Бесплатный фрагмент - Rhianon-9. The Birth of the Dragon

Immortal lovers

He gave the statue his beauty as well as his youth, his strength… He was no longer the first toy in Madael’s collection. It seems that recently, when the angel had first picked him up on the field, it had been a handsome blond young man; now a miserable decaying creature crawled with difficulty across the mosaic floor. It wasn’t as black and charred as its fallen brethren, but it was sickening to look at, too.

Madael turned away. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself that. Not since he’d mutilated Yve, he supposed, but now his anger was festering, and he wanted to take it out on other living things. The pain and dissatisfaction he’d accumulated over the past few days had to find an outlet. He was tired of turning his divine body into a bastion of hellish pain. And so he had endured it for too long. Now let others suffer. Now it was their turn.

The merciless angel tormented and destroyed not only the rare gifted, but everyone. At first they bowed at his feet out of admiration, then out of fear. He became a bloody deity. He didn’t need a sword to crush people’s lives. He broke people as if they were toys.

That’s what power means. Even his demons, huddled in their darkest holes, grew frightened of him after they watched him crush the insects that we humans call people. Once they saw him, they lost their will. One look at Dennitsa and people completely lose their pride and dignity. They crawl under the footsteps of their infernal deity and don’t even notice how quickly their flesh decays.

Madael even felt content to see how painfully they died. Perhaps some of them had been her supporters, her associates, her lovers during their lifetime… His head ached at the thought of Rhianon, as if a wreath of thorns was already becoming. If consciousness could bleed, he would bleed forever.

Rhianon… Not only had the girl betrayed him, she had lured his faithful servants to her side. She had not only betrayed him, she had won his loyal servants over to her side. He involuntarily remembered God’s purpose for her to take his place. He is flawed, she is innocent, he is fallen, she only blossoms, he is all burnt, and she generates fire herself. He should have hated her, and he loved her. All the jealousy he should have had for the new favorite of the god arose only toward Rhianon herself. It hurt to imagine her in the arms of another.

He was determined to prove to the traitors that humans could serve him just as well as they did. And now, instead of a supernatural sculptor, he had a decaying boy crawling at his feet, a plowman whose coarse hands, however, were no less capable than those of the greatest of masters. Madael could bestow his talents on anyone, even the most foolish one. He could make anyone great, but the human age is short. Men wore out even faster than supernatural beings could change them. So it was that in a matter of days, instead of a healthy young man, there were living relics crawling at his feet. Madael despised humans for their weakness. The short-sighted human head could not bear the insights and talents he could bestow upon it.

It was different with Rhianon. She easily took all the best qualities from him, and it was as if she herself had become a better person. She was not damaged by his dangerous knowledge. He could gift her again and again. And there was always room for something new. He missed her.

He could have defeated Rhianon, swept her head from her shoulders and carried it away with him as his greatest treasure. In his power, in his hands, her severed head would become imperishable. She would live on. Kisses alone would have been enough for him, if he could not tear out her body as well.

Behead her for what she had done. A tempting thought! Instead, however, he put his gold crown on one of her marble busts. The ruby stones, in a gleaming setting, immediately flashed, shading the whiteness of the marble. They were rubies and pearls, flame and innocence. He ran his hand through the marble curls, and his wings fluttered nervously behind his back. The quiet rustling sounded like mournful sighs.

Rhianon! Now he really wanted to cry. He wondered if his tears would be fiery or bloody. He didn’t know that yet. He could only catch the occasional reflection in the mirrors that the wings behind his back had become almost black. They contrasted unusually with the light wheat curls. The reflections in the mirrors lived. Before, only they had become separate from him. Now there was a new living thing inside him — an intense pain. There was no stopping it. It was like the experience of the lost angels in the Cathedral of Thunder. It was like being torn apart by claws of steel from the inside, but the fire was still burning you from above, and there was no way out of the dead end where the infernal pain had driven your mind. He was stronger than they were, he could resist it, but the pain was overpowering. Even when he was falling from heaven, it didn’t hurt this much.

