Dragon Heart by Cecelia Holland

hands on her backside. The whole room whooped. She clung to him. For an instant, face-to-face, he saw the glitter in her eyes, and a sudden cold alarm flooded him. When he tried to pull back, the floor seemed to tip under him. He lost his balance, and staggered, and with his hands gripped in hers, her red hair flying, Marioza whirled them both toward the lip of the terrace and danced with him out onto the empty air.
    *   *   *
    Luka turned on his heel; back by the wall a pikeman stood, slack jawed, staring at the terrace, and Luka leapt at him, snatched the pike out of his hands, and sank the butt end deep into the man’s belly. “Jeon!” Luka bounded onto the table, kicking the wedding hams out of the way, and bolted toward the door. Somebody screamed, “Stop him!” but most of the crowd was rushing the other way, toward the sunlight, where the King and Queen had just disappeared over the edge.
    In the open doorway a soldier faced him, his pike across his body like a shield, and Luka at full stride jumped on him, feet to his chest, smashed him down, fell himself, staggered up off the body, and dashed out.
    That passage was there again, the one opening up on the right, this time a stairway. He plunged into it, going down three steps at a time. Someone was coming after him and he wheeled, the pike ready. Down the dim steps his brother rushed toward him, his face white, his eyes shocked white. Luka reached out, and he and Jeon locked their arms a moment. Then without a word Luka turned and raced on, Jeon on his heels, down the twisting, steepening stairwell, toward the sound of the sea.
    *   *   *
    Oto saw his father disappear into the air and a wild triumph filled him. The shrieking crowd rushed by him, going to gawk over the edge of the terrace, but Oto stood silent, stone hard, collecting himself.
    This was the opening; this was what he needed.
    Too late, he saw Luka racing away out the door and shouted but could not stop him. Oto went up through the crowd to the front of the terrace. Broga, the besotted fool, was on his knees at the edge, screaming, “Papa!” All around in the stunned crowd women were weeping. The priest was praying in a loud voice and another language. Nobody moved, except Oto. The soldiers were mixed into the crowd and he went around to them one at a time, shaking them by the shoulder and giving them orders. Seeing Mervaly and her sisters standing at the far side of the terrace, he went straight at them, six men at his back.
    They made no effort to escape. Mervaly had her arms around the other girls and they were all sobbing. For a moment he could not get them to pay heed to him, so he could order them locked up in their room, but once he had Mervaly’s attention she obeyed him. The freemartin was jabbering nonsense at him, and the other girls took her by the hands and led her away. The cousins and aunts had vanished while he was confronting Mervaly. Tears streaming down his face, Broga rushed up.
    â€œI’m going down to find Papa. He’s down there somewhere.”
    â€œGo,” Oto said, and waved him away. Slobbering, Broga raced off. Oto turned to the priest. “I am King now. I will be crowned at once.”
    The priest’s eyes popped. He said, “My lord, I don’t know the rite—”
    â€œMake one up. There has to be some authority here. I am the only one. I shall be King. Tomorrow.” He raised his arms to the rest of the soldiers, and led them off to find the missing red-haired Princes.
    *   *   *
    In a high-pitched, ragged voice, Mervaly said, “I shouldn’t have let him order us around. I live here. This is my place, not theirs.” She strode around the room like a small storm, so that the birds on their perches rose up and flapped their wings.
    Casea wept. “There’s nothing we can do. Nothing good, anyway.” She sat down on the bed, put her face in