Read the book: «Rhianon-5. Along the way of deception»

© N. Yacobson, 2026

ISBN 978-5-0056-9819-3 (т. 5)

ISBN 978-5-0056-8618-3

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

The Deal

Five demons circled over the forbidden hall. Rhianon found her way here easily now. And she was no longer intimidated by their company. She was even used to being surrounded by five disembodied, glowing knights, kissing her hands and taking turns honoring her as both their queen and their mistress. Their touches are as the movement of dew on a flower. Only sometimes she felt as if it were not air but prickly grains of sand running across her skin. The touch didn’t excite her, it made her sleepy, but she knew she shouldn’t fall asleep in that place. Maybe once she fell asleep here, she would never wake up again, and the consciousness that had escaped her captive body would hover over the ground forever.

Where is the sixth spirit? Rhianon had seen its vague silhouette looming in the passage, but it had never dared to cross the threshold. Perhaps there was something taboo about it. What if he simply could not? That was why he had brought her into the tower. Now she kept the five spirits company.

“Where would you like to be this time?” A low voice came over her ear, and before she knew it, a spirit had drifted toward her, almost nuzzling her cheek. It was weightless and nimble, like a cat. She was used to spirits creeping up on her silently and almost imperceptibly, but sometimes she still marveled at their speed and nimbleness. And now she couldn’t answer at once, only because she was startled.

“I don’t know.” Actually, she knew she wanted to get back to Loretta, but why? Rhianon stopped herself. Why would she want to poison her soul unnecessarily? There are plenty of other interesting places in the world for her to visit. The power of magic would take her anywhere she wanted to go in a jiffy.

“Do you doubt it?” A spirit whispered in her ear. “You don’t know where you’ll go this time. You could take a torch or a lantern and make us lead you down the dark road of dreams. Do you know what creatures are hiding there? The kind you’ve never seen before. And the road itself is endless. It’s easy to get lost and no one will find you.”

“What’s with the lantern?” She had the feeling that even a tiny light would draw Madael or Seti. And what is about the fire inside her? All those things could probably smell it from afar.

“Oh, you don’t need a lantern, do you? Fire and light are what keep the creatures of nightmares away. They’ll whimper and scurry away into the shadows. They won’t have to scare you anymore, because you can scare them with your fire. They’ll think you want to set them all on fire, and they’ll howl. The whole universe will hear it. That’ll be fun.”

“It is tempting,” Rhianon said, as she thought to herself, listing all the countries and cities she’d like to visit. Dozens, even hundreds of names passed through her mind, but so far she hadn’t settled on any. How strange, the strongest warrior in the world is her protector, and she is already trying to find other allies. She needs to choose a kingdom strong enough, or several that could provide her with an army. If she had even a few magical creatures under her command, she would easily intimidate any ruler. Rhianon looked with a sigh at the spirit whispering to her. If only she could convince a few spirits to accompany her, no one would refuse her an army.

“So will you visit the land of dreams? There, too, are ruled by former cohort leaders from your lover’s troops. You won’t know whether they’re seductive women, warriors, or monsters. You know those demons…”

“And they were the ones who sent me dreams?” Rhianon remembered the voices coming from heaven. They were somehow not quite associated with the black and gold visions of the land of dreams that the spirit had conveyed to her. There were only disembodied creatures woven of darkness and golden shackles, rocky slopes brushed like palaces and small creatures that could only exist and leap in darkness.

“Some other time.” “Rhianon turned her back on the speaker.

Considering that the reality around her was more like a startling fantasy, she wasn’t lying.

“Then what would you choose?”

Rhianon was reminded of a traveling theater. A fairground circus she’d only seen once, when she’d wandered through towns and cities with Orpheus. Then she had accidentally set fire to the tent. Were the actors hurt?

As soon as Rhianon thought of them, she suddenly imagined the deafening woods of chirping grasshoppers. They were now in those places where the winter chill had receded. She wondered where that was. It might be worth checking.

Rhianon decided to take a chance. She clutched the pendant in her fingers and thought of the ornate tent adorned with a cockade on top. Just a moment and she was already standing in front of it. The colorful strips of fabric were clearly distinguishable even in the semi-darkness. One of them, the one blocking the entrance, was slightly raised. A lamp burned peacefully inside. No one had gone to bed yet. Rhianon could tell by the sound of voices coming from inside the tent.

She bent down and peered through the gap in the aisle. What she saw stunned her. In the blink of an eye everything became clear. The wandering actors had not been harmed in the slightest by her fire. It was more likely that what she had scorched the square then they had not even noticed. They’d been burned, of course, but long before — years before Rhianon herself, or anyone else in the world, had been born.

Wandering faeries dressed as harlequins, pierros, and colombinae laughed merrily, drank, and played cards. How easily they fooled the audience. The mossy mustiness of the bright costumes could be mistaken for peculiar makeup. And who cares if tattered wings fluttered behind the red-haired colombina’s back and moss sprouted along her cheeks. She was still pretty enough, as a pretty little fallen angel should be. The combination of naivety, mischief, and vice was astounding. It seemed as if the seductive woman and the devil were merged into one.

“Come on, Gloria,” someone in a devil costume, which might not have been a costume at all, leaned over her shoulder, watching the game. The black wings trembled painfully at the proximity of the lamp. He stared at the cards in the pretty girl’s hands.

Well, there, thought Rhianon, the game went on. When Orpheus had invented cards for them as a joke, she had no idea that they would become so popular that even the whole of the devil would rush to play them. Apparently, the game was fascinating. Their keen ears didn’t even catch her steps in front of the tent. This was unusual for supernatural creatures. The likes of them would have smelled even a mosquito a hundred yards away, but they were only playing and didn’t want to be interrupted. Gradually the game was getting to the point. Rhianon, who was watching them, suddenly realized that the players were about to have a fight. The laughter and jokes ended and a heated argument began.

Apparently, Orpheus knew what he was doing when he created the cards. He wanted to bring discord to everything, after all. Rhianon just didn’t realize that he wanted to affect both mortal men and his former brethren. Or was it just an accident? Maybe he himself didn’t know how powerful a weapon he’d invented. Or maybe now he was making custom cards for paying customers himself, and laughing at them to himself. Rhianon hadn’t seen Orpheus or felt his presence near her for a long time. She couldn’t know where he was or what was wrong with him, but one thing was certain, he didn’t sit still. Without regular mischief he would cease to be himself.

The argument was heating up. Pretty Gloria was almost fighting with the harlequin already. One awkward movement and they could topple the lamp hanging in the air above the table. Their wings trembled from the proximity of the fire, but the argument did not stop. Rhianon backed away from the entrance to the tent. She didn’t want them to accidentally glance this way and notice her. It would have worked out very well if a dry branch had not crunched beneath her feet.

The crunch was loud and unexpectedly sharp. The faerie ears couldn’t help but pick it up. In an instant all eyes turned toward her, green and bright and unnaturally burning. They looked straight ahead and saw everything, but they reflected nothing but emptiness. Rhianon shuddered as she faced Gloria’s equally blank and magnetically glowing gaze. She hadn’t had time yet to snatch the trump cards from her partner’s hands, and already she was looking ahead as if she’d seen her rightful prey.

“Get back!” No one rushed toward her yet, but Rhianon had already picked up a dry branch from the ground and thrust it forward for protection, like a sword. Fear made fire rush to her blood. The branch erupted in her hands and took on a blinding flame. Of course, it was not enough. Rhianon knew that it would not cost them anything to break loose, to fly above the ground and surround her. Then a burning branch would do her no good. They would fly around her, like spirits, and someone would be sure to snatch her. She was already imagining Gloria’s long, webbed fingers, and how they would claw at her hair.

“Don’t you dare come near me!”

“Then you come with us,” Gloria beckoned her with a graceful gesture. Both she and her partner had already let the cards out of their hands, but they hadn’t scattered across the floor but remained hanging in the air.

“Go,” she waved her hand again. “We have a wonderful drink of blackberries and bat’s blood, and it helps you see things that aren’t there… You want to see that you have a kingdom, don’t you?”

She didn’t laugh. It wasn’t a joke. Perhaps they were fooling the audience with this very drink and the faint remnants of their own charms. Rhianon looked at the thick, viscous liquid in the unfinished glasses. A flask, strapped like a spider web, was lying beside it as well. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the flask had never run out of wine, but she didn’t want to taste it.

“Be resolute,” Gloria strode toward her, the hem of her colorful, diamond-striped dress never touching the ground. In a moment the fairy would be at her side. Her slimy hands would touch her shoulders, and her sharp-toothed lips would be close at hand.

Involuntarily Rhianon panicked. The burning branch could not keep her away from the evil one for long. Gloria was already very close. Her red lips, red as if lined with paint, were moving, but Rhianon heard no words. A wave of fear came over her. Her emotions were running high and her fire was growing stronger. A surge of energy shot through her, sending a shattering wave. Even Rianon herself did not realize that the flaming cloths of the tent were her doing. For the first time, it was as if the fire had sprung from her rather than ripped out of her, and now a sucking emptiness was gaping inside. She could hear a burnt Gloria screaming nearby. The fairy tried to tear the burnt crust from her face like a mask, but Rhianon was no longer concerned with that. She bent in half, trying to overcome the inner spasm of pain. Her stomach still stung. And the tent before her burned. It took on a lighter light than a luminary. Gloria wailed beside it, the others tried to put out the fire. Rhianon realized it was time to disappear. The pendant around her neck turned into a tiny model of an axe. What could that mean?”

“Any town near Loretta,” she riddled to herself, hoping that she would be there instantly. And so she was. A few minutes later there was not even a memory of the flaming tent. Rhianon was in a dark city. Despite the late hour, there were a lot of people around. People were shouting and chanting something. She began to make her way through the crowd. No one paid much attention to her. People were much more interested in something else, something that was in the square. Rhianon began to make her way there. Out of the corner of her eye she saw dwarves and harpies scampering through the forest of people’s feet, either cutting off purses from gawkers or poking holes in people’s boots and clothes for fun. Obviously, it was a familiar sight. Where there was a crowd, there were the bad guys. When people’s attention was diverted to something, there was room for mischief.

Preparations of some sort were underway in the square. Rhianon recognized the platform to the front door. It seemed there would be an execution. She wondered who would be taken to the scaffold. She still thought of the condemned man who had looked her over in the crowd. Would it be so now? Would she attract the gazes of all the people condemned to death? So far she had not seen the condemned. Only the executioner and some indistinct bluish silhouette resting at ease on the scaffold, as if in his personal chair. It was as if the others did not notice him. Rhianon wondered why rotten vegetables and taunts weren’t flying at the insolent man. She looked closely and exhaled indignantly when she recognized Orpheus. Surely others could not have noticed him. Her personal spirit was incorrigible. He sought amusement in the most unexpected places.

Is he here by accident or to tease her? Rhianon was afraid to bump into him with her eyes, but Orpheus obviously sensed something and looked into the crowd. His pupils gleamed joyfully, like two sparks.

“My dear Madam,” he took off his rather luxurious hat with a feather and bowed to her exquisitely without getting up. He had become a dandy since they had not seen each other. Rhianon couldn’t help noticing it. He should have been more of a buffoon. Of course, the people around him had not noticed his bow.

Rhianon remembered the bird she had let out of its cage. Had she not done harm to herself? She did not even know what kind of creature she was releasing. Nor did she know what kind of companion she had found when she first spoke to Orpheus. Now sitting on the scaffold he looked like a real demon in an expensive camisole. One glimpse of him was enough to realize how dangerous he was. Rhianon had a sudden urge to hide from him.

She tilted her head so that she could not see her face behind the brim of the hats of the people standing nearby, but still the feeling that Orpheus saw her remained. He could see her through the walls, too. Rhianon was already thinking about whether she should disappear from here, when suddenly she heard voices announcing the verdict. The condemned were being led to the platform. The sullen procession moved slowly forward under the watchful eye of the guards. Rhianon was surprised to see any familiar faces. Harold, Brome, Bob, William, Raven… It was like a dream. Despite the bruises and the strange rash on their skin, Rhianon recognized her former friends. To say that she was amazed was to say nothing. And she couldn’t have been shown anything more frightening in the realm of dreams. Of course, there was nothing to be surprised about. They were all outlaws, and sooner or later their path lay to the scaffold. They were aware that they were playing with death. They could get caught at any moment. And Rhianon was well aware of the risks in joining them. Nevertheless, seeing them now in front of the frontal seat hurt her intensely.

She pondered feverishly what she could do to save them. It was nothing. And not even the evil creatures scurrying through the crowd here would be powerless. All those little creatures could do was make a mess, or cut someone’s purse strings, and then scatter the coins across the square to watch the beggars fight over the gold. Such a maneuver might have delayed the execution by minutes, but not stopped it. If only there was a dragon to blow fire over the rooftops. Then everyone would scatter for sure. Rhianon looked wistfully up at the dark sky. Surely not one of Madael’s servants would come here to witness an execution, and certainly not one who would obey her orders. And she desperately needed such a servant to dictate her terms to the executioners. In her mind she focused on the valley of dragons, trying to summon one of them. She remembered one with a bright ruby crest, one that could sweep across the sky like an arrow, terrifying everyone and exhaling a jet of flame. Rhianon imagined him as clearly as if he were here, but the sky remained empty, no one heard her mental call. Only some winged, disembodied creatures swarmed over the rooftops and near the chimneys. They, too, were watching the execution, but not to intervene, but with mockery. There was no help to be had from them.

Rhianon looked once more to the heavens, waiting for a miracle. Perhaps one of the winged reptiles had heard her call. But there were only dark clouds in the sky. It was as gloomy as her soul.

Orpheus, who had once sat proudly on the scaffold, had now disappeared, but his quiet laughter still echoed through the crowd like the sound of jingle bells. Perhaps she was the only one to hear it, or perhaps the condemned too. Rhiannon pushed her way forward, trying to get a good look at each condemned man. There were many of them, and she met several unfamiliar faces. Apparently more thugs had joined the gang since she’d left them. Naturally the people rejoiced, the king’s guards had finally managed to disarm an entire nest of outlaws. Rhianon remembered the forest and the feeling that there was a den of outlaws somewhere nearby. Maybe she only thought she saw one blind man among the condemned. Could a man who once saw an angel without a helmet have survived? It seems not. Even if he had not lived much longer since he had been blind, his path was now inevitably to the scaffold. He would never have time to tell anyone what he had seen. His head, which retained the memory of the beautiful devil, was about to be severed by an axe. Rhianon squeezed her eyes shut when she saw the sharp blade. It was rather unusual. Outlaws were usually hanged or quartered, and this was suddenly an easy execution. It was the way aristocrats were executed, not outlaws. Ron had once been an aristocrat. Her gut twisted. She tried to look for his fair-haired head among the condemned men and could not. He was not among them. Did that mean he was the only one who was saved? Or was he already dead? She swallowed hard. There was no doubt that Ron was a good fighter. But he could have died in an unexpected confrontation, too. She wouldn’t want that to happen. She might have been cruel to him, but he still commanded her sympathy.

“Where are you?” She asked a mental question, imagining a pale, pleasant face with golden eyebrows and beautiful cheekbones. The answer to her question was a quick vision-the oak walls, the table, the lamp, the drunken scolding like an echoing sound behind and the knife. Fingers with skin scraped to blood were drawing something with the blade on the wooden table. And right next to it, some creepy little creatures were crawling across the tabletop. Disgusting, but Ron was alive after all. An inner voice told her so clearly.

Still, Rhianon pushed herself closer to the dais. She couldn’t wait to see the face of each condemned man to be sure. There she saw Harold, hurt and tired, Raven next to him, followed by Brom. All that was missing was the dwarf Shivo. He might have died too, or he might still be alive. His nasty looks and small stature would have helped him hide, even in the world of the dwarves. Rhianon sighed in relief. At least someone else had survived. She no longer expected miracles and help from heaven, but the dream of a dragon coming still lingered. She longed for the sound of wings whistling through the air, but the roof was littered with shingles. Madael’s neglected servants were playing cards at the chimneys and laughing venomously. No one noticed them, and they could have spat at passersby from on high if they’d wanted to, but for now they limited themselves to cursing. It was easy for people to mistake their words for echoes in the old house, but Rhianon could hear everything. She didn’t want to hear it, but all the sounds of the crowd reached her ears, the coughing, the laughter, the swearing, and even the thoughts, human and non-human. She became equally susceptible to people and things. She did not want to distract herself from the execution, but her mind distracted itself. Here is some gnome counts the proceeds from the cut purse, and people passing by take him for a child. They can’t see his wrinkled face hidden by his cap, and they even hand him change. There are pixies scattering buckwheat grains from a torn sack, griffins scratching at roofs with their claws, black faeries fiddling in spilled flour, dyeing their wings white, elves making jokes about drunks in the pub. She hears everything and the whole world is as if in her power. Human thoughts and the thoughts of magical beings are intertwined in her perception. Maybe it’s because there is as much ethereal in her as there is human. There were equal parts of both. It is as if she is divided into two halves, as if a day is divided into day and night. Both are at her mercy. She feels the vibrations of both worlds and can captivate them both. It felt that way, but if she is so powerful, then why can’t she save her friends.

Rianon intercepted Brom’s gaze fixed on her. He noticed her quite casually and opened his mouth in amazement. None of the bandits had ever seen her dressed as a noblewoman before. Rhianon realized it too late. Of course, no one would have counted on her help or intervention now. But she wanted to intervene. She could have saved them. Rhianon took one last look at the dark clouds streaking across the sky. There was no help in sight. No dragon could come, and even if he did, it would be too late.

“But you’re like a dragon,” the voice inside her reminded her playfully. “You’re even stronger than a dragon. You have a more powerful fire.”

Even if Orpheus had appeared behind her back now, he couldn’t have been that heartfelt.

She did feel stuffy. Her lungs were constricting. She was sure that if she could breathe in now, she would exhale not oxygen but a jet of flame. It was cold and damp in the night plaza, and it felt like heat all around. Rhianon felt as if she were in a furnace. She didn’t even notice the dragging of her friends toward the scaffold. She had to hold back somehow to keep from burning the whole town down, but the flames had already burst out. The rush of fire and explosion was as powerful as ever. Rhianon wouldn’t have thought it was bursting out of her own body if she hadn’t felt the burning inside. First the scaffold burst into flames. Then a trickle of flame ran all over the platform. No one knew what it was or how dangerous the fire was, so they did not hurry to put it out. Even the guards were stunned. The flames had appeared out of nowhere beneath their feet. The flames had affected the square as well as some of the nearby buildings. Out of the corner of her eye, Rhianon saw the creatures of Madael swiftly fly from the rooftops, and the leprechauns flee the crowd, dashing off toward their dens below ground. It’s nice and damp there, and the fire won’t touch them. But the people already felt its heat. It was as if hell was near. Some cried out in fright, knocking sparks from their clothes. The eaves of the houses were collapsing in flames. The guards looked around in bewilderment. No one could have imagined that the fire was caused by a girl standing in the crowd. She could not have been suspected. But Brom looked at her again. He knew that she was capable of igniting the world around her with her mere presence. He just didn’t know what she was capable of. Her talent had grown since the last time they had seen each other.

She had met the devil. His proximity had made her shattering gift even more powerful. Perhaps that was what made their meeting so dangerous. Rhianon wanted to become her beloved’s equal. She gave free rein to the fire and many more buildings were occupied. Flames burst from the windows themselves, erupting on the sidewalk beneath the feet of passersby. Those who stood near the dais could already feel the heat on the ground. It was hell. It was only fire and no escape. People cried out in fright, but Rhianon could not be appeased. Those who had watched so indifferently the execution of her friends deserved no mercy. Now fire was blazing everywhere, pillars of flame arising right beside her. The blowing wind could not put them out.

“I’m stronger,” Rhianon looked up at the sky, which promised a storm. Neither wind nor rain could extinguish the kind of fire she caused. Already the entire city was ablaze, not just the square. The flames were spreading with astonishing speed. Rhianon could hear the screeching of the fleeing supernatural creatures. Unlike humans, they could escape. Some opened their wings and flew away, others hid under the ground or dissolved into small puddles. There was always a way for the unearthly to preserve themselves, but the mortals were so vulnerable. They were powerless against the flames. Rianon suddenly realized what terrible power she possessed. Why would she need armies of man or beast when she herself is more powerful than an army of dragons? She has the power to burn or spare those who fear fire.

Spare? Rhianon only began to think about that as the flames began to consume her friends along with the guards. They must have been counting on her help. Brom, who’d seen her and known what was wrong, would have been the last to know. But Rhianon could not help him. She tensed and realized that it was not in her power to stop the fire that had already been released. On the contrary, the heat from it was now making her uncomfortable as well. Pillars of fire were closing in on her. What if they swallowed her too?

For the first time Rhianon was afraid. She could have easily squeezed the pendant, but she didn’t want to leave her friends behind, and meanwhile the flames were growing more fierce. It was near, in front, behind, everywhere. Her skin was about to blister from its proximity. Rhianon swallowed hard. Hot saliva burned her palate. There was still fire inside her, but it was blazing on the outside, too. There was nowhere to retreat to. The fire in front of her blazed brighter and brighter. Behind its wall, she could no longer see the faces of Brom and the rest of the bandits. In a second, one big bonfire would consume her and all of them. Like a witch. It is customary to burn witches. Rhianon made the bonfire for herself. She was frightened, but only for a moment, and in a second she was relieved. The heat seemed to fade, and a gentle breeze blew it away. She could smell the lilies, the coolness of the water, and the nearness of the clouds. Her wings flapped violently over the flames, and then strong arms snatched her up and lifted her off the ground.

Rhianon wanted to dash downward, but everything was jumbled, the square, the scaffold, and where she had stood was engulfed in flames. Not even a tiny island of unaffected land remained. Absolutely everything was on fire. Rhianon didn’t even have time to feel sorry for her friends. Madael shook her abruptly and pulled her against him.

“In a moment you would have burned, silly-eyed,” his voice was no longer his usual softness, his hissing savagely, almost scorching. But Rhianon was glad to hear it than the crackling of the fire. “Don’t you ever risk yourself again, you hear me, don’t you ever. Or I will get you out of the other side of the world.”

“What is it for?” She hissed angrily, turning her back on him so that she could see his eyes glowing furiously, her hair blowing gold in a storm against the darkening sky.

“To reason,” he said briefly.

They were flying too fast. Rhianon felt such fierce gusts of wind that she had to hide her face against his chest. The speed and frosty wind seemed capable of destroying her. And yet everything below them was blazing. In an instant the orange-red dot of fire was far behind them. Soon they were home. Madael tossed her onto the polar bear skins that lined the bed and dashed to the window. He seemed angry now that he couldn’t seal up all the entrances and exits.

“But you were the one who suggested I use the door,” Rhianon said, pulling the pelts together. They weren’t here before, and now the emeralds embedded in the polar bears’ empty eye sockets watched her as if they were living eyes. The dead and gutted doors somehow reminded her of the guards. Now she would not have been surprised if the leaden sphinxes in the park had come to life and blocked her way out of the castle.

“You didn’t want me to go. Then why did you lie about letting me go? So you would have brought me back even if I had left. And you promised…”

He turned toward her, only instead of anger his beautiful face flashed a helpless expression. She’d never seen him like that before. He looked as if he’d regained his childlike innocence since his fall from Heaven. Something that looked like tears glistened in the corners of his beautiful eyes. Or maybe it was just that his eyes were too intense a blue color. He can’t cry, can he? Not him. Tears are for people and for those who have lost him. He himself always betrayed, no one could betray him.

“You didn’t use the door, or I would have called,” he pulled a long golden strand away from her ear, his thin, angelic fingers delicate, but Rhianon knew they could kill. She was frightened that this was exactly what Madael was going to do when his hands rested on her shoulders. Those graceful but incredibly strong fingers could have wrapped around her neck and strangled her, but the angel only leaned over and looked into her eyes. Rhianon became dizzy from his gaze. She seemed to sink into an endless blue abyss. That’s what it means to drown in someone’s eyes. The immense blue sucked her in, stripping her of all resistance, and it was like heaven, cloudy and endless in a storm, with the shrieks of burnt-out fallen angels.

Rhianon shuddered. She saw before her an unburned face, pure and beautiful, with arcs of golden eyebrows and lips like roses’ petals. The perfect strong body, too, was white, not black with ash. The golden wings behind it, on the other hand, seemed to be beginning to darken. Rhianon blinked a few times to check it out. No, she didn’t think so. Madael himself was still as bright as the dawn, but his wings… They had grown noticeably darker.

Involuntarily, Rhianon was frightened. Something had gone wrong. Something inevitable and irreversible was happening. She felt it with every fiber of her being and it made her afraid. There was nothing she could do.

“So you take it back?” She didn’t know where she got the nerve to argue with him again.

Madael was taken aback for a moment. He looked at her and didn’t know what to say. Maybe he just didn’t want to give her a definite answer.

“You don’t care what I want, just what you want.”

“It is not true,” his whisper sounded a little strained, and she continued to press on.

“It’s just like when we were in heaven. You felt forged, so you rebelled. And now you want to shackle me.”

“Not shackle you, but love you,” the thin, angelic fingers traced her cheek gently. He wanted to be reconciled already, but Rhianon only shook her head.

“Love is no substitute for freedom.”

“Maybe…” His lips were very close, cool and fragrant, and to touch them was like touching a mountain stream. No flame would burst from them.

“It is for you, not for me. Naturally you feel free to captivate someone else. That’s what you and all your hordes are for, to captivate the imagination of those unfortunate mortals that the lord God is angry at. Perhaps you yourself do not realize how blindly you do his will.”

His whisper turned fiery for a moment, though. “You know me.”

“No, I don’t know you. I thought you could keep your word. I thought you belonged to me, not the other way around.”

“What do you want?”

Now it was her turn to say nothing. Rhianon was already regretting the quarrel. Walk away right now, and spend all eternity wandering the world looking for a way back to the magic realm? Was that what she wanted?

She was about to change her mind, but Madael’s last furious words changed everything.

“You will never leave. I won’t allow it.”

Now he was really angry. His words were not an empty threat. Rhianon could see that he was angry and perhaps struggling to keep himself from destroying everything here. From the way he clenched his fists tightly, the gold plates of his armor dug into his flesh. He didn’t even seem to notice the pain. His wings fluttered behind him so that the wind alone could have brought down things in the room. He was beautiful in his anger, of course, but his beauty would hardly make the fate of those he went to kill any less enviable. As he moved toward the exit, Rhianon guessed that he would be out there all night, tearing and thrashing until he calmed down. It would be bad enough for humans and dark vassals alike. For the first time, Rhianon felt pity for neither of them. She felt pity for herself first. She wanted some understanding, not empty tantrums. What difference did it make that Madael went to destroy someone else’s armies and torment his own subjects, as long as he wasn’t destroying Loretta’s armies. He could have done her bidding long ago instead of needlessly venting his anger on just anyone.

Rhianon scowled like a hurt child and buried her face in the polar bear’s soft hide. The two large emeralds embedded in its empty eye sockets no longer stalked her, and the soft fur was soothing. She was so oblivious that she didn’t even notice the silvery haze that swirled above her.

“Wasn’t it time to go back to the tower, to visit the spirits?”

She wasn’t the least bit surprised by the voice that broke through her reverie.

“I don’t want to travel anymore,” she protested.

“How easily you give up.”

“I don’t give up, I just compromise. Besides, I need some rest.”

She hoped he’d understand her forceful tone and not be so obtrusive, but the spirit kept up.

“You do want someone to comfort you, don’t you?”

“But it is not with you.”

“And I am offering you the company of others. It is from the beginning. Remember?”

She wondered. Indeed, why did he keep calling her to them? He had only appeared to take her to a place he couldn’t enter himself.

“What do you want?” She asked directly, as if he would answer honestly.

“I want to serve you because you are the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“If you don’t believe you’re the prettiest,” he pretended not to understand her, “then take the mirror and see for yourself. It won’t deceive you. It has no more reason to lie than I do.”

Rhianon looked involuntarily at the cracked mirror. She did not care to look in it, so she only shook her head in disapproval.

“Leave me alone.”

“Leave you alone when you’re about to cry.

Rhianon put her fingers to her cheeks. Really soon tears would run down them, salty and searing like turpentine. They might burn her skin if she didn’t handle them. If Orpheus were here he would make her laugh.

She rose and sat up in bed. The gleaming smoke still hovered above her.

“You can’t replace the company of those I like,” she said with a touch of reproach.”

“But I can be useful to you,” he moved closer, almost to her. “I really can.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“So tell me.”

She just laughed.

“How you try to simplify things, and they are so complicated.”

“I know, but it will get easier if you believe me.”

She didn’t believe him, and she didn’t want to, but there was no one else around. Even the harpy, who had been on her heels the whole time, had disappeared this time. Rhianon sat staring at the smoke billowing over the floor. It gleamed so beautifully, but it was cold. If it had been material, it would surely have felt as prickly to the touch as golden sand.

She stared at it long enough, and then she suddenly really wanted to go to the tower. Could he have instilled that in her? Or maybe she had a need for companionship. The five spirits were always courting her. Sometimes it was even pleasant to be with them. Now that she was alone, she needed to unwind. Let Madael tear up the world below if he so desired, and here in the sinister underworld she could discover her own corner of pleasure and sorcery. She was drawn to the spirits as strongly as if they were standing beside her and calling to her.

“All right,” she stood up, brushed her fingers through her tangled locks, and then moved toward the exit, trying not to watch the emeralds in the bears’ eyes flash and fade behind her. It was as if they were signaling her to stay. Otherwise something terrible would happen, her emerald gleam warned her, but she paid no attention. It was just a few minutes and she was already in the tower with the spirits. This time it was unaccustomedly quiet around her, no laughter, no jokes, no promises. Each spirit sat in its own niche, gleaming in the darkness with multicolored sparks that surrounded each vague figure. Rhianon stopped in the center. She had to turn her head to look at each in turn. The tense silence made her tired.

“Well?” She glanced at the spirit whose fuzzy silhouette had ruby sparks danced across it. “Is there anything else you want to offer me?”

“Not much,” the orange spirit replied.

“Is it a new country? Or is it a place of interest?”

Several of the ghostly voices nodded in agreement. Rhianon sensed a slight movement in the air, as if she thought she heard a breeze inside the tower.

“Look!” A hand of smoke and gold flecks deftly wrapped around her wrist and forced her to place her fingers against the partition above the alcove. “What do you see? What do you feel?”

The smoke was no longer enveloping her, and Rhianon kept running her fingers along the wall. She could feel the cold stones, but she could see nothing. There wasn’t even a spider’s web that had insects with human limbs crawling all over it. Elsewhere in the castle there was such a web, it stretched in golden lace around the corners or the ceiling and looked quite beautiful, but the strange parasites stuck in it could frighten anyone. Here, on the other hand, there was no slime, no mud, no spider nets, not a crack in the stones, but they seemed damp for some reason. Rhianon did not immediately manage to fumble for something that looked like a bas-relief.

“Is it a symbol or a coat of arms?” She frowned, tracing a fancy monogram with her finger. She could see well into the darkness, but she couldn’t make it out clearly. She had to study it by touch. It was quite elaborate, covered in delicate curls, and the carving was deeply embedded in the wall. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed it at once.

“What is it?” Rhianon asked, but the spirits were stubbornly silent. Did they want her to guess for herself? Rhianon shook her head. They were so stubborn. They could have easily explained it to her, but they didn’t hurry. Maybe it was the oppressive silence that was causing her to have strange visions. She heard screams, the way only children can scream, shrill and hoarse, as if their cervical vertebrae had been broken, and she saw blood. Someone was twisting the head of a black hen and dipping a dagger in its blood to carve a magic wand out of the alder tree with it. Someone is summoning spirits. She recognized Hildegard’s hands carving something whimsical out of wood. And then it was the turn of incomparably ancient visions. People dancing in a ring lined with demons, Madael’s servants dragging blocks and laying them in a circle, and then watching from above as sacrifices were offered on the altars. It was human sacrifices.

Rhianon swallowed hard. They want to flatter their lord with these sacrifices. Stonehenge, as it would later be called, the place where he first appeared in the midst of the ritual, simply emerged from a halo of fire, her warrior-lover, fresh from battle, bloodied sword in hand and helmetless. Even those who had conjured and offered sacrifices to him on the altars, seeing him without his helmet, went blind. But she herself, instead of going blind with the appearance of Madael in her life, on the contrary, began to see well in the dark. Maybe it’s because fire is her element. She herself is made of fire. And a fallen angel in fire cannot be a stranger to her. Still, Rhianon was scared. Those rituals were terrible. They meant nothing to Madael, he took the pain of others for granted, because he thought that no one would ever go through the same pain as he himself after the fall. The horror, suffering, and stupid self-sacrifice of mortals became something he took for granted. He despised people, but he accepted their sacrifices. He was indifferent to his own army as well, but condescended to let them herd a bloody temple for him. Every block of his unfinished chapel is stained with blood. We must ask him to forbid his demons to continue dragging the blocks. That temple must never be finished. No way.

To think how much inanimate stones can tell us. Rhianon kept running her hand over them, and the wall seemed to vibrate and come alive under her touch. The surface was no longer cold; on the contrary, it began to seem fiery.

“It’s a letter,” Rhianon realized at last. Beneath the swirls and monograms she could see the familiar shape of a letter. “It is the letter “A.”

“Well done, you guessed it,” the emerald-colored spirit pretended to clap his hands, but the clapping wasn’t even louder than the echo. “Now keep watching.”

Rhianon moved on to the next partition and fumbled for a similar symbol. She no longer had to run her fingers over it as long to figure it out.

“It is the letter “D.”

She didn’t know what it was, but the spirits were nudging her toward something. There was a vague sense of panic, merriment, even excitement in the tower now. Everything stirred. They were expecting her to do something. She felt as if a storm was about to break out of the autumn leaves flying at her.

“Keep watching,” someone commanded.

Rhianon obeyed. She found the next symbol.

“B,” she said aloud, and frowned. It was an Earth alphabet, or so she thought, but in fact she found some unknown symbols and interpreted them in a way that was close to human perception. It could have happened to her, after all. Living with Madael, she learned to understand the language of angels, but to perceive it as human speech. Now she thought she encountered familiar letters, but really they were forbidden and dangerous symbols that meant something terrible.

“Farther, farther…” they urged her on.

In the next two partitions she discovered two more letters, “E” and “N.” What could this mean? There were five spirits and five letters. As many ghosts fill the hall, so many symbols are in it. Rhianon tried to draw a parallel, but she had little success.

“They’re the first letters of your names,” she surmised.

For a moment the air in the hall was heavy with laughter, low as the wall, more like the rustle of a leaf whirling against the wall, but more affecting to her than deafening laughter.

“What’s the matter? Are you trying to play a trick on me?”

“Not at all, most beautiful, not at all,” the spirits flew from their seats and touched her shoulders and hands and face affectionately — all as they had the first time and yet in a very different way.

“What do you want from me?” Their caressing touches this time felt slippery and clammy, like the embrace of a grave full of worms. It was as if the worms were sliding across her skin, not her hands. If one day she died and ended up in the ground, the grave bugs would caress her the same way.

“It is just a little, divine beauty,” the golden spirit whispered in her ear, and the others echoed.

“It is just a little.”

Rhianon wanted to put her hands over her ears so she couldn’t hear them. It sounded like a funeral choir. It was as if the spirits were performing a requiem for her. She is a princess and she is about to die, to be walled up here, and the spirits will begin to circle around her burial place. And so it might have been, had it not been for the spark of fire inside her that they feared.

“It’s true already inside you,” the reddish spirit whispered, the ruby sparks flashing beautifully on her transparent body, it seemed magnificent, like a whole treasure trove of scarlet gems. His glowing hand slid gently around her waist, as if seeking to penetrate her corset and press against her skin.

“There’s fire inside me,” she whispered, as if she were confiding in them a deep secret.

“And what fire is it,” the greenish spirit confirmed. “It is a creature of fire. It is a great creature. So magnificent, it would be impossible to believe your eyes. No mortal would believe it, no immortal either. You have no idea how much pain and suffering he would bring to humans and demons alike.”

“Is it he?” Rhianon looked from one spirit to the next perplexed, but they all seemed to be talking to each other. No one was quick to offer an explanation.

“He’ll be magnificent,” the spirits whispered, breathless and delighted. “He couldn’t be more wonderful, but his character leaves a lot to be desired…”

“What can you do, the blood of the fallen archangel, his fire, his vengeance…” The golden-haired spirit took his place in the niche, but he seemed to sit on the throne, his posture defiant and majestic, and he himself seemed to become clearer. “It is the fire of the fall, the beauty of the dawn, the sizzling effect of the sun, and with it is your grace, my dear princess. It is all in him. And with so many qualities he manages to drive everyone mad, mortals and immortals alike, and even the incorporeal. It seems he will also be unlovable. Can you imagine what it’s like to cause obsessive passion in others and never fall in love himself? I swear he’ll end up getting the whole world cut off because of him, and we’ll have no one to take revenge on. He will unknowingly do everything for us. It is by the power of his charm alone.”

“Why does he need fire at all,” the green spirit wondered. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned his back against the wall so that he could almost disappear into it. “If he’s beautiful as gold, he doesn’t need power. I’d rather give him moderation, so he’ll never know ruinous emotions. Let him burn people himself, and remain cold.”