The sculptor crawled and worked, creating the last statue with wings, So far only one wing was complete. He was giving it his beauty, youth, and vitality, but he himself was deformed. His wings sagged, his fingers twisted, he could no longer walk, only crawl and sculpt. He worked tirelessly, diligently, and still perfectly. It was even more perfectly than before. Now that the pieces of Madael lived in his fingers, the labor was becoming costly to himself, but genius to the world.

Madael watched his work coldly and carefully.

The human sculptor was doing exactly the same thing, but he could die before his work was finished. Arnaud, sitting in the alcove and fiddling with his harp, pretended not to notice it. He tried not to watch his master breathing life into the dead bodies only to watch them writhing in agony.

He had to get used to his new life in the midst of nightmares, though his lot before had not been an enviable one either. The existence of a wanderer rejected by both the mortal and spirit worlds would have enticed few. But Arnaud was resilient. His new master appreciated it. Day after day he guided his servant through a new hell, but Arnaud was still unperturbed. Perhaps it was only because he was originally insane. In any case, he now contemplated the world as only madmen could imagine it. He saw a beautiful devil. This devil was the de facto lord of the universe, he took lives, he dispensed talents, he made marble move and fire burst forth, or, conversely, he froze the world into ice.

What he observed was already insane in itself. He was not, however, on a chain, as a madman should be. Ever since he had been in the Cathedral of Thunder, he had not been out of his wondrous state of contemplation. Everything seemed magical to him, his own hands touching the strings of the harp and the wheat-golden curls of the fallen archangel. Arnaud admired him, himself, and even the eerie burnt creatures lurking in the shadows. Everything had its own amazingly unique shapes. Everything was astonishing in its own way. Perhaps only an artist could see the world this way, but Arnaud was not one. His soul belonged to the harp. His body, inextricably linked to the instrument, enjoyed its sounds. Sometimes Arnaud listened to the music and felt fine, but the wounds in his belly would not heal. The ritual went a little differently than the others and had slightly different consequences. For now, Arnaud was not going to puzzle over what it would bring him. There would still be time for that — all eternity — but for now he was a servant of Madael. He could look at him, be near him. Anyone else would have traded his most beautiful dreams for that, but Arno couldn’t help but think of Rhianon as well.

The princess who knows him as a minstrel would never consider him a fallen angel. Arnaud looked at the bust in the real crown and couldn’t take his eyes off either. What would prevent his master from breathing life into one of these marble replicas of Rhianon? Then all problems would be solved at once. She would be marble and malleable here, and the rebellious unruly body would remain far away.

Madael could only touch the marble lips once, breathe into them, and revive. Once he tried to do so, but he never could. Perhaps he didn’t feel comfortable kissing the marble after a living body. Or maybe he considered it sacrilegious. If you know Rhianon herself, her imitation can no longer be complete.

Madael pulled away from the bust, slowly and reluctantly. If he could he would fly for Rhianon now. Only it was unlikely she would want to see him. He was alone again. Even surrounded by those creatures, he was always alone.

With Rhianon, it was different. When she appeared for a while, she changed everything about him. Feelings that had been forbidden had become familiar. He had enjoyed them for a while, but they were gone with her. Perhaps even fighting with her would be better than not seeing her at all.

He found himself on the battlefield faster than the wind. Her husband’s troops were no longer here. There was nothing but bones and bloody bits and pieces of corpses. His demons had feasted. He would have drunk blood with them, too, if it had given him satisfaction.

A grim, hunched silhouette in the distance was doing just that. He was leaning over the remains and cradling the wounds. He also kidnapped children from the village and drank their blood, here on the battlefield. Asmodeus! Madael grinned at the sight of him here. Like a shadow, he always loomed over the empty space. Once he thought of something bad, he was there.

And now, just as his master leaned on his sword, he left his victim and began pestering him with exhortations. They came like echoes. Madael could have simply flown away from them, but he was unwilling to leave the battlefield. He wanted war, and there was none. So it would have to start somewhere else in the morning. He grinned wryly again. Yes, that’s where he’d like to fight this time.

