feel, Red Riding Hood III rose from her chair and crossed to the bellpull that hung beside her desk, giving it a firm tug. After only five minutes her maid appeared and curtsied. "Yes, your Majesty?"

"There has been a change in plans," she declared imperiously for anyone who might be listening in. "A matter of urgency has come to my attention via a critical letter, and I must attend to it as soon as possible. So as soon as my bath is completed, I wish for you to summon my secretary, the head of the Council, and General Gules."

The queen paused, then smiled suggestively as she pocketed Lord Rupert's signet ring. "Tell them to keep my coach at the ready, for a state visit to the Fourth Kingdom."