“Fire is necessary,” the orange spirit protested immediately, still hovering above the hall and resembling a disk of the sun itself. “He is a creature of fire. And fire has great power. He would never need anyone’s help. He can burn anyone and anything he doesn’t like.”

“And he’ll have blue eyes, just like you,” the bluish spirit said, turning to Rhianon. “To think, two fiery creatures merged to produce a creature with blue eyes and lilac skin.”

“He is gentle as a girl and strong as the elements,” the fifth spirit chimed in, flashing his eyes slyly. “Or is he the offspring of an angel? You don’t call your lover an incubus. You sleep in the arms of a fallen archangel, and you are as warm as in the bosom of a god. Will you love someone who is like your deity? He himself will be divine, but he will no longer be a warrior with a sword, but a refined cavalier… graceful, statuesque, well-mannered and yet powerful. He will break hearts at the same speed as your friend Hildegard breaks crystal glasses. How beautiful he will be…”

“And there will be a dragon inside him,” the golden spirit said triumphantly, and somehow his words seemed scary to her. She was not afraid of dragons, they were all part of the great army that had fallen from heaven, and they all served her lover. Only this time it was not just a dragon, but something incommensurably more terrifying.

“They are terror, power, fire, majesty, a throne.” The golden spirit’s golden eyebrows arched. “All this is inseparable. They are all the best qualities of the world in one golden being. We are all ready to become his protectors. You will receive us, as in the mortal world you receive your godparents. We can all unite to protect him. We would be honored. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Do I agree? If I had any idea what you’re talking about?” Rhianon looked around, trying to catch the facial expressions of each spirit. “Who are you talking about?”

“It is the child,” the golden spirit said indifferently, as if she should know all that by now.

“Is is a child?” She remembered Eve for some reason, his blond hair, his unearthly beauty, and his frail, broken body, which had become incredibly strong after the torture. He was sitting on the arrow of the devil’s watch, looking up at her from below. His bloodied lips opened for a moment only to utter the single word “mother”. He wanted to call her his mother, Rhianon only now realized, and shuddered, but the spirit hastened to dissuade her.

“It is about your child,” he said. “About what’s already inside you. Can’t you feel it?”

That’s where all those fiery explosions came from inside her. Rhianon put her hands to her lips.

“No,” she recoiled from the golden spirit so quickly that she nearly collided with the ones grating behind her, they passed through her like colored sparks, leaving a slight tingling sensation throughout her body.

“Yes,” the golden spirit jerked forward. “Or did you think you could only be carried by the swept ones?”

He was clearly mocking her. He knew it was impossible, he knew it himself. Rhianon broke into tears.

“It couldn’t be. It couldn’t, that’s all. Madael is not human.”

“And you are not,” the spirit nodded eagerly, shaking his weightless head like a lump of golden sand. “And the child inside you is not mortal. It is a catastrophe, the fruit of the union of two spirits, something that was not meant to be and that will become untold.”

“I don’t want that,” she backed away until she was against the wall, as if that were a way to escape her destiny.

“So what does it matter what you want? You should have thought about desire before you shared a bed with a fallen angel. You wanted him, just as others want a throne and piles of gold. So you get it all together. “You get wealth and power and the child of Dennitsa inside you. He burns you already, worse than any fire.”

Rhianon squinted at the golden spirit. She could feel it glowing intensely now.

“Can I get rid of it?”

“No, you can’t. Even if you kill yourself, he will go on living. He already is.”

How indifferent it all sounded. She felt trapped. There was no escaping it. It was inside her. Rhianon panicked. What if she really did die, producing such a creature? Is there a way to destroy it before it is born? She knew that there were tinctures and herbal potions to help induce a miscarriage. Any herbalist would be able to make them. Especially if she asked Madael for such a potion, he could get it for her. And what if he doesn’t want to destroy this child? What if that’s what he wanted? Did he fly over the worlds and seek out his mistress just to conceive? He wanted a son, a descendant, an heir, someone who would train with him to lead his dark army, grow by leaps and bounds and become an even more deadly creature than his father? He wanted to have such a toy, but he did not know how to acquire one. Mortal girls did not appeal to him, and so he found one that had fire inside her. She could be coveted, but not for long and for one specific purpose only.

If she died in childbirth, it would only benefit him. He would be alone with a creature who had no right to be born and who would probably be unusually strong. No one else will go after him and woo him. And if she even survives, he can send her to Loretta and keep the baby. Will she then be happy in her newfound kingdom, but with no hope of returning back to the magical world. Or would she, like any human exiled from the realm of fairies, be haunted by madness.

“This child is a mistake,” the spirit continued to whisper softly, hovering beside her. “It is a fatal mistake for all of us.”

“Is it a mistake for his father?”

“Well, you can protect him from his father.”

“How is it?” She lifted her weary eyes to the golden-haired spirit. She wanted to take what he needed from Madael. But how is it?”

“Give him a name.”

“What do you mean?”

The spirit nodded quickly at the walls.

“Put the letters together and it’s a name.”

She laughed tiredly.

“I’m serious,” said the spirit. “If you put all the letters together and call it that, we will all protect it. All together we are strength, separately we are not, but the five of us can handle anything. Unite us and we won’t let the father touch this baby. Our strength is a gift to the newborn. We will hide it from the one who conceived it.”

“And what favor do you expect from me?”

He nodded again at the wall. Rhianon reluctantly moved forward and again fumbled with the letters, one by one. They seemed to burn with fire. Five letters, one name. She didn’t even have to arrange them in any particular order; she just put them all together at random, from first to last.

“Edwin,” she said. She didn’t think it would be so easy to put unusual symbols together into one sound. Demon signs are a name for an unborn child, a name that in and of itself can be devastating. “Let it be Edwin. I like the sound of that.”

The spirits fell silent. They encircled her in a tight ring and at the same time seemed so intangible. Multicolored sparks fluttered before her like a rainbow, like a circle of autumn leaves. It was as if her five suitors had ceased to exist, and yet each rushed to touch her, to merge with her living body in a final embrace. They were all ethereal, but she could feel them.

“Where do you want to go this time, Princess?” The golden spirit whispered to her.

She knew it was the last question. They would never ask her again. They would simply be gone.

“I don’t know,” she said simply.

“There is one country that would have no difficulty, even without allies, in standing up to Loretta. Would you like to see its king?”

She only nodded. The pendant between her fingers warmed slightly, taking the shape of a crown. The next moment she was standing in a lavishly furnished room. It was night outside the windows. The curtains, woven with heralded insignia, fluttered gently. From behind the curtains of the closed doors voices echoed. Rhianon stepped silently on the tufted carpet. She was not alone here. Surprisingly the golden-haired spirit was beside her.

“Look,” he said, pointing to a table piled high with scrolls and charters.

Rhianon glanced at the velvet pad and the delightful crown, at the sharpened feathers and wax seals. The young man sitting at the table, parsing the papers, was surprisingly handsome and youthful. She suddenly felt the urge to go closer and flick the blond locks from his clean forehead. What a kind face he had, and what a pleasant one. She would never have imagined that such a handsome court dandy could be sympathetic and understanding. One glance at him was enough to know that he would be very pleasant to talk to. There was no evil in him at all, no dark vibe inherent in both demons and selfish mortals. Beautiful long lashes cast a shadow over his cheeks, ashy eyebrows frowned. He was tired, some edge of consciousness he was already in the realm of dreams but he had a lot more to do today. There was no sleeping, he kept telling himself. Rhianon caught his thoughts. She wonder who he is, a poor nobleman forced to serve as secretary, a member of the royal council, an archivist… he is so young, after all.

“You promised to show me the king, not this boy,” she reproached the spirit in a whisper. With the ruler she could negotiate, but not with the child. What could he do for her? The spirit had set her up with the wrong kind of meeting that could come to important negotiations. Here she would rather have a rendezvous.

“I would like to see the king,” she was sorry to leave the man who had grudgingly aroused such sympathy in her, but business comes first.

“It is the king,” the spirit leaned in beside her, the golden smoke almost penetrating her ear.

“Is this boy a king?” She stared in disbelief at the clean face and the long blond locks scattered across his collar.

“He’s not a boy anymore. Not looking at his innocent face, not even Manfred had to work as hard for his place upon the throne as this boy. But now his position is secure and his armies are extremely strong. You’ve got half the world in your hands by bargaining with him. I brought you to Vinor, one of the most powerful kingdoms in the world.”

“It was more as if you had brought me into the realm of dreams,” Rhianon moved forward. The young man never took his head away from the table, nor did he hear her movements. He looked up as she moved closer to him, touching his cheek with her hand. They were bright blue, tinted with wheat-colored lashes and the same light arcs of eyebrows. It was such a simple face and so beautiful. The mere sight of him reminded her of summer, of rye in the fields and the warmth of the sun. Rhianon smiled at him as if she had met an old friend. He dropped his quill in surprise. Was it just her imagination, or was he fascinated? Or was it the sight of the golden spirit nestled against her shoulder that confused him? Even before she could ask him about it, Rhianon heard footsteps and loud shouts outside the door. “Your Majesty.” Someone repeated it several times and asked permission to enter. The young man took his time answering. He still looked at Rhianon in silence, his lips slightly parted in astonishment. What could be done here? Rhianon turned toward the door. The door was knocked on desperately.

“Back,” she commanded mentally, and despite her spirit’s protests, they left the palace. She wanted to continue among the draperies with coats of arms, books and fine furniture, in silence and solitude, beside the handsome blue-eyed young man, but she was afraid of the unexpected arrival of the crowd and of being mistaken for a ghost. Of course, the young king could stand up for her and let her know that she was his new favorite, but Rhianon was afraid of embarrassing both him and herself. What if yelling “witch” made her angry and burn the palace down. She would not have wanted that.

“You missed your chance,” the spirit hissed resentfully.

“I don’t think so.”

She was still clutching the pendant tensely. It had become almost red-hot in her hand. Did it mean she was destined for the crown? Rhianon grinned. What a thought that would have been. She did not dream of another’s kingdom, only her own, but the handsome young man was never far from her mind. His eyes were full of wonder and admiration when he looked up and saw her. Well, he’d dozed over his papers and the beautiful woman who’d appeared out of nowhere in his apartment might well have been the fruit of a dream. Besides, if he told anyone that something golden and unimaginable lurked behind that beauty, who would believe him. He has so many important affairs of state, and he gets so tired of dealing with them all personally, it’s no wonder he starts seeing strange things.

“I remember you promised to take me through the realm of dreams,” she reminded the still-present spirit. They were home again, not in the tower, but in the ramified corridors of the castle. Hearing a straining wheezing ahead, Rhianon quickly hid in an alcove. She waited for the creepy sculptor to crawl past before climbing out. She wanted to visit the clock tower again, which she did. The clock worked smoothly as one organism. There were no dwarves in sight, and Rhianon ventured around the enclosure and peered inside the mechanisms. It was a whole forest, a world of branching tracks and intricate counterweights. She bent down a little and ducked inside. She had to duck to get under the girders and hold the train with her hand so it wouldn’t accidentally get caught in the spinning gears. It was dark and dangerous, but she pushed forward. What did she expect to find? Is it him? It must have really taken a terrifying dream to meet him, and all around her was a terrifying reality. And it was like a horrible dream, too. Rhianon spotted a dwarf ahead in the thick of the beams and counterweights bent over his work. Cautiously she approached him. He was not dressed like the others. His apricot-colored coat sat unfortunate on his short, pudgy body. A cap of the same color almost fell off his head. Clumsy hands fiddled with nails stained with something thick and scarlet.

Rhianon came close and touched the dwarf by the shoulder. She didn’t even know why she wanted him to turn around so badly. Maybe she was just curious to know who he was. It was the first time she had seen him and she didn’t know his name. Horace didn’t introduce her to anyone like him.

When the little man turned to her, Rhianon flinched. She didn’t recognize him immediately, and when she did, she almost shrieked. The swollen face was almost impossible to match Dominic’s gentle boyish features, but now she saw what she saw. Dominic’s eyes stared at her with an unaccustomed puffy mask. Perhaps because she’d known him differently, his face seemed shapeless to her.

Rhianon darted quickly away, ducked hard to run under the gears, and felt herself burned again from within. Devil child, mistake, child of Dennitsa, hundreds of names swirled in her head, but they all didn’t quite fit. Pronouncing them was inaccurate; in fact, it was as if something like a fiery ball of sunlight had matured inside her and was burning her from the inside out.

Rhianon gave up trying to run away from herself. She still wandered between the machinery and sometimes she imagined a willow or a bloody box on the lid of which a black winged creature was sitting and poring over scarlet colored nails.

She stopped. What she should have wished for right now was somewhere else and to be far away from here. Could the spirits make it so Madael couldn’t find her in the big world? And why would she do that? Didn’t she want to be with him forever? Rhianon wondered. The dark romance had given way to an eerie truth. Something superhuman was maturing inside her. It might kill her, or maybe she was afraid for nothing. Everything is so mixed up. Why shouldn’t she be forever happy in the same bed with a demon? Who cares who he is and what he wants, as long as she feels so good with him. It was a shame that Loretta came between them, but after all, Madael claimed it was only temporary.

Rhianon looked at the case of the supernatural clock with anguish. It moved incessantly, but what was measured by its movement. Clearly not a time commensurate with what mortals lived. There was something else. She didn’t want to stand near those machines anymore. There was a pervasive sense of darkness and evil. The golden, inked hands seemed more ominous than the darkness gathering around them. Rhianon turned and walked away. It seemed it was time to choose her path.

Dark and Light

“Did anyone even see her?” Conrad tensed and gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Manfred wondered if he should be dismissed, but the boy had become unmanageable. He might make a scandal, he might resist. They couldn’t have the guards drag him out of here. Marcus and Drusill who stood behind him would hardly dare calm the prince. Certainly none of them would have dared to advise him. And it would have been nice if any of them had advised him to stop loving Rhianon. Manfred longed for his son to be free of this love that had become an addiction. Not even a spell could have done to Conrad what the fiery girl had done to him. How could the court ladies distract him? Conrad wouldn’t want to hear about marriage to an overseas princess. As if there were no one left in the world but the unchanging object of his desire. He would become like his friends. No matter how well they had learned to hide their nocturnal exploits, rumors of their adventures reached Manfred. Many of their deeds were vile. But if Manfred had previously considered how to find more decent company for his son, now he wouldn’t mind having Conrad go through the taverns and whores. He needed some way to reconcile his passion before it burned him, as Rianon had burned the small provincial town south of Loretta yesterday.

“They were executing criminals there that day, weren’t they?” Hermione asked, in a businesslike tone, as he rattled through the verdicts. “It was a whole gang of captured outlaws.”

“And an entire town burned in their place,” Angus added grimly. He was the first to hear the news and was more worried about his holdings in the southern provinces than about the dead people. Conrad snorted contemptuously. The lowly man would have been more frightened by a dragon raid on his lands than by the myth of the girl who summoned fire.

“She couldn’t… no one could,” Roderick muttered, but his statement was weak. He himself wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying.

Manfred, unlike him, was not inclined to reassure himself. He knew what Rhianon was capable of. She would enter the dark chamber and the candles would flicker in the candelabra as if someone unseen had lit them. One caustic word was enough to make the hair on the head of her offender burst into flames. As if there weren’t enough hot young men at court always ready to protect her, Rhianon continually turned someone’s dress, train, or a lock of someone’s hair into a lamp. And that wasn’t the worst thing she could do. It was far worse when she scorched someone’s heart. Manfred was glad that he himself was not in love, but Conrad’s malleability was his punishment. The prince easily succumbed to the charms of the golden-haired witch. Rhianon! He should kill her, but where to find her now, and how to deal with her. The whole city! She has burned the whole city. Manfred ran his fingers through his graying hair. Even yesterday there were more dark strands in his head than today. Today he had grown old. He used to have energy boiling inside him, but now Rianon was the victor. Who would have thought her talent would have developed to such an extent. The crushing gift she possessed only gained strength over time.

“What about the dragons…” Manfred whispered softly. Rumors of dragons had long been circulating in Loretta’s countryside, bad tidings from burned villages, firebrands streaming into the capital to relay their harrowing tales, and circles of witchcraft and fierce evil in the scorched fields. The king did not believe it all, as he was supposed to, or pretended not to. Manfred did not want to feed the dragon rumors. They were troubling enough as it was. But just one girl was more dangerous than an entire dragon pack.

What was he thinking before, fool, he should have destroyed her. He knew, after all, that the gift of fire like vice lurked within her, he had seen the strings of the lute flare under her fingers, the candles themselves lit, the unearthly voices sounding in the heights above her head. A girl with fire inside her, followed on her heels by invisible companions, is a frightening power. We should have sent assassins to her, accused her of witchcraft and executed her as a witch, and let Conrad slit his wrists for her. Even he didn’t matter now. It was worth sacrificing his own son to get rid of a danger like Rhianon.

“What if she came to Loretta and burned the place down?” A naive question came over his ear, but Manfred couldn’t figure out who it was. The voice was unfamiliar to him, but how pleasant it seemed. Manfred would have turned to look at the speaker if he had not known he had an empty space behind him. His exquisite ivory throne stood close to the open window, but there was no one outside. Fortunately no one had ever seen a dragon in Loretta. The people were contented and undaunted, despite the fact that a war was raging somewhere on the borders of Menuel. The capital was unaffected by it. But Rhianon, with her gift of fire, could indeed destroy it. Manfred suddenly realized he was afraid of her. It was funny and bitter at the same time. He was afraid of some girl who had a destructive power slumbering in her frail body. She has the whole element of fire in her. Manfred himself gripped the armrests of the throne so tightly that his fingers ached. He scraped at the sharp serrations of the carving, but he did not care. He would have given all of blood to kill Rhianon.

“She herself was unharmed, was she not?” Conrad shocked his father with his questions, but he didn’t even notice it. He was too worried about himself to be sensitive to the feelings of those around him. “Hildegard says she cannot be burned. Is this true?”

Hildegard herself resembled a gloomy shadow lurking behind the draperies of the great hall. Manfred did not immediately notice her. She was eavesdropping, as usual, but she did not hurry to interfere in the argument. She was diplomatic and artful, and sly as a cat. In his mind he complimented her. He would have had a son of such character and finesse. The princess, dressed in black, with the usual raven on her shoulder and a whole arsenal of witchcraft tricks remained inconspicuous and heard everything. Conrad, on the other hand, noisily continued to demand answers from one or all of them at once. And everyone was already fed up with him. Sometimes even the prince was difficult to maintain respect for.

“Surely she and the bandits she slept with are all in one piece,” said Angus venomously, cutting off the young prince’s temper.

“What do you mean?” Conrad was momentarily taken aback. “Why would she do that?”

“Perhaps she was drawn to befriending the commoners,” Angus smiled. “Or perhaps the eyewitnesses were mistaken and she did not mean to save anyone but was merely nervous about an execution. Either way there are many questions.”

“And more to lose,” Hermione remarked. “Just count how many things burned for miles around. A few more attacks like that and there’d be nothing left of the country.”

“Well, that’s an exaggeration,” Roderick interjected.

“Stop arguing,” Conrad suddenly slammed his fist on the table so hard that the objects on it rattled. “I want to know who she was with. Was there a blond in this executed gang?”

There was silence over the council chamber for a moment. It should have been followed by amused laughter. Manfred himself would have laughed at other times. He cared about national problems, perhaps the country was in danger, and Conrad wondered if there was even one blond in some band of outlaws. There might have been a dozen of them, thieves, robbers, murderers, all those for whom the noose cries. And he’s looking for one. Or did he think Rhianon had disguised herself as a boy? Manfred frowned. It was quite an obvious possibility. Why couldn’t they find her? The princess was not invisible, and she could not have fallen underground, but to change her dresses for men’s clothing, it might have occurred to her. He remembered the girl’s archery skills; she could go far with other weapons as well.

“Was there a blond boy?” Hermione clearly couldn’t figure out what the prince was getting at.

“No,” Conrad said, his cheeks crimson for a moment with the blood rushing in. “Was there someone… who, like a dawn…”

He said it as if in a dream, and shrank back. He did not seem to understand himself, but his words made Manfred shudder. Dawn, the light, the warrior… everything he was looking for, but if this conversation were to go on now, he would no longer be able to control himself.

“I think their leader was blond,” Angus broke the lingering silence. “He looks very much like the son of a certain nobleman, a traitor.”

“Is he still alive?” Conrad tensed up.

It was the only question no one could answer. There was a silence hanging over the hall even longer than on the first occasion. It was Conrad himself who interrupted it.

“I want his head,” he demanded. “Immediately, now…”

He seemed about to lose control of himself and go into a scream. Even Manfred looked at him in amazement. For the first time Conrad had demanded something in such a way that those around him were frightened. Before he had been unfit to rule, nervous and melancholy, he had not made the right impression on anyone. Now a ruler was awakening in him. The boy began to behave like a man.

Manfred wondered. She could burn other cities, after all. How could she be stopped? No one had ever been able to catch her. It was useless to send guards to look for her. It was as if she vanished into space, only to reappear for a brief moment, make trouble, and then disappear again. Was there anything he could do against her at all? He could think of nothing himself. Nor was it any use going to his advisors. Everyone in the hall looked lost and dejected. Angus was worried about his lost lands, Hermione was nervously biting his lower lip, Roderick, Darius and Clotair were muttering silent glances at each other. No one was in a hurry to suggest anything. Manfred himself was confused. At moments like this, it seemed to him that all earthly and material things were powerless, kingdoms and armies and weapons, nothing could help. So is it not time to resort to the unearthly and forbidden. It is worth calling for Douglas. He balled his hand firmly into a fist and almost shouted his name. The young warlock was just what he needed. Let him earn his keep as court sorcerer. He was honored that the king wanted to see him at all.

Douglas himself did not think so. He watched the hall from his secret loopholes. Beneath him the two standards pinned above the doors were just crossed and the wall clock was nervously ticking. It was curious to watch the gathering from here, but not being able to fly from place to place and the fear of falling would chase him away. Too high, and he had no wings. Douglas sighed dolefully, catching the call in Manfred’s head. He didn’t want to use his wits right now. Besides, the wind seemed to have changed. The beautiful Rhianon was about to reclaim hers. He wished he had wings so he could fly to the burned city, scoop up a handful of ash, and let it fall between his fingers until the fragments of the night were upon him. Rhianon returns, and with her comes the element of fire. Douglas has lived long enough to fear fire, dragons, and any confrontation with what he himself is powerless against. But rumors of Rhianon suddenly drew him in as well. It is interesting to see a girl stronger than an entire dragon pack. The only thing was whether you would live to see such a beauty. He had nothing left to lose. A vision flashed through the tower and shook him. It was as if Mastema and Rhianon were together. He should have felt a burning jealousy, but he felt nothing. After Rianon had appeared and gone, a surprising emptiness had formed inside him. The wound once scorched in his mind by the image of Dennitsa began to heal. It was replaced by something else.

She longed unbearably for another glimpse of Madael. If only sometimes he’d fallen asleep, she could have looked at him asleep and imprinted every feature in her mind. But it was as if sleep was unnecessary for him. The seductive image of the angel sleeping with his own wings and sunny curls spread across the pillow was just a play on her imagination. He would be vulnerable if he could sleep. Even she, his lover, could sneak up on him and wound him. As long as a man sleeps, he is defenseless. Can a supernatural being sleep sensitively enough to wake up at the first approach of danger? And can such a creature be wounded at all? Rhianon had a lot of questions piling up. She had noticed that Madael never sleeps. Even when he cradled her in his arms at night, he himself never felt sleepy. He was also never tired, never eating or drinking, except for entertainment. Since his subjects had mutilated corpses on the battlefield, why shouldn’t he taste blood from time to time? It was a matter of principle, not necessity. He drank without taste and hardly touched raw meat. He took no pleasure in human suffering, but he didn’t want to end it either. He was tired of battles that meant nothing to him, but he still flew off to some of them just for the call of duty. Perhaps now he was flying off somewhere, too. Pity, Rhianon would have liked to see his golden-blond head bowed on their bed or beasts’ skins, would have liked to see how he slept for once and whether in his sleep he looked as vulnerable as any living person. She would like to see him one more time at all before she might be gone forever.

Forever! Is that really what she wants? Rhianon nervously clutched the pendant in her hand. The pendant had taken on the appearance of a pink thorn, and she could have wound herself on it in a moment. She did prick her finger. A scarlet drop of blood protruded from it, and it reminded her of death. She wondered if she had the strength and nerve to draw her sword and cut off the head of a sleeping angel. Would she have been able to do something like that out of jealousy or revenge, or maybe out of a desire to protect her own life? Was she the only one who dreamed of possessing Dennitsa’s non-smoldering head and taking it with her as a priceless trophy?

“I wanted to,” said a voice behind her, but Rhianon knew it was useless to turn around, because there was nothing but the vibrations of air and emptiness, but the voice sounded, stern. “I loved him, too. I too dreamed of his tenderness, not his war. Don’t make my mistake again.”

“I already did,” she said into the void. In the human world it would have been strange, everyone would have looked back at the girl who was talking to herself, but here in the celestial castle it was the order of the day. Rhianon suddenly realized that she had heard this voice before. Two voices, to be exact, one sterner, the other more gentle, but both full of sounds of unearthly harmony. These were the voices spoken to her by those who called to her in her dreams. Perhaps she should have been wary, for they always wanted to take her somewhere far away, to a height she feared. And what would be there? Where would the endless staircase of her dreams lead? Why were they so anxious for her not to meet Madael? They were jealous. They wanted to take her far away from the earth before she saw the inimitable warrior. And what would happen up there, on the heights? Wouldn’t they have pushed her down? It seemed time to ask questions, but her tongue would not listen. Rhianon was numb for a moment. She realized who was calling her, and it frightened her.

“I am like him, and you decided to replace him with me, because I am not strong enough to rebel against anyone,” she asked questions into the void, but she was not afraid of getting silence in return. She had already figured it all out on her own. “Do you think I would be more obedient than him?”

There was only a breeze that blew against her shoulders, but it felt like a touch. Rhianon closed her eyelids, feeling the pleasure of a previously unfamiliar closeness. It felt like a void caressing her, and in that void she could see the outlines of wings, beautiful faces, the movements of lips. She would have enjoyed it forever if the serene harmony had not been replaced by the familiar images of heavenly war, fire, and scorched bodies. These fragments had not left her mind for a long time. And they fundamentally changed everything. She really wasn’t the only one who dreamed of cutting off Madael’s head and keeping it as a precious trophy. Such dreams and desires had arisen in the minds of celestial creatures long before humans were born. He was a temptation to all, the one she loved. So now why did she suddenly want to leave him?

It was as if it wasn’t even her idea. Rhianon was confused. She shook her head tiredly. The black creature that had been cowering in Madael’s tower and then pestering her in the tent seemed to begin whispering poisonous incitements to her again. Kill yourself to free him. Rhianon did not want to hear any more of this.

She clutched the pendant in her hands and wished she were somewhere as far away from here as possible. Most of all she wished she was back in Vinor, and finding herself suddenly in a dark alleyway she realized she was in one of the cities of that kingdom.

Moonlight poured down on the sidewalk. The dirty reflections of the torches fixed in brackets over the gables of the houses could not spoil its purity. Rhianon was suddenly frightened that with this glow, those who had spoken to her had been transported to Vinor. She turned around cautiously, but now there was really nothing but emptiness behind her shoulders. The streets of the city diverged in several directions. Rhianon stepped forward a little. It was dark and deserted. Rhianon liked to feel that she was alone wandering in the night, and the night felt as if it belonged to her.

It felt like she was the only one here. She could do anything she wanted, even fly over the city. Maybe she should summon fairies and dance with them in the streets. Rhianon felt like kicking off her shoes and dancing on the sidewalk. She took the pins out of her hair, spread her arms, and twirled on the spot. The moonlight shone out around her. For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to spew or quench the fire inside her. She wanted only to enjoy the calmness of the night.

The pleasant feeling of being here alone was interrupted by the quick flutter of wings. Rhianon immediately stopped. The first association was painful. Madael might have already flown in for her and was now watching from above, but somehow she did not feel his presence near her. On the contrary, the city seemed to her free of both his servants and his minions. No magic but a slight otherworldly vibe. Only a few witch doctors could roam here, but not Lucifer’s armies.

A low cawing sound from above confirmed that she was wrong. Rhianon looked up to see crows perched on the perimeter of the roof. The darkening stranglehold of tiny figures on the beautifully sloping eaves was ominous. Rhianon only now noticed how beautiful the house she was standing in front of was. It was two stories high, decorated with tiles and slender columns, and the curved friezes and pediments gave the impression of something fabulous. Rhianon stared. She wished she could live alone in a house like this, away from everything. The walls made her feel cozy. It must be beautiful inside, too. And why have a castle full of gossiping servants, when she could live in such a quiet secluded place. Here she wouldn’t be affected by wars, or the strife of men and angels, or the crushing power of Madael’s secrets. It would be so nice here. Rhianon approached the porch. The frame of the canopy concealed a door with an exquisite hammer made in the shape of a lion’s head. She barely touched it when she realized she was not alone. She turned around quickly. Standing nearby was a gentleman, very tall and sturdily built, dressed in black. Wavy strands of black hair fell from beneath his broad-brimmed hat and though it had not rained for a long time it looked as if water were dripping from it.

“Would you like to buy this house?” The echoing voice sounded as if it had never been heard. Rhianon scrutinized the face hidden by the shadow of the hat and could not make out a single feature. It was as if she were speaking to a void.

The offer was tempting, but somehow too hasty. It made her a little wary. “How much would it cost?”

“How much would you give?”

The question puzzled her. Rianon wondered how little jewelry she wore at the moment. She could pull off strings of pearls and a sapphire-trimmed sash, and one of her feathers would probably be worth a whole small estate. But what could she offer for a house? Suddenly she remembered the coins Dominic had given her. She didn’t carry much with her, just a handful. She pulled out three of them and held them out to the stranger.

“What could you buy with them in Vinor?”

He studied the exquisite coinage for a long time. The gold gleamed oddly against the black leather gloves lined with mink. Rhianon noticed how disproportionately large his hands were. It frightened her a little. He could easily squeeze her throat with his hands.

“Dwarf’s gold…” he whispered softly.

“It is right,” she didn’t know how he could have guessed, but she was struck by his expertise. Maybe he was a wandering magician himself, or maybe he was just a connoisseur of magical rarities. Manfred was such a connoisseur, too, and even as Hildegard found out, those who cannot conjure themselves appreciate the fruits of other mages’ efforts. And there are also those who do not mind collecting wondrous objects. If the Inquisition gets its hands on such collectors, they’ll be in trouble, unless they’re rich and noble. This stranger, judging by his clothes, might have been both rich and noble. The mountain fur on his cloak and velvet of the best quality from which the camisole was made spoke of the exquisite taste and solvency of the customer. Only the black color was so gloomy.

“Have you any more of these coins?” he inquired cautiously, not letting go of the first three ducats.

“I’ll give you two more to buy the house.” Rhianon was not accustomed to bargaining, which was unbecoming to royalty, but now she wanted to bring the price down to a minimum. She had a dozen coins left, but held out only two to the stranger. He greedily grabbed them.

“Enjoy your new accommodations,” his bow was courteous, but the brim of his hat didn’t even line up with the level of her head. He was too tall. Rhianon watched him walk away. The flaps of his short cloak flapped in the wind like the wings of a raven.

“The keys are under the door,” he said as he hurried away.

He sounded like one of the birds on the roof. Rhianon grinned. His voice was not husky, but sounded like the cawing of a raven.

“Why did you decide to sell the house?” She shouted after him, not expecting to wait for an answer.

“I didn’t decide,” he turned and looked at her carefully, as if in a hurry to read something curious in her unfolding mind. “It was the house that had decided it was time to change ownership.”

Rhianon heard no further words from him. Ravens, meanwhile, were flying off the roof and following him as if he were their tribesman. Strangely enough, he was a man, not a raven, but in her mind he became associated with the bird for some reason after he left.

She did find the keys on the doorstep. She had only to push aside one of the poorly held planks, and beneath it, like a nest, the whole brass bundle gleamed. Rhianon stepped over the threshold of her new abode. One would say it was a fortunate acquisition. It was indeed very cozy inside.

Rhianon ran her fingers over the wrought iron grate of the great fireplace. Copper faeries seemed to be tangled in it. Intricate arabesques joined together in an intricate pattern. The soft, fluffy mats underfoot were also covered in intricate patterns. There were on the walls small tapestries with pastoral scenes. Rhianon stopped in front of one depicting a lady who had tamed a unicorn. She would have liked to see the scene of the dragon-tamed lady herself. If she knew how to draw or weave a pattern of colored threads, she would have thought of just such a picture.

She also liked the dressers with their carved walls and the brass-rimmed mirrors. There were no animal skins or hunting trophies around, unless you counted the branching deer antlers pinned to the wall. Not far away, two broadswords were crossed in staples. Such a weapon would have suited her well for self-defense. Rhianon wished she had brought a sword with her. Though a bulky weapon could hardly be worn with a dress, she would have been more suited to a stiletto hidden behind a corsage or a small, dainty dagger. Madael had plenty of weapons, but she hadn’t had time to take any with her. Now she had only these two broadswords. Rhianon removed one of them from its bracket and removed the leather scabbard. The blade was rusted and blunt. She set it aside in annoyance. Such a weapon was good for nothing. She couldn’t sharpen knives, and was in no mood for it. And she was bound to have trouble cooking if she lived alone. There was a kitchen in the house, of course, and plenty of cast-iron utensils, but Rhianon had no idea how to melt an oven, mix bread dough, or even make a pot of stew. She rarely watched others cook, and she certainly wasn’t going to do it herself. Perhaps she should have had gnomes or fairies do it for her. With their powers and charms, simple household chores wouldn’t be difficult for them. Rhianon was sure that it was only necessary to mentally utter the names of the magical creatures who had befriended her, and they would immediately come to her call, but for some reason she did not dare.

She remembered the embrace of the fairies and the simple courtesy of the field dwarves. She could afford to have company if she had her own house, but she put it off until later. She could invite old friends over later.

Rhianon sat down by the fireplace and casually glanced at the oval wall mirror. The sight of her own exposed throat startled her. The chain with the lovely pendant was somehow not reflected in the mirror. Or was it missing altogether? Rhianon ran a hand up and down her neck. The pendant had disappeared. She jumped to her feet as quickly as she could and searched the floor. The gold chain was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t lost in her belongings, and it wasn’t on the porch, either. Nor was it to be found on the street. Rhianon walked for a long time along the sidewalk, but saw nothing.

Back in the house, she sank wearily to the same spot by the fireplace. The pendant was her only way back. If it was gone, there was no way back to the castle beyond the clouds. The hard realization of the truth paralyzed her for a moment. Now the games were over, she really might never see Madael again. Unless you say his name right now, you have to call out to him and he will come. Rhianon felt confusion. Should she ask his forgiveness and go back, or wait it out for a while. Her mental effort alone was enough to make the dry kindling in the fireplace catch fire. Rhianon rested her hands on her chin and watched the sparks play on the flaming logs. The flames grew hotter with every passing second, and as she watched them whirr and dance, she was so enraptured that she forgot herself. She never said her cherished name.

Ron knew they would come again. The moments when he wrote were only a temporary respite. He had ruined more than one sheet of paper and cut up several tabletops with a knife trying to carve the signs he had dreamed of. He should have left a warning for Rhianon to keep her out of all this. Would that she knew how dangerous it was and how invincible those who sought her out were.

It was light and dark. Ron saw them as soon as he closed his eyes. It was as if they were still standing on the doorstep of the tavern, beckoning him invisible to the others, and he’d start hysterical and chase them away, making people think he was crazy. He didn’t care anymore. The only thing he wanted to do was to leave a warning, but his knife-cut fingers were almost impossible to obey. The innkeeper had already stopped shouting at him, and the other drunks had stopped bothering him, because despite his physical exhaustion, he was still able to fight very well. No one dared to admonish him for defacing other people’s property.

Of course, what he was doing was pointless. It was unlikely that Rhianon would ever walk into that inn and see the inscription. She was now a noblewoman, pampered and dressed up, a girl in satin and silks who might have been a match for a prince or a king, not the country boy he was now. Yet would she have known what danger was flying after her. Ron was smart enough to understand, supernatural beings are two kinds — light and dark, but both are equally dangerous. No matter how one was light they were still capable of killing, and absolutely ruthlessly and without feeling any remorse. They were considered good, but the evil caused to man became something ordinary and natural to them. They considered it their right to destroy anyone and did it without any regret. The fact that man was innocent meant nothing to them. Such was fate and the will of the Almighty, they nodded, leaving Ron to be torn apart by the demons each time. His dark guests weren’t so restrained; they ripped objects from his hands, pointed the blade of a knife so as to hurt him, spilled their drinks on passersby, drawing Ron into the fray. They laughed at him. They whispered that he meant nothing to Rhianon. None of the bright ones tried to restrain them. On the contrary, it was as if the two elements of light and dark were encouraging each other.

His head was splitting from their intrusive advances. They sat on the other side of the table from him and clawed at his wrists. They whispered to him that he should leave Rhianon, but he couldn’t. He had to leave her a message, even if she never read it, he still had to try. Maybe one of her confidants would come in here someday, see the writing on the tabletop with a knife, and pass it on to her. Of course, it would be better to scribble the words somewhere in the woods on the trunk of a centuries-old tree, or even to take a chisel and carve them on the wall of some building. Only he and she would understand the signs of the inscription. This language is understood only by those who have encountered higher powers.