It was as if the grim creature had caught his thoughts. Asmodeus suddenly expressed concern. Strangely, he was beginning to get nervous. Not only his hoarse voice, but his entire mutilated body spoke volumes.

«Do you think about what you have to lose?»

«I have nothing to lose. I’ve already lost the most precious thing,» Madael jammed his sword into the ground and stared up at the darkening skies. The wind parted his strands, almost burning his face, pulling at his skin like golden wire, so soft to the touch, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if one day they had turned into writhing worms. He didn’t care anymore. As he had said, he had lost the only thing he wanted to have. There was nothing more to lose.

Rhianon caught herself repeating the names of the sentinel gnomes in her sleep. Clo, Melor, Seth, Hugh, Horace, Ivan, Pip, Byrne, Soiro, Fodel… They sounded like the ticking of hands. Saying them, the tongue seemed to merge with the one single mechanism of the devil’s clock. Rhianon awoke in a cold sweat. It seemed to her that even after she awoke, she could clearly hear the clanging of the dwarves’ hammers, the movement of the counterweights and the hands, all in one single hymn of hell. She caught her breath when she thought the clock was moving very close by, right in her room and yet somewhere outside. They were measuring her deadline…

Was it deadline for what? Only the Cathedral of Thunder and the blood sacrifice came to mind. The vision of wings growing out of her back gave way to a very different picture. A golden-haired angel girl was trampling a dragon, golden limbs slithering, coiling around her ankle. The picture looks both triumphant and erotic. It is not clear whether the victorious girl agrees to make love to him or decapitate him. There was a beauty and the serpent. The mural was as clear as if imprinted on the retina of her eyes.

She had remembered the face of Yve, only his features were already blurred, merging with the endless dusk.

«Give me a chance! Just give me a chance!» whispered from the darkness his already powerless and distant voice. «Give me a chance to be born in his place in the body of a supernatural being.»

Maybe his taken life was worth it. Just a frail human, Yves died, and he could no longer be born as a supernatural being. Or could he? Would his giftedness have allowed him to do so? Sometimes Rhianon felt as if her bloody baby fingers were sliding across her still flat belly. Yve was so attracted to the supernatural life inside her. How he wished he could be part of that life. But she knew in advance that she would never let him. And the ghost disappeared back into the darkness with a stifled groan.

When Rhianon awoke, she found the room rattling. She didn’t remember taking any tame animals with her, but that was what was fussing over the bed. Here was her harpy, already stealing a cage of canaries from somewhere. With its sharp claws it had snatched the birds from behind the bars and torn their throats out. Rhianon cringed in disgust. But the tiny gold dragon was pleasing to the eye. It dragged unsteadily on a cord to which a box full of jewels was attached. None of the baubles were hers, and the ebony box was not hers either. But now it belonged to her precious Ingot, as she’d called the creature. The dragon’s paws were occupied, but in its mouth it was carrying a red rose for its mistress, or perhaps for itself. Rhianon never understood. But the thorns on the stem didn’t hurt him at all.

«It was I who took care of getting them here,» Orpheus voiced from the darkness. The invisible Orpheus slowly detached himself from the gloom and hid in it again, like an actor lurking behind a curtain. «Are you at least grateful to me? After all, you’ll have a lot more fun with them in this black hole.»

«Loretta is not a black hole,» she sternly reminded him, though she doubted it herself. Take this castle, gorgeous though it is, and it’s so bleak. Was this pile of stones worth fighting over?

Orpheus grunted disapprovingly. He did not find this kingdom magnificent himself, as he had said many times before. In his opinion there was not enough treasure in the treasury, too many people to be sent immediately to the executioner’s axe, and, in general, Loretta, he said, was squalid, no better than the Duchy of Rothbert. Rhianon was not even angry with him for that. She knew for herself that he had a point. Since she had fled, the treasury had indeed been depleted of money. Manfred had been too exhausted for the wars, the upkeep of soothsayers and wizards, and the entertainment of his own son. In retaliation for that, she let Drusil win a week, but only a week. For seven days he would feel like the richest and luckiest man in the world, and then his luck would change. He will begin to lose with such frightening regularity that he will be left without the last shirt, but even then his excitement will not be able to stop. He will go mad. Rhianon had already sentenced him.