“It it the language of angels,” Ron dodged the claws of a nearby demon, invisible to all around him, and glanced toward the empty doorway above which the bright but stern creature had hovered a short time before. “To us, involved in your eternal argument, it seems to be the language of mere mortals.”

He indeed seemed to be carving the simplest of letters and numbers, though there were absurdly complex symbols emerging from beneath the knife’s edge. He could scribble them all over the world, leave them in tree hollows. Perhaps one of the messages will be found by Rhianon.

“You have no idea the danger you face,” Ron felt his time running out. The dark spirits whispered to him that it was time to put the knife to good use, but the light spirits were cold and arrogant. They would not help him, but blame and punish him, because he had interfered in their affairs unwillingly. He did not know what Rhianon meant to them. He was still grateful to fate for the moment she had come to his campfire.

The beautiful bright angel who had long been a vision to him, was angry. The sternness of his beautiful features was even more terrifying than the ugly countenance of the ifrit seated across the table from Ron. The young man tried not to look at either of his guests. They came to him anyplace, anytime, anyway. They didn’t care about his reluctance to communicate with them.

“You saw something no one should ever have to see,” they declared, their obsession driving him mad. His world was already sliding into a terrifying black abyss. The people were being swept away by intangible and malevolent creatures, easily layered on top of the picture of familiar life. He was tired of them, but they would not let him go. Wherever he went, they were already there waiting for him.

“If there was a god, he wouldn’t allow this,” Ron whispered as he carved the last symbol with bloody fingers.

“And why do you think the god is what you mortals think he is?” The claws of the ifrit seated opposite touched the young man’s smooth forehead, leaving a scratch. “He’s the one who brought his pet down from heaven, so why should he pity you humans?”

Ron pulled away fearfully. Hot blood trickled down his face, staining his pale brow. He had to put his hand to his face and wipe away the blood. There was bound to be a scar on his forehead now, but it didn’t bother him anymore. His most searing wound was much deeper, in his heart. And that wound made him want to scream, probably even louder than the fallen angels in his dreams.

He fell asleep rarely and very briefly, and every time he dreamed something unimaginably nightmarish.

“That’s how anyone who was into contact with us feels,” the angel hovering outside the window told him in a cold, indifferent tone. “Are you still happy that you didn’t pass by the one that should belong to us?”

“And I won’t believe in you, just in her,” Ron whispered stubbornly and began to carve the tabletop further. He hoped that somewhere far away Rhianon would hear it, but his fingers, against his will, kept on working the knife.

Rhianon dozed briefly in front of the lighted fireplace. When she awoke, faint flames were still dancing on the logs. The house was still warm and cozy, but something seemed subtly different.

She sat down on the rug and looked around. Everything was in the same place, where she remembered it. Even the broadsword she had discarded was now lying on the floor, and the place on the wall in the brackets was empty.

Rhianon looked around. There could be no one in the house but her. She remembered locking the front door and sliding the shutters on the first floor windows. No one could get in. Unless there was a secret passage under the house or someone was hiding in the cellar. She felt as if there was someone nearby, though she saw no one.

Sparks still danced in the fireplace’s yawning fireplace. The fireplace itself looked like an open mouth of a fire-breathing monster. Rhianon looked closely and saw that the fireplace was framed like an open dragon’s mouth. She had never seen anything like it before. She had never seen anything like this before. No one had ever adorned their manors, their houses, or even their coats of arms with dragons. It was considered bad luck. By placing images of monsters in their houses, it was as if the owner was summoning the devil. But there were also brave men. There are such powerful rulers who decorate their standards with images of wild animals, as if they want to take their power in this way. Perhaps one day a dragon might appear on someone’s coat of arms. It would be the best emblem of battle imaginable. And here on the mantel it was also made with extraordinary grace. The high shelf above the fire was a crest on a dragon’s head, and the chimney hole covered on the outside of the wall by a pillar appeared to be a wiggling tail, the patterned divots extending from the pillar across the wall its wings. Rhianon would not have been surprised to see more images of sphinxes, griffins, or basilisks in the house. They belonged exactly where it was supposed to be. An ingenious architect would have placed them all there, and even made them part of the most commonplace objects.

Rhianon noticed that the overlaid stairs leading to the second floor were in the shape of intertwined mermaid bodies. And the light fixture on the ceiling really does resemble a griffin fluttering its wings in flight.

“It is curious here, isn’t it?”

“What is it?” She was dumbfounded when she heard a low, nasal voice beside her. Only a dwarf would talk like that, but she hadn’t called any dwarves to her house. Rhianon turned around and realized she was not mistaken. Next to the mantelpiece was a tiny man in fancy dress. How he had gotten in was a mystery. Rhianon could only hope that dwarves had secret passages under the ground everywhere. They could get into any house they wanted. The appearance of such a guest does not mean that her new home is accessible to many other visitors. It’s also possible that it’s just a character in her dreams. Maybe she is not fully awake, and therefore sees all these strange objects around her, which should be more in dreams, but in reality such a fairy house full of figures of magical creatures is simply impossible to see.

“You dropped this,” the guest swung the chain with the sparkling pendant in his hands, “but it is not yours.”

“But I found it,” Rhianon recognized her pendant. She demandingly held out her hand for it, but the dwarf nimbly backed away from her.

“Give me the riddle and I’ll give it to you.” The firelight cast a sinister glow over his puffy face. He could pass for a little devil with evil eyes.

“What a riddle is it,” Rhianon rose nimbly, but the dwarf was faster. He was already standing on the other side of the room, staring up at her angrily.

“What’s in the basement?” He blurted out after a moment’s silence.

Rhianon looked at the low oak door, which seemed to lead to a cellar or some other basement room. She hadn’t had time to see what was there yet. Frankly, she had only just noticed the door.

“I don’t know,” Rhianon muttered, then realized that she had made a mistake.

“It is a wrong answer,” the dwarf waved a gold pendant in the air, taking on a new forceful shape, and ducked behind a low stool.

Rhianon was at a loss. What should she do? Catch the dwarf, or check what was in the cellar. It was a moment’s hesitation, and she chose the second. The low oak door beckoned to her. Rhianon opened it and peered inside. Narrow, uneven steps led down into the cellar. She could see nothing unusual there, only wine casks, but Rhianon sensed a musty grave.

Cautiously she started downstairs. It would be good if the door didn’t slam shut right now, and that same dwarf didn’t ban her here. Then she’d definitely have to call Madael for help, because she couldn’t get out on her own unless she burned the walls around her.

Strangely enough, there were no food supplies in the cellar, only wine barrels. Maybe there was ale in them, though, or beer, or whatever was left to ferment. What made her think they were full of wine? Nothing, she just imagined it.

Rhianon sighed. She’d been seeing a lot of strange things lately. To confirm her premonition, she reached out and pulled the cork from one of the barrels. To her surprise, no wine poured out of the resulting hole. There was no liquid inside the cask at all; there was something dry and pulverized to a powder. Rianon had already thought that gunpowder was about to fall at her feet, but she was wrong again. From the hole in the barrel a torrent of gold dust poured down her slippers, intermingled with tiny specks of ground emeralds, sapphires, and rubies.

Rhianon stepped aside, gazing in amazement at the glittering pile. Were all the barrels here full of something so shiny? She took turns pulling the plugs out, curious. This time she wasn’t disappointed. The barrels were full of crushed piles of diamonds, garnets, turquoise, and gold pollen, all interspersed with each other. There’s a whole fortune in the cellar here. The owner of the house must have been extremely wealthy. Why on earth would he agree to sell her this house full of treasures for just a few coins?

The money she gave him was not even suitable for circulation in Vinor, Loretta, or any of the states she knew. They were coins of unusual coinage, made by inhuman hands, and perhaps to a connoisseur they might have been of great value, but would they be enough to pay for entire gold mines.

Rhianon checked further. One cask did turn out to contain wine, not gold. It dripped down her skirts, staining the turquoise blue brocade.

What a pity. Rhianon wondered where she could get water, but there was only a reddish trickle coming out of the barrel. It grew thinner and thinner, and the puddle on the floor grew wider.

“Drink! Drink!” a thin voice whispered in her ear. “If you drink something like that, close your eyes, you will find yourself in a completely different world.”

Rhianon had heard of something like that, but she had never tried it. And she wouldn’t risk it. She knew that such drinks were addictive, and one would go mad if left without them, but now she could not help herself. Even if she were used to this kind of wine, Madael would have the means to cure her.

Barely had she thought of having a glass, when the crystal shot glass on a stem was clasped in her fingers. The crystal was murky and covered in cobwebs. There were a dozen such glasses lying on a lopsided shelf nearby, some of them broken and all covered in cobwebs. Strangely, she hadn’t noticed the shelf before, and she didn’t remember taking one of the glasses from it. Rhianon put it under the stream.

Rhianon brought the fragrant liquid to her lips. It smelled like a bouquet of scents, as if someone had combined many fruits and tastes in one drink: cherries, pomegranates, plums, blackberries and raspberries — all the fragrance of a summer meadow. Rhianon imagined a sunny day, summer, fairies and elves picking berries from branches and the flutter of their wings over the crushed fruit. She took a sip, just one, but the liquid rolled down her throat in a refreshing wave. The wine should have fueled the fire, but instead it quenched it. It was warm and pleasant inside, but not hot. Rhianon could almost feel the bubbles from the berry wine exploding with flashes of pleasure in her bloodstream. She got the pleasure, but it hit her in the head. The room swam before her eyes.

“Do you remember the barn ghosts?” Someone whispered in her ear.

Rhianon didn’t remember, but the vision of a woman in darkness in a musty orange dress exuding the scent of the grave seemed to cross the threshold of this house now, too. Rhianon could almost touch the red hair that had been touched by decay, the face that had already been decayed. Rhianon had seen other ghosts in the same rotten clothes and with traces of decay on their faces. She could only guess that in life many of them had been quite good-looking. She did not know who these people were or what had happened to them. She could only guess that they were from that barn, and here in the basement of the house she was in, something like that barn had happened.

The house itself around her already seemed unreal. Her mind was flying somewhere far away, first across a sunny meadow, where bees gather nectar from flowers and tiny fairies squeeze juice from berries to make a miracle drink. Her mind soared over the flowers like these fairies, reaching the treetops, the clouds, and the rainbow sparkles behind them. And then she saw night and the realm of dreams, some creatures cowering in the darkness. They were indeed afraid of the light, and palaces were carved out of the dark rocks. A creature on a golden throne with dark hair and wings was tearing at its own flesh with its claws.

It was one of those who had followed Madael and fallen with him, Rhianon concluded. She saw other such creatures, pale wounded bodies in golden robes and ivory crowns, strange insects with human faces swarming in their wounds, and unimaginable creatures crawling on the ground between the gold coins and bones. In her dreams, everything was upside down. And in her mind, the narcotic vapors of a magic potion were now spilling.

Rhianon wished her imagination would sweep over the battlefields where the armies of Loretta howled, but her wishes meant nothing now. The stream of fantasy carried her forward on its own. Rhianon was tired of the shifting impressions. One vague picture was replaced by another. Not even in dreams. It seemed that her mind itself had become like wine flowing simultaneously through all the magical places of this world and the other. Or was it that she became part of the wine and eventually dissolved into it? Rhianon no longer knew which reality she was in. When she stood up and realized suddenly that she was lying right on the cellar floor, she couldn’t tell for sure if she was still dreaming.

It was much darker than she remembered. The gap between the door and the lintel glowed slightly in the darkness. The outlines of the walls were not clear. Nor could she see the barrels of gold. Everything seemed so fuzzy in the darkness, and yet she could recognize the outline of one single figure. It was a child, thin and frail, dressed in an elegant black camisole with white lace trim, as if in the uniform of a student of the School of Witchcraft. His long blond hair shone like a halo in the dark, and his face was strikingly beautiful.

“Eve?” Rhianon suddenly felt that it was no longer the cold floor beneath her feet, but the satin blankets. She was home again, in her bed, not far from the open window that awaited the arrival of the angel, and the ghost of the dead child stood before her. And how touchingly beautiful he was. He was an extraordinarily gifted boy who should not have died. He could have lived, could have grown and become even more beautiful and skilled. Rhianon sighed heavily. No matter how it was, Eve might live, if the demon did not wish him.

She wanted to stroke his head, whisper something comforting, but she didn’t dare. The eyes on the child’s delicate face sparkled in the darkness like two rubies embedded in flesh. Rhianon at first could not believe what she was seeing. Could it be that Madael had also inserted precious stones into his empty eye sockets, as he did with the skins of slain animals, or that Yves was simply bleeding from his clawed eyelids and making his eyes appear red. Then is he capable of seeing her when she is bleeding like that? But he could see, and he even spoke, addressing her. The pale lips moved with difficulty, but the words were fierce.

“You want it, don’t you? Do you want me to be part of this child?” Now he reached forward himself to touch Rhianon. The lace cuff under her black sleeve was also covered in blood. Eve wanted to reach for it, but Rhianon pulled away.

“I don’t want to!” She objected sharply. She felt pity for him, of course, but her fear was stronger.

She felt pity for him, but her fear was stronger than pity. Eve pulled away. He looked as if he’d been slapped in the face. Tears streamed down his face, tears of blood. She remembered the hammer and the nails and the claws again. It was as if the hammer had struck at him again, ripping the angel’s face with scratches. The cherub turned into a blood-crying demon, retreating into darkness.

Let it be only a dream, she begged, but there were traces of his blood on the floor. Some insects greedily licked it off and changed before her eyes. Rhianon turned away so she wouldn’t have to see it. The disgusting noises plagued her for a moment, and then it passed. But even here, sitting in the safety of her bedroom, she felt the beating of the devil’s clock like a pulse beating. The clock is like one living organism, or like a heart. It beats to a measured rhythm, but if something special happens, there will be an explosion.

Rhianon held her breath. She seemed to understand everything. The clock is waiting for that moment. It was her moment in the Cathedral of Thunder.

The realization stayed with her only for a moment. And then she no longer felt the cloudy, soft bed beneath her, the marble floor under her feet, she walked under the mechanisms of the clock, the gears spinning above, and beneath the floor seemed to be buried bodies — hundreds of bodies, begging for retribution. Only Eve wasn’t among them. Rhianon raised her head to look up at one of the arrows and see him. He was just there, back in the same spot.

“Aren’t you afraid?” Rhianon could hear the rustling of black wings, demons flying here again, dwarves cowering below, and the boy with the face of an angel sitting on the hands of the clock, alive and unharmed, as if there had never been a murder. “What if they find you again? If you’re alive again, you’re just as vulnerable as before.”

“But I have a knife now,” Eve showed her the long, thin blade. It was strongly elongated and tapered toward the end, more like a stiletto. He held it so close to her cheek as if he were going to stab himself. Rhiannon wanted to shout to him to be more careful when he held the hilt, but then she saw the tip of the blade strike. It was some kind of insect or tiny creature with green skin. It might have looked like a frog had it not been for the colorful clothing on its slippery body. Leprechaun! Yes, very ugly. Rhianon grimaced dismissively. She didn’t mind that Eve had killed such a tiny monster, but he couldn’t even finish him off. Leprechaun was still twitching at the tip of his dagger. And Eve smiled smugly.

“I have something to protect myself from them.”

“I see,” Rhianon put her fingers to her corset, and she felt as if she were about to be scorched from the inside again. Perhaps it was idle fear; it wasn’t as if the boy could jump off the clockwork and throw himself at her with a knife. It wasn’t like he thought she was one of those creatures. She wanted to open her mouth and say that she didn’t belong to the race of creatures that had ruined him at all.

“But he does,” Eve glanced oddly at her arm around her waist. “Do you want us to be one with him?”

Rhianon did not understand, and he stared at her intently with his empty, exhausted eyes. His blue eyes were like two mirrors, reflecting the suffering he had endured. They seemed hunted and at the same time dangerous, angry. There was no pain left for him that he had not suffered himself, so he was not afraid to hurt others. Perhaps it would even be interesting for him.

“I look at people’s suffering with pleasure, because they can’t suffer the way I do, but I’m glad that at least someone else can suffer besides me in this world,” she remembered Madael’s statement.

For a moment she had even forgotten that Eve could be just a ghost. He was so alive and real, and the deathly pallor that covered him no longer mattered.

“Come here,” she beckoned him down. “I don’t know what it is to be someone’s mother, but I feel sorry for you. I could comfort you.”

She really had no idea how. How to erase from his memory all the suffering imprinted there. Eve’s glassy eyes were suddenly so distrustful. He twitched in his perch. He seemed to really want to climb down and rush toward her, but the distance to the floor is so high, and there are also some creatures running around on the floor below. His stiletto wouldn’t be enough to kill them all. Still, Eve made an attempt to climb down. The ghostly body shook slightly. It seemed almost material to her. Even as a ghost he was still so fragile. Rhianon sighed. She really felt sorry for him, but the vicious sadistic gleam in his empty eyes could scare anyone.

“Go!” She could already hear the fluttering of black wings nearby, the scurrying of dwarves and the rustling of bats. All of them could have swooped down on him. All of them were very near, or already close to the arched window vault. Soon they would rush in, but even sooner she would have time to embrace him as if he were her own child. And it didn’t matter that he was a ghost. She suddenly understood what it was like to become a mother. As soon as she felt his obsession to be born again, to become a supernatural creature, something inside her stirred. It was an unearthly child. Eve would have dreamed of being one. If his father was a fallen angel, he would be invulnerable. Wouldn’t that be the limit of his dreams?

“Come on, wake up,” someone shook her shoulder. She didn’t realize at once that it was a dwarf, and it wasn’t a castle around her, but the same cellar. Only this time there was a sort of circle drawn on the floor, and the dwarf was running across it, trying to approach in a way that would not only touch Rhianon and shake her up.

“You can’t sleep that long, or you risk never waking up again.”

“Stand back,” she said. She didn’t like the sound of his nasal voice. “I want to see something else.”

Her head was already slumped back down, now, and the bare ground would be softer than a pillow to her. Rhianon wanted to sleep and have fantastic dreams, even if they were nightmarish like the ones with Yves, but they were sure to amaze the imagination, but the dwarf held her back.

“No more sleep, not a minute more.”

What an obsession. He’s just like a schoolteacher, gruff and pushy. Or like a ghost who knocks on doors every night, ignoring the fact that he’s not wanted. If gnomes could be banished like ghosts, Rhianon would certainly take advantage of it. She struggled to rise on her elbows.

“Well, what do you want? Give my pendant back!” She decided to quip a little, though she wasn’t entirely sure the dwarf wasn’t another hallucination. How lasting an effect could the wine have on her? Could what she was seeing still seem to her?

For a hallucination, however, the gnome was incredibly nimble and brash, and his touch proved all too tangible. Rhianon shot him a displeased look.

“This is a bad time, isn’t it?”

“I know,” he hissed angrily.

“Then why don’t you leave? It’s the height of rudeness to know you’re not welcome and still pester me. I don’t want to see you, go away, at least think about the fact that I didn’t invite you to visit.”

“But this is my house, not yours.”

Rhianon decided to put him in his place. “But I paid for it, and I intend to stay here. This house belongs to me now.”

“Do you even know what’s in here?”

She shrugged her shoulders dismissively.

Of course she was aware that such a creature needed no door, that he would go underground whenever he wished and wherever he could find a way, and that the locks on the doors were no obstacle, but she deliberately wanted to insult him. That the gold had been brought here from the dwarves’ mines, however, she hesitated.

“What’s your name, by the way?” Rhianon said. She didn’t know him yet, and she was willing to swear that all the short people were known to her by their real names, or the ones she herself had given them. Though they all looked very much alike, Rhianon had already learned to distinguish them. If she looked closely, each of them had some peculiar traits that were peculiar to him and his own manner of behavior. She could have sworn that this was the first time she had ever seen the strange man. Could he be crazy? A misfit who had broken away from a pack of creatures like him? The more Rhianon looked at him, the more strange things she noticed.

“You are not Soyro, nor Byrne, nor Ivan, nor any of your brethren I know. So who are you?”

The answer stunned her.

“No one,” the dwarf leaned low to her face, his eyes gleaming as if in the glow of a flame, but there was no flame except the one that burned within Rhianon herself. The dwarf seemed to be warmed by it. He reached for her like a candle, and then jerked his hand away.

“I am your destiny,” he whispered, baring needle-sharp teeth. “I am your fate.”

“Well, then I’ll call you Fate,” Rhianon smiled as her own joke succeeded, and the dwarf seemed disappointed and retreated into the shadows. The ominous-sounding words were now meaningless.

“You laugh too soon,” he warned her.

“I don’t think so,” she protested. “And it’s always nice to laugh, especially at other people.”

Now he clenched his fists in fury, but did not approach Rhianon again. Apparently the fire he felt inside her had driven him away for a long time, if not for good. Rhianon realized that she would have been glad never to see that angry, disheveled creature again, making grim speeches. She wished he’d never show his face to her again, and she wished he hadn’t begun to foretell her fate, casting all kinds of dire predictions and omens in every direction. She disliked those who believed too much in omens or threatened everyone with heavenly punishment. The pious people back at the castle in Loretta had often got on her nerves. She would never meet a dwarf like them again. Rhianon stared at the spot where he’d just stood, but she saw something else entirely. Something else, she thought, was in her nostrils: the smell of fire, burnt hay and straw piles, and burned flesh. She frowned. She imagined a barn, burning bodies, and strange pictures. A woman in an orange brocade dress and a worm-eaten face haunted her. Rhianon suddenly realized that she was not the first woman to have intercourse with fallen angels, but unlike her, it had always ended too badly for others.

“Do you want to show me that something like that happened in this basement?” She asked the dwarf, but he was gone. Or he was deliberately hiding somewhere in the dark, waiting for her to call out to him.

Rhianon rested her chin in her lap and watched the darkness, waiting to see if she could detect movement.

He felt at once that she was no longer in the castle. The feeling of emptiness was unfamiliar and somehow sucking. He hadn’t felt anything like that in a long time. It was like an empty shell from which an oyster had been gone.

It had always been empty inside him. Long before the fall, that emptiness had already opened up inside him. For a while there was a gap that almost filled it all. Now it was gone.

Rhianon! Where is she? Who was she with? Where was she going? His first impulse was to get out of his seat and fly to find her. He would surely find her. The human world was small enough that he knew every nook and cranny of it, from the streets of mortal cities to the mysterious realm of dreams. He will not be refused an answer anywhere, for he has the right of the strongest on his side. He will see Rhianon himself. Even from the height of the clouds it is impossible not to see her. He knew that his rivals were not dormant either. They had always needed Rhianon, but no one guessed that one day he would need her, too.

Madael folded his wings and looked at his reflection in one of the castle’s live mirrors. The surface immediately rippled like the surface of water. The angel’s face was striking in its girlish beauty and the indomitable fire in the blue of his eyes. He seemed to have succeeded in imprisoning the whole sky in his own gaze. He swept a long lock of hair behind his ear; in the darkness it glowed like pure gold, but now for some reason it looked like blond hair.

“I’m the same as before, but different,” he whispered to his reflection. His lips were barely moving, but the mirror doppelganger suddenly grinned slyly back. Oh, that mirror, it will reflect the soul, won’t it? Then his soul was reflected in that moment, distorted beyond belief.

Madael turned away from the mirror and looked at the crimson clouds outside the window. At that moment it was as if they poured with blood. Over the eternal streak of dawn a rainbow split, the anxious voices of celestial creatures, birds, and faeries resounded. Soon the whole castle must begin to crumble. It was created only for Rhianon, and it had no reason to exist without her. And all those creatures that were already nestled in it, or in the clouds near it… Well, Madael didn’t care if they died. Though it wasn’t impossible that they would survive, since it wasn’t the first time they’d fallen from the heavens.

What was going on around them didn’t matter anymore. He tried to look for her in his mind’s eye and could not find her. What should he do now? Should he fly after her? Search for her?

He hadn’t cared about other people’s wishes before. So what’s changed since then? Hadn’t he won her there on the battlefield, captured her? Shouldn’t she now belong only to him? Rhianon is his property, as much as the gold or the very land on which he now dwells. He even chuckled at his own thought. It had never happened, and he wished it had. With her he had lost something of great value. It was a feeling that would not leave him alone, and as time passed it grew stronger and stronger. It was as if a part of himself had been taken from him.

The feeling was unfamiliar. He went wandering the halls and corridors of the castle to chase it away. All around him the walls were cracking and crumbling, and he just wandered from one gallery to another. For the first time he was walking, and the feeling of the marble solid rock beneath his feet almost mesmerized him. What was it like to be chained to the ground and not be able to get away from it? That was also the first time he thought about it. And Rhianon must have always thought about it. Of course she had, because she was so afraid of heights. It couldn’t be otherwise if they kept calling her from above from their harsh and cold heights.

Madael clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it violently into the mirror on the way. It groaned and wailed, and shards exploded in every direction, chanting in fury. His blood remained on them and now hissed fire. It, too, could speak itself, sing, ignite, and distort objects. Not blood, but a magical elixir for mortals. He remembered giving Rhianon a taste of his blood. So it had already begun to change. And no celestial would dare touch her. But here’s that blond boy. He is crazy about her, instead of worrying about the noose that awaits him, Ron, he seems to be a threat. Madael frowned. What if it’s all about him? And is he the only one? There are many more of them, human and nonhuman. They can’t live without Rhianon once they’ve seen her. Well, then they will have to die. He’ll take care of that himself.

Madael grinned as he noticed the hunched figure in the alcove. The newly cursed man was weeping bloody tears realizing his new self, and his flute was groaning. He himself had once been a similarly insignificant, seared creature with a realization of the truth. He felt the same way when he hit the ground, and he felt it for a long time before he saw Rhianon. So Arno’s condition was familiar to him. There was nothing to strive for, nothing to lose, you could die, but you were immortal. You have to go on living your miserable existence, since death will never come to you.

“You seek Rhianon?”

At the authoritative sound of his master’s voice, Arnaud’s voice roused.

“I… don’t…” He raised his head anxiously and involuntarily squinted at the radiance of Madael’s figure.

“Don’t be afraid.” Madael smiled haughtily at the corners of his lips, letting him know that they were almost on an equal footing now. “I’m not angry with you. I’m even asking you to be my companion.”

How could such a beautiful building go unnoticed? Rhianon was surprised that her house remained invisible to everyone. She stepped out onto the small wrought iron balcony of the second floor and stared out into the street. People passing by didn’t even look in the direction of her house, as if it didn’t exist at all. Maybe they were so used to the sight of it that they no longer wanted to look in its direction. The architecture was new to her, so naturally she stared, and the passersby… Rhianon suddenly began to realize that she could read their minds. For example, the strangers and peddlers from other countries were walking, and there were overseas merchants, and none of them looked at the facade of her house. They didn’t even see it.

Rhianon swallowed hard and felt a sweet copper taste on her tongue. Blood, she didn’t remember biting her lip, but there was a sharp taste of blood in her mouth. It was inhuman blood. She was suddenly reminded of the wound on Madael’s chest and how she had put her lips to it. He himself had made her so that her wounds would be healed. It was a divine elixir granting immortality and secret knowledge. She licked her lips nervously and heard a creature swoop down from the tiled roof above her head and fly to her shoulder. It was only a raven. His eyes gleamed with an evil yellowish light.

“Well, my feathered friend, do you want me to tell you what’s in the heads of these people?” She asked jokingly, and turning around, she noticed that the raven’s tiny eyes were ablaze with the suggestion.

Rhianon involuntarily became wary. Was it a bird? She looked more closely at the raven, trying to determine what kind of creature it was, and what it wanted from her. It was perched beside her, clawing at the carving on the balcony, staring her in the face. The raven interested her. Only so far her powers were not enough to get inside the bird’s head. Trying to do so, Rhianon sensed only gloom and some vague warning, as if she were trespassing on someone else’s territory.

“Your thoughts are forbidden,” she commented, still jokingly, but now with more seriousness. “You’re an odd creature, you are.”

Rhianon sent shivers down her spine. The bird, whoever it was, had managed to frighten her a little.

She felt a sudden urge to leave the balcony, and to shut the shutters so that the crow couldn’t fly behind her. It was a silly thought. What made her think that her new feathered acquaintance would want to live indoors rather than out in the open.

“You’re lucky you can fly anywhere you want, and there’s no kingdom you have to fight for,” Rhianon glanced at him angrily. She was suddenly seized by a sharp, black envy of the bird. It was a hideous feeling, more burning than fire, and she wanted to reach out and wring the raven’s neck.

It wouldn’t let go, of course. But why should she hate it? It’s just a crow. It doesn’t take anything from her, and it has no claim to anything, it just flies over the rooftops. So let it fly away. But he did not fly away.

Rhianon noticed the tiny crown on his head. She could tell he was a crowned raven. They only had that in fairy tales. She reached out to touch it, but the bird swooped down and landed on a curl of wrought ironwork placed just above it.

The girl blinked her eyes, wondering if what she was seeing was an illusion. The tiny crown was certainly little larger than a ring a bird would steal, and it had sharp, jagged teeth. It was undoubtedly a real crown, very dainty too, but it was the size of a bird’s head. Only gnome craftsmen could forge such a crown, but why would they make a crown for a bird.

This is the real mystery and how to solve it. Fate and his cellar of magical wines were worthless by comparison. They couldn’t intrigue her like that.

Rhianon realized she was mistaken only when she heard sounds coming from inside the house. It sounded like glass breaking and heavy objects falling. She was startled. It felt like the ground beneath the house was shaking. What was it, an earthquake? But then why passers-by on the narrow strip of street near the other houses did not notice it. And if it was not an earthquake, what was it? Is it only the devil that got into her house together with the gnome, swaying on the chandeliers and smashing the glasses?

Rhianon hurried downstairs. She turned only when she reached the stairs, remembering that she hadn’t closed the glass doors leading to the balcony, but it was too late to return. Downstairs, something strange was indeed happening. The noise was so loud it hurt my ears. It was as if every evil creature from all over Vinor had gathered for a rave in her cellar. Rhianon cautiously went to the door and peered inside. It was dark in the cellar, with only the glow of the already corked barrels. It was as if she had not removed the plugs from the wells, but the jewels still glittered on the floor.

Rhianon lightly touched the head of the copper sphinx lying by the cellar door. She wondered why she had not seen it there before. It seemed that before the sphinx statues had been placed at the foot of the stairs, not here. The metal heated from her quick touch. Though she didn’t feel the fire raging inside her now, the sphinx still seemed red-hot.

A moment more and the clawed paw resting on the pedestal moved gracefully. In the next instant it might have caught at Rhianon’s hem, but the girl prudently recoiled. Oh, dear! Rhianon let out a deep sigh. She’d seen statues come to life before, but this one scared her. The yellow copper played with the glare and shimmer of the lion’s body, and the beautiful long-haired head seemed surprisingly angry. It was not clear to the end whether it was female or male. Like Madael’s angels the graceful face combined both girlish charm and strength.

“Stay back!” Rhianon backed away. She stepped toward the middle of the room and noticed that the carpet pattern was also vibrating strangely, as if the carpet itself were woven of many tiny bodies that suddenly came to life and moved.

The chandelier above her head began to swing dangerously. Someone had deliberately knocked over one of the candles in its wells and it fell to the carpet.

“Get out of our house!”

Rhianon turned at the insolent shouting and noticed the leprechauns rocking the chandelier. They were perched on twisted brass ornaments and making grimaces. What brazen creatures they were, and how many of them there were. Some of them were hanging over the ornaments, some were dragging candles from their holes to throw them down, and others were dancing between the candles. But as soon as they looked at Rhianon’s face, the fun stopped. The candles that had been taken out of the chandelier did not fall. Tiny brown faces and glowing red eyes stared at the princess as if they had had a vision.

“Her Highness!” Someone shrieked, and the others scrambled to a halt. Their incredulous gestures must have been mistaken for bows. Rhianon arched an eyebrow in surprise when she heard what sounded like an apology, and the next moment the tiny folk were scrambling up the chandelier cord. Perhaps now they would lurk in the attic and not bother her anymore. Or maybe they’d get the hell out of here.

Rhianon sighed in relief when she noticed that the copper sphinx had also retreated to its place on the pedestal.

So that’s what power the face of their lord has over these creatures. Rhianon sighed as she approached the wall mirror. Seeing her face in it, she involuntarily recognized Madael’s features as well. If she had been born a boy, she might have been just like him. In the meantime, she was his female counterpart, extraordinarily graceful and incredibly beautiful. If she were a man it would be easier to win her own throne. But what kind of relationship would they have with Madael himself then? Is it a friendship? Is it a hatred? And in the end love, because fallen angels don’t care who they fall in love with, they themselves are sexless and their love is all the more abnormal. So is their lust. She remembered Eve’s corpse. He was a poor beautiful child. His fate was only to be regretted.

“And what is about your own child, my lady? You wouldn’t want something like that to happen to him, would you?”

She turned sharply on the voice. After she had managed to disperse all the evil in the house with one look, Rhianon had not expected any other visitors. But one of them was already standing in front of her. She fervently hoped that he was the last and that on seeing her face he too would hurry away and leave, apologizing to the queen of all the damned for accidentally causing trouble, but he was in no hurry. Besides, he had nothing to do with the swarm of those little pranksters who had cleared off the chandelier and out of the cellar, where now all that remained was the low table set up for the celebration and the broken glasses. Some nimble furry paws quickly cleaned it all up. The sphinxes, too, were frozen in lazy poses. The previously shaking walls, ready to bury Rhianon under their bulk, now calmed down. Only the stranger in black remained, and he was surprisingly calm. Somewhere she had seen him before, but now she looked at the unattractive features as if for the first time. They were dark bottomless eyes, a big hooked nose and colorless lips, and pitch-black hair down to his shoulders. It was glossy and shiny, and it looked like it had raindrops stuck in it, like captive sparks. Yes, the hair and the eyes were probably the only things about him that were beautiful. And then there were the clearly outlined cheekbones, the clean forehead and the strong-willed chin. The more she looked at him, the nicer he seemed. He leaned forward as if to salute her, and then a black feather caught in the lap of his cloak became visible.

“You are a raven!” Rhianon looked down at the long, knotty fingers, now lined with expensive rings and rings, but still resembling the claws of a bird. And the short black cloak, it was like the wings of a raven. But then where is the crown.

“I am Prince,” he corrected her gently, bowing his head even lower.

Are you Prince of Crows,” Rhianon grinned. “And your holdings in this city and all your subjects are on my roof and other eaves as far as Vinor.”

It would be easy for her to drive him out now. If he is but one of the wizards, he cannot disobey the devil’s mistress. Just one order from her and he will be gone.

“My principality is slightly north of Loretta,” he suddenly protested, his words sounding unexpectedly weighty. “It’s quite small, but a man’s strength lies in his ruler, not his army.”

“Especially if the ruler is a sorcerer,” Rhianon chided him. “Yes, you’re right. That’s why you should guard your own borders. Your people would be lost without you.”

“And their lives are nothing to me.” He moved suddenly toward Rhianon, moving so fluidly and so quickly, as if he were flying from one place to another. In an instant he was standing in front of her and seemed to want to touch her, but he didn’t dare, as if the mere sight of her already burned. That’s how you reach for a candle flame and want to catch it, but you know it’s too hot and will burn your palms.

Rhianon felt the same way. She is tiny and graceful, like a candle in the shadow of a raven’s wings, but when it comes into contact it is the one that will prove most powerful and all-consuming. So the victory is hers. She smiled defiantly at the intruder.

“Then you’d better have your dukedom in the heath.”

“But that is where it is,” he did not seem offended, his reply was sincere, “and all around is rock and empty land, burned by your husband’s dragons. I’ve tried to tame them, but they’re surprisingly docile.”

“They may not remember who they are, but they know their value and would serve no one but me and my husband,” she did not know why she had to defend the dragon packs, perhaps offended by his tone and the arrogance with which he spoke the word “her husband. Madael cannot become anyone’s consort. You can’t marry a fallen angel.

“But you would have a child by a fallen angel.”

Rhianon became wary. He read her mind, and did so with surprising ease, as if she hadn’t been able to put any barriers around her. She was obviously still very inexperienced, or her doubts had opened a loophole to him. You have to be perfectly calm to keep your secrets, and she was too worried.

“Is your realm really in the middle of nowhere?” Rhianon asked with a self-assurance that struck her as if she were talking to an ambassador or a servant.

“Well, there were villages and manors, of course, only now there are boulders, like your esteemed husband’s temples. You see, I, too, like to turn vexed people into stones or fertilizer for planting luxuriant thorny roses, which then thirst for the blood of passersby.”

She imagined thorns reaching for someone’s arm on their own. One might crouch by the roadside, hear the quiet rustling of the leaves, and become interested in the roses, approach, and then walk away wounded or not at all. Rhianon imagined this picture so clearly, as if the guest had conveyed it on some deep subconscious level.

“And that you don’t pity the travelers either, they’re not your subjects anymore, and I understand they pay tribute for passage through your lands.”

“Nearly everyone is a nuisance to me,” he said casually. Then he suddenly gave her a beaming smile. It is except you, of course. That’s why I’ve decided to propose to you.

He bowed before her in an unusually low bow. At this he looked ridiculous. He had a disproportionate, excessively long body. He looked as if he might strike the chandelier with his head.

“Is it a suggestion?” Rhiannon took a step back from him. “I’m not following you at all.”

He straightened his shoulders and gave her another dazzling smile. “I have principalities, you have a kingdom. You have fire within you, but you have not gone far in the study of witch folios. And I am, at the moment, the strongest sorcerer the world has ever known. With our combined efforts, we could accomplish a great deal.”

“Are not from the School of Witchcraft?” She squinted, trying to remember. Could he have seen him there? He could have been one of the shadows in the halls.

“God forbid,” he grinned grimly. “College, school, university, it’s all for suckers who need a guide and a teacher’s pokes in their knowledge. A truly gifted man learns by himself. Did anyone ever teach you how to burn cities?”

Rhianon became suspicious. Rhianon exhaled, sending him backward, a loud crackle of flame shooting from her lips. It flew across the room and still caught the lining of his cloak. The fabric began to smoke. There was a pungent smell of burning. Rhiannon waited until her guest had knocked the flame from the flames. It was surprisingly voracious and left several large burnt holes in the cloak. Though it was inappropriate, it was the guest who apologized to Rhianon. On reflection, she decided it was right, since he had provoked her. He must have known that any negative emotion would set her on fire, and yet he could not help himself.

“You’re right. Do not make me angry, or the whole house will burn down and I’ll be left without a roof over my head, and you… well, I’m not going to plant roses yet, so I don’t need fertilizer from corpses. And you’ve got a lot to live for. You’ve got far-reaching plans. You want to conquer the world?”

“And not only the human world,” the guest was not confused as usual and did not seem to catch the sarcasm in his voice. “There is a kingdom, but people do not live there… only those whom your husband exiled. He must be fed up with them. It’s a good thing he didn’t exterminate them, because they made a splendid country.”

“He’s quite the connoisseur of art,” Rianon grinned, remembering the statues that came to life and the blood and meat on the gilded tableware.

“Well, then it really is beauty, and with a capital letter,” he suddenly grabbed her hand and put it to his lips, seemingly indifferent to the fact that he still had burns on his palm. “It is a great beauty. It’s amazing how having it has left you without a kingdom.”

“And even with fire inside me, my kingdom would not be returned, and it’s a pity you didn’t have my gifts, or you would have known how to use them. With your sagacity, you could have taken any country with less.”

“Only I would have preferred to have more.”

“I’ve known such dreamers before you. By the way, how did you get into my house?”

“No, flew in through the window. Remember, you didn’t lock the doors to the balcony. That’s dangerous in a place like Vinor, there are too many birds and not all of them are as friendly as I am.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she agreed politely, but she doubted that the others could be more dangerous than him. He reeked of something evil and unpleasant, like rot from a grave, despite the pleasant scent of lavender and musk that followed him. But Rhianon could feel the soul. Even in a rosebush you can spot a worm. Their rich scent may beat the stench of rot beneath the ground, but there are those who can see through the soil, after all. Hildegard is like that, with her evil charms she can probably see through people. The only pity is that she herself is blackest inside and will only use her abilities to her detriment. Perhaps she would make a fine match for this dandy. They are both cunning, conceited, and prefer dark colors in their clothing and blackness in their souls. What a pair they’d make. They were a devil and a she-devil for sure. The world would have shuddered at them. Her guest, however, seemed most intent on the opposite. The way he looked at Rhianon’s golden curls, as if he’d seen the jewels in the treasury.

“I haven’t even had time to introduce myself,” he bowed low again, hiding his burnt palm in the folds of his robes. “I am Prince Rothbert.”

It was a strange, unpleasant name. She grimaced, the sound like a crow’s caw and he himself looked like a huge raven, even the burnt holes in his cloak were beginning to heal, no longer spoiling the overall impression of mourning.

“I am Princess Rhianon,” she said reluctantly.

“Yes, I know. I’ve known you for a long time.”

“Why, you’ve never been to court, or I would have remembered…” She was surprised at first, but suddenly she understood. There were crows on Manfred’s balconies. They’d flocked there in flocks, and one of them might well have been crowned. She’d never really paid much attention to them, so she hadn’t noticed.

He must have been curious to peep at her through the window. She wondered how much he managed to see. He must have known how often young men and even mature men die because of her. Cupid’s arrow is another best weapon. All he has to do is introduce his enemy to Rianon to drive him out of the world. There were tournaments, duels, suicides over her. He had most likely seen enough of the world crumbling around the princess. And now he needed her as a weapon superior to all.

But there was also Madael. What if he didn’t allow that to happen? Had the prince thought of such an option? Rhianon thought and something inside her fluttered. She put her hands to her waist.

“It is fire within,” her interlocutor stretched out understandingly. “It is the child of fire. It will burn you from the inside out. And if not, it will burn you after he is born. You would need a father, someone with enough magical power to look after him and teach him everything he knows. And, of course, such a creature needs to be controlled. Otherwise it will destroy everything around it.

“And you offer yourself for the role of mentor,” Rhianon was already relieved, and she raised her head proudly.

“No, my lady, I offer myself as your consort,” he wanted to get down on one knee in front of her, just a moment of inner struggle and he was at her feet. “I offer you my hand and heart and all my charms. Everything is at your disposal.”

Rhianon grimaced. It all looked ridiculous and grim at the same time. The gentleman in black at her feet looked like the devil, young, quite seductive, and impossibly cunning. Only after the angelic beauty she had seen, he was no longer attractive to her, despite all his suggestions.

“But I already have one husband… in your own words.”

“He is in heaven, my lady, or in hell, whatever. You need someone else on earth, someone flesh and blood.”

“Is he with raven’s wings?”

“I know quite a bit about your preferences. Winged creatures are your only passion, and humans are as unimportant to you as they are to me. You and I will get along just fine.”

“I don’t think so,” she pulled her train proudly away from his kneeling figure. It seemed like he was about to start praying at her. Her only wish was to get him out of here, but she didn’t know how.

“Shouldn’t you be getting home to your state?” She asked arrogantly.

“Except in your society, but if you become my princess, it will not be enough.”

“And what will happen, we will summon dragons, subdue them, and go straight from your heath to Loretta, and then the whole world ahead of us. And when you have taken over everything, all that will be left is to bore and bring up the devil’s child. You want him more than you want me. Am I right?”

His eyes flashed with understanding fire. Rhianon herself did not know how she had been able to guess his intentions. Maybe she could read someone’s thoughts, too.

“He’s important to me,” Rothbert said.

“You were so in love with his father,” Rhianon said with a sneer. “Then I understand you very well. You are not the only one. But this child may never be born. I might kill it before it’s born, long before it becomes what it could be.”

“You wouldn’t do that, would you?” He reached out his hand toward her without fear of being burned. He did so in vain. The flicker of light between them slapped his fingers.

“I’ll do as I please,” Rhianon tilted her head, watching him with interest. It seemed that at least some part of his thoughts and memories were finally becoming visible to her. She had learned many interesting things about both the castle in the rocks and the wasteland overgrown with killer roses or scorched by the flames of the dragons he had failed to hold back with magic. His black books and powers were only enough to summon them, but not to control them. He must be covered in burns himself, and that is why he is wrapped in black up to his chin. She grinned.

“I shall be your consort. I will be the Queen of the world.”

He nodded.

“And what about the girl named Diana, who sits in a tower with no entrances and exits among nothing but books, waiting. Will the crowned raven no longer appear at her window to brighten her loneliness? She will never get out of that tower. All around are vines and spells. She is so confused.”

“She is a prude,” he said contemptuously. “So she stays there.”

“So you are going to forget her?” Rhianon was slightly offended, she could not have forgotten Madael herself, but apparently not everyone has such strong feelings.

“She is already forgotten,” he said nonchalantly.

“And I’d advise you to stick with her, she won’t burn you if you touch her, and you’ll burn with me,” she wasn’t joking, he should have realized that. His eyes gleamed with reproach and anger for a moment, but the next moment he was up. He was on his feet already far away from Rhianon and close to the open window.

“Have a safe flight,” she said indifferently to his silent plea.

“So you won’t change your mind?” He didn’t sound hopeful at all in his voice, but he wanted to be sure.

“I don’t change my mind.”

All she had to do was watch the crow fly away from the window. Rothbert was right, she should lock the shutters tightly, and it was a pity she didn’t know how to put protection spells around windows and doors so no one could get in. She wished she had stayed at the School of Witchcraft or found a wandering wizard to tutor her in the simplest of witchcraft techniques. In life, you have to know how to defend and protect not only yourself, but also your home, if you do not want such unexpected guests to come.

Rhianon wondered. And it was he who had sold her the house, this Prince Rothbert, or Raven, whatever he really was. Now he had her dimes jingling in his pockets. Even from a distance she could hear them trilling and some inarticulate “thank you.” Or does it only seem that way to her. Perhaps by touching the coins he had learned about Madael. It is unlikely he had ever seen the fallen angel himself. At any rate, Rhianon found no memory of him in his mind. Only the boulders and ceremonies performed in their ring were imprinted there. Rothbert had somehow survived, even having been there. Though it was probably there that he lost some of his appeal. His face seemed to bear the mark of darkness. He might even have been handsome if it hadn’t been for the blackness pressing down on him from within.

“It is a gloomy cloud, not a guest,” Rhianon said to herself, and she closed the shutters tightly. Suddenly there was a tiny latch, and Rhianon snapped it shut.

“There, no more guests.”

“What about me,” someone squeaked from behind the statue of the dead sphinx. “You forgot about the underground passages, Princess. I can get through them to any place in the world, even the Cathedral of Thunder itself, no matter what you do.”

Of course it was Fate. His high hat peered out from behind the sphinx’s lion-shaped shoulder, his evil eyes gleaming like flames in the half-light.

“Get out of here,” she said to him. Except that his reference to the Cathedral of Thunder awakened something unpleasant in her soul. She wondered if he’d really been there, or if he was just lying. Was such a place at all? Madael had said there was. He could be trusted. But then, it was a scary place. People lost their lives there, their minds, their human bodies. Rhianon squeezed her eyes shut painfully. The flame seemed to flare up inside her again. Everything under her heart was on fire. There was a child in there now. He was right inside her. Involuntarily she tensed. She really wanted to get rid of it. She was afraid of this child. It was already causing her so much pain. And then what would happen? What would the birth be like? Would she surely die giving birth to a non-human creature?

“You allowed this to happen. You didn’t choose us,” the dwarf said, his mumbling or croaky pixie voice unlike his clear high-pitched one. “We wouldn’t give you up to anyone.”

She turned around. Maybe she only thought she saw in the corner a beautiful slender figure with long dark hair and white wings. Blue eyes looked up at her from the almost transparent face. They gleamed like sapphires. She had never seen anything like it before. She imagined a second such angel, more like Madael and also skilled with a sword. He, too, was everywhere behind her, seeping into every room like a rain of fire. Transparent as he was, he showered his fiery breath on everything. Who was closer to her? He was dark-haired, calm, cold, and pervasive as air or water. Looking at him she remembered the lilies for some reason.

The angels were calm, impassive, strong and yet never in a hurry to help, but bringing too much trouble. Their scrutiny had cost her dearly, she knew that now. They were so bright, but they were by no means to be trusted. They were striking in their beauty, but they were nothing compared to Madael. With him she could know love, tenderness, and passion, but with them she would be withdrawn, empty, and unfeeling. Exactly like them. And now, why would she want them to propose to her?

“It’s too late,” she said coldly. And his sigh was no comfort to her. He himself had always been insensitive to human suffering and to those who prayed to him. He could send trials rather than help. In this way he made those who suffered suffer even more. So why should she pity him. He wouldn’t get a copy of the lost angel in her person, no matter how much he wanted it. No matter how much he wanted them both.

As if sensing her determination to reject him, he disappeared and so did the other. But the running water and the fire burning in the candles still seemed to retain their presence. Even the air around them was full of them and the scent of lilies, more spicy and luscious than the ones Madael had had.

These two are completely false. Perhaps it was because they didn’t want it that she suddenly decided to keep the baby. She had to do something to contradict their wishes. Why do they think that everything in the world should be the way they want it. It’s arbitrary. No one can be in charge enough to command your feelings. They were already trying to indoctrinate her with their thoughts.

“Come to us! Come to us! Come to us!” It sounded like a refrain in her head. It was the echo of the celestial spheres and all the coldness of the skies. The snow is so pure and white too, but it burns with cold when it comes into contact. Here they are like snow, in spite of all their high qualities.

She wanted to banish them once and for all, so that they would no longer bore her with their hypocritical sorrow. Every time she felt them, it was as if they were preparing to bury her belly and weep for her on purpose. Who needs such friends or patrons? Let them be gone forever along with all their grief. If they lost their beloved Dennitsa, that’s their problem. They couldn’t keep him and now they can’t get her in return for him.

Rhianon found the candle and lit it with her sigh. Then she held the flaming tip up to the bowl of water. She wasn’t very good at spells, but she hoped it would work. Steam went off the water. The fire hissed without touching its surface. There seemed to be a barrier between them. The two elements did not want to merge and resisted each other. But if she managed to mix them, the uninvited guests would be gone forever.

“Michael, Gabrielle…” she whispered the names she suddenly remembered. “I do not recognize you as my patrons. You have no right to my lover, to me, to my child. Leave me forever.”

The incense went out touching the flame, but there was no water left in the bowl either. It had evaporated. Only a slight vapor emanated from the empty vessel. It dissipated before it could rise into the air. Good. At least she was free of them now. Rhianon held the torch to her lips again, but did not breathe on it again.

“If you’d been with us, we’d have kept you from Madael,” their voices echoed farewell and whispered, far away, as if in a dream. “You regret us, too, don’t you?”

“I wish I’d chased you away before,” she answered aloud. “Madael and I would have met sooner.”

Obsession

Ron knew this was his last night. They had already told him that. The rustle of their wings, both light and dark, echoed eerily in his ears, completely enslaving his will and taking away his perception of the world.

The thin voice of his mind was still trying to break through the thickness of nightmares and oblivion, but it was doing almost nothing. “What is the matter with you, Robert, son of a noble feudal lord, have you been bewitched so badly that you have imagined yourself an outlaw, waiting for the noose, and are now writing messages in your own blood for a girl you only imagined. She does not exist. You write warnings into the void. And the golden-haired fairy from the forest doesn’t exist in the world. She’s just your fantasy. What a pity you can no longer live without that fantasy.”

He shook his head stubbornly and brushed the unruly blond strands from his forehead. His hair was even longer, though he’d recently trimmed it with a dagger, quickly and unevenly, but it looked well-groomed and neat. Long hair was a feature of an angel or his victim. Ron didn’t feel like anyone’s victim. He was just dying for love.

“And for someone who doesn’t love you,” the voices from beyond the clouds whispered in his mind, impertinent and mocking in all their coldness. He tried not to listen to them. They could tell him nothing new. He had already learned too much and now he could not live with that knowledge. But he tried to impart that knowledge to her.

“Do you want to die by yourself and save her?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone so harsh that the other innkeepers stared at him in amazement, for they had not seen what he was talking about. And a young man was talking to himself is too much, even for a drunk. Only he wasn’t drunk, he was obsessed. Obsessed with her…

Some of his unearthly overseers had left oddly minted coins on the table, and now they gleamed ominously, as if they had just been plucked from the hands of a dead man. On one of them was a distinct profile of Rhianon, as if she were already queen and her face had been etched into the coin. Maybe he was imagining it. She seemed everywhere to him now. Coins with her profile didn’t need to be cast to remind him of her. He recognized her in everything, in the whispering of the spirits, in the pleasant coolness of the wind, in the blue of the lakes. And these gold pieces are as golden as her hair. Their ringing is like her laughter still echoing in his ears. Though it was her laughter he had never heard, he had rarely even seen her smile, most of the time it was sad and mysterious, but now for some reason he imagined her just laughing, a wicked, tinkling, laughter. And he liked her like that even more. Just the thought of her sent a sharp pain through his brain. Such attacks were frequent now. Along with them his consciousness began to burn, and he didn’t know where to go from his pain. Something seemed to roll over him like a black cloud, squeezing him and preventing him from living or breathing. Even in a dungeon, in a stone sack, or in a narrow cage he would not feel so broken and destroyed. It seems now, after meeting the princess, he is even more of a prisoner than he would have been in the dungeon. She came into his life and left, all golden and seductive, but after her there remained in Ron’s life and such a black abyss opened up that it consumed the whole world.

The innkeeper’s daughter passed by, a beautiful dark-haired girl, her breasts high and sharply defined by the neckline of her blouse and her seductive swollen lips. Previously Ron would not have been able to take his eyes off her; now he wouldn’t even look. The mug in front of him was full again, but he knew that the wine wouldn’t take away his pain or even help him get drunk. On the contrary, the more he drank, the heavier it became, as if there was something in the heady liquor that reinforced the curse that hung over him, the unquenched passion, the love… Yes, he loved Rhianon. He adored her, and he knew that she was unavailable. He was young, he was strong. He was agile enough. He could find common ground with the most desperate bandits and steal even the king’s daughter from the castle. He could kill a guard, take his armor, disguise himself in it, and sneak into the king’s chambers. A hundred plans would mature in his mind, one riskier than the next, but in the end he would find the right path to his goal. Rhianon would have been his if she had been just a princess, a mere mortal no matter what rank or kind, but she was almost a deity. The mere sight of her burned him. Strangely, he couldn’t see her at all, but she seemed to be everywhere: in every blaze of fire, in every rustle of leaves, at every bend in the road. He is possessed, the priest in the small village church told him, but what can priests know about it. For them, any young passion is an obsession. Ron was tormented by something else entirely. He was confronted with something unknowable and unbelievable, something that was now destroying him and, after all, he was still in love.

The young man clung to his glass again and of course this only caused a surge of new rage.

“Don’t you dare touch what’s mine,” the still fiery whisper sounded in his ears. “Don’t you dare go near her, don’t you dare even think about her. You can yearn for her all you want, but she belongs only to me. And you’ll be mine when you’re dead, just like any other scum like you.”

The claws in the hair at the back of his head felt like they could have burned through his head, but they didn’t. The pain only burned his brain from the inside out, there were no marks left on his body, at least not visible marks. But Ron was certain that if the Inquisition guards had grabbed him now and started looking for the devil’s mark on him. They would have found it for sure. He felt that he was already marked by the devil. And it wasn’t about going to the cursed valley at all. It was something else…

It might be the last sunset of his life. The fire-red glare of the sun on the facets of the window pane reminded him of the shimmering wings of a fallen angel. He had a fiery sword and guarded Rhianon. He shielded the princess with his inhuman winged body. And behind his back, she remained unreachable.

“You won’t let anyone near her…” Ron whispered, not at all concerned that anyone would hear his words, addressed into the void.

“What do you mean?” One of the maids who’d obviously wanted to linger at his desk looked suspicious. She, too, was brunette, young and very attractive, but Ron looked at her as if she were nothing.

“Get off,” he didn’t notice her pursed lips and angry look. He just didn’t care. And he’d looked after attractive girls before, especially dark-haired ones. His own blond hair had kept him from being attracted to blondes. With Rianon’s arrival, everything was reversed. Now he looked at the gold and remembered her, and he was also unspeakably tugged by the blade of his knife.

“Mastema,” he whispered the forgotten and forbidden name, and then he remembered the dazzling face that had both attracted and frightened him. “You are the fallen angel. You are son of the Dawn. Was she your concubine or your mistress?”

He himself believed more in the latter. Rhianon had always become his mistress. As fragile and touchingly defenseless as a child, inwardly she was unspeakably strong. And she was also so beautiful that it was impossible to take your eyes off of her. And this was no ordinary earthly beauty to look at and forget, but a manifestation of some divine essence. He could not put into words why exactly Rhianon was above all others, but he felt it. She simply wanted to be worshipped, but it was becoming impossible to live without her. No, Dennitsa didn’t have to push him at all. He would have done it himself. Ron glanced once more at the beguiling blade of the knife. Oh yes, he was no longer afraid of the gallows. The blade gleamed so dangerously and seductively. It was as if it were calling to him as voices playing in the streams of the stream had called before, and he reached for it with his own hand.

Now all that remained was to rent a tiny room on the second floor of the tavern; the money they had left him was enough for that. He would properly ban the door and write a final message. Blood is oozing from under his fingernails. There’s enough of it, and he doesn’t need a pen. He convinced himself of that as he scrawled strange symbols on the door and the walls, but they seemed so clear to him. Someone, perhaps a demon, had left paper and pen in his room. Ron used it, too. The more messages there were, the more likely one of them would reach her. He had done all he could for Rhianon.

The unearthly ones didn’t bother him anymore. One must give one last moment of solitude to one who would then forever belong to them. All he had left now were flashes of memories of the winged warrior and his beautiful ward. It was also his own wounds. He remembered the claws pulling curls away from his ear and against his cheek.

“All you can do now it is die,” Mastema’s whisper still lingered in his ears.

“It is for you, Rhianon,” he finished the last lines with the blood from his slit wrist, the red stained quill sliding across the paper, leaving a wet trail. And then he brought the knife to his other hand as well. By the time the guards found him, he was already dead.

Rhianon counted the remaining ducats. They were all different, but the embossing on them looked equally exquisite. Not money, but a work of art. She would not have dared to part with it. And who, except Prince Rothbert, would want to accept money like that, which no one in any country in the world could pay with, except in some magical land. Having accepted it, the people had only to melt it down. The gold was pure and excellent. But the embossing on it was so strange: roses, a solar eclipse, and wings of an angel… Rhianon flinched when she noticed the latter.

She wondered if she could trade her pendant back from the dwarf for one such coin. That Fate was so strange. There was no negotiating with him. He would just take a coin and cheat. She wished she could just swindle him out of his pendant. But how is it to do that. And where she can find him. If he don’t show himself or don’t answer, you can’t find him. But if he has a hiding place in the cellar where he sleeps, all we have to do is find his hiding place and steal the pendant. And what if he really does sneak into the house from underground? It’s not like she can go underground through a narrow manhole to find him. He might never come again and then the pendant is really lost forever. As she chased Fate away, Rhianon had no idea that she would still have to miss him. Without his help she can’t go back to the castle now. And did she want to go back?

Rhianon weighed the coins in the palm of her hand. They seemed to have been lighter recently. Gold can’t be expected to gain weight.

“Oh, it’s you… come here!” She noticed Fate’s head behind the stand by the spinning wheel. “Don’t be afraid! Come on! Or are you afraid of getting burned?”

Reluctantly he took a few steps forward. He looked ridiculous. Rhianon would have laughed if she’d seen such a funny-looking runt with a grumpy old face, but now she wasn’t amused.

“I have something I can give you in exchange for my jewelry,” she decided to be sly and show him one of the coins first. Rhianon thought that Fate would be rubbing his hands greedily at the sight of such gold, but he gave a startled sob and ran behind the spinning wheel as fast as if he were being chased by wild dogs.

“You’re not a lover of antiquities,” Rhianon said aloud in pity. If the dwarf had behaved like Prince Rothbert, who had expressed the keenest interest in the pieces of gold, it would have been easy to negotiate with him. If he had valued her coins as well, he would have given her a box of jewels in addition to the pendant.

After all, with just a few of those coins from a connoisseur of witchcraft rarities, she’d bought an entire house. Of course, her mind told her that she was too soon to be deceived. She’d managed to impress the evil creatures that lived there, but it would have been hard for anyone else. The walls themselves seemed alive and capable of moving on their own to crush a new occupant. Rothbert had muttered the first time they’d met that the house had driven him out. She hadn’t realized what that meant at the time, but gradually she began to guess.

Whispers seemed to emanate from the walls, patterns in the carpets that moved like snakes, statues or stuffed magical animals that came to life by themselves. It would be enough to drive anyone out of here. Even a wizard, if he couldn’t control the magic that lived here. But Rhianon herself had no intention of leaving. It suited her fine that the front of the house remained invisible to passersby. That way no one could find her, even if they looked for her. Of course, it is unlikely that the guards of Loretta would reach Vinor. And no one would allow them to take over someone else’s territory. Still, living in a cloaked house suited her just fine. No hassle, no need to make friends with neighbors or pay taxes or talk to any of the townspeople. Except that she would have liked to walk down the street. Too bad she couldn’t turn invisible herself.

“She would have woven a cloak for you that would make you invisible.”

Rhianon had grown accustomed to voices from the void, so she paid no attention to the little squeak. The spinning wheel in the corner spun smoothly, as if someone was sitting behind it spinning, but Rhianon tried not to notice it either. But sometimes it seemed to her that the few benches beside the spinning wheel were not empty.

She looked out the window. There were very few passers-by, so that she immediately caught sight of the tall figure of a pilgrim dressed in gray. At first she wondered if it could be Madael. Could it be Madael? But a moment later she realized it wasn’t. She could tell by his gait and the lean, long arms peeking out from between the wide sleeves. They appeared to be covered in sores. Rhianon shuddered, and before she knew it, she dropped a coin from her hands. It rattled like a melody and rolled across the floor, and at that moment the pilgrim looked up at her. There was no doubt; he had seen it, just as he had seen the house itself. Could it be? Rhianon stared at him dumbly, unable to look away. Yes, no doubt, under the gray hood was the face of an angel, but not of Madael. Pale skin slightly scarred, beautiful golden lashes almost covering empty eyes.

“Who are you?” she asked with one lip, but he heard her. A wing under her cloak seemed to flutter open, pointing toward the house with the mourning wreath hanging on the door. Someone had just died there, and a pilgrim was coming out of there.

Rhianon suddenly realized.

“It is Death,” the sores on his hands looked so much like the bubonic plague, only on the pale angelic skin they blurred. What if his wings were just as scarred and ulcerated?

His pale lips moved slightly. From this distance, of course, she couldn’t hear the words, but those clearly sounded in her head.

“What if the next one is someone you know?”

She didn’t feel sorry for her acquaintances at all. On the contrary, she would gladly send an angel of death to Manfred or any of the traitors who had robbed her of her throne. Conrad and Hildegard might as well be covered in bubonic plague. She should not feel sorry for them. Except that the first person she thought of was a young man with blond hair and a kind smile. Ron! For some reason she was frightened. She was almost certain the angel in gray was coming after him.

It only took her a few seconds to run outside. It was frightening to approach the angel who spread disease, but Rhianon was sure that the fire within would protect her from any infection, and even from death.

“Who are you following now?” She asked.

“Perhaps one, maybe all,” he moved his shoulder gracefully. Despite the wounds that covered his skin like pus flowers, he maintained a dignified countenance and an uncanny lack of restraint. He looked as if he were a statue.

Rhianon suddenly realized that no one else on the street could see him, only she alone.

“Perhaps even I have come for you,” the angel whispered, throwing his hand forward slightly. Rhianon recoiled frightened from the ulcerated fingers. No way should she let them touch her.

“Then you were sent by those I chased away,” Rhianon believed they were capable of, the rejected offers of angels cost dearly. “You’d better take this.”

She tossed one of her coins on the sidewalk. He slowly bent down to pick it up. Everything was happening as if in a dream.

“Is it possible to buy off your own death?” She joked.

“Yes, by giving it to someone else,” he answered quite seriously. “Imagine someone close to you dies today. Who would you give in return?”

Rhianon glanced around the street. People hurried past, as if they could sense the danger coming from a wicked-haired girl who stood in the middle of the road and bravely communicated with nothing.

“Well, who should I look to now?”

Rhianon did not know, and probably never would have seen the creature if she had come here without Dominic’s gold. It was all the coins he had enchanted. They gave her the property of seeing the translucent, visceral figure of sickness and paying it off so that it would go away and pounce on someone else.

“It is that florist,” she blurted out at random, pointing to a lush flower stall, near which an elderly man was bustling about with a cartload of geraniums.

“Yes, it is!”

The head under the gray hood nodded understandingly. This is all some kind of wild game. Rhianon backed away from the strange interlocutor, and he had already moved fluidly forward, disappearing in front of the flower counter as if to vanish.

She was still staring after him when a clatter of hooves sounded somewhere nearby. The wagon that had darted around the corner was now hurtling right toward her. Unfortunately, Rhianon noticed it too late. In a panic she covered her face with her hands, not knowing what to do. Let the wagon burst into flames, she begged, right now, along with the driver and the horses. Only the fire she’d summoned hit the shingles on the roof of some house, not the wagon at all. One more moment and she would be crushed. Rhianon braced herself for the worst. It was too late to run, and the danger was still coming.

She would have screamed in a moment, but then a fireball, cleverly thrown, hit its target. It seemed as if a comet had flown down the street. What was it? Was it a lighted ball? Was it a flaming arrow? Either way, the frame of the wagon burst into flames, the burnt horses roaring terrified. Someone grabbed Rhianon by the shoulder and dragged her out of the way, away from the hooves of the rampant horses.

She couldn’t catch her breath for a minute, and then she looked at the masked face, the blond hair, and the uniform of the student of the School of Blacksmithing. It was Clive, of course. He was another ghost.

— How did you do that? — She was impressed by the fireball, as if it had been launched from a catapult. — How? You made it out of my fire. It’s so hard for me, but not for you. Why not?

“It isn’t hard,” his voice echoed, barely audible. “Learn it yourself. You can do it.”

And, of course, after those words he was gone, as a ghost should. Rhianon sighed. Clive was the second person to tell her that. You have to learn your talent by yourself, and no tutor can help you. Rothbert had meant the same thing.

She returned to the house, closed the door tightly, and became alert when she heard singing softly upstairs. It must be the disembodied voices again. The tune was enchanting, but ominous. The tone seemed both mocking and sneering and moody, but touching at the same time. It could be different, like a musical instrument making one or the other sound, and yet it seemed to remain monotonous at the same time. When you heard it, you could imagine the spinning wheel or the wheel of the whole world.

Only evil fairies could sing like that. Rhianon went upstairs, not expecting to see anything out of the ordinary, after all it might just be echoes taunting her from the walls, but the room was not empty. The spinning wheel was still spinning, but now someone was sucking and threading. It was a bright golden thread. Somewhere nearby a spindle was spinning by itself.

Rhianon did not immediately notice the six tiny figures around the spinner. She almost thought they were relatives of Athenais. The little ladies were all dressed in green, and their hair glowed with copper highlights. Heads as red as the bright sun did not even turn toward Rhianon when she entered. Except that the flowing thread suddenly played with shades of scarlet. Rhianon almost threw up. The thread resembled an elongated vein.

“Come in, don’t be shy,” one tiny lady’s voice impressed Rhianon. It really sounded like music. “Your friend left something for you, and we picked it up.”

“Was it my friend?” Rhianon approached hesitantly. The six tiny ladies fascinated her. There were no flowers growing in their hair, no mossy patches or leaves on their skin, but not even Athenais could match them. So cute! Rhianon wanted to touch one of them, but she didn’t want to burn them or burn herself. The spinsters were like hot rays of sunshine, softened a little by the green of their dresses.

“Your friend is a wandering writer. He wrote down the writings of the angels. You can read, and we can’t,” one spinster explained.

“Yes, we spin and weave and sew, but we don’t write or read.”

“And we, too, want to know everything,” said the third.

Meanwhile, neither the singing nor the sliding of the thread ceased.

Rhianon took a strange, blood-stained sheet of paper from the spinster’s hand.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Rhianon stared at the strange symbols. “But I can tell you one thing for certain — no one of my friends could have written such a thing.”

“Are you sure?” she nodded.

She nodded. Then she noticed the blurred lines at the bottom of the page. It didn’t look like a symbol anymore, it looked like a name.

“Someone died today because of you,” the spinster said, almost chanting. She could have avoided the high notes; her voice sounded like a tune as it was.

The yarn slid out of the thread. Now it was all red, not gold. It was quite unusual for yarn.

The red immediately reminded her of something dangerous, but not fire. Strangely enough, this time no flame stirred inside her, excited by the bright colors. But the rich scarlet hue frightened her all the same, made her pull back and hold her breath. The thread stretched like a vein. Fire had nothing to do with it anymore. Scarlet is associated with an even more crushing force than fire: human blood. It flows through the veins like life itself, and without it, there is simply no life. The messages in Rianon’s hands were written in blood. Why did she decide that these writings were messages? Yes, that’s it, it just occurred to her. She imagined the cut veins, the scarlet streak of blood on them, like a thread. It was a thread of life and a thread of death.

“Ron,” she whispered. “Where is he? You can tell me that, you little spinsters.”

She stressed the last word so that it sounded almost like an insult. Perhaps she had made a mistake. If these creatures are so small in stature, it doesn’t mean they can’t be omnipotent. The tiny heads didn’t even turn in her direction, and the thread continued to ooze.

“Your friend died, we told you,” one of the redheaded spinsters finally relented. “He’s gone, but he left you a legacy of all he had.”

Is it inheritance? Well, then it couldn’t have been who she thought it was. Ron had nothing but… his own blood. Rhianon stared at the sheets in her hands in horror.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered, but the spinners, not even paying attention to her, kept working.

It was nothing to strive for. It was nothing to lose. Everything was already achieved and lost. Madael felt a surprising emptiness. It opened up inside him, like an abyss, ready to swallow everything. And his only universe was now a battlefield. He now rushed at the first call, at any rattle of a weapon, intervening not only in major wars, but also in petty internecine squabbles between principalities. Cold steel called to him even more strongly than the already powerless calls of a god. He was now the god of war himself, and he spared no one. Arnaud waved in amazement behind him as the angel’s sword plunged again and again into the defeated bodies, cutting through lats and ribs and soft flesh as well. The fountains of scarlet droplets gave no warmth, their splashes lost against the scarlet background of his cloak, the death convulsions of the bodies did not frighten him. He looked at everything with an indifference bordering on contempt.

“None of them will be in as much pain as I am, and so they die in agony at my feet,” he whispered to Arnaud, who now followed him everywhere. His whispering sounded more like the rustling of wind or the hissing of fire, but Arnaud had grown accustomed to discerning his master’s inhuman speech and even heeded his mental commands at times.

Perhaps he already regretted following his deity. Madael didn’t care. Arnaud had forced himself on him, had rushed to the Cathedral of Thunder to perform the ritual, even though he had not called him. This degenerate had decided he was like the fallen angels, so now let him take a closer look at his fellows.

“Do you like it with me?” He repeatedly tried to ask Arnaud, and each time all he heard in response was the anxious fluttering of his flute. Perhaps her tune meant that Arnaud thought his fate was inevitable.

“It’s like the runes,” he explained, sitting on a boulder by the rocky ridge where they came after battles. Madael needed no rest, just a little break between the endless battles. There was always fighting in the world, people defending their independence, rushing to seize others’ lands or defend their own, engaging in internecine disputes, and just plain languishing with greed. Somewhere daily steel rang out and Madael rushed there. War was his element. The rocks are almost his new home. And the cold wind blowing from the ocean is like a herald of the coming battle. The elements, too, are worthy to be fought. He felt the spray on his face and the violent wind that would knock a man down, almost like a battle. The sea creatures feared him and crawled away from the shore when he appeared here. Slimy and disgusting, only partially retaining the remains of their once beautiful heads, they disgusted him so much that he burned them on sight. Now they were even more afraid of him than before. And only Arnaud sometimes looked at him with inexpressible delight. He adored his master for allowing him to be his servant.

“Have you studied the runes? Have you learned much?” Madael was condescending and sneering, his own shield painted with runes represented something very special. Arnaud wouldn’t dare touch it.

“Yes, I know their names.”

“Are they Earth names.”

“They are Uruz, Berkana, Gebo, Otal, Kano,” he began to enumerate, curling his fingers while the strings of his flute mimicked him nervously. “I have been given Odin, the empty rune of fate. Nothing can be changed, and end and beginning are one and the same, so there is nothing. There is only inevitability.”

“With that I am familiar,” Madeel brushed tiny pearls of watery spray from his hair, as if they would turn into pure pearls at his touch. Arnaud held his breath. Everything that came into contact with him became golden and cursed. And so it was this time. Madael poured him a handful of pure pearls, white as innocence itself, but so sinister.

“Accept gifts from the devil.”

Arnaud shuddered. The angel before him was terrifyingly beautiful, and that beauty reeked of such deathly coldness that it sent shivers down his spine. If he had been a mere human, his heart would have stopped at the sight of something like that.

“What about her?” Arnaud ventured to ask. And at the same moment the blow of the sword nearly struck his neck. He barely dodged. The blade sliced into the chipped edge, cracking the smooth surface. Somewhere far away there was a rumbling sound, sparks flying off. Arnaud shrank back all around him. The sight of the infernal warrior’s rugged beauty was even more frightening than the mass of rock about to fall.

It would crush him beneath it, but it would not crush the angel Mastema. That was the name Arnaud was used to calling him. More complex and ancient, it conveyed his essence far more deeply than the gentle imitation of the names of others who remained in heaven. It was a pity that he was already used to being Madael. His greatness had to be expressed in something intimidating, not in that beautiful sound.

“Let’s go!” The former archangel carelessly held out his hand. He could not stay away from the battlefield for long, and now the echoing sounds of battle somewhere far away were calling him to fly again.

Arnaud glanced cautiously at the glowing, strong palm. It seemed sacrilegious to touch it.

“You don’t want to stay here, where everything is about to collapse?”

Arno didn’t want to.

Bloody gold

The sheets lay on her desk, useless and glowing scarlet. How much life juice had gone into scribbling them? Blood! Rhianon looked at her own wrist and shuddered in fear. It felt as if a knife had gone through it, and the sensation was something of a pinch. She tried to drive the bad thoughts away.

It was all just the intrigues of the house. The supernatural creatures were only hiding in the corners, but they weren’t going anywhere. They were the ones who managed to get Prince Rothbert out of the house. Despite all his magical abilities, he could not get along with the local inhabitants. Rhianon had grown accustomed to them as pieces of furniture, which also had a way of moving from one place to another, though she herself had never touched them. She simply would not have had the strength to move the heavy dressers or move the bed, and the brass sphinxes would not have been able to move an inch, just as the lead-framed mirrors, and the oak tables, and the many carved chairs. The inanimate objects seemed to live and move on their own. As soon as she closed her eyes, the familiar things were suddenly in a completely different place, as if they had grown legs to move. Or someone invisible had moved them.

Even the walls had an eerie, sinister quality to them, as if they were whispering and breathing, and could move at any moment to crush an unwelcome guest. Rhianon often heard sighs coming from the smooth surface of the walls, and she also occasionally heard the haunting singing of the spinners.

Since she was recognized as their queen, the creatures of the house could not simply force her out. But they could make her life here unbearable.

Rhianon opened the sashes of the window and looked out into the street. Yesterday’s encounter seemed today only a dream. The daylight chased away the memory of the angel of death, his gray cloak and ulcerated hands. She could only have dreamt it all. And yet one gold coin among her savings was missing.

The flower stall just to the left of her house still stood out in a riot of colors and blossoms. Lush bouquets loomed brightly in front of the dull facades of nearby buildings, except that no florist beside them was bustling.

“Flowers are not only given to lovers, they are also placed on their graves,” whispered in the ear of Rhianon a thin voice, which could easily be recognized as the voice of one of the spinsters, melodious and at the same time shrill, it was like a taut string. “Both celebrations and funerals are equally celebrated with flowers. And each flower has its own meaning: carnations — honor, daffodils — treason, jasmine — affection, hyacinth — fun, dahlias — victory, tulips — pride, lilies — innocence. The list is endless. And what flowers would you put on Ron’s grave?”

“It is forget-me-nots,” she said mechanically, and then bit her tongue. How do you bury someone who’s probably still alive? It’s like calling death on his head. The evil spirits are capable of driving any man to suicide just for fun, it’s enough to say a name to send them over the man, and then they go to work, begin to tease him, set up different pranks, to lure him to the lost places and all sorts of abuse of the victim. Invisible to others and laughing at you alone, they would drive anyone to madness. Rhianon immediately regretted her levity. She didn’t want to hurt Ron. On his own, he would have survived under any circumstances, unless he had been captured and hanged. A life-loving lad like him wouldn’t just die. Nor would he surrender without a fight. Rhianon didn’t believe he was dead. Most likely the spirits inhabiting the house just wanted to tease her. And it could also be a clever maneuver for her to leave their house to look for her friend. And how could they even know about Ron? He was too far away from here, and the spirits probably stayed chained to these walls. They couldn’t have flown to Loretta and followed him. More likely, they just plucked the first name that came to mind from Rhianon’s mind.

To unwind a little, she went outside. She was tired of the voices of the spirits and their tricks. She wanted a break from them all. Rhianon had been right in her calculations; no one followed her outside. Apparently, indeed, the local evil spirits were confined to this very house. They could watch her from the windows, but not follow her along the road.

And yet some negative influence still remained. Rhianon caught herself continuing to list the flowers and their strange meanings, and even curling her fingers at each name.

“Aster — cunning, heather — solitude, cornflower — modesty, marigold — mental suffering, daisy — reciprocity of feelings, poppy — peacefulness, dandelion — prophetic gift, rosehip flowers — lofty feelings, cherry flowers — good hopes, acacia — tenderness, and chestnut flowers — justice…”

How does she know all this? Rhianon had never thought about the meaning of flowers. Hildegard had more experience with herbs and various medicinal plants. Except that it was unlikely that she used their decoctions to restore someone’s health, rather the opposite. Rhianon was sure that there was no worthy substitute for her in making poisons and spells, and she was certainly an expert in flowers. Or maybe it was the meanings given to the colors by the fairies. The list really could be enumerated to infinity.

“Violet — modesty, water lily — recognition, hydrangea — thoughtlessness, forget-me-not — memory, marigold — remembrance of the dead…”

Rhianon stopped right in front of the flower counter. It seemed strange to her that there was no vendor standing next to baskets full of flowers. The goods were left unattended, one large wicker basket had even tipped over behind the counter and now the primroses and primroses were lying in the dirt.

Rhianon wanted to walk around the counter and peek into the tiny house behind it, but suddenly she noticed a mourning wreath intertwined with black ribbons, and also some kind of sign on the door. In Loretta, it would have warned of an epidemic or contagious disease; perhaps it was the same here.

“Don’t go in there,” someone touched her shoulder.

Rhianon turned around. The man who had spoken to her could be mistaken for an undertaker. He most likely was.

She had already guessed what had happened. But still she asked.

“Did someone die in there?”

A quick silent nod said as much about the situation as any word could.

“It’s infected. No one should go in there.”

Rianon shuddered. She remembered the tall gray-clad figure, the sores on his angelic face.

“How long has the infestation been in town?” She asked.

“Not in the city. One of the newcomers brought it in.”

“What makes you think so?”

The undertaker only shrugged his shoulders.

“Everyone saw the old man bend down to pick up the coin thrown by some stranger. It wasn’t our gold, not the kind you can buy something with in Vinor…”

“And where is that coin now?” Rhianon interrupted him. “He still has it.”

“They could not find it in the house,” he said sullenly.

Rhianon stepped aside to give him way.

She was walking home as if she were delirious. So she hadn’t been dreaming after all.

“And what’s wrong with that,” the strangers’ voices rang out from behind the trellises, invisible though they were in the wall, “people die every day, and then we follow the funeral procession. We love to go to funerals and memorial services. And the young dead women’s hair goes to us for yarn. You should see what it is, too.”

Rhianon tried not to listen to them, but it was difficult. The voices rang inside the wall, and when she lay down on the bed, they even began to come from the ceiling.

Come to think of it, the florist might not have died because of her, but simply because his time had come. He was no longer young. And illness is all the more capable of breaking anyone.

“It’s time to get out of here,” Rhianon thought. If there really is an epidemic in the city, there’s nothing left for her to do here. No one could possibly wander into a house that was invisible, except a traveling wizard, and that wouldn’t last long. The spirits would drive him out themselves. She’s unlikely to have any claim on her property. Better to lock the doors and set off.”

“It is a good idea,” someone whispered in her ear.

She turned her head on the pillow, expecting to see at least Orpheus beside her, but only one of the spinners was fussing over the bedside table. She pulled out a skein of fiery red yarn from somewhere. She seemed to be carrying the sun in her tiny hands, but in an instant she was long gone.

Rhianon wasn’t surprised at how quickly these creatures disappeared and reappeared. Her thoughts were much more preoccupied at the moment with Orpheus. Why had he not yet appeared? Had he really decided to leave her? Had he even made an attempt to wrest her from her master himself? Rhianon remembered his invasion of the tent and the consternation he had felt in front of Madael. He could not, of course, wrestle the lady from her lord. But now she was alone. So who is stopping him from coming?

But the space beside her remained empty, no spirit seeped through the walls to cheer her up and play cards with her. Well, that’s good. It’s even calmer without him. No one is throwing her off her chosen path with their ridiculous suggestions. Ah, yes, it seems she hasn’t chosen her own path yet. Where would she go?

If she had the pendant it would be easy. She’d just wish for the place she wanted to go, and in a moment she’d be standing there. Without the pendant, she would have to travel again, like a mere mortal. Too bad you can’t lure the jewelry back from the dwarf.

Rhianon had almost forgotten that something fiery and unpredictable was slumbering inside her. It was the child of a fallen angel. Sometimes it burns her from within more painfully than fire. How can she go on journeys carrying it inside her? What if another cramp twists her right in front of people? How will she explain her condition to anyone? Her belly remains flat, yet a devil’s seed matures within it. It was son of Dennitsa. What will he be like? Will he be handsome and strong like his father?

Rhianon fell asleep briefly, and when she opened her eyes, she noticed a hunched black silhouette sitting at the foot of the bed. Its claws scratched at the fluted posts that propped up the canopy, its eyes burning like two embers. Burnt wings were folded behind the curved back like a cat’s. Before she’d only seen him in the tower or in Madael’s tent; now he was beside her bed, watching her as she’d watched Yves before.

Strangely, she was no longer afraid of him. He was suddenly no longer scary. The black, burned-out body was more repulsive than terrifying. And also regret. For once he had not been like that. Now Rhianon even knew his name, Asmodeus. But it didn’t tell her anything. It was just one of the names of the demons. To her, all the fallen angels looked alike, burnt and bitter, losing all their beauty but still extremely strong-all of them nameless soldiers in her lover’s vast army. What matures within her now protects her securely from them all.

“Go away!” She whispered, and a moment later he was gone. And there was no ash residue on the bedposts. The crossbeam on which he sat was clean, too: no soot or ash. It was as if Asmodeus had never been here. It would be good if he himself were always only a character in her dreams.

The kingdom of dreams! The name came to her mind, as if that were where she was going. All she had to do was blindfold herself, take a lantern in her hand, disperse the spawn of the night, and wander at random to find it, someone else’s voice told her. Maybe it was in jest. Rhianon imagined herself blindfolded, lantern in hand, walking down the path of dreams. It wasn’t for her. Besides, in the dream realm, everything was subject to Madael. He would find her there faster than anywhere else. For now she wanted to be alone. Not for long at all. It was to gather her thoughts.

She wanted Loretta and at any cost, and instead she was wandering in foreign lands. Living with Madael, she had all but forgotten her main purpose in life. She needed to get hers back, and then she could die and unite with the fallen angel. The Cathedral of Thunder came to mind as if on purpose. If there really was such a place, would she be able to find her way there. And where was the guarantee that after she performed the ritual, she would end up with the one she wanted to join.

Everything was so complicated, and she clearly lacked knowledge. Too bad she didn’t have the ability to learn the forbidden arts, unlike Hildegard. On the other hand, maybe Rothbert was right and she should wait until her latent abilities would make themselves known. But then she would have to wait forever.

She sighed heavily, and a cloud of fire erupted from her chest with her breath. Fortunately it didn’t set anything on fire, but just hung like an orange-golden haze under the bed canopy.

Learn to do it yourself, Clive told her. She decided to give it a try. How do you control fire? How do you make it take the shape of a ball of fire and make a throw? How to create a vision out of fire? She mentally strained, trying to imagine something familiar and achievable, like the star in her hands that had shown her the way to the School of Witchcraft. That star could have been easily manipulated, twisted one way or the other, clenched in her fist, if fire had become as malleable. For a moment nothing happened. Rhianon was already desperate, but after a minute the orange substance suddenly began to take the shape of a pointed star, bright, yellow, with red lines around the edges. It was a star of flame.

Rhianon jumped out of bed and stepped aside. Just a moment and the loss of control told, the fire rushed down and burned the edges of the canopy, as well as the pillow on which Rhianon’s head had been resting before. Some spirits she had accidentally scorched screamed in pain. She could see that they were already nestled behind the curtain and in the bed, and then fire came out of nowhere.

If they were burned, they should be. She did not invite them to her bed. Rhianon was glad she had stepped back in time. Playing with fire was dangerous. You could get burned. She should take the first bad experience into account for the future and not make any more mistakes. The main thing is to control your creation, once you lose it and the flame begins to live on its own. Then it will easily burn you.

You have to practice. You’d do well to choose a place in the wilderness where the flames have nothing to devour. The Duchy of Rothbert would be ideal. Rhianon grinned.

She still hoped that the dwarf would crawl out of his hiding place and return the pendant to her himself. But those hopes were in vain. Of course, Fate was not going to give it back to her. Rhianon had heard that dwarves can be very greedy, and every carat of gold in their storerooms counts. Once a year, at Christmas time she thinks, there are days when they are forced to give gifts to mortals who happen to be near their homes. Except that the gifts to the evil one are never meant for good.

Rhianon tried not to remember Dominic. And who was to remember now? Dominic retained none of his former features, but his gold did not fade with time. On the contrary, the coins shone only brighter. Each one was like a miniature sun itself. Rhianon gazed at them at length and with pleasure. The embossing on them was so exquisite, the designs so intricate. No other coat of arms, banners, or emblems contained such strange symbols. Unless they were signs peculiar to the host of Dennitsa. He, too, is a king, after all, and may well have his own coats of arms. Each gold disc was unique. Crossed swords, severed heads, snakes wriggling for hair, winged silhouettes — all were cast in gold. You had to be very skillful to depict something like that in miniature.

Rhianon waited as long as she could for Fate to appear. But it was as if the dwarf had vanished into thin air. But as soon as she gathered her things and left the house one night, she heard his quiet footsteps behind her. Wow! It turns out that unlike the others he is not tied to the house and can follow her. But why would he do that? He’d wanted her to get away, and now he wouldn’t let her out of his sight. He was hiding in the shadows of the houses as soon as she turned around, but as soon as she quickened her pace, she could hear him trailing behind her. His evil eyes gleamed in the darkness. Even at twenty paces, Rhianon could see them clearly.

“Well, what do you want me to do now, cut off my hair on the pretext that the lights are gold and therefore the rightful property of dwarves?” She muttered quietly, no doubt he would hear her, however far away he was.

He followed her all the way to the town gate, and even then on the country road she noticed his plump, low figure, able to hide quickly behind a rock or a stump. If he wanted to impose himself as a traveling companion, she would not allow it. Rhianon quickened her pace.

She wished some bird of prey would peck this gnome. Rhianon remembered the griffins in Dead Valley, and she wished there were more of them here so they could attack the tiny creature that followed her along the empty road. Deliberately, to throw him off her path, she turned into the woods. What if he didn’t make it to the right place in time to turn off the road in the same place she did?

It would have been wiser to wait and catch him. Since he was following her, he was bound to get caught sooner or later. And then it would be possible to take the pendant from him.

The woods smelled of spring. Rhianon noticed the swelling willow buds, even picked one leaf from a tree. If it was March, it was still cold in Loretta, and only in April would snowdrops begin to peep out in some places, but closer to Vinor the climate was getting warmer. Rhianon would not have been surprised to learn that winters here, too, were surprisingly mild rather than long and harsh. Her homeland was much farther north, and many of the areas there had little in the way of life and prosperity, but it was her homeland nonetheless.

After walking a long distance Rhianon turned around. Well now the dwarf certainly couldn’t catch up with her. She almost shrieked in amazement when she spotted his plump figure darting behind a stump only ten paces away from her.

The nerve of that man! Rhianon wanted to curse, but she shouldn’t shout curses into the void. As long as the dwarf didn’t come any closer, she could do him no real harm. As with all things evil, he would only be delighted to have driven her to the brink of death. So Rhianon didn’t swear. She decided to just ignore him. And then she would see.

In truth, Rhianon felt out of place, wandering through the night forest in the dark. She hadn’t even known where she was. She doesn’t even know where to find the Phylliss’s tree or how to summon the other fairies. If she met up with them again, she’d have no trouble getting an overnight stay.

Rhianon picked up a dry twig from the ground and blew on its tip. It immediately went up in flames, like a lighter. Suddenly someone shrieked in the darkness and sped away.

Rhianon looked up in surprise at the trampled moss beneath her feet. Someone had clearly been here. Dozens of tiny feet could have treaded on a rotted mushroom ring by the moss or the top of an old stump.

The fire could have devoured the branch too quickly, so she tried to control it. Let the flames burn at the very tip, but don’t go down. At first it worked. The flame burned with a crackle at the tip of the branch while the twig itself clutched in her hand remained untouched. It seemed as if the fire could go no farther than a certain level. It simply had no right to, because she was the one leading it. The flame she created must obey only her.

Well, there, so she doesn’t even need a candle. Walking through the forest with a lighted branch, Rhianon felt no worse than if she were walking down the castle corridor with a small candlestick.

“Share it with us!” A squeak came from someone in the mossy thicket below.

Rhianon looked beneath her feet. She saw nothing but a rotten mushroom ring and moss. And the footprints of tiny feet might only have appeared to her. If only a few small silhouettes hadn’t flashed behind the stump, she would have passed by without regret. But when she noticed them, Rhianon stopped and even bent down to look at them. Pixies, of course, how she hadn’t guessed before. There must be pixies in the forests of Vinor, too. They weren’t large insects in size, but their brightly colored clothing gave them away. The small group gathered at Rhianon’s feet was dominated by reds and oranges. They resembled fire themselves, she wouldn’t have been able to even look at them before, but now she was curious. The red-haired, clad in light orange tunics seemed to have been made for dancing around the fire. Their cavaliers were in red, too. A miniature world! Rhianon imagined how creatures of that size had to live. They could easily be crushed without even noticing that they destroyed such beauty, after all, they are quite tiny and inconspicuous. But they must also be immortal.

“Light a fire for us,” someone from the little gathering suggested. “And we’ll show you the way to your lodgings.”

“It is all right!” Rhianon hesitated to ask them for directions to the magic kingdom. After all, where could they ask her to sleep if not there? Perhaps there she would meet some fairies she knew. It was nothing for her to make one mental effort to ignite the handful of twig fragments they had stacked on the moss. In a moment the pixies were dancing excitedly around the brightly lit fire. It was the size of a palm itself, but just right for them. Rhianon watched as they twirled, jumped, or flew around the burning flames. It was amazing how her own eyesight sharpened if she could see their faces clearly. The faeries were all rather cute, with pointed ears, heart-shaped faces, and glowing pale skin.

When a few orange lights separated from the dancing group and flew forward, Rhianon realized that they were showing her the way, just as they had promised. She quickly followed them.

For a while she had to scramble through the thicket. A branch she put out and threw away. The glow exuded by the tiny flying creatures was enough to guide her. From a distance the pixies looked like fireflies, flying swiftly into the depths of the forest. Except that instead of thickets they led her to a small meadow. Rhianon nearly tripped over the cleared stumps. It looked as if someone had cleared the place on purpose. The trees had been cut down to make a small area. Rhianon did not immediately notice the walls of the hunting lodge in the distance. She was disappointed. It was just a human dwelling. She had at least hoped to find her way to the tree of Phylliss, or the abode of her tribeswomen. She longed to dance among the fairies again, but their presence was not to be felt.

“And that was all?” She stared at the hunting lodge in astonishment. But the pixies had already disappeared. They had kept their promise, brought her to a place where she could sleep for the night, but nothing more.

Rhianon had expected the house to be at least empty, but here too she was wrong. Dim lights burned in the second story windows, brassware clinked, and voices were heard. The hunters must have been celebrating their good fortune. They had probably shot a good game all day and brought their wine with them. Should they be disturbed?

Rhianon pondered for a moment. Then she decided to move in closer. The hounds at the door darted away from her, not even daring to whine. Surely they had sensed the fire. Rhianon grinned. Animals are sensitive. They know who to be afraid of. Whether their masters would be clever enough to get out of a house she could burn and leave it to her.

The servants who slept on the mats in the hallway did not hear her footsteps. Besides, they were so drunk that they would probably have mistaken her for a ghost that had appeared out of the woods. There was no use in sending out sentries who had been given bottles of wine from the master’s table for supper. Rhianon was once more convinced of this. She carefully stepped over the wicker jars and shredded bones lying on the floor and made her way to the second floor, where the gentlemen were having fun. Though having fun is a strong word for it. Yes, brass goblets were clattering, knives were clanking on plates, and the smell of venison roasting on a spit was wafting up her nostrils. Rhianon noticed the tiny brownies and house gnomes picking up the remains of their bones from the stairs. They’d obviously decided it was an offering to them, so they didn’t inconvenience the visiting gentlemen. Involuntarily she smiled. Some creature from the magical world was always fidgeting under her feet, reminding her that humans were far from being masters of the world around them. Nor are they the masters of Loretta. With an army of the evil spirits, it would have been easy to take it. You wouldn’t even have to fight. Why use weapons when the invaders could simply seep through walls, through water in wells, and materialize out of thin air.

Rhianon peered into the upper room, and to her surprise, instead of a bunch of boozing hunters, she saw people sitting rankly on either side of the table. There was no drunken chorus, no corrupt maidens, no dancers, no harp or lute playing. Judging by the rich clothing, there were only gentlemen present and not a single servant. It was strange to have no servants at the table. Rhianon could not imagine a feast without footmen and cupbearers. Who was going to refill the drained glasses, bring in new dishes, and take away the dirty dishes. The remains of the game smoked on a spit in the mouth of the great fireplace, and there was no one to serve them. There was not even a bard or a minstrel to entertain.

So this dinner was no entertainment. Rhianon looked at the lean, tense faces and tried to remember the features of each. There were several of the older men and two of the younger ones, all richly dressed. Their hunting weapons also made an impression. The short swords, the darts and quivers for arrows, and the arrows themselves were very skillfully forged. It was the arrows that attracted Rhianon the most. For some reason they reminded her of the forges of the dwarves. Couldn’t be metal forged by them here and go into arrows used for hunting by humans. Magical creatures do not approve of hunting at all. Why would they give humans weapons against themselves.

Rhianon frowned. She noticed many draperies in the hall and a large tapestry on the wall in front of the entrance depicting a scene of a wild boar hunt. What if she could sneak into the hall and hide behind that tapestry. Then she could overhear the conversation. It was risky, but not so risky that she would give up the tempting idea. Besides, if discovered, her self-defense is fire. She’d just burn the whole house down before she could be captured. It’s about time she realized her own power and wasn’t afraid of anything.

Rhianon slipped through the opened door and hid behind the edge of the tapestry. She made no more noise than a mouse in the darkness. No one even turned around at the sound, but she could hear voices. Quiet conversation was taking place at the table.

“It’s fun to eavesdrop on people’s conversations, isn’t it?” A low voice squeaked in her ear. Perhaps one of the forest pixies had flown in behind the tapestry to keep her company, but Rhianon brushed it aside like a mosquito.

“What is it, Phebe?” One of the young gentlemen turned around. “I thought I heard something.”

His neighbor turned as well, but when he looked behind him there was nothing there, he only shrugged. The gesture, however, looked rather nervous, as if he were afraid of being caught doing something forbidden.

Playing cards is forbidden here, then that’s what they’re going to play, Rhianon thought sarcastically. Only it didn’t look like the latter. Those present were more occupied with each other than watching the steady flame of the candles or the fluctuations in the atmosphere. There were no golden spheres on the table, no ritual knives. It was an ordinary feast, only there was no fun in it either.

“Raymond, look at the door,” Phebe shoved his young friend in the shoulder.

“Why waste time,” Phebe set his goblet aside with a rumble and leaned back in his chair.

“You, then, Leon.”

The other young lord reluctantly stood up and headed for the exit. Rhianon caught a glimpse of his dark, curly hair and graceful profile. He was an aristocrat, and not of lower rank. He might even have been an advisor to the Court. A ring on his ringed hand also glittered, a ring with a royal seal on it, the highest sign of goodwill. Rhianon noticed the thinness of his fingers as he closed the door. Those hands clearly didn’t know hard work, but their very shape was something reminiscent of a very different aristocracy — in the forbidden realm.

“Our Leon fears nothing,” someone at the table remarked with sarcastic praise, “and he himself, according to the family records, is half forest spirit. Isn’t that so?”

The young man returned to the table pale, but did not utter a word. He remained silent in his previous seat, ignoring the prying eyes that gazed at him from all sides.

“It must be hard to trace your ancestry back to an elf,” the same man who’d been speaking challenged him. “Or any spirit friend that evaporated just after you were conceived.”

“That’s a handy explanation,” someone else said. “If the father evaporated before the wedding, it’s easier to say he was a spirit. He disappeared, which doesn’t mean he was born illegitimate. And the clan that spawned from him were bastards.”

“It is enough,” Raymond tried to reason with them, but someone else was eagerly picking up the conversation.

“No wonder the supernatural freak managed to seduce the former king’s sister, your mother, Leon. They say the bastards of the elves have some of their devilish charms, too. How else to explain the number of ladies you had in your chambers. And you, despite their abundance, still seem to be unsatisfied. It is a peculiarity of the damned creature — never to enjoy what you have, but always to strive for more. Eventually you won’t need a crown either.”

“But I’ll get it,” the young man hid his too graceful, almost inhuman fingers under the table. His tense face was now a threat. “Otherwise we’ll all be quartered as conspirators.”

There was silence for a moment. Rhianon was afraid to breathe lest she give herself away. Her slightest sigh would have burned through the tapestry and spoiled her hiding place.

Leon seemed to have made the right lunge. He didn’t need to reach for a weapon to threaten. Words were weightier.

No one else dared to take up the opposition. The truce was shaky and temporary, but everything seemed to be going toward getting these people to agree among themselves. They were all from Vinor, Rhianon guessed as she examined the coinage on the gold chain of one elder seated at the head of the table. The crowned falcon, flying against the sun’s disk, is the emblem of Vinor. So they are all courtiers, perhaps ministers or advisors, and a young man named Leon is even related to the royal dynasty. Which he now intends to take advantage of, along with others interested in him.

Rhianon could easily read the conspirators’ minds, but she liked to listen more. Besides, the conversation was taking an unexpected turn for the very people she was talking to.

“What do you suggest?” Phebe asked Leon, he was the most senior and the most influential. “We cannot lure the king out to hunt. It would be easy to give him the poison or attacked him with a dagger. Your elves’ tricks won’t work here.”

“That’s why I wanted to do something special, isn’t it?” Leon remained unfazed.

“What? You would lure a white woman out of the woods to drive our charming widower mad?” Raymond chuckled, but he bit his tongue when Leon looked at him with a devastating look.

“I’m just saying,” he joked. “Everyone knows you have more favor with the spirits than most mortals. No one’s ever seen the spirits themselves.”

“Your inexperience is an excuse,” Leon threw back, nonchalantly and arrogantly, as if he were already a lord. “I’ll give you more than Ferdinand,” he turned to everyone with sudden conviction. “My cousin, though amazingly handsome, is no ruler, much less a warrior. He’s a peacemaker and a mourner. He still wears mourning, though his wife passed away years ago. It would be time to strengthen Vinor with a dynastic marriage. But he doesn’t think about it. You see, he has two eligible heirs. And I’m their regent — if anything happens to father.”

“Yes. But what might happen to the king?” One of his former opponents wondered rationally.

Leon brought out a long, thin object from somewhere in the lapel of his coat. Rhianon looked closely and realized that it was an arrow with a graceful plumage at its tip and a razor-sharp point. Except that from a distance it was impossible to see exactly what. Was it some sort of runic sign?

“Is it an arrow?” Phebe was astonished. “You are going to hire an archer to shoot it, and then kill him too. There will be no witnesses, of course, but who in the kingdom can shoot as accurately as you can?”

“He won’t need marksmanship,” Leon smiled triumphantly. “This arrow is not from the forge,” his eyes gleamed ominously. “Not from Vinor’s forge. It’s from under the ground.”

His quick laugh was muffled by the wicked look in his eyes.

“There is a legend that the Zwergs inscribe the name at the tip of an arrow, the name of the one whose heart it shall strike,” Leon continued unabashedly. “It is an enchanted arrow,” he stared at the shiny tip with pleasure. “Whoever let it off the bowstring will hit the target. It is Ferdinand’s destiny.”

“And if it wasn’t?” Raymond hesitated. “What if it’s all just some superstitious peasant’s tale?”

“Shut up,” Leon took his words as a personal insult. “What do you know? I didn’t borrow this arrow from men, from others — that will convince you.”

“Then what if, contrary to tradition, such arrows sometimes don’t reach their destination?” Raymond wouldn’t let up. “Look, we’re worried, we all depend on it.”

“And you’ll have a great destiny,” Leon snapped at him. “Don’t doubt it. I’m sure of this arrow, and I can show you something that you’ll be sure of, too.”

“I know you can shoot a passing rat from a hundred paces,” remarked Phebe, “but this is more serious…”

“And I’m not going to show you my skill as a marksman,” his eyes lit up. “I only wish to introduce you to the creatures in the forest.”

Everyone recoiled from him at once. There was a long silence. No one wanted to test the veracity of superstition. This was proof that their confidence had been shaken.

“You mustn’t be afraid of them,” he went on, reveling in his victory, “you see, they will run away at the sight of a bright fire. You may be able to negotiate with them, if only to frighten them. It’s more difficult with dwarves, they forge in fire, but fairies and dryads are more compliant. They are good counselors. A king who obeys them will accomplish much. Unlike the current one, he will not engage in peaceful politics and fortify the limits of the existing country, he will move to conquer new lands and new riches,” Leon waited until the eyes of those present glittered greedily. “A king should be a warlord and benefit his subjects, not send a messenger to Loretta promising support to one of the warring parties. Our task is to attack ourselves. There is a better chance of capturing both countries. And I will be able to do it. Not without the help of the forest creatures, of course. Anyone object?”

“I do,” Rhianon said suddenly to herself, throwing back the edge of the tapestry and stepping forward. Those around the table were stunned. Of course, tales of fairies and white ladies were still prevalent in these parts. To play along with them, Rhianon had wished that her dress might take on the color of forest green, and that the fringe around her shoulders and along the hem might resemble plucked leaves; one might have wished for a wreath of leaves and berries in her hair, but that would not have been necessary. All she wanted was a wreath; she was going to take the throne next to Madael once. Learn things yourself, the ghost from the School of Witchcraft had admonished her, and Rhianon suddenly realized that she really was capable of a lot. The outfit she was wearing turned emerald in a second. That’s what the scales of a lizard and the leaves of a maple tree look like at the same time, both the danger and the mystery of the forest. Combined with her pale luminous skin and rich golden hair, she really could have seemed to them like someone ethereal.

Even Leon didn’t dare object, only clutched his inhuman fingers together tightly. He acknowledged her, just looked into her eyes and knew that she was a supernatural being. If he had only known how tall she was compared to the others.

“Are you from the forest?” Raymond muttered nervously. The strange woman caught his eye, he could tell, but he was trembling with fear.

“I’m from hell,” Rhianon stepped forward, blowing lightly in front of her to blow away the curls that had fallen to her forehead, only at the same time a stream of fire slid a ribbon across the tablecloth. Those present jumped from their seats, some trying to put out the fire, some remembering God, and some crossing themselves. Nothing would help them if they didn’t give up on their goal.

“And there is hell in Loretta, and if you go there, you will perish,” she warned the already frightened conspirators.

“Will you burn us?” Leon looked at her long and studied. He was looking for a way out.

“I will only ask you to abandon your plans,” Rhianon held out her hand forward. “Give me your arrow, and I will go back into the forest without taking either of you with me. I’ll give you something in return,” she opened her palm to reveal the remaining coins, seeing that he hesitated. “It is a token of Lucifer’s favor, gold from his palace. It is enough for everyone. They say it has no value. Is that enough to buy your arrow?”

Leon nodded yes, mesmerized by her gaze. Rhianon easily took the enchanted object from him and gave him the coins in return. Parting with most of her gold, she suddenly felt an amazing lightness, as if all her troubles and hardships along with the coins passed to others.

“It’s so easy to part with your misfortune, just give it to someone else,” the same pixie sang over her ear with a voice like a mosquito’s squeak. None of the conspirators heard it. They were each fascinated by their share of the payment. Their coins seemed to have bewitched them. Rhianon didn’t remember losing her own head looking at them.

It was time to leave. After all, she couldn’t stay here all night.

“Don’t tell anyone about me,” she whispered to Leon, who was still watching her, “or you’ll be sorry.”

She put her finger to her lips, urging silence. Leon recoiled as her mouth rounded, fearing another trickle of fire, but Rhianon only smiled, triumphantly, ominously.

It seemed the pixies had brought her here for a reason. At any rate, she had already averted one danger from her country. It had been far from her to let Loretta become a mere province of Vinor. Frankly, her accidentally dropped phrase about an afterthought in Loretta wasn’t to her advantage either. Rhianon suddenly realized what she needed. She must see King of Vinor and negotiate with him. She could do so with or without the use of enchantments.

She needs exactly an audience — a long talk in private, persuasion, if necessary hypnosis. This requires a good opportunity. How to seize the moment? Fortune has not favored her for a long time. And what is about the witchcraft? What if she simply wished that the coincidence of circumstances would turn out and she would meet the king.

On her way out of the house, Rhianon simply wished that her dress would take on its former color and turn from green to azure blue again. That was good. She loved the blue color of the water. She felt more comfortable at once, even though it was as if a tight lump of fire was shrinking and moving inside her.

The arrow she’d bought back from Leon was of no value to Rhianon herself. She had taken it only as a guarantee that their plan was ruined. Now she could throw it away or bury it somewhere in the woods. Rhianon looked up to see how dangerously the tip glittered. And immediately she heard something move in the bushes.

“Fate!” She even grinned. “Come here, don’t hide. What do you think of my acquisition? Do you want a closer look?”

She waved her arrow, hoping that the glitter of the tip would attract the greedy dwarf. But he reacted differently than she would have liked.

“They are dangerous arrows,” he muttered. “Arrows made to drain his soul from the wounded man.”

“Why is it?” The Princess protested.

“They make men writhe and beg for death,” the dwarf grinned maliciously.

“Don’t you want an arrow like that?” Rhianon slyly teased him.

The dwarf made no reply, but hid in the bushes so that he was no longer visible. He was a difficult man to deal with. Rhianon was almost desperate. There was no negotiating with him. It was better to go on her way and not pay any attention to Fate. Maybe then he would leave her alone. He was following her like a shadow, or rather like an evil fate. There was a reason she called him The Fate.

Rhianon felt tired, but she kept on going. Something gave her strength, nourished her from within. She could not have walked that far on her own. And now she seemed strong enough not only to go through the whole forest, but to wield a sword and blow the head off any enemy. Where did these powers come from? From that new creature that was maturing inside her.

“It is your child. Leave him with us,” whispered voices from the forest, or was it only the rustle of leaves.

Would that she had the strength to draw her sword and defeat the golden dragon. Rhianon imagined a winged serpent body with golden scales wriggling beneath her feet. If Madael decided to take the form of a dragon forever, he would be a golden and crowned dragon. He would be the only dragon to wear a crown. She remembered her statue in armor trampling a serpent. In her mind for some reason clearly appeared image, she — a princess in a purple dress tramples dragon, her bare feet are placed on his wriggling body, but a golden tail still entwines her ankle and it is not clear who defeated whom — she the dragon or the dragon her. Rhianon shook her head to drive the vision away.

These strange thoughts came from someone else. It was better not to let them go, or you would find yourself held captive by them. Her head was spinning with new impressions and sensations. She could hear every movement, every ripple in the thicket. The forest had a life of its own, and every inch of land here was inhabited. She was fascinated by the surrounding forest, and at the same time she wanted to burn it. This desire seemed to come from within, from the one she carried within her.

It was a dangerous child. It would have been better to destroy it. But somehow it had kept her safe. It gave her inexhaustible strength that she herself could not have. And it was also like supernatural beings treated it with even more awe than she did. As long as she carries him within her, she is out of danger. But what happens when he becomes a creature separate from her.

Rhianon bit her lips almost to the point of blood, lest she be tempted to call for Madael or to speak the name she had already promised to give her child. Not a name, but folded symbols, emblems of every spirit that dwelt in the tower and who knows what power they harbored. Edwin! She tried not to say the name or even think of it, but it would exist someday. He was a creature with her grace, her face and the power of Madael. Almost like an angel, created to the doom of many, because his enchantment is omnipotent. Rhianon had noticed that magical beings longed to have him.

Perhaps they were the ones who showed her the way to the little clearing. Rhianon noticed the large stones and the hulks of the walls, twined with ivy. Could it be that she had reached the verdant city that Madael had shown. However, the first close look dissipated her assumptions. Out of the darkness and the ruined ground rose uneven fragments of stones and entire monuments. And what remained of the walls protruded like rotten teeth next to the roots of trees in the ground. They were the ruins of a tower.

Rhianon was about to turn away from them, but she saw the glow of a fire. She walked around the particularly high wall and peered through the opening into it. There was indeed a fire crackling merrily, and the stunted creatures were jumping about wildly.

She couldn’t help but think of the elves who danced in the woods at night. They could dance to death any mortal who stepped into their circle. They know no fatigue, and a man would be exhausted if they made him dance until morning. They are also capable of giving people unusual fruits that deprive the mind. Their very society is like poison. But Rhianon was not afraid. She simply had nothing to fear. She shared a bed with the most dangerous creature placed above them all. Only did that mean she was now protected from his subordinates as well? If she lived in the devil’s tent, would she be able to take root in the habitat of his company as well.

“It is a lady!” someone said, and the dancing stopped abruptly. Many colorful, wary eyes stared at Rhianon.

“I mean you no harm,” she said.

That naive statement should have been followed by laughter, but no one laughed. That was good. So they knew who she was.

“What do you want, Radiant?”

They said Radiant? Wasn’t that the title of Dennitsa? She bit her lip. How painful any reminder of him was? Even his image imprinted in her brain prevented her from thinking straight.

“It is a arrow,” Rhianon held it out and waited for the bravest one to take it and examine it. “Is there any way to destroy it?”

“Of course, it is,” the clawed paws whirled tentatively for a moment, and then they snapped the shaft and tossed the two halves into the fire.

“That’s all, my ladyship. Is there anything else?”

“Thank you.” Rhianon thought it would be nice to thank them. She had to show royal generosity. She still had two or three coins, one of which she handed to the trolls.

“Here it is. This is for you.”

However, the reaction was unexpected. At first there was a shriek of dismay, then turmoil, and then a minute later there was only smoke billowing from the lonely fire extinguished. There was no one left beside it. There she was, and she wanted to do them a favor, give them a trinket. You should never extend your charity to evil spirits. Whatever Orpheus said, they’re terribly ungrateful. And not even polite, though they recognize her as their mistress. Or it’s the gold that frightens them. The conjecture struck her suddenly. So it’s not just doom that fears these coins. But what is so special about them.

Rhianon sat down on a boulder by the extinguished fire and examined the embossing on the coin. It was nothing special, just the walls of a castle in the clouds-the castle of Madael. On the back was a spiked crown. Another coin showed a heart and a crown around it, and a third showed an angel with a sword. Which one was the one on the side of the god or the one on the side of Dennitsa? Even in the delicately cast thin lines it was not difficult to recognize the features of Mastema. That seemed to be the name given to him by those who fought with him. The slight bulge on the coin looked like a personal imprint on a glowing disk of the sun.

The glint from the fading embers was enough for her to see it all. Her vision was extremely acute. She could spot a mouse slipping far between the rocks and even insects far away on the flowers. If Madael were to lift her off the ground and into the air now, she would be able to see the miniature world beneath her in all its details from up in the sky. Only dragons are said to have such super-sharp eyesight. They can calculate their prey from a height of flight and rush down, catch it and soar up into the sky again, examine the bowstring of a hunting bow, or rain their fire down on a tiny village. One can only envy their ability and vision. But Rhianon’s is now sharpened to the same level. How can it be? Could it be that she carries a dragon in her womb and that his powers are passed on to her? She gave a startled gasp. Madael could take the form of a golden dragon, willingly or as a game. What if his son was born like that? She would give birth to a monster. It is a golden monster. Like any witch who copulates with a demon or incubus, she would give birth to something unimaginable. Only it will not be a bat, a freak or a snake like those witches, who after such unusual births are captured and executed by the Inquisition, she will have something already crowned, hot as the sun, identified with its father and golden, like the treasure of Dennitsa. But after all, she doesn’t feel like there’s a monster inside her. Rhianon imagined Madael’s calm features, the blue of his eyes, and his perfect winged body. She did not know how he was in hell or with his subjects, but he was always beautiful during their copulation. It was impossible for an angel to become the father of a monster. He had become a devil, though. Rhianon had heard legends that fairies, if they became wives of mortals for a short time, gave birth to unimaginably ugly children. She wondered if it were the other way around.

“Come to us,” a voice from the darkness dispelled her doubts. How familiar it was.

Rhianon turned around.

“It wasn’t polite to visit someone and not even pay attention to them.”

Now she unmistakably recognized Athenais’ mellifluous and cheeky, tuneful voice. This time it was particularly sweet, even insidious, as if the little fairy doubted that something long desired was in her hands.

“Would you like to play with us?”

Rhianon only now noticed the best-preserved wall, wrapped in lush vines. It was as if it hadn’t been there before, but now the lush shoots of grapes intertwined with the ivy and stretched like life across the rocky almost. For a moment it even seemed to Rhianon that they were wriggling like snakes under her feet.

“Don’t be afraid,” Athenais teased. “Fear not,” Athenais teased, “that the most beautiful maiden in the world has been in the arms of one who terrifies no one.”

Rhianon stared at the low, ivy-leaf-shaped green table as if it had grown out of the ground. She was willing to swear that its single leg, a strut in the center, was wrapped around and supported by curly green shoots. Was it actually ivy or a mushroom that had sprouted to gigantic proportions? Or an elaborately carved table from a solid emerald bush, imitating the shape of huge ivy. How beautiful! Rhianon stared involuntarily. She was no longer conscious of the green shoots stirring beneath her feet and tugging at her ankle. When she came very close the air smelled of honeysuckle and balsam and wild violets. But it was only spring. All these plants can’t be here yet. They will bloom a little later. But Athenais’ hair is full of ripe berries gathered in bunches, and on her tiny neck are beads of rowanberries and mushrooms. Do berries ripen before autumn? The tiny lights flying over the table reminded her of tiny pixies. Rhianon waved away the ones that flew toward her face. Even if they were just fireflies, they caught her face out of the gloom, illuminating it like tiny lanterns.

“Sit down, don’t be afraid!”

Rhianon saw a green stool pop up out of nowhere, as if woven from vines and leaves.

“Help yourself!” Athenais offered, but Rhianon only shook her head in disapproval when she saw the dainty brass dish of ripe grapes. She had heard of fairy treats and the effects of such feasts on humans. She wasn’t entirely human now, and she wasn’t likely to go mad or fall asleep forever from their delicacies, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

She began to look at those sitting at the table. They were several strange burnt creatures that looked either like harpies or gargoyles. She found it difficult to give them a name. Black claws, cloven wings, charred bodies, and eyes that glittered like jewels were all she could see. There were two unfamiliar dwarves in motley clothing, and oddly enough, a pair of tiny fire-haired spinsters. When she saw them, Rhianon was most surprised, but the little beauties only condescendingly shrugged, as if to say that this is life in a magical world, these are the rules, we are nowhere and we are everywhere.

“Madeleine, Nirissa,” Atenais nodded in their direction, introducing them both in turn. Rhianon would not have been able to distinguish one from the other. The names of the others present were a long incomprehensible sound to her.

“Perhaps I should introduce me to the ivy that serves as your shelter. It’s alive too, isn’t it?” The princess couldn’t resist a quip.

“Of course it is!” Athenais nodded toward the snaking vines and murmured something indecipherable in her ancient tongue, but the sound made the twigs grow brisker.

“Formalities have been observed,” Athenais smiled slyly at her guest. “Etiquette is most important at court, isn’t it, Your Majesty? Business is business and manners come first. You could lose your throne that easily.”

That’s a sharp jab. Rhianon nearly burst into flames, literally. Her fingertips were ready to strike sparks; apparently, sensing it, the vines of green pulled away, and the table became wobbly for a moment.

“I’m not a queen,” Rhianon corrected her.

“Not in Loretta,” Athenais shook her naked shoulders coquettishly, around which, like black lace, festoons of slime and moths gathered. “With us, yes. My lord so wished.”

“And you yourself?” Rhianon tensed. Her future depended on their answer.

“We already followed him once. Why should it be different now?”

“Now you are the only one paying the price for what he did. He’s still brilliant.”

“What are you suggesting? Follow you, like we used to follow him?” It was as if Athenais had read her mind.

“Would you be happy with your existence?”

She’d hit the target. The heads around the table drooped for a moment, but only a moment.

“We take pleasure in making fun of people,” Athenais intervened, “teasing passersby, joking, playing as we please, we didn’t have that will before. We do now. And then there are the cards. Thank you for them.”

Rhianon only now noticed the small rectangular cards, painted with intricate patterns and monograms. Everyone present held several, with the rest of the deck in the center, and the trump card below it. Hearts! The red heart in the corner of the card seemed alive and beating, the image of the copper-haired lady beneath it smiling. What an ominous smile.

“Only a mortal sits down to play and his pockets are empty, all our host rejoice, watching the final game,” Athenais sang with a laugh. “So many were empty hopes, and now the dreams are shattered, we take from the ignorant, their lives with the outcome of the game.”

A quiet, snide laugh hung over the table like a misty haze. Rhianon involuntarily removed her hands from the green tabletop. The soft, frizzy surface felt like a real mushroom cap or an ivy leaf. What was it like for tiny pixies? They sat on mushrooms, or made them into tables, or rode on field mice? Yes, soaring through the air was easier. But how to appeal to Athenais’ sanity if there is none at all? How to negotiate with such creatures?

“Remember, the gambling table must be lined with green cloth to emphasize that the game came from the forest. And we all approve of it,” Athenais instructed. “Your mate did his best. We’ve already tried it on so many mortals. How many unhappy, destitute, suicidal people there are now? Some lose their fortune, some are in the triumph of greed for a moment, only to lose it all again. Gold comes and goes as it should. It has already slipped through the fingers of many, guided by the cards. Don’t you want to try your luck?

“I want to…” Rhianon stammered.

“I know you want to conquer Loretta… with our help. You think we will follow you.”

“And why is it not?” Rhianon was surprised at her impertinence, but it was too late to retreat. “You can do for me what you did for him? Am I not like him?”

There was silence for a moment.

“So is your son,” Athenais suddenly remarked. “Leave him to us and stay with us yourself.”

Rhianon shrank back. That was not a promise she could or would make. That was not what she wanted.

“I propose a wager,” Athenais suddenly had the whole deck in her tiny hands. She began to shuffle it. The spider-shaped ring on her middle finger glinted. Or was it a live spider? Rhianon shuddered. If so, it was badly embedded in the flesh just below the knuckle.

“You will play with us, but you will put your child on the line. It is your son. It is his son.”

“Is it a son and not a daughter?” She didn’t like the way Athenais’s eyes glittered greedily, like two black stars against the pale of her eyelids.

“Everyone can see it,” the mushroom fairy said.

“Is it everyone?”

“Without exception, even some people. The fairest is coming…” she smiled tautly. “People, stupid as they are, can recognize their doom easily, even before it has come.”

“All right, you’ve convinced me. But if this is the son of Dennitsa himself, which none of you doubts, then the price for him is too high-your submission to me. If you lose, you will lose my army, which I will send to Loretta. You will obey me.”

“We and all who are with us,” Athenais nodded affirmatively. “I promise you many things. And there are too many of us all, in the forests of the world… there are the especially strong. We are yours. If you lose, and you will stay with us.”

Rhianon thought only for a moment. She had nothing to lose.

“I promise,” she nodded.

“Take the card, it will be a trump card,” Athenais held out the shuffled deck to her.

With a little shudder, Rhianon reached for the top card, flipped it over. It was the queen of hearts again. What is it? The girl frowned. Why couldn’t it be another card? She didn’t like the hearts. Her own heart in love rejected them for some reason. If you think of heartache, you’re sure to lose. In business it’s all about calculation, and in the game, too. But luck is also important. Orpheus seemed to say that the cards should obey her alone, as they were created for her. Rhianon trusted her power and before she put her trump on the table, the image on the card had already taken on a different shape. Diamonds, not hearts. It was the king of diamonds.

Athenais exhaled in a strange, disappointed way, as if the image on the picture had hypnotized her, but she quickly came to her senses and began to deal the cards with surprising agility.

“For Mistress, for Madeleine, for Nirissa, for me…” she said the name of the recipient as she dealt the card, and so it was every time.

When she received her cards and unfolded them in a fan, Rhianon was amazed. All trump cards, including the ace. Victory was in her hands. Really, she was ready to swear. That the first moment she’d taken them, they’d been entirely different suits. Someone went first, then others, a low mishmash of cards was already scattered on the table. Rhianon wanted to beat it with a jack, but all she heard around her was laughter. She stared and distrusted her eyes. Her trump card suddenly became a three of a suit.

“Now take it, it’s all yours.”

Rhianon noticed how angrily the images from the cards scowled at her, as if they were laughing at her, too. The queen of diamonds seemed to quickly wink at her, turning into the queen of spades as the next one lay on the table. Athenais laughed loudly. The echoes in the walls reflected her laughter with many ominous shimmers.

And there was something to laugh about. Clumsy, Rhianon scolded herself, if she is mistress of this game, how can the cards disobey her. She just doesn’t know how to control them, just like she doesn’t know how to control her own fire. Or maybe it’s the revenge of the abandoned Orpheus. He could have done so out of meanness. She wished he were here now. He’d know how to get out of it. If only she could give him her seat at the table and ask him to get even for her.

Athenais seemed to have already mastered all the intricacies and tricks of the new game. After all, there was a reason she encouraged the cards so much. Her tiny hands were already itching to win.

“You can’t go on like this,” Rhianon thought, and held the next card in her hands before she laid it on the table. She was very familiar with the rules of the game, they had been invented by Orpheus himself, but the magic power of the cards remained a mystery to her. How to change the drawing to your liking? What magic draws the pieces and suits and turns one into another depending on what the strongest player needs. Yes, it’s all the same. What matters is her desire. Rhianon had barely realized it when she noticed that all the trumps were coming out of her fingers on the table. Threes and tens of spades changed in her hands and took the scarlet outline of diamonds as soon as they touched the table. It seemed even the tabletop itself resisted it. The attendees opened their mouths in bewilderment. Athenais watched the game with a silly look, but she was no longer playing herself. Rhianon, on the other hand, wasn’t just playing. She was winning. No one even noticed that there were ten trump aces in one deck. The evil spirit accustomed to manipulating and deceiving the players, was not prepared to withstand the deception of others.

Victory! At last! Rhianon laid the last ace on the table and looked triumphantly at Athénais. Her pale face was darkening with anger right before her eyes.

“How is it? How could you?” Athenais jumped up, clawing her claws at the stinging table, her figure shrinking before her eyes, her pupils burning with inhuman anger. “How did you manage? You should not have won.”

The fairy was not shy. Rhianon gave her an arrogant look.

“And I’m a winner in every way,” she announced with self-assurance. “Unlike him,” she said, slightly ashamed to denigrate Madael, but how else could she get them all on her side? He’d lost once. I have not yet lost once. And you are all mine now.”

“That’s not fair,” the spinners cried out in one voice.

“Honesty is not a term here,” Rhianon cut them off, “but conditions will be remembered. Your oath will force you to obey me.”

She wasn’t so sure of that, but she hoped it would be the case. There was no way out, the enchantments would not allow it. This is not a contract between humans, which both sides can break in good conscience. This is where magic comes into play.

Athenais was out of her mind with anger. This was clearly not the outcome she’d hoped for. And now she wasn’t even hiding her anger and disappointment. If she could throw lightning bolts, she would be doing just that now. Rhianon, on the other hand, was keeping her fire under control. She would need it if she went to war. So far she has won with her other abilities. How many talents she could still discover in herself?

Rhianon even felt pity for the maddening fairy. She appreciated what she had missed.

“Here, maybe this will comfort you,” the girl took out one of the three remaining coins and handed it to the raging Athenais. It was a coin with a celestial lock on it.

“Take it away! Take it away!” Athenais’ almond-shaped eyes flashed with scarlet fire.

“All right,” Rhianon hurriedly clutched the gold one in her fist. “Be quiet.”

Instead of taking her advice, Athénais stomped her foot angrily, turned, and went behind the wall of ivy. The ivy itself parted in front of her, the vines pulled back in different directions as if they were only curtains.

“Where are you going?” Rhianon was afraid that in her distraught state she might do something bad to herself. Even though she was an evil spirit, Rhianon felt sorry for her. The diminutive lady, evil as she was, was still a marvelous creature.

“Gather them all,” Athenais muttered back. “I told you there are many of us, and I don’t have a horn to blow and summon everyone. It was stolen by one of the hunters. Maybe I can get to his castle. But now we’ll have to sit and wait for you to declare war.”

“So you will go to it under my banner after all,” was more of a statement than a question. Rhianon had no doubt of her victory.

“Yes!” Athenais hissed one last time, clenching her fists angrily, and then she was gone, and the other seats at the table were empty. Rhianon could see only the puffs of smoke. The cards were still moving around the table, shuffling themselves, but there were fewer and fewer of them. Soon the entire deck was gone. The only thing in front of Rhianon was an ivy. It was as if the table had never existed.

She stood still for a moment, then turned and walked away. She wondered if Fate belonged to the host of creatures that Athenais was responsible for. Then he too would have to take orders from Rhianon now. And she was in dire need of a miracle pendant right now. She was tired of going back and forth without a map, a compass, or even a horse. It was much easier just to wish where she wanted to end up and instantly go there.

And if she didn’t have a pendant, she could use a horse, or better yet, a luxurious carriage, which the fairies sent for her. In such impenetrable wilds as these one would need just such a carriage. But here in the woods, one could only saddle a woodchuck. Rhianon chuckled at her own thought.

How ridiculous. What a position she found herself in. And she had lived in a heavenly palace not so long ago.

If you say his name, he will come for you, her mind told her. Maybe even he will not be angry, and immediately forgive your escape, since you yourself have returned to him. Or maybe there would be a quick quarrel. Then would be an embrace… It was a tempting prospect, except that Rhianon wasn’t about to give up on her plans. If Madael would not give her Loretta, she would take it herself. He does not know how to use the power of his subjects for their intended purpose, but she can. He is too proud to rule them, and she is forced to seek their support. She is sure to win.

Rhianon was frightened by her own thoughts. The statue of a queen in armor defeating a dragon was on her mind. Could the sculptor have foreseen the future? Was such a victory necessary when one cut off the head of another as if it were oneself? Was this how the angels in heaven felt when they defeated and overthrew their beloved Dennitsa? Is that how the now indifferent god felt? How can you execute someone you love just because he stands in your way? Inevitability… Rhianon shook her head stubbornly. She had hoped it would never come to that. Besides, her plans were too far-reaching. How could she deal with one who was far stronger than she was? Even with all his armies she could not defeat Madael. He alone is stronger than all his armies. He is placed above them only because he can easily subdue and tame them. Any disobedience will be instantly crushed. The Almighty has a delicate calculation. He has given the control of the dark armies to one who is their superior, the only invincible warrior. And this warrior himself is a slave of God. Thus the balance is preserved. The wheel of the world turns irrevocably. Everything runs its course. It was this measured course of events that she was about to disrupt.

If Madael cannot throw off his shackles, she has no shackles on her. And no matter what God told him to do, he could not kill her. She knew this as surely as she knew that at the end of the night there would be a new dawn, golden like her chosen one’s curls. What part had fate assigned her in this whole divine story? Rhianon had seized her own position. Now she was going to strengthen it.

It was time to move on. She suddenly realized that she didn’t want to sleep, and she had the strength to walk again. Something inside her, infinitely strong and fiery, fed her inexhaustible supply of energy.

“It’s good to have you around,” she whispered to the one who was still asleep inside her. “You might be a burden, a temptation, a temptation to the world, but you’re so easy.”

She wasn’t hungry or thirsty, either. It was as if all her problems were solved at once. Rhianon smiled to herself, but also, of course, the creation within herself and moved on.

Shared paths

Conrad was still fiercely stabbing the breathless body with his knife. The presence of Hildegard, silently watching from her shadowed archway, did not embarrass him one bit. He seemed oblivious of everything except the dead chest where he was stabbing. One blow, a second, a third… there were no more of them. He was madly stabbing the body of a young man whose name he didn’t even know. But Conrad was sure it was the same young man… blond, handsome, in spite of the posthumous, suffering expression on his features. All in all, looks like dawn. That’s what Douglas told him.

Now the enemy is in his hands, even if they are dead. And any punishment is not enough for him. Conrad did not even pay attention to the shredded wrists and fingers. What torture he would have devised for this boy if he had lived. The devil himself would have shuddered at his torment.

“Do you think he slept with her?”

Her brother seldom descended to talk to her, especially after his meeting with Rhianon, and yet Hildegard answered without flattery.

“He was hardly a peasant, look what delicate skin and thin hands, palms that were used to a feather or a sword. And also,” she discerned an already bloody face. “Your rival was handsome.”

“He was a bandit, a common outlaw, a mere thug, and she chose him over me,” Conrad grumbled angrily. Had he been born as special as his bride and now he would be breathing fire with anger.

“A woman’s heart is unpredictable,” Hildegard concluded diplomatically.

“It was more likely that he was molesting her. Rhianon doesn’t give a damn about anyone. I know her; she has no attractive face but her own.”

“It is not surprising with her beauty she attracts everyone.”

His sister — this gloomy shadow — was surprisingly calm. Conrad was angry with her. Not that she inflamed him, but she didn’t calm him down either. And why else would a sympathetic sister be needed, if not to cheer him up.

“I’ll throw this body to the dogs,” he finally dropped the knife and rested his head on his bloodstained hands. “Call someone from the kennels. I want those remains mauled in front of me.”

“That would not be wise,” Hildegard’s hand, pale and graceful but surprisingly strong, rested on his shoulder. The dark stones, opals and topazes, glittered in the fancy setting of the rings.

“What do you mean?” Conrad was taken aback. He turned to his sister, the dark gas veil falling from the fanciful headdress in her hair. Hildegard always dressed as if she were going to a funeral. Black silk dress with black embroidery around the edges, over it a black robe, in the slits of the upper arms peeped dark buffs, only barely edged with silver braid. The waist is tight and the chest is covered by a dark tent. The sheaves of heavy braids are twisted with dark ribbons. Only this time there was a gold cord inserted into the sangria that stood out sharply on the corsage.

“And better Rhianon does not know that her lover is dead,” Hildegard whispered confidentially, with a little bend to Conrad’s ear. “Spread the rumor that you have him prisoner. It would be the right thing to do. If this boy is important to Rhianon, she will come for him. You won’t have to look for her anymore. My reckless brother, you have the bait in your hands.”

Conrad thought for a moment. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, brushed away the wet strands, and looked at the mangled corpse beneath his feet.

“He’s dead…” the prince whispered.

“And not many people but you know it,” Hildegard’s dark eyebrows arched in a cartwheel over her unimpressive eyes. Her smile somewhat resembled that of a snake. The lush silk of her petticoats and the taffeta of her robe rustled like funeral cloths. “You want your little golden-blooded salamander back, so fight for her. Not by force, but by cunning. Strength, Conrad, was never your strong suit.”

He wanted to protest vehemently, but thought about it, he bit his tongue. His sister’s right. It’s time to think things through.

Hildegard looked thoughtfully and long at the wounded corpse, then she turned her eyes to Conrad.

“You look so much alike, you and he,” she remarked.

“Why is it?” The prince, no matter how hard he tried, could not understand her. He even ran his hand through his tar-black hair. Did he look anything like that white-haired puppy? He ought to have a mirror. You’d have to ask Markus or Drusil if they’d be honest.

“Because you both went to extremes for her,” she didn’t explain, but moved forward to touch her brother’s cheek with her lips. It was the gesture of a sister. Her lips were sticky and cold, like the skin of a snake. Conrad made an effort not to lift his hand and wipe the trace of her kiss from his cheek. Hildegard had already left, rustling her luxurious robes, and he still felt as if he had just been defiled, as he himself had defiled a dead body.

It was suicide. Conrad looked down to where the corpse lay. He was cursed after death. His soul might return, for it has no rest. It might even haunt him, the desecrator of the grave. Conrad didn’t care.

“So you’re still alive and you’ll be the bait,” he concluded, as if he could convince even a corpse of that. It all made sense. The only thing was whether it would work.

Douglas was no longer watching the king or the Crown Prince. In the first place the castle had become too boring lately, and secondly the crows from Manfred’s balconies, could watch everything instead of him and willingly shared gossip. And thirdly, he found something more interesting to do.

Now every time he dozed in the hammock suspended between the overhead bookshelves near the ceiling, he turned mentally to Rhianon. Of course, this was sacrilege. Mastema could punish him for spying on his chosen one. However, the wayward girl seemed to have already abandoned her patron. Douglas mentally applauded the sassy girl. Well done, you’ll achieve more on your own than hiding behind the devil’s shoulder. After all, there is something better than an incubus in your bed. It was a crown, for example.

Of course, his mental appeals did not reach the princess’ ears. Douglas didn’t even know if he wanted to make contact with her from a distance or not. On the one hand he wanted to, but somehow Rhianon’s thoughts were completely inaccessible. Even with the tricks and the most powerful spells, he could not get through to her. Well, on the other hand he was hampered by timidity and some unfamiliar fear. You’re always timid in front of a beautiful lady, even if you’re a wizard. It was true that nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He couldn’t remember a time when he had ever been attracted to a woman… or a man. Except for Dennitsa… but he was an exception in his own right.

And now a shard of ice jammed into his heart, and he felt a chill inside. The others Rhianon inflamed and scorched, but he felt only ice from her side. Wasn’t that strange?

Douglas looked at the white owl beating its wings against the bars of the cage and smiled dreamily. No, he did not want his captive heart to turn into a bird in a cage just like it. A free-thinking wizard wouldn’t want that. But once that happened, there was nothing he could do about it.

Leprechauns ran across the carpet below, like a real field, as if to prove that his magic power was already weakening. How did they only manage to get out of the box he had imprisoned them in? But they couldn’t break the spell anyway… Oh, well, they’ll never get out of the tower anyway. His enchantments and the secret symbols at the door would not let anyone out.

Douglas still thought that when he had a spare moment, he could get the little rascals to take him to the place where they hid the treasures. Magic is magic, and ringing coins wouldn’t hurt either, especially if he had to get away from the royal court.

No one will feed him or clothe him in silk or velvet when he travels. That’s when he would need the help of the Leprechauns. He knew how to get the secret out of them. All he had to do was give them a good scare with a hot candle. He could have done it now. But he didn’t feel like it.

He was too immersed in dreams, or rather in thoughts of Rhianon. He tried to look for her, wherever she was, with his inner sight. And he always found her. Rhianon moved from place to place with astonishing speed. Was it some kind of mystery or magic trick? He could not yet figure out exactly what it was, but he would figure it out later. He needed to know as much as he could about her… But why is it? Douglas himself did not know. But now he did not need to ask himself that question, he merely observed.

Down on the first floor of the tower, multicolored liquids slid down the retorts, unimaginably tiny creatures beating their wings in transparent flasks. And those creatures he placed under the mica were impossible to see, even with a magnifying glass. Sometimes he was able to reduce living creatures to the size of insects. He once shrunk a tavern-keeper who refused to pour him a free drink and turned him into a tiny horned creature with the body of an octopus. Those who watched the quarrel did not understand it, but Douglas had drunk that night in the cellar of wine, which had no owner left, and the monster the size of a thimble still lived in one of his closed flasks and even with its appearance frightened away the tiny black pixies trapped in the neighboring jar. These creatures, light as moths, resembled black butterflies. Douglas adored looking at them, but was not going to let them go free.

“It’s a mockery of nature,” one of the wandering wizards who hadn’t stooped to such things once told him. For which Douglas promptly dealt him a powerful mental blow. The poor man was now covering the red finger-shaped mark on his cheek with the edge of his high, standing collar.

It serves him right. No need to meddle in other people’s business. Douglas didn’t tolerate insults, and he wasn’t looking for like-minded people, either. All he wanted was to be first and only. All the other wizards were talentless trash. Who among them had the imagination to compete with him?

The captured stars in the nets he had set up on the roof were beating and moaning pitifully. He would have to gather them before morning, lest they be burned by the first rays of dawn and the guards suspect something amiss. He would not burn his fingers on them or fish them out of the pond with a succulent, but only lure them into one of his enchanted boxes. And then they would grant any wish and only then would they extinguish themselves… but he had no time for them now. He was no longer even thinking about finding his way to the School of Witchcraft. Even the beautiful and desirable Mastema was suddenly no longer tormenting him in his thoughts. It was like a release. He thought of the fallen angel and no longer felt the fire in his loins. The passion was gone.

Only dreams remained. He wove them into a thin cobweb on the ceiling, weaving the image of Rhianon. In his mind he could follow her and watch as if she were very near.

Here Rhianon sits down to play cards with Athenais and her fairies and beats them all because they don’t yet know Orpheus’ tricks. After all, the cards are inventions of her spirit made just for her, and it turns out that she is able to beat even the evil spirits because she wields the thing she has launched better than they do.

“Go ahead, brave girl,” he mentally encouraged her. “Perhaps you will achieve even more than you want to.”

He really believed that.

She could outsmart even evil spirits. It was a pleasant surprise for Rhianon. Maybe she was capable of many things, only her abilities were dormant for now.

She wasn’t going to stop there. She needed more.

Rhianon thought of dragons. She wished she could get her hands on one. She was abruptly reminded of an emerald dragon from Madael’s pack, with a side of shimmering crests running down its entire backbone, from head to tail. The same wickedness could make an elegant lady’s saddle for her, so that the princess would perch on the dragon’s back, just above the flapping wings.

She needed the dragon only for intimidation. She had already realized that she had more fire in her than an entire pack of dragons. And her flames are more powerful than theirs. It’s frightening to even think about it, but there is such power dormant in her.

Would she herself burn if she set that power free? Rhianon preferred not to think about the bad. Victory awaited her, not defeat. That was all that mattered. Victory was worth sacrificing something for.

She had already sacrificed her heavenly castle and the arms of an angel. She can still come back, though. Or could she? Rhianon began to think seriously about how to outsmart Fate and lure the pendant from him. Maybe she could get him to play cards for jewelry, too. Or maybe he’d already seen how cleverly she outsmarts the others and would never sit down to play with her himself. Then she’ll find another way to fool him. She must have an imagination.

Rhianon fell asleep briefly on the grass under the shade of a towering tree, and when she awoke, she heard the gurgling of water nearby. Strangely, she hadn’t even noticed that there was a stream running nearby, as if the fire inside her had overcome the water element.

It was already beginning to get cloudy in the morning. Rhianon stood up and looked around. The trees nearby were willows, and the brook that ran along the rocks not far from them was getting deep in places. It is said that the evil one cannot cross the flowing water. Could she?

Rhianon decided to test it. She picked up her brocade skirts and stepped into the water. She did not feel anything unusual. The water felt good on her feet.

She saw a white animal on the next bank of the river, near the waterhole. Its skin was shiny, as if it glowed from within. It bore a striking resemblance to a horse, though its hooves, shaped as if they had been carved with ivory rather than nature, hinted at something supernatural. Rhianon also noticed the silky mane and the finely beaded horn in the middle of her forehead. She wasn’t at all surprised to see the magical animal by the stream.

She smiled as the unicorn raised its muzzle from the water and stared at her with its shimmering eyes. She wondered what kind of supernatural creatures unicorns belong to. Who they were in Madael’s army? What if they were just spirits who’d stood up for him when the war was still raging in the heavens? And now they and the others are being punished.

They say unicorns are attracted to innocence. Only an innocent maiden can touch them. Only a virgin can do that.

“I am not innocent,” Rhianon whispered with one lip, and yet the unicorn stepped into the water and moved toward her. He treaded gingerly with his hooves on the rocky bottom, as if his forehead were a star, not a horn. Many kings of the world would have given most of their treasure to have that one horn. Beautiful, graceful, studded with pearls like a frosty pattern. It must also have magical powers. One such piece could buy half a kingdom. Except that you would have to kill an animal to get it. Rhianon shuddered, picturing the blood on the snow-white pelt.

But she reached forward to touch it. The unicorn did not resist. On the contrary, it wanted her touch.

So it was not a matter of innocence. Or love is not a sin, it is the innocence of the soul that counts. And virgins who have devoted themselves to God are often overly treacherous. Rhianon remembered the Inquisition, the convents where they locked up the chaste and the churches where the servants of the gods were hypocrites before the people. No, she didn’t even want to think about all that, looking at the white creature before her. It wasn’t the kind of innocence he was looking for.

“Only I don’t want to burn you,” Rhianon only barely touched the soft, silky mane and wanted to stroke the horn, but she suddenly felt an internal heat and stepped back. Between them, a long, thin line of fire stretched across the water. It grew wider and wider. The unicorn did not want to back away from Rhianon, but in the end he had to. And Rhianon herself realized that it was time to get to shore. It was getting too hot in the water. The ribbon of fire that had formed already stretched along the stream. How could a fire burn right on the water? It was as if for a moment he had overcome the water element. Rhianon feared that the creek would be nothing but a scorched ravine, but the flames began to die out as suddenly as they had appeared. She saw that one of the streams was a burnt-out puddle, and the birds that had flown in to drink the water had been warned by the smell of the fire. When she reached the shore, Rhianon looked for the unicorn, but it was gone.

Perhaps he would appear again. Perhaps even now, as she walked on, he was following her at a distance. Rhianon sensed his affection for her. It was not surprising that at the crossroads of worlds she had met a fairy creature. Perhaps the brook itself separated the two worlds.

Involuntarily Rhianon stopped. How could it be? She didn’t want to go from a normally earthly kingdom to a fairy-tale region. When she noticed the leprechauns rummaging in the grass beneath her feet, she thought that’s where she’d ended up. Oh, the interregnum of the magical realm. A meadow belonging to fairies might well be among mortals’ possessions. In the lands of any feudal lord evil takes a piece or vice versa, people without realizing it, invade the world and settle it. And those who fell to the ground first willingly or unwillingly retreat into the darkness, seeking secluded corners, hiding in the forest thickets, and making frequent forays into human habitats to make fun of weaker creatures.

“Get in there! Get in there!” One of the leprechauns tugged at the brocaded hem of her dress and nearly ripped off the beads adorning it. The other leprechauns were already dancing around Rhianon.

“Send him away!” They were shouting in different tones. — Make sure he doesn’t burn down any more of our homes. You can make him stop coming, can’t you?

Rhianon pulled back her hem and stepped out of the Leprechaun circle. Reluctantly she moved in the direction they had pointed. There was a field just beyond the trees ahead. It must have been near someone’s farmhouse, for it looked plowed and seeded. The fertile soil had already sprouted. Rhianon stomped on them a little, moving forward. She stopped abruptly, noticing a scorched strip of land. It was surrounded by ash, and something poisonous, stinky that made the grass nearby shrivel up or dry out. The crops, too, would wither away, never ripening. The spikes would not mature next to such a patch of soil. The burnt strip seemed to symbolize extinction. The poisoned nature nearby was withering away. The black ash made an unpleasant impression.

The burnt line formed some kind of giant sign in the field. Rhianon regretted that she could not take to the air herself and easily see what the symbol was from her flight height. She regretted that Madael never gave her the wings she had been promised. It would have been easier for her. And in the mortal world, she could hide them under a cloak or fold them behind her back so that they themselves looked like a blanket. It was easy to mix them up in the dark. For some reason Rhianon had no doubt that her wings would have been black, not as light as Madael’s. But it was too late to regret that now. She decided to circle the entire length of the line to see what it folded into, but suddenly she guessed from the smooth curve what the shape was. It was a circle. It was a scorched circle on a field. Rhianon stopped beside it so that the toes of her shoes barely touched the charred line. The ground beneath her was not crawling with vermin and worms, but seemed permanently parched. No doubt, only dragon fire could do that. But how does she know where the dragon is? Is it near? Rhianon looked longingly up at the sky.

“What if the sovereign is going to build another one of his temples here? Ask him to do it!” Some insolent leprechaun was already tugging at the hem of her dress, but Rhianon shook it off with determination. The dangerously close proximity at which these creatures had gotten to her was already unbelievable. She could have grabbed any one of them and forced them to show her where the treasure was buried, but they didn’t seem the least bit bothered. Oh, yes, she didn’t have to show her where the treasure was buried. Madael had shown her everything anyway. Rhianon now sometimes thought that she herself could see where the gold was buried. Its glitter seemed to seep through the earth between the roots of trees, or on flat ground, and beckoned to her. As she passed by, she noticed such luster in the heaths and in the grass, and even in the burial grounds, but she never stopped. There might be goblets or even chests of jewels buried underground, but now was not the time to dig them out. Besides, it would be dangerous. The curse of the treasures comes not only from the people who probably buried them, but also from the fact that the sunbeams that fell with Denntsa were in the ground too deep. They are just waiting for someone to release them to the surface. Here on earth they have been turned into gold. Gold veins, nuggets in the rocks, deposits of diamond ores are all sparks that flew from him in that first battle moments before his defeat. In every piece of gold on the ground, it’s as if he lives. It was even in this ring. Rhianon raised her hand to examine one of her rings. The sun emerged from the clouds and immediately played with its facets, as if it recognized its lost piece and reached out to it with all its rays. They were the sun and the gold. Who would have thought that one came from the other? But before the origin of both the first and the second, there was still the son of the dawn. Rhianon tried not to think of him. Not yet. The time for that would come.

Where might the dragon be? Rhianon began to think of all the places where they lived that she knew. Rhianon remembered the black dragon that must have lived in the mouth of a volcano. There was a field and a scorched circle-the only sign that the dragon had flown here. But where it might have flown to after that? It might have been hundreds of kilometers away.

And why had it scorched the circle? What did it mean? What didn’t he like about this particular field? Rhianon had seen any of the locals, she would have been quick to read their minds and know at once what the matter was. But there was no one nearby.

After a moment’s hesitation, she moved on. One dragon meant nothing after all. Madael had a whole flock of them. He seemed to say there were sea dragons, ones that lived in swamps, or ponds, or even glaciers. Some even settle in icebergs in the ocean. Some are not enough to scorch cities to subdue the flames within themselves. Rhianon almost understood them. She herself had chosen the blue brocade, the color of water. Perhaps if she would only stand by the edge of the sea, the abundance of pearls on her clothing would attract the dragon living in the depths. She needed only to mentally call out, to think of the large pearls dotting her corsage and of the power that dwells in the depths.

She needed a dragon. She wanted to strike fear into Loretta that would make the inhabitants go numb. Shivering, they would lock themselves in their houses and pray. And she would take the city. All she needs is a worthy army, capable not only of taking the country, but of making everyone tremble.

Where to find this dragon? Perhaps all she had to do was listen to the feelings inside her. After all, she had already caught herself being able to read the thoughts of passersby. Ever since she left the celestial castle, talents have opened up in her one by one. Or maybe it was the divine blood that was the cause after all. Divine or cursed? She had, after all, tasted Madael’s blood there in his tent. Could it have had any effect? And the connection with the fallen angel was not without result. Not only was there a supernatural child growing in her, but new talents were being discovered. It was hour after hour, moment after moment, more and more. Rianon leaned over the flower, a bright red poppy, to brush a drop of dew from it and was surprised to find that it barely touched her fingertip and solidified into a dense diamond. The flower itself sparkled at her touch, glistening in every shade of red, from deep purple to almost pale pink. Maybe in time she would be able to turn large grapes into agate and extract gold from the light of dawn. She could say what she wanted, a valuable ability, but alas, it was useless right now. She needed something else, not magic transformations or magician’s tricks.

Rhianon squeezed her eyes shut and tried to listen to her sensations. In her mind she imagined a map of the world, to see if a fire was flaring somewhere, if she could hear a dragon’s roar in the mountains. Something she began to notice without even opening her eyes. Nearby, dwarf hearths burned beneath the ground, in the caves trolls galloped around fires, in nearby lagoons mermaids rested and wove a net of their own clipped hair to catch fishermen or hunters in. But there was nothing else. No supernatural packs swept over the villages and hamlets, but there still seemed to be traces of someone’s presence in the nearby village. There was something lurking there besides people. Rhianon wondered if she should go there. How far was that village? Suddenly her inner vision told her that the road was close.

Rhianon found that she could see without opening her eyes, or she could see what was not in front of her eyes at that moment. Thus she saw earthen buildings with thatched or tiled roofs, and also empty, narrow streets. As she peered through the opened door of one of the houses, she saw frightened children huddled in a corner, and some scaly creature deliberately fanning the fire in the hearth to scare them. She recognized the wings and tentacles of a dragon.

So it was worth going there after all. Rhianon picked up her skirts and moved through the thicket of junipers. The thorns scratched at her ankles, but did not fray the hem of her dress. She’d noticed by now that even after long walks through the woods and untended suburban roads, the bottom of her skirt was spotlessly clean. Not a blade of grass stuck to the brocade, not a speck, not a thorn, and she could have accidentally torn the fabric many times before.

Rhianon tried to move as fast as she could. If the dragon really was in the village, she didn’t want to be late. If it really had settled there and already intimidated the locals, it shouldn’t fly away too quickly. She was somehow confident that she would be able to negotiate a much easier deal with one of the dragons than with the greedy and cunning Athenais. She had to be beaten into submission. And the dragons would obey her anyway.

Badly, of course, if she miscalculated. Then she’s in trouble. But they can’t help but recognize her as one of their own. They might have forgotten the Fall, but the moment Madael had brought his betrothed to the valley to present her to them had been quite recent. It could not have slipped from their memory. She also had the face of Madael. That divine countenance of their leader that is simply impossible to forget. She herself is like a ray of sun reflected in his shield. They must obey her. Besides, Rhianon knew what she had to do or say to get them on her side.

As she wandered through the woods, she could hear the voices of robins, cuckoos, sparrows, and tits. And the most amazing thing was that she could understand what they were saying. A lark was singing on a branch. Rhianon could make out words in its trills. Not the words exactly, but the meaning of what the bird was trying to tell her. Yes, indeed, the dragon was near. He’d invaded a village, killed almost all its adult inhabitants, and now he continued to eat one child a day. They pissed him off about something. It seems that they sowed those fields where he last saw his master. That’s where the scorched circle came from, Rhianon guessed. A woodpecker tapped its beak on the trunk of a large, towering beech, and told her so. It had been a cherished meadow, and the children of the village had played in it, singing songs, and the shepherds of the sheep flocks had been singing as well. Now all the cattle had been eaten, the well had been flooded with dragon poison, and the remains of human bones had been stacked in the cellars. Only a few managed to escape. Even if these people made it to the royal court to ask for help, not even God himself could help them now. The dragon decided to take revenge and lure as many people as possible into the occupied lands. He was in no hurry to go away, he huddled in a captured village and waited. And the children cried as they watched him burn horrifying witch symbols on the walls of their homes. They looked at these signs from the fire and understood that they did not have long to live. In addition, their companions were being devoured before their eyes by the dragon. And it was impossible to escape. He was so quick-winged and strong and gripping. He would fling lighted candles with his claws and catch them in flight before they could reach the wooden floorboards. He did many other frightening tricks, mostly witchcraft tricks. So dragons can do magic, though they might have forgotten their angelic names, but they haven’t forgotten their magical powers. So every fallen angel remembers his powers and creates spells, and even if he lost his former face forever, he still recoils in horror from his creepy new reflection.

Rhianon could feel the fear of the surviving children almost in her skin.

“Oh, Edwin, I hope you don’t join them,” she turned to the unborn child for the first time, and felt an inner shudder. For some reason she was afraid. Only she wasn’t afraid for him, she was afraid for herself. He was not a fallen angel, he was only his son, but the name he had been given was like a spell, made up of the names of dead spirits. Their power is in him now, their cunning protects him, only does he need their protection.

“I believe in you,” Rhianon immediately corrected. “You are your father’s son.”

She hurried forward, no longer in doubt. The path through the thicket was narrow and winding through the forest. It looked as if it had been walked on before. At least it had been treaded. Rhianon would have kept walking it if she hadn’t been startled by sounds coming from somewhere on her side.

She might not have had the piercing ears of an elf, but her hearing was extremely acute. She could hear shouts, footsteps, weapons rattling, and clanking armor. There were knights on the next road, and they were frightened. Beyond the sounds, Rhianon could feel the trembling, the fear, the bewilderment, and she could also feel the sweat streaming down their faces under their visors, the blood dripping from their wounds, the heat growing next to the steel and flesh.

Something told her she’d better go that way. And she turned from her intended path. She learned to trust her instincts as any animal would trust them. The fox immediately smells danger and smells the hounds. The dragon senses the proximity of gold with every bristle of its hide, as it is bound to Madael. If you trust your senses, there is much to be gained. Rhianon felt that honor, victory, and glory lay ahead of her.

And she also had to hurry. But this wasn’t the first time she’d used her knack. She had noticed long ago that unlike humans she could easily walk in a minute a distance she would not have traveled in an hour before. Perhaps the ground no longer attracts her and she has nothing to fear of heights. Anything is possible. Rhianon tensed, trying to get something else out of her subconscious. But she felt nothing else. She would only know the rest when she was there.

The rocky terrain and the swamp behind the parting forest reminded her of something bad. At first she couldn’t figure out what, but then she remembered the blocks of rock that the demons had herded together for Madael. Here was something similar, but formed by nature itself. The mountain ledges above the swamp looked like human figures or silhouettes of some mythical character, as if they had been turned into stone on purpose. The mire below them was a nasty dirty green color. The brighter, emerald liquid trickled across its surface, as if it were poison or some other solution of unpredictable effect that the fairies had deliberately mixed into it. Not immediately did Rhianon notice the group of people crowding under the rocky slope by the swamp. Some were knights in armor and full armor. Their horses beside them, were wheezing in pain and terror. The bloodied shoulder of one of the warriors is broken, and not only the shoulder joints but even the armor is shattered. Who could have done such a thing? Rhianon gasped as she noticed the claw prints on them. They were dragon claws. What she was looking for was probably quite close. The pain on the knight’s own face and the splinter of bone sticking out of his shoulder didn’t even bother her. And yet now, with her new powers, she could heal this unfortunate man. Just a touch of her hand and a sincere wish was all it would take from her to heal someone’s wound.

One of the knights stared at her as if a divine vision had broken out before him. But Rhianon had already turned her gaze to the swamp. What she had mistaken for a bright emerald stream was in fact a long ridge on a dragon’s back. Sharp combs protruded from the surface of the mire. Rhianon held her breath. She could see the useless, naked swords in the hands of the surviving knights. She had already guessed that the band was much larger than the pitiful handful of warriors that now remained. The brave men still hung on, while their comrades-in-arms had long since rotted in the swamp, or worse, in the belly of the creature that lived there. And that handful of charred bones on the grass must be someone’s remains.

Rhianon saw the dragon’s head, its bright yellow eyes, and its shell the color of marshy slime. She wondered if swords could pierce that kind of hide. To her they were more harmless than needles.

“Wait!” She paced swiftly, and was only halfway to the knights when she arrived at their quivering pace.

“Don’t be frightened,” Rhianon ordered the travelers to fall back, shielding them from the crawling creature. One young man cried out and tried to run toward her. He feared she would be the dragon’s first victim. He couldn’t believe that she could save them all, but she could. She could also tell the swamp monster to go back to its mire. She possessed enough power to do so. Madael had taught her how to command his troops, and now she could use it very much.

Rhianon stared into the dragon’s yellow eyes for just a moment, and he stared at her. It was a long dueling stare. She tried to look inside him and see all the pain of the fall — a long black labyrinth filled with the cries of fallen angels, the rattle of swords, and the sizzling fire of heaven. Darkness and flame, gold and death, agony and ugliness, and worst of all agony about lost beauty. There would still be much she could see. Though the dragon living in the mire did not possess the same flow of crushing fire that she did, he was interesting to her. She wanted to get to know him better, to look even deeper into his mind, to fish out the remnants of his memory. Rhianon even smiled a little, noticing the remnants of shiny gold metal on his webbed paws and claws.

“Are you with me?” She asked with one lip, and was taken aback. Slowly, very slowly, the ugly crested head unfurled, and the dragon crawled away into the swamp. Just a moment later, the mire closed in on him. It was as if it had never been there.

Rhianon breathed deeply and heavily. How could it be? It was as if he did not accept her. She was so shaken that she could no longer hear the voices of the knights beside her. No questions, no words of thanks, no numerous expressions of admiration — nothing moved her. Some very handsome young man was showering her with compliments, and she didn’t even notice him because of an acute sense of disappointment and longing for the monster that had crawled away into the mire. Was a monster more important to her than a living man? Oh, yes, if only she could breathe under water, she would follow the dragon into the abyss.

She wanted to tame the dragon, not the handsome man standing beside her, but the dragon was gone. Only the stranger knight remained. His gauntlet-clad fingers were already gently clasped in her palm. He wanted to kiss her hand. Rhianon reluctantly turned around.

“Yes? What did you say?”

For a moment she marveled at the closeness she could feel with a single glance. She seemed to have known him all along, this handsome young man with curls the color of ripe millet and radiant blue eyes. His open, kind face immediately won her over. Involuntarily Rhianon smiled. Even Ron had never looked so pleasant.

“I’ve seen you before.”

“Is it really?” Rhianon shuddered. Was he in Loretta? He may even have been here and there. It’s possible, isn’t it? “Where have you seen me before?”

He was obviously embarrassed. Grown and strong he still retained some childish traits. Combined with his intelligence and developed athletic body, it was fascinating.

“I was dreaming…” he paused.

Rhianon remembered something now. The spirits had already given her the tour of the royal chambers in Vinor. She looked at the pretty young man’s face. If she used her imagination she could try a crown on those blond curls. No, she could do it without imagination. All she has to do is look in the annals of her memory.

“Are you the King of Vinor?”

He merely nodded, imperceptibly shushing one of his retainers, who was about to introduce him in a formal tone.

“And you?”

How timid he seemed to her, for all his strength and good looks.

“I was a queen,” Rhianon did not know whether she was referring to her hapless Loretta or to the countless armies of the Devil. She reigned here and there, if only in her memories for now.

The screams of the demons in the valley became only an echo in her memory, far more she remembered the lions woven on the tapestries and the weary yet charming young man she’d wanted to touch then… She was touching him now. He himself did not want to let her hand out of his.

He was like a sunny summer day, she compared again. And immediately she was forced to turn away. And the sun and the gold reminded her equally of Madael.

“What’s the matter with you?” He sounded concerned.

“It is nothing,” Rhiannon shook her head. She couldn’t very well tell people she was pining after her demon. She expected to be strong, but the longer she didn’t see Madael, the more she missed him. Eventually the feeling would grow into a black unbearable longing and she would go mad unless she could return to him, but it was too soon to think about that.

“Your Majesty…”

“Ferdinand,” he corrected her quickly.

“Rhianon,” she said. There was mute admiration in his clear expressive eyes. Naturally, he, a simple man, saw a girl dressed in a dress woven by fairies, adorned with pearls from cursed treasures, and carrying in her heart the love of a fallen angel. It is impossible not to fall in love with such a girl. It seems that Ferdinand was already captivated. She would not have to try hard to persuade him to throw himself after her into the swamp or any other abyss. Rhianon didn’t even grin at the realization of her own power. Maybe it was too soon to rejoice. Or maybe her feelings were being crusted over with ice, even as the fire inside her only grew hotter. Fire! Rhianon remembered the dragon in the village. It was now clear to her where these knights were going. The robin on the bush might not have trilled to tell her that.

Rhianon didn’t immediately notice some animal sighting near the hem of her dress. She gave a silent gasp as she noticed someone’s claws digging into the lush boulders of fabric at her feet. At the same instant, one of the knights raised a loaded crossbow.

“No, wait,” Rhianon made a gesture with her hand. Ferdinand rushed forward to block her with his own body.

Of course, the knight wasn’t aiming at her, but at the creature bustling beneath her feet, but it was the creature that Rhianon finally recognized. The girl immediately leaned toward the black clawed creature. Just her familiar harpy, and she was already expecting to see at least a jackal. The reaction of the knights was unpredictable, since they had never encountered such creatures before. Some could barely keep from spitting and crossing themselves, and only Ferdinand was smiling at the top of his mouth.

“I, too, keep my own hound dogs with me. I even had my own tame wolf cub as a child. Believe it or not, Rhianon, my castle is the only one that keeps a large menagerie. I keep an eye on it. You have to have pets.”

How charming he is. His pleasant, good-natured smile could captivate anyone. Rhianon involuntarily smiled back. She was even ready to take the harpy in her arms. Ferdinand seemed eager to touch and even caress the strange newfangled beast. He looked like a carefree boy, as if the burden of marriage and other duties were not upon him.

“I have heard that pet monkeys are fashionable in Villette; they follow their mistress everywhere and may even sit on her shoulders. It’s so charming to have a faithful four-legged companion following a beautiful lady. I, too, have tried to tame cheetahs, but if I could…” he smiled charmingly again. “Only horses and dogs obey me, and falcons, too. But my other pets…” he bit his lip grudgingly. The harpy seemed happy to bite off not just a finger but half a hand, but Ferdinand didn’t seem to notice. He hurried to fondle the tiny monster peeking out from behind Rhianon’s fluffy skirts, apparently mistaking him for an amusing live toy. An amusing innovation in the court fashions of alien fears, something like those monkeys from Villette. Rhianon almost took his hobby with a sense of humor. It was not enough for her to start making jokes. The harpy, hiding behind her skirts and only occasionally throwing her claws forward for zealous attacks, was already behaving extremely aggressively.

But Ferdinand was not discouraged. What an optimist.

“I have leopards, panthers, cheetahs, little tigers and a lion. I love them all, but I can’t say they share my feelings. What is the name of your pet?”

Rhianon didn’t know what to say.

“I haven’t given him a name yet,” she explained evasively. In fact, it was true that she hadn’t even thought of a name for the infernal creature, but now it was time to lie. “But I was thinking of calling him Mad. What do you think?”

Ferdinand’s knights would obviously agree, and would even help to escort the Mad One to the cage, if not to the bonfire. Ferdinand, however, would only shrug his shoulders.

“I’m not very creative,” he admitted frankly. “The caretakers usually give my animals names, and I agree with them.”

“Of course, it’s not a state matter.”

Had she succeeded in teasing him, or perhaps in reproaching him a little? Ferdinand lowered his blond head. So she had hit the mark after all.

“I hardly have time for my relatives because of these cases,” he confessed so quietly that none of the attendants could hear.

“Isn’t one of them dead, if you’re so sad?” This time she thought she was really going to tease him, but Ferdinand answered with unexpected seriousness.

“My nephew passed away recently… he was mauled by a boar in my, the king’s, woods. They were he and his retinue, all the attendants, among them my advisors. If I had been more attentive to them and less documented, I could have gone with them and prevented this. But I sat locked up with the chancellor and looked over the reports. I put off entertaining myself that day…”

And how cleverly he did? Rhianon thought of the hunting lodge and Leon’s plot. Well, it all worked itself out, and beautiful naive Ferdinand did not even notice that he was on the verge of death. The arrow with the king’s name carved on its shaft went up in flames. Ferdinand survived and his enemies died in contrast. How to expose an ill-wisher in the guise of a friend, relative or associate? For someone who is diligent in his work, but simple in his family relations, it is difficult. Everything could have turned to his detriment.

Rhianon could have told him many things, but she held her tongue. It was too soon. Much more troubling to her was the fact that once again the people to whom she had handed the dwarf’s coins had died. This was not the first time this had happened, and she was seriously beginning to wonder about the effects of the gold she was carrying. She had very few coins left, but what power they had. It was the power to take someone’s life. Though in the latter case, she had disposed of the gold correctly. She would rather let Ferdinand live. She liked the open and honest man much better than the proud and hypocritical Leon.

“I am sorry for your loss,” she said. “But what could you have done against fate?”

“Only what you’ve done for me now,” he nodded toward the marsh, recognizing that her intervention had been fateful. Beneath the mire, there was nothing to ripple anymore. The threat had disappeared into the swamp.”

“I am fate itself,” Rhianon said boldly, though he could not yet grasp the meaning of her confession.

Within an hour they had become friends. As she was given a horse and the most comfortable saddle, Rhianon pondered how fate was whimsical. It did not take her a lifetime to win the sympathy of the councilors in Loretta, but it was enough to win Ferdinand’s affection in just a few seconds. His favor, his friendship, his support, if needed — everything was now available. No more racking one’s brains and making plans to get an audience with the king. There was no magic tricks, no flattery or lies, no intimidation, no pendant to help you move from one point in the world to another in an instant. Fate decided everything just like that. Rhianon didn’t have to make any effort. She just stepped on the right road at the right moment, and as Orpheus would say, all the cards fell into her hands.

Tiny pixies scattered under her horse’s cautiously stepping hooves. Whether she wanted to or not, Rhianon noticed them. Her unstoppable companions, spirits coursing through the atmosphere, whispered insidiously what she might have thought to be her thoughts.

“He is one of the most powerful rulers in the world, this sweet, charming boy. And perhaps now, with the strength of Loretta, his allies, and his adversaries undermined by the long war, Vinor will become the most powerful nation in the world. Guess your chances? You could get your kingdom back for one kiss.”

That’s the kind of thing only skilled tempters can say. They almost convinced her. And yet Rhianon frowned. She felt uncomfortable with her new acquaintance, too honest, too open to make him her plaything. Of course, her own plans came first, but right now, in the first minutes of acquaintance, she didn’t want to use Ferdinand. Then someday she would remind him of his duty. She herself had no recollection of saving anyone, but the dragon had cleared out when she appeared, which meant Ferdinand thought she had saved his life. It’s a strange conclusion. He was going to fight, wasn’t he? But a gentleman is always in a hurry to flatter a lady he likes. She will not fail to take advantage of it later. In the meantime, Rhianon only shushed the spirits.

“It is enough!”

“What, my lady?” Ferdinand was riding his white horse nearby.

“Nothing,” Rhianon pretended to stroke the harpy’s dark, protruding ears, which looked more like pointed axes. She herself would have gladly let the black companion run after her horse, but she was embarrassed to have Ferdinand watching. She had to take the harpy in her saddle and treat it like a tame monkey. Rhianon pondered intensely how the strange creature had managed to follow her at all. The harpy followed her mistress everywhere in the castle, but she could not sneak into the tower with Rhianon to the spirits, nor did she have a pendant to move in space. So how was she able to leave the clouded space? Who let her out of the castle? Hadn’t Madael sent her own servants to spy on her? Who knows, for servants could easily be bribed, and besides, they had originally sworn an oath only to him, not to her, and certainly preferred to stick to the strongest of masters. If only Rhianon could understand the language of the creatures, in addition to that of the birds, she could ask the harpy how she had come to be here. That she was looking for her mistress was certain. But what would it have taken for her to get to earth with Rhianon? She looked a little frightened. It was unusual for such an impudent creature.

Rhianon pretended to scratch and stroke her pet, but really only ran her fingertips over the black, charred skin. Were there supposed to be ash marks on her fingers after contact with the beast? Rhianon only grinned. There was no need to fear, she had the power to turn everything into fire and ash herself. She need not fear those who were the first on earth to be burned. And yet the fear was there, barely perceptible, but eerie and awe-inspiring at the same time. There were ashes from the wings of Lucifer and his subjects. All those who had suffered the wrath of the god and his injustice… they were burned, and the ash that remained of their beauty also held some mystery in it.

Rhianon trembled at the thought of seeing another dragon soon. Perhaps it would be easier for her to come to terms with. She had heard from Ferdinand before he had even opened his mouth about his little failed quest. It was easy to read about it, not only in his thoughts, but also in the unguided heads of all his attendants. They decided that with a small squad of crossbowmen and archers they could overpower the dragon that dwelt in the village. Alarming rumors reached the courtyard. Rather than ignore the complaints or send a few doomed men to the perilous place, as Loretta surely would have done, honest Ferdinand decided to fight the beast himself and chose his most dependable and valiant companions. His knights were good fighters, well armed and skilled, but they knew nothing of sorcery, and little of the power they would face. They were doomed. Had Leon known for nothing how hard he’d worked to find the enchanted arrow and pave the way for the palace’s coup d’etat? Or did he think his brave king would be safe from any danger?

And so it turned out. A fairy appeared from the forest and led the travelers to salvation. Rhianon did not consider herself a heaven-sent angel or goddess, but she could certainly save Ferdinand and his men. The handful of knights who had survived the first encounter with the swamp dragon could not stand up to the monster that lodged in the village. But Rhianon was not only going to tame it, she was going to draw it to her side.

Rhianon wondered if she could use the power of persuasion or hypnosis to persuade her faithful companion to wait a while and let the lady go first. If Ferdinand had been in his right mind, he would have been stubborn. Why, indeed, would a lady need a knight to protect her rather than accept protection from her? He had already failed the first time, and now he was eager to fight. He was eager to prove his superiority. His gauntleted hand clenched on the hilt of his sword. He checked the chain strapped to his saddle to see if it was still in place, and reminded his men that they’d do well to enlist the support of Heaven and say a prayer before they fought the evil one.

Heaven! Rhianon looked up at the gray clouds in the height.

Of course, the celestial creatures have enough power, but they all go only to continue the old war and the jealousy of the vanquished. No one cares about the world below. Thunder and lightning can rain down on it, make people miserable, scorch supernatural beings, but not give a moment of bliss.

Rhianon almost laughed. She had already snatched her moment in paradise. In the tent of his former lover, now cursed, was paradise. It was paradise for a moment. And now the fires of hell burned her from within.

But to burn in it was far more pleasant than to bow before a merciless deity who could hurt but was in no hurry to help. Now Rhianon understood Madael, his rage, and his pain.

Here is the village. They reached it on horseback much later than Rhianon would have had time to reach it on foot. Only she was in no hurry to show the knights the shortcut. She needed to think and prepare. Now she must find the dragon and negotiate with him, and do so before the knights could reach him. She did not want any of them to die. The dragon himself would leave these places if she could negotiate with him. Well, here was another difficulty, how she would explain herself to him. Would he understand her words? Somehow she had no doubt he would.

She would be speaking not to a mere creature, but to a hoarder of treasure, and perhaps even of witchcraft books. Not everyone has lost their mind since the fall. Some are still powerful. She remembered the wise eyes and the smooth movement of the manifold and multicolored iridescent bodies. Resembling mother-of-pearl, a copse of emeralds, rubies, or diamonds, the wonderfully beautiful skins of dragons still stood before her eyes. She would have wished she could have all of Madael’s army. And dragons, for all their fearsome power, are simply incomparable. Adoring gold for its proximity to the sun, and thus to the creature that had led them all to defeat, they themselves resembled something as precious as their treasures. As fallen angels they may be disfigured, but as newborn beings they are matchless.

Her dreams were interrupted by the bleak picture of an empty village. Slivers of rubble knocked out of walls, empty buckets, and torn off wagon wheels lay here and there in the empty roads. Somewhere walls and yards were scorched, rubble flew off, and poisonous fumes streamed over the well. The water must have been poisoned. And Ferdinand’s warriors were just now getting thirsty. They had not taken their own convoy with them, for the road was not very far. The knights intended to make short work of it. They were naive fools. They would never get back from here. Their few flasks of wine rested at the bottom of that swamp. Rhianon shuddered when she heard a low hiss and some strange noises, like pebbles rolling across the boardwalk to the recitation of spells.

The others didn’t hear it. Ferdinand didn’t even bother. For them, there was a terrifying silence over the empty village, no rustling of grass, no singing of birds, not even a mouse would have snuck by. There were no rodents or insects left. The dragon, with his spells and his obsessive devotion to Dennitsa, had frightened them all away. Is there something wrong with him? Rhianon sensed evil, magic, and an almost fanatical desire to avenge his master.

Rhianon tried to search her inner vision to see in which particular house or basement the beast might be lurking. She almost succeeded. The house with the red outhouse, the steep basement steps, the fluted basement pillars… she saw everything, but not with her eyes. Only the empty roads of the village branched out before her gaze. There were no people, no songbirds, no traffic in the road dirt and no signs of life at all. Only at one of the boardwalks a bright orange hem suddenly flashed. A woman emerged from the shadows. Her hair, as orange as her brocade, looked like flames. Her face was either a mask or a cluster of tiny burns. Rhianon shuddered when she saw her.

“Who is it?” She yanked on Ferdinand’s horse to draw his attention.

“I can’t see anything.” He looked ahead at her, distracted, toward where Rhiannon had pointed.

“Is that so?”

She couldn’t see anything now either. There was a pang of shadow and a pang of fear. The woman had frightened her for some reason. But was she? After all, no one else had seen her. Maybe it was just an imagination.

No, it wasn’t. Rhianon shook her head stubbornly. “How can it be something that makes your blood run cold? The vision may fade, melt away, laugh at you, but the fear it created remains.”

The ghost that had appeared more than once had shattered her self-confidence a little. After all, she had seen a similar bright flaming silhouette near the barn before, and later, when she had fallen asleep in the cellar near the barrels of miracle wine. She could not mistake or mistake the fantasy created by the potion for reality. Eve’s ghost was real, too. Just because he hadn’t bothered her lately didn’t mean the boy had rested in peace. He was wandering somewhere between worlds, and not a man because of his genius, merely the victim of a fallen angel, the object of his passion and his rage. Rhianon could only sympathize with Eves. She knew his story, but the barn ghosts remained a mystery to her. Sometimes she felt them trying to make their way to her through the thickness of non-existence. It was most often in dreams. Only they hadn’t succeeded yet. And suddenly she had such a clear vision. Even if it only lasted a moment, but the woman in the orange dress looked so real and alive, as if the truth stood very close at arm’s length and could be touched. This is the nearness of the grave. Rhianon was frightened by even the thought of touching something like that.

“Maybe we should split up,” she suggested. “It would be easier that way.”

“Okay,” Ferdinand immediately assessed the positives. “You stay here and someone to protect you. We’ll look around the village.”

“No,” Rhianon touched his elbow with her hand. “I will go ahead. You must trust me.”

He stared at her for a moment, as if he were gazing into her soul. Then he reluctantly nodded. Rhianon knew that he had many questions, but he was too shy to say them out loud. He’d seen the dragon crawl away into the marsh at her mere sight, watched the harpy obey her, and suspected that the beast was unusual. What else could his naive, superstitious head suppose? And yet if he had been so superstitious he would have been afraid of intimacy with the fairy. Who does not know that the beauty that came out of the forest can take the knight’s soul captive and leave his body to die? The black longing for elves is a parable in tongues. Who is not afraid to face the evil one and surrender his mind to it? Ferdinand was not afraid. So he must be respected, or at least admired. Rhianon smiled weakly.

“That dragon wasn’t the only one,” he muttered.

“Not the only one…”

“It will run from you.”

“We shall see,” Rhianon said, not that she wanted a repeat of the situation, but of course she couldn’t explain his reasons. “I’ll have to check it out. That’s what I’m supposed to do.”

He couldn’t understand her, but he nodded. How nice when someone always agrees with you and takes the time to pry the truth out of you. Rhianon was grateful for that, and also for the fact that he spoke in half a voice for fear that the attendants might overhear them. They did not possess the ability to read minds, so they had to be content with guesswork. Rhianon was glad of that. She had no intention of explaining herself, nor did she wish to. She had a feat in store for her, an opportunity to negotiate with a dragon. Or perhaps defeat, quarrel, and war. The second was undesirable, if only because of the vulnerability of Ferdinand and his companions. If he and the dragon began shooting fire and magic at each other, there would be only a handful of ashes left of the people hanging around. It was much easier and more comfortable to understand each other. That was what Rhianon was going to achieve. She was almost certain their lord’s chosen dragon would not be harmed in any way. But to serve her, would any of them agree to it? They already had a lord. Who needs her? Rhianon decides to take the risk after all.

Bravo, Orpheus would tell her, and would push her forward with jokes and warlike appeals. She could almost hear his mocking voice teasing her as she entered the village. Rubble crunched under her horse’s hooves. Rhianon dismounted and led him. The animal would sense danger and be sure to buck and then she would have to hold him back.

She could handle it. Rhianon felt a rush of strength. Calming a rampaging horse was no problem for her now. In addition, the beasts can feel the fire within her, and reluctantly have a certain awe of its owner. The beasts have always been obedient to her, both her father’s falcons and hounds and burrowing racehorses. It is easy to tame those who recognize your power. Only it was not enough for her to achieve, she attempted more. To lead those who conquered the heights of the heavens was what she wanted more than anything else.

A few more steps and she caught the sound of quiet snoring and the clinking of coins and a child’s crying. It was all happening somewhere nearby. No, more likely on the surface. She could hear the coins roll across the boardwalk and stiffen in front of the trapdoor leading down. It was worth using her clandestine vision to look more closely, but Rhianon was now concentrating all her energies on locating herself. Where, which way did she have to go to reach the right door or hatch?

She went at random, trying not to get too far away from the enticing sounds. The gold tinkled so invitingly, and with it a hissing, mocking-like sound and the almost unintelligible words of an unearthly language.

Rhianon stopped, noticing the fiery symbols scorched on the oak walls. It was a wonder the houses hadn’t crumbled from them. The charred marks, made either by a dragon’s claw or fiery breath, were folded into ancient and frightening signs. Rhianon held her breath. She remembered these symbols. She had seen them before… no, not her, and not in the books in Madael’s castle, though they must have been there. She had seen them through his eyes, there in the celestial war, marks drawn with the tips of fiery swords on the still pristine white skin of the defeated angels. Those marks were on him, too-his scars. Rhianon remembered his pain. He was used to pain and endured it as people endure life, full of complications, but so commonplace. Those who fell with him were akin to him. They, too, knew it.

Oh, Madael! Rhianon reached forward to touch the scorched symbol. Then she heard a hiss behind her. Her hand froze halfway. The dragon was very near.

Rhianon turned swiftly. So she had chosen the right house after all. Only it was not right in front of her, but behind her. She might have walked right past it. Now she was standing just at the end of the right building, and she could hear what was going on inside. The hissing was more audible here, and the proximity of the flames more palpable. Droplets of hot sweat appeared on her forehead, almost burning her skin. Rhianon brushed them away with her hand and walked around the house. Better to go through the door. Her appearance would be unexpected either way. She could feel the fear of the captive children, still alive but beating like birds in the force, and she could also feel someone else’s malevolent enjoyment of their fear. It was just coming from the creature she was looking for. God, she would have to negotiate with him, too. It would swat her with one paw, and do so with gusto.

Rhianon hefted her chest full of air, so that she had something to puff on her attacker in case of danger. She, too, can create fire. She was bubbling inside. It would be easy to turn her emotions into flames, if need be. Awe, anticipation, fear, rage, the nearness of triumph-she experienced it all at once. It made the pressure inside her sharpen, too. She herself was like a red-hot furnace. She wondered if the dragon would notice and respect someone who was his equal.

It would be to her advantage.

“Well, wish me luck, Orpheus,” she laughed mentally at her fears. Of course, her mocking spirit was not there, but the memory of him, perpetually cheerful and as if drunk, allowed her to look at everything with a sense of humor.

That was what she lacked now, and also faith in her own strength. If Orpheus were there and he would certainly help with advice or a joke. In the meantime she would have to rely only on herself.

Rhianon pushed open the door, wobbling on half-torn hinges, entered and was stunned. The coins themselves rolled across the floorboards and jingled at her feet, clinging to the hem of her dress. They were as if they were alive. Rhianon tried to shake them off and couldn’t. She noticed the children in the corner, huddled together, and the creature beside the hearth, drawing fiery symbols with its claw. They hovered above the red-hot brazier, forming clots of flame in the height.

“Circle, circle, each in turn shall die…” she repeated in a whisper like a rhyming rhyme what was probably being said here more than once. Her head was spinning. Rhianon struggled against the doorframe to keep herself from falling. Her eyes went black. All she could see were symbols of fire against the pitch blackness, and voices tearing through the silence.

“It is enough!” She whispered. And the dragon’s head suddenly turned toward her. She could see through the gloom its eyes, gleaming and piercing. They really looked into her soul. Rhianon suddenly realized that the old rags, lying like snakeskin on the floor, were his cloak. He could pretend to be human and pretend to be a wanderer, like the angel of death. He was very tall, disproportionately built, with claws on his hands and scaly rough skin on his body. He was even mistaken for a pilgrim. So he would come to the villages and then become a dragon. That’s a neat trick.

It was only with this that she realized that he was not the only one. Others, too, are capable of becoming human. Some only on full moons or days of special rituals performed in a ring of boulders they had herded together. These are moments of redemption. For some they are like a gift. Those beautiful dragons with ruby or emerald scales can even become beautiful suitors and fool the ladies. But it doesn’t last long. And how many hearts are left broken. Is all this for a dragon? Some are as ugly as the gentleman in black who nearly kidnapped her. Some are even handsome. Some pretend to be wanderers in tattered cloaks, or poor wanderers, they beg for shelter, but when it is too late to cast them out, they take on a hideous appearance. Others seduce people and then drag them into the abyss. Oh, yes, they are truly fallen angels. They know how to use their moments of perfection. Perhaps one day she will even meet a learned lord sitting behind books. He is actually an all-knowing monster and with the chiming of the clock he will turn into a dragon guarding precious folios like a gold mine. Everything is so simple and yet so confusing at the same time.

Rhianon came to her senses from the terrible noise. People were already standing here, someone’s hands were lowering arrows from crossbows, pulling up stakes, reaching for swords. Ferdinand put his arm around her waist, trying to pull her away. Rhianon, on the other hand, stared only at the scaly brown tail, which was swiftly slipping up the broad steps. It would fly away faster from the roof. Rhianon was relieved to see he was in no danger. Arrows bounced off the dragon’s scales with a ricochet. Shooting him was dangerous, but he himself was not. His jewel-like hide provided more protection than any eyebrow.

But then why was he running away? If he was not afraid of knights, why did he not burn them all, reclaiming his territory? A hunch burned her like fire. He is running from her. This is the second dragon to turn its back on her. What is happening? Why does she frighten them so? Why does the mere sight of her drive them from their occupied territory? She’s stronger than them, so much so that they can’t compete with her. But this is nonsense, isn’t it?

Rhianon didn’t feel so strong. But how else to explain the monsters fleeing? They shunned her as humans shun danger. How could she find common ground with them if she couldn’t even get close to them? Rhianon pondered feverishly.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded mechanically at Ferdinand’s concerned question. She wasn’t hurt, if that’s what he wanted to know, but she seemed to be starting to become impaired in her sanity. She sees things that shouldn’t be there. But so do the others.

The dragon has disappeared, leaving the invaded territories and sobbing children in hysterics. This means that her plans to negotiate with him and subdue him are ruined. No, it is not that simple. Rhianon wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. No one understood why she was crying, attributing it to the ordeal she had endured, but that was all right. She would find another dragon for sure. She would find another dragon and she would not miss it.

One of the knights came up to free the children. It proved difficult. The ropes and some strange curved chains did not budge. He broke the blade of his stele on them.

Ferdinand looked around in amazement.

“Look at these signs,” he said, pointing to the symbols above the hearth. The fire was no longer in the air, but the charred marks looked ominous. As burned as the bodies of once beautiful angels.

“No, don’t look,” Rhianon warned. She grabbed Ferdinand’s arm impetuously. “You must not look at it.

She wanted to tell him, but she could not say it. Would he understand her?

He understood and nodded.

“Come, let’s get out of here!” He ordered his men, who reluctantly, but forced themselves to obey. A circle scorched on the floor, gold coins rolling on the boards and strange ornate symbols grabbed everyone’s attention. They were like a magnet, only drinking away the soul. Rhianon could still sense the sweeps of black charred wings taking the shape of these symbols as she stepped outside.

The fresh air cheered her up a little, and yet she had to lean her forehead against Ferdinand’s shoulder to avoid falling. He timidly touched her disheveled hair. The touch of steel felt pleasantly cold. Rhianon could feel the heat of the metal on her forehead, but it felt good. Ferdinand’s presence was soothing in itself. He was like a good old friend, one memory of which immediately lifted her spirits. Like a nice summer day.

“You have nothing to fear.”

“I know,” she wasn’t sure, but his voice was pleasant. It was a deep baritone, low but not husky. It was a grown man’s voice and a boy’s face. Ron was the same way. The memory of him made her heart ache for some reason. Was he with someone else? Or maybe something else had happened.

Just thinking about him sent a thousand daggers through her body. It was blood, pain, a thorn in her heart. Rhianon felt something strange and extremely painful.

To distract herself she looked at the freed children. They were still very young. The oldest is about seven years old at most. All covered in ashes and even blood. They looked at her with startled, frightened eyes. Maybe she thought she saw something in those eyes, something other than childlike awe. What could the dragon have had time to show them? If she was to believe what she saw, he was preparing to sacrifice each of them. But he didn’t have time to kill them. Rhianon tried to push the thought from her mind.

“We should go back,” she turned to Ferdinand.

He didn’t care how familiar she sounded when she said the word “we,” as if they had always lived together under the same roof and she was not some random stranger who now imposed herself as his guest. At the royal court, such guests become guests for life. Who doesn’t like to be at the court? Even for jesters and servants there is a hearty table and a complete lack of concern. And the courtiers, who are in the king’s esteem, become the object of envy of many.

Rhianon was imposing. Or he invited her.

It was both.

He even seemed to fear that now she would leave him and go her own way and then disappear forever. She would have to be searched for, but who would find a forest fairy? She had emerged from the magical world just for a moment to help a handful of mortals. Her duty is done and she herself will be gone. It is forever and ever.

That was what was on his mind. He was afraid beforehand. Rhianon wanted to reassure him. But then she would dispel the spell. It was better not to say anything for the time being.

She turned her attention back to the children. There was something odd about them. There was something strange about the frozen expression on their faces. She turned away from them. She didn’t even want to look at them. But they seemed excessively interested in her, and not just as a richly dressed lady, there was something more to it.

All the onlookers were gaping at the princess, her stature, her costumes, her jewelry, and her entourage. Only not all gawkers are able to consider the fire or the magical power within her. And now it seemed to her that someone had seen it. Someone had invaded her mind and was gently probing it. Nonsense, it’s just kids. She consoled herself and tried to forget about them.

It was hard enough with the fact that now they would be hanging around until someone else had to take care of them. But it was all right not to look at them. But you would have to endure their stares all the way. Is it a long way to Vinor? Rhiannon suggested that Ferdinand should ride ahead, and he agreed, so they soon broke away from the group. Now they could not even see the men who were escorting them. They were alone. Well, good. The vassals must keep a respectful distance, not too small, but not too large either, so as to come to their aid in time if need be.

Rhianon herself could protect them both. Her fire was truer than any weapon. Too bad Ferdinand didn’t know that yet. And there was no point in telling him. She can give birth to fire, she can sense danger from afar, and she can read others’ thoughts. In the crunch of twigs she can guess the movement of beasts, in the sway of leaves the play of pixies, in the tremor of the air the movement of spirits. She is not a fairy, she is above them all. But let Ferdinand think of her as a fairy for now. Ignorance is good for him. With his simple-mindedness and his understanding of the truth, he can fall back on it. He conducts the affairs of state well. He is too gentle with his cronies. Is he harsh with others? She caught herself trying to probe his mind, to find his virtues and flaws, to determine his secret tendencies, in general to see everything that was not immediately apparent.

He had become her friend all too quickly, to see if any wormhole would open up in him. But no matter how hard she tried, she could find no flaw. Maybe there wasn’t one. That was hard to believe. How could a strong politician and warrior be such a beautiful man, and at the same time have such an appearance. Ferdinand seemed perfect in all things, both outwardly and inwardly. Yes, he has some pain. He takes the complexities of political maneuvering seriously. He knows how to fight well and command troops. He’s smart. And it seems that neither the intrigues of the court nor the hardships of war have poisoned his human qualities so far.

Rhianon heard the pixie voices in the quiet rustle of the leaves. Whether Ferdinand could hear them, too? Just in case, she decided to distract him with conversation.

“What will happen to the village now? There are no more inhabitants. Will you make any arrangements? Will you give the vacated lands to other vassals?”

“I don’t know.” He frowned and was silent for a moment, unable to say what he was thinking. “Is it possible to live there now? Have you seen the signs? They are everywhere, not only on the walls of buildings, but even in the fields. It’s as if the ground itself was marked with hellfire. I have the feeling that these possessions don’t belong to me anymore, that I don’t have the right to dispose of them.”

He had no idea how right he was. Rhianon was amazed at his shrewdness. Knowing almost nothing, he guessed everything instinctively. She could have explained many things to him, but she chose to remain silent.

“And what would happen to the children?”

He only shrugged. The gesture looked absurd in his armor. The shoulder pads jingled softly. The silence was broken by the sound of metal.

“They could find families for them.”

“Do you have children?” It seemed to Rhianon that there must be. Yes, Ferdinand was young, or maybe he just looked so young because of his appearance. But she realized he was not alone. Behind him stretches a golden thread of something — an extension of life. It was a succession of dynasties. He could not but have heirs.

“Two,” he answered in an indifferent tone. “They are both sons.”

“Then you are in luck. What my father wouldn’t have given to have an heir, a boy,” she paused. It was too soon to tell him about herself. Besides, the grim prospect of how male heirs were dealt with immediately loomed before her. It was only because of Conrad’s weakness that the female heir survived. Had there been a struggle for the throne with the young man, his throat would simply have been cut.

Leon was good at calculating his options. If he became regent of Ferdinand’s eldest son, he would have all the power, and a way to destroy both heirs before the day of their majority would certainly be found. It all adds up, unless there is no queen. Rhianon had somehow not thought of such an unfortunate nuisance. The throne beside Ferdinand might not be empty at all.

“Their mother died a few years ago,” he said as if he could read her mind.

“You have been worried?”

“I wish I could say that, for the sake of decorum…” He grinned nervously. His total detachment and lack of pride in his sons did not quite fit with his role as King. Isn’t an heir the most important thing? All the rulers of the world thought so. But Ferdinand seemed to think only of himself.

“Have you never met a witch, Rhianon?”

The question shocked her a little.

“I don’t mean those poor beggars and herbalists who are captured and burned at the fires of the Inquisition, but a real wicked and perpetually scheming witch.”

She didn’t know what to say and opened her mouth in astonishment. She hadn’t expected to hear something like this from him. But Ferdinand seemed to have been driven to an extreme degree of despair. How long he had kept it to himself.

“My wife was a witch. It was in the fullest sense of the word. With her arrival, the whole castle was in flux, nothing but intrigue, gossip, coalitions of courtiers, a whole war within one’s own house. I’m so tired. A political marriage is bad. Any union without feeling is a punishment. I would live more peacefully with a toothless old hag in the house than a beautiful woman who rushes to bring everyone down. Her actions were always senseless, the domestic battles fought for nothing, and the damage done to everything was such as could not be created by witchcraft. Letitia was the worst witch imaginable.

“Perhaps you haven’t seen a true witch,” Rhianon reasoned. Even now there was a tiny ball of fire at her fingertips, a destructive power, but Ferdinand didn’t seem to notice it.

“I’d rather sleep on a spiked floor than have this witch in my bed,” he grinned bitterly.

“Did you want a fairy?” Rhianon carefully rolled the ball of fire in her fist. She could have thrown it forward and burned several trees, but she held it in place for now. The horse, which had sensed it, snorted softly, but was wary of reeling. Rhianon’s strong arm gripped the reins tightly. The animals obeyed her.

“Yes, fairy,” Ferdinand said gustily.

“Love is blind. And so is sympathy. She wondered if he could see that she was sitting by the fire. In her thoughts Rhianon sympathized with his gullibility. Being near her was worse than holding a torch to a powder keg. She was all fire. For all her attraction, she is followed like a train by an army of evil spirits. A harpy sits in her arms. A demon child grows inside her. Around her are whispered voices of spirits. Even the dragons, as it turns out, are afraid of her, and Ferdinand doesn’t notice it all. Or he doesn’t want to notice. How he gets carried away.

“You are fortunate to have a beautiful wife, but others who wish to enter into a political marriage might have a worse match,” she imagined Hildegard, unattractive, always dressed in black, like a widow, and carrying with her the real threat of spoilage and witchcraft, not evil in the figurative sense. Ferdinand has not yet had the chance to see that domestic quarrels, squabbles, and court intrigue are not the worst things you can expect from an overseas princess. Whoever chooses Hildegard will have a much more difficult time. Along with her meager dowry allotted to her in Loretta, she will bring a whole train of black powers, enchantments, and deadly potions. “Your Letitia was still tolerable. Besides, I have yet to meet men, including crowned ones, who would forgive a woman anything for her attractive looks.”

Ferdinand compromised himself as usual with excessive honesty.

“Well, she wasn’t beautiful,” he confessed, “and we didn’t live a peaceful life… no need to lie, my life was hell, Rhianon, if I can call you that, hell without borders. It makes me sick to think of it.”

She could only sympathize. But who could sympathize with her. It is not only evil fate that follows her on her heels, but all the demons of hell. And Ferdinand naively compares what everyone undergoes on earth in one way or another to the furnace. In Rianon’s life, things have turned out much more complicated. In addition, unlike the young king, she had to study not the politics and strategy of earthly countries, but the complex construction of the rudiments of the universe. The structure of those forces that enveloped the earth like a kernel and threatened to crush it became the foundation for Rhianon. There in heaven she was desired as a replacement for a lost favorite; here on earth, she had to suffer in order to become compliant beforehand and not refuse the higher offer. She had already refused, because she had found her love in hell. The one who caused the evil and the creation of the earth was not just a mystery to her. She clearly imagined his face, though she had not heard him call her. Though if the mental call happened, he would follow her anywhere.

“Bad things happen to everyone in life,” she commented like a philosopher. “You don’t have to be ashamed or regret it. Suffering makes you stronger.”

“You speak as if you’ve been through it yourself.”

The rings on her hands were not wedding bands, but she glanced at them. The multicolored stones in their settings shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow and flashed like living sparks: emerald, sapphire, opalescent, and scarlet, ruby. They were all gifts from him, from Madael, but none of them could be an engagement ring. People are married in church, often only for the sake of formality and against the will of the newlyweds. On earth, marriage is called the sacred union of hearts, but it is only a transaction, for money, power, or the call of the flesh, most often just for the production of offspring. There is no reason for two lovers to marry, they are already made for each other. Nothing will bring them closer than they already are.

If Conrad were near her now, she would have laughed in his face.

“After listening to you, I realize that marital bonds must be avoided,” she said diplomatically. “There’s enough misery in life as it is. I’ve been through many of them, and I don’t intend to add marriage to my list of troubles.”

He didn’t know what to say, but he stared at her for a long moment.

“But you’re so beautiful,” he said after a while.

“I know,” Rhianon urged her horse on. She had the face of a Dennitsa, and that’s for sure. Beauty is a merciless gift. She would know better than anyone.

If it hadn’t been for the thicket around her, she would have galloped. Ferdinand tried to keep up with her. He didn’t care that the whole entourage was far behind him and that he was alone with a strange lady. She might indeed be a fairy and lure him into the unknown. That’s what fairies do to mortals. What would become of this fool if he encountered one? The evil one would have someone to laugh at. Even his companions are more suspicious than he is.

Rhianon tried not to think about who she was the day of them. A witch who came out of the thicket? After her encounter with the dragons, she could feel the respect the knights gave her. Did it apply to her? If it did, these observers could only be laughed at. They mistook her defeat for victory.

“The crown is a heavy thing, Ferdinand,” she said gently. “One can sympathize with you, but many only envy you.”

He did not know of Leon’s plot and probably never will. But that was what she had implied. He would only be able to part with all his problems when someone separated him from his life as well. He’d better be on his guard, since she wouldn’t always be there to seize the initiative and subdue the conspirators. She needed the right moment and all the trust she could get from him. After all, she was going to ask him for help. She would not take no for an answer. If a dragon can turn tail on her and run away, Ferdinand won’t do that. First, he is a gentleman, second, he is captive to her, and third, she already has the spell. She must only wait for the time when the King of Vinor will not be able to favor her in any way.

“I know no one thinks of the burdens of power, but everyone would like to try on the crown, the mark of a ruler. There’s probably not a lady in all Vinor who wouldn’t dream of being first at court. Have you ever wanted to be queen?”

He was right on the money, unknowingly. Rhianon felt confused. Yes, she wanted to be queen. The throne of her country belonged to her by right. She would be queen now, if Manfred hadn’t taken over her right of succession.

“Forgive me, I have gone too far,” Ferdinand interpreted her silence in his own way. — You must possess more than just the throne. That the earthly state is a toy to you? Living here in the forest…”

“I’m not from the forest,” Rhianon interrupted him. “It’s much more prosaic, if you consider my life among mortals, and much scarier if you want to know about my contact with the ethereal,” she said, silent for a moment, awaiting his reaction. Fright, anger, contempt — she was ready for anything, but Ferdinand was silent.

“I will not disappear when we reach the edge of the forest,” she dissuaded him mercifully, “but I will never be a mere human, even if I follow you to Vinor. It was hard for me, beloved lord, I was born a princess of the earthly, but I myself was supernatural. However, there was no alliance between elves and humans that caused me to be born. I came into being as such out of nothing, as fire is born, and it is not clear what its source is. I myself am like fire, don’t you feel it? Can’t you see it?”

He only shook his head stubbornly.

“You are like a mountain spring.”

He reached uncertainly to touch her naked shoulder, but he dared only touch the turquoise ruffles of her dress. He did not feel the heat. Perhaps he would feel it later. She could have burned him long ago, but she had not yet done so. No doubt Ferdinand was playing with fire, but so far he’d managed to get his fingers away before getting burned.

“I’m not a naiad, or a mermaid, or a siren who will call you to your death. I’m worse than…” Her lips rounded, preparing to let out a fiery sigh. She could barely catch her breath at the last moment, and she swallowed hot saliva. Better to burn her own throat than a man who meant her no harm.

How inopportune he reminded her of the mountain springs and pools. Oh, how she longed to go to the sea and summon those who lived in its depths. A dragon, deep at the bottom, would find himself in the ocean. And he would smell her fire from afar, and he would swim out to see its source. Rhiannon remembered her first encounter with the undersea inhabitants. She could have been their mistress. The pearls that unified her dress, her enchanting voice, her hidden flame within — she had all the ingredients to command the undead that emerged from the depths. So maybe it was worth a try.

Rhianon smiled as she noticed the dryad dozing on a tree branch. It was not Phylliss, but a gentle maiden with green hair like leaves and a body half-grown to the tree. She was asleep and reluctantly opened her eyes only when she felt Rianon’s proximity. Her green lashes fluttered open in surprise. Dryad smiled back at her.

Ferdinand took his companion’s smile personally.

“Do you never joke?”

“No,” she thought, thinking that such seriousness was atypical of any of the beasts, and grinned. Everyone but Madael’s former cronies, at least those who belonged to the cohort of supernatural beings, laughed. Not without wicked jokes. They did fall from the heavens because of their unbridled hilarity. Their excitement to follow Dennitsa was also like a joke. That was the joke they were paying for. It would not be a bad thing to listen to Orpheus and look into the Mockingbirds’ sickle. He said the most desperate pranksters were gathered there. Rhianon would like to enlist their support as well. The stronger and larger her army, the more likely she would be able to take Loretta. The only pity is that all of Madael’s troops will not be able to stand against him alone. What if he had to become her opponent on the battlefield? What is more important to the fallen angel: the will of the Almighty, who spared him, or the beloved he found on earth? Which would he choose, if the choice were before him? They say that the vows and promises of a lover cannot be trusted. Was she mistaken in trusting Madael? Yes, what is there to ponder? She wanted to fight. She intended to win at all costs. She only needed to be strong.

Rhianon let go of the reins for a moment, and balled her dainty fingers into a fist. The rings Madael had given her glistened dazzlingly on her fingers. It was as if a rainbow had streamed through the forest.

“Who could be stronger than the greatest warrior in the world?” The intrusive voice inside asked.

“He’s already been defeated once,” Rhianon answered aloud. Her own suspiciousness pleased her. He who had been defeated once could be defeated again. So it was not hopeless. The only question was whether she had the strength.

“I beg your pardon?” Ferdinand didn’t understand her.

“It is nothing,” she smiled at him dazzlingly. It wouldn’t do any harm to have his support, either.

“I like you, Ferdinand. You’re the first man in the world who’s ever stopped me from asking about my secrets.”

If it had been a fairy, she would have teased the gullible suitor, laughed at him, and driven him mad with her jokes, but Rhianon was more tactful. Unlike the wayward and unencumbered fairies, she wanted his mortal kingdom and his trust.

“It is not difficult for me not to be curious, if you so desire, fair Mistress,” he tilted his head slightly in reverence for her.

“And for me it is difficult to meet a true friend, mortals most often try to penetrate my secrets,” Rhianon held up her palm and a tit from the branch trustingly flew down to sit on her fingers.

Ferdinand watched in amazement. It was also new to Rhianon that birds obeyed her in this way. Only unlike her companion she was not stunned. She was used to seeing more and more possibilities opening up in her every day.

“What if I was the first person you could call your friend,” he suggested unabashedly.

Rhianon smiled as the sunlight flickered over the foliage and gleamed in his curls.

“I’d be glad to,” she muttered.

They had to spend the night in the woods. Either they’d lost their way, or it was a long way to Vinor. Rianon even surmised that the spirits of the forest were deliberately driving them in circles, keeping them from their territory. Perhaps the remnants of Lucifer’s host did not like the fact that the lady had changed their lord to a mere human. Rhianon laughed at her own assumption. She did not feel like a traitor. On the contrary, the angel with a sword and shining armor was as if closer to her. As she fell asleep she thought of him, of his wings, his lily skin, the beautiful arcs of his eyebrows over his bright blue eyes, of his hair the color of ripe millet, which fluttered in the fiery wind of battle. He was beautiful. And he was invincible. Nevertheless, if need be, she would have to fight him. Strangely, the more she thought about the coming battle, the more she loved him. And the battle itself was thus like a game. He would not be able to hurt her, for he loves her. And she loves him.

Even so, as she fell asleep, she remembered Ron. His face presented itself to her so clearly, as if he were there. He was handsome and young and a little more serious than she remembered him. There was something masculine and strong about him. This was the look of those who had known betrayal and pain. Ron! He seemed to be hugging her. Long blond strands slid down her face, surprisingly cold but soft lips flattering hers. Is it just her imagination, or is it the smell of decomposition coming from them. In her dreams, though, Ron’s body is not subject to decay. It is as powerful as granite, like a marble sculpture. The naked part of his chest beneath the open collar of his shirt looks powerful and sculpted. She can only dream of some strange markings stretching across the white skin just below. His body could not be riddled with the same symbols — scars like those on Madael. Except that Madael’s were scorched with celestial fire, and Ron’s were drawn with the tip of a dagger. And yet Ron was handsome. She noticed it more keenly in her dreams than in life. He’s a man, too, and he can be coveted. Not yet, he’s just an innocent unacquainted virgin. An exiled boy, forced to join the bandits, could not have a girl, much less a lady. But he knew what he wanted. Cold fingers slid confidently around her waist, her shoulders and her breasts. In the dream he was there for her. In the dream they could have been lovers. Too bad it didn’t happen in life, too. Then she, too, would have had time to know the man before the demon. Though perhaps exactly what is happening now is life on the very brink of death. Rhianon responded to the kiss and felt the unbearable cold of his lips, so scalding that even the fire inside her could have frozen ice. Just below Ron’s fingers flowed something moist and red. His touch left scarlet marks on her skin as well. Until the last moment of her sleep, Rhianon looked only at his face, searching there for the same symbols as on his body, but his face remained pure and beautiful. It was much more beautiful than she remembered. Only his eyes had grown unimpressive. There was pain in them.

“Ron,” she intercepted his fingers, and suddenly noticed the two parallel lines of wound, the two thin bloody lines that covered the inside of his wrists.

“You…” She couldn’t believe it, only watched as his caressing hands left scarlet streaks on her skin as well. Bloody smears were also left on her shoulders. Everywhere he touched her except the brocade of her dress. Magic material is untouchable. It couldn’t be crumpled or soiled, and if it was torn it would be repaired instantly. Ron, on the other hand, the wounds on his wrists would never heal.

With his name on her lips, she awoke. The silence of the night echoed faintly. In the thicket, someone seemed to be repeating it several times.

“Ron! Ron! Ron!”

But he was not there, and there were no dwarves in the thicket mocking her, shouting his name. For a moment she felt a pang of emptiness and pain, as if a piece had been torn from her own heart and now it was bleeding. All this could only be a dream of course. Ron’s image remained in her dream, but the sounds in the thicket resumed.

It was clear now that they were not voices, imitating the name she had spoken. It was the chiming of hammers. Or other instruments of labor. There was no mistaking the ringing of the hammers. The clanging was distant, but so monotonous and annoying. No wonder she mistook the short taps for a repetitive name. Just one syllable… Just one friend she had. The first unselfish friend she admired. Wherever he was now, she would remember him.

The pounding in the distance quickened, became clearer and more forced. But they didn’t wake anyone else. Rhianon didn’t find that strange. Probably somewhere nearby was forbidden territory, and sounds and voices had to break through an invisible barrier to penetrate it. So she, endowed with super-sharp hearing, catches them, but others don’t. Rhianon stood up, straightened the folds of her dress, shook dry twigs and leaves out of her hair, and headed in the direction from which the noise came. She was curious to see how the forest dwellers were having fun or working at night. Only she saw something else.

At first glance dark creatures scurrying through the forest alerted her. Short but not dwarfish, wrapped in dark capes with hoods and shovels in their hands, they made her think strangely.

“Faster! Come on, hurry! Quick, or we shall not be there before morning,” came the shouts. “You are not paid by the lord to be a dawdler. Don’t look. You are lazy bastards.”

Lord! Who is that if not Madael? Rhianon nimbly slid behind the trunk of a pine tree and lurched behind it.

She watched as the surprisingly strong workers dug beneath the roots of the trees. Despite their ungainly build they were hardy. And they worked in total silence. It was terrifying. It was like a funeral. Only once someone grudgingly muttered.

“How can we dig anywhere if we can’t see the shine from under the ground?”

“A bird watches over you,” the gloomy chief called back menacingly. He acted more in the role of overseer or warden. Maybe he was only holding the whip to drive the workers.

She did not have to look for the named bird for a long time. Absolutely plain and monotonous gray plumage, it looked more like a shagged peacock or quail, but there was something of a partridge in it, too. Not a bird, but an ugly creature with big, floppy wings. Rhianon would never have noticed it if the gray plumage hadn’t flashed brightly when it landed on one tree branch or the other. At that moment the whole thing lit up like a firebird, and the orange light from its plumage lit up everything around it like a little sun. It became as bright as a campfire. Maybe at times like this, the bird could burn its fingers, to whoever kidnapped it, to pick off the glowing feathers. Only no one tried. They were obviously not greedy, or they knew how short-lived the luster of its plumage was, but it was not the bird they rushed to grab. On the contrary, as soon as it sat on some branch and flashed, the low creatures rushed with shovels to the tree where it sat and began digging under it.

It was strange. Rhianon wondered what that might mean and almost burst into flames herself with indignation. The treasures of the magical world! Someone is digging up the treasure of Madael out of the ground. So he has ordered them to. But why is it? Perhaps he had a reason. And he said he was giving it all to her. It was to her alone. Liar! Rhianon was about to turn around in annoyance and walk away, but a resounding voice stopped her. How familiar and unpleasant it was.

“Quickly! Get them up!”

If the warder looked grim, who was Rothbert in his black cloak lined with black mink fur? He changed his clothes for warmer, but still as dark as night. In the darkness such coloring might well have been camouflage. He didn’t stand out in the darkness. He looked like a raven, too. He was Prince of Crows!” Ryanon grinned as she watched him. The low creatures were indeed digging up treasure for him. Here someone’s shovel rattled against the lid of a wrought iron chest, and immediately the bird perched on a branch faded.

“Keep looking!” Commanded the prince.

There was an unpleasant caw or croak in response, and the ugly bird flew from the branch.

“Follow it!” Rothbert commanded someone, while he watched eagerly as his servants hauled the chest from the ground. They did it with difficulty. The roots that tightly bound the treasure did not want to let it go. Neither knives nor spades would help. The supernatural entanglements were unbreakable.

“Here, you rascals,” Rothbert almost fisted his servants. Now he read the spell and the roots would part by themselves, Rhianon guessed. It did not work, not even with a dagger that glinted in his gaunt fingers. Rothbert himself was only wounded trying to cut through the tenacious roots, and now he was cursing at the worst of it. If there were any natives lurking in the thicket, they were now laughing their asses off at him. He was loser. He couldn’t even steal from anyone properly.

The only thing he had succeeded in doing after long efforts was to flip open the heavy lid of the chest and now enjoy the glitter of gold and jewels. Rothbert’s eyes were already glittering greedily. Like the gems, only darker. But as he put his hand inside the chest, the lid snapped shut, trapping his fingers.

“Damn it!”

He winced as his hand came free, blowing on his shattered knuckles. Now, they would heal slowly, or he might have a healing potion stashed away in his pocket. Rhianon estimated how long it would take him to resume his efforts.

It was interesting just to watch his fruitless efforts. Rhianon loved a free performance, but her possessive senses took over. She came out of her hiding place with determination.

“What is it, Your Grace? Stealing from my domain?”

He was at first taken aback to see her, but he recovered his composure. In an instant he was standing beside her, ready to bow politely before her. Where suddenly all came from and the stature, and manners, and proud posture?

“Your Highness is exaggerating. The possessions are not at all…”

“Not in your Duchy,” she finished with a haughty chin. “As for forbidden possessions, they all belong to my… husband. That seems to be the word you like best. And the rest of the world, including your unspoken principality, is God’s will at his disposal. Without the devil, no one would need God. Wouldn’t he? Who do you have to ask for help if you have no one to defend yourself against? Or your principality is just now in need of protection, and there are no subjects left there. And you seek means to hire an army?

He smiled flatteringly, careful to hide the frustration that was overwhelming him. “I can defend my own holdings, I am strong enough,” his black agate eyes flashed menacingly. “What is a nobleman without wealth? And in my land is not luxurious now, I have no dragons in my command, so that the fireplace in the castle is not set, the towers of the nesting crows, cracked walls would be nice to hang tapestries. I could use a chest or two of gold coins. I’d like to put my house in order, or I’d be ashamed to invite a lady to my place.”

“But you invited me,” Rhianon ignored his hopeful grin. “Does that mean you value the pure-blooded princess and demon lover less than any other woman in the land?”

“On the contrary, I appreciate your intelligence. You alone could understand my hardship.”

He could not be teased. Rhianon pressed her lips together in annoyance, but she would not give up.

“Looking for wages and servants? Look for them away from my domain. I will not give you anything, even if you are as poor as a church mouse. My husband will not be pacified. His wrath, on the other hand, is easily incurred. So is my fire.”

He retreated immediately upon sensing the danger. Rhianon smiled contentedly. Her flame is her strength. Burnt Rothbert did not want to be. Yes, he is not handsome at all, though he is quite elegant, but the face he has he values highly enough to want to keep it intact.

“Farewell. For the first time, I apologize to the one who invaded my lands. We will decide that it was unintentional. The second time, however, I will not forgive you.”

She showed him the flame that had formed on her fingertips. It burned brightly, dazzling, gradually descending into a ball of fire. In a moment it would fly forward. Rothbert hesitated, and stepped back.

“Tell your men to be gone,” Rianon grinned contemptuously as she gave him a closer look at his servants. “Though I may have gone a little overboard in calling them men.”

“You’re right,” he hastily replied. “They are the rabble from the Outback… I have not lured from your Lord Holder anyone he would not have driven away himself.”

“I see,” she said coldly.

He would not have had the strength to poach anyone. The dragons were stubborn, to mention a few. And the stubborn Athénais was no more cooperative. They were no match for the prince. Rhianon was struggling with them herself.

“And now it’s time for you to return to your territory, you’re not welcome in this forest,” Rhianon felt the forest dwellers tense in their hiding places. One command from her and they would crawl out and surround the uninvited guests. She was ready to call them out, but for the first time since they’d met, Rothbert decided to show some intelligence. He held up his narrow, disproportionate hands and knotty fingers as a sign that he surrendered.

“I guess I’ll have to wait until one of the creatures I want to see enter my territory. A dragon, for instance…”

“You might have to wait forever.”

Rhianon squinted at his hands, so strong and vulnerable at the same time. She wondered where those knotty ridges on his toes that knew no labor had come from. He is neither a peasant nor a plowman, but a prince. And these imperfections bear little resemblance to ordinary calluses. You’d think he’d decided to get his hands on witchcraft just as he did on other people’s gold, but instead he harmed himself. Now his hands gave away his singularity. Perhaps there was more to him than that. Rianon glanced at his eagle-nosed, hooked nose. It didn’t match his fairly regular features at all, too big and too convex. If it had been any bigger, it might have been ugly.

“Alas, eternity is yours and not mine,” Rothbert quickly found a catcher for his strange bird to lure it off the branch and into its cage. “But who knows, maybe this flaw of mine can be changed in time.”

“What is it?” Rhianon stared at his hands, which were more nimble to catch a treasure-hunting bird than a dozen trappers. She hadn’t noticed any other flaws as yet, but Rothbert was looking deeper.

“Mortality,” he called. “Unlike your husband and his subjects, I have to find a way to rid myself of the burden of human frailty. And that is rather difficult.”

“It is iImmortality!” Rhianon almost laughed. “Can it be bought? Like a breast chain or an expensive carriage? Or beg for it by means of sacrifices and witchcraft offerings? Do you think you can cheat time? Or someone will stop the clock for you…”

She remembered Dominique, the chime of the unearthly chimes and the fancifully shaped gilded hands. Only fate could stop or wind such a clock. It was the clock showing the path of time itself. It is inexhaustible as long as they measure it. What would happen if they were disrupted? She already tried once, and Dominic paid the price. But if Rothbert does something like that with his sorcerer’s tricks, she won’t feel sorry for him at all. Nor would she feel pity for him if he were incinerated by one of the dragons he’d summoned with his magic. Rhianon took solace in the thought. The Prince is asking for it, and he will have to pay for it himself.

“Goodbye,” she said, turning her back on him with a deliberately defiant expression.

“See you later, Princess,” his mocking voice echoed through the thicket.

“Princess, queen, goddess…” the rustling leaves echoed.

Within seconds the treasure was safely buried beneath the tree roots, tucked away again. The earth itself seemed to have closed over it as soon as the diggers had taken their tools and gone. Rothbert didn’t manage to get his hands on a dime. It made Rhianon very happy. She wasn’t greedy at all, but she didn’t want to give away gold to just anyone. It is unusual, of course, out of the king’s favor is customary to pour gold coins in a crowd on holidays, to feed the poor out of indulgence, to give the poor things that have fallen out of fashion. But Rothbert begged and robbed so openly that she did not want to feed his greed at all.

After all, she’d already paid him for a house he’d probably never owned, but had simply invaded it and wouldn’t leave until the spirits kicked him out.

Rhianon watched to see if any crows were flying nearby. If one of them, large and crowned, was sitting in the branches of a tree, then Rothbert had not yet abandoned his scheme to get out of the woods.

All the others who had received her coin donations were already rotting in their graves. Rothbert was alive.

So he dreams of immortality. Rhianon snorted incredulously. Well, he can sit in his desolate principality, in his windswept, impoverished fortress, waiting for the dragons to fly in, bowing and begging to be called his lord. Let him pore over the pages of sorcerer’s books, whisper spells, and perform rituals. All is meaningless. Who so longs for power never gets it. It takes more than possession to have a clever head. Rothbert had no mind. It was replaced by greed.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if his dukedom hadn’t been overrun by more successful neighbors because everyone who set foot in his lands was contaminated by poisonous fumes and lost their minds to spells,” she muttered, turning to herself. But someone on the branch quickly answered her.

“So it is.”

Rhianon looked closely at the moving leaf. She could see the purple plumage at first, and then the proud head and sparkling eyes. It was a phoenix. She reached out a hand, but then remembered better not to touch it. It might burn it. It didn’t seem real enough. It was fire itself. Still, caution must be exercised.

“The land, shrouded in ever-renewing spells, soaked in poisonous miasmas, and surrounded by bloodthirsty thorn bushes…” she guessed the bird’s thoughts. You have already burned there once, only to come back again and tell me all about it. And how in burning did you manage to burn with yourself and the thorn bushes you were caught in?”

The question was unnecessary; she had already guessed the bird’s thoughts, had seen with her eyes the bleak gray land, covered with thickets of thorns and strewn with ash like sand. In its midst towered a castle even more sullen than the contaminated ground. Anyone who set foot on this land was almost immediately sick, and no longer survived. That’s why it was impossible to invade. And then there were the thorny thorns that were eternally bloodthirsty. No man, no animal, not even a bird could escape. Only the dragon that lived nearby in the rocky cave spat fire at all these tricks and spells. He himself kept in his lair, along with his treasures, so many ancient folios of sorcery that it was hard to imagine. An entire library of books braided in precious settings and containing the most dangerous spells. A wise dragon was Rothbert’s coveted goal. The prince needed not only his books, but also his strength for loyal service. But so far no amount of threat, cunning, or persuasion had brought him closer to his goal. The all-knowing cave-dweller remained elusive.

“Did you see the dragon and his precious books?” Rhianon asked, walking toward the phoenix. “You must have wondered.”

Instead of an answer, the bird tilted its head. The purple plumage glowed dazzlingly, mimicking a blaze. Maybe it was a fire, and now the whole feathery hide would be a blazing torch. Rhianon recoiled, but nothing like that happened. The phoenix’s movement, on the other hand, could easily be mistaken for a bow. It was paying homage to its mistress. Was he bowing to her, or to the flame within her? Rhianon froze in amazement.

She would have stared at the bird forever if she hadn’t heard a very different sound somewhere in the distance. It was no longer the rustling of wings or the shuffling of earthlings, but a silent song that reverberated painfully in her brain. The sounds were both wistful and mocking at the same time. They titillated the soul, like a heady drink, arousing both excitement and fear. Only faeries could sing like that. An irresistible interest drew Rhianon forward.

To follow a call from the netherworld is always dangerous. Divine voices could sound here and there, deliberately throwing her off her path and luring her to the precipice, but all came out contrary to her fears. The melody did not lose its rhythm, but came from a single direction. Soon Rhianon heard the murmuring of water as well. As she followed the sounds, she came out to the stream and noticed hundreds of sparkling sparks over the water. A little farther out, where the body of water grew more turbulent and deep, there were more lights as well. They were bustling and moving from place to place. Apparently they were working hard at night.

Rhianon stepped closer and examined what the little creatures were doing. The faeries were building a pontoon monster. Pontoons of shimmering pollen hovered above the water current. Only a select few could walk across such a bridge. It could not bear the weight of human feet.

“She is her Majesty! Look!” Some of the laborers had spotted Rhianon, and the entire glowing anthill was abuzz with excitement. In the ensuing turmoil it was hard to tell who was rushing to finish the job, and who was in a hurry to get away.

In any case, Rhianon was alone in a matter of seconds. The golden flock was a cloud away from the water. Only the rippling pontoons remained. Rhianon reached down to touch one of them. The glittering pollen crumbled beneath her fingers.

“I could have done better for you.”

The voice coming from the depths didn’t surprise her at all. Rhianon saw the dainty head, covered in seaweed and topped with a coral crest. The anemone flower seemed to sprout from green curls, as if it were a mere ornament. Below the pearl-embellished navel, fish scales gleamed.

“Anemone? She remembered her acquaintance from the fountain. Was she naiad? Was she mermaid? It didn’t matter who the creature was, as long as Rhianon recognized her. Except that the thin golden lace that formed over the surface of the water at the touch of her bluish fingers was a complete surprise. It strengthened, contradicting the fact that it could only be a skillful illusion. The gold wove together and took the shape of an openwork bridge spanning the stream.

“Is this what you wanted?” The creature in the water rippled invitingly, revealing a slender maiden’s waist and carefully hiding its fins in its depths.

“I… no…” Rhianon didn’t even know what to say. Meanwhile, the illusion was dissipating. The gold was vanishing into the darkness as if it hadn’t existed.

“There’s so much I could do for you,” said Anemone sweetly. In a moment she was already sitting on a knoll of rock by the water, her tail shimmering with scales, its wetness gone.

“Why do you want to do something for me?” She wanted to ask what you would ask in return, but the mermaid shrugged her frail shoulders.

“Because you are you,” she said with surprising simplicity.

Her nipples were smooth and her skin was blue, and there were drops of water dripping down her shoulders, like pearls stuck to her nipples. If the sunlight touched her, it would dry out such a creature. But at night, and near water, she is indeed capable of much.

“Then I have a favor to ask of you,” Rhianon hesitated half a word, unsure of how to say it without being rebuffed. Perhaps she should use the same disarming directness as Anemone. “I have business in Loretta…”

“A city with many wells,” Anemone grinned understandingly. “I have business there, too. I’m a regular visitor to all the towns that have fountains. It is including Vinor. That’s where you’re going, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Rhianon marveled at her perceptiveness and how quickly word spreads among the supernatural creatures.

“Will you do something for me in Loretta?” Rhianon asked uncertainly.

The mermaid merely smiled invitingly at the corners of her colorless lips. It was a promising smile.

“I’m going there now,” she said, her voice murmuring in the silence.

The first books about the adventures of Rhianon are called “Rhianon — Princess of Fire”, “Rhianon-2. Princess of Fire and the Winged Warrior”, “Rhianon-3. Palace in Heaven”, “Rhianon-4. Secrets of the Celestials”. After “Rhianon5 — Along the Way of Deception”, the book “Rhianon-6. Mistress of Magical Creatures” will follow.

The girl on the cover is author Natalie Yacobson as Rhianon.