Things were much more difficult with the other courtiers and members of the council, whom Orpheus said should have been sent to the scaffold immediately. Rhianon would have gladly done so. If it were up to her will, Angus and Hermione and Roderick and Darius and Clotter would lay down their heads right now. Even Hildegard, who hypocritically greeted the new queen as if she were her own sister, gave Rhianon a pang of dislike. The snake was up to something. Her affectionate kiss made Rhianon feel disgusted, as if a toad had licked her cheek, and the words «my dear sister» sounded like an insult. Although the maidens and courtiers who had previously surrounded Hildegard were all gone, Rhianon still felt that she was in a hornets’ nest.

It would have been easy to kill them all. She could have turned them to ash without even going near them, burned them and pretended she had nothing to do with it — they had burned themselves. There are a lot of candles in the castle, and anyone who isn’t careful can light their hair on fire. Especially it was Hildegard. Her long, tight black tresses, covered by a smoky veil, will burn so quickly. No one would even have time to help her. Pour a whole bucket of water on her, the fire would be unstoppable. Hildegard’s crisp brocade outfit would be such good food for the flames. Even better than brushwood or dry wood. Hildegard was on fire. The thought was so tempting and at the same time Rhianon held back for some reason.

Every time she wanted to take out the ministers, someone seemed to whisper to her, «Don’t, something terrible will happen to them anyway.» She thought she recognized Setius’s voice.

«They are doomed… doomed…» those words echoed in her brain every time she glanced at Angus or Clotter, or all the councilors at once. It was as if someone had whispered it to her, but not Orpheus.

«Aren’t you going to visit the forbidden towers? Or would you rather have Ingot bring you the manuscripts from them itself?»

«I don’t need it anymore,» Orpheus’ question didn’t excite her at all, though she would have been worried before.

«Oh yes, you think you know everything,» he pointed to his sides.

«Yes, I do!» Rhianon took the comb herself and ran it through her hair. Maybe she thought she saw a puffy-looking dwarf curl up beside the great trellis. That could have been just a shadow reflected by the mirror. How would Fate manage to sneak into the castle? And why is it? He had already gotten his revenge on her. The pendant she held in her hands simply dissolved. Rhianon still regretted it. It wasn’t even that it was magical. She loved beautiful things, and the pendant was capable of taking on various fanciful shapes. She was hurt that it was gone. And it was all Fate’s fault. If she’d really seen him under her feet now, she’d have thrown a hairbrush at him. The heavy handle, instructed by mother-of-pearl and carnelian, would have hurt him on the top of his head. Better yet, a snuff-box or casket would have been thrown at him. She could only hope he would not steal it.

But he was nowhere to be found. Rhianon looked at the carpet, then back at the mirror, but she saw that the lid of the snuffbox, strewn with emeralds, had been lifted. Before Rhianon could be startled by some inexplicable power, a leprechaun was crawling out of the empty, velvet-covered interior.

«Ah, there you are, little one,» she nodded graciously in response to his bow. It seemed to be the same leprechaun she’d noticed before. She had no reason to catch him to lead her to the treasure, so he followed her himself. But a peasant boy who discovered such a tiny lord in his field would have been delighted. Everyone knows that a captured leprechaun is able to point out the place where the gold is buried. The main thing before that is not to give in to trickery and not to let the little creature out.

She had plenty of gold. What was left in Loretta’s treasury was enough for a life without poverty. And Vinor is much richer. And Ferdinand was always eager to share his wealth with her. There was also a talent given by Madael. She became able to see the places where treasure is buried. The glitter of gold beneath the earth beckoned her, like the glow of Dennitsa’s beauty. Even in Loretta Rhianon had seen such places where ancient treasures lay buried under paving stones, in someone’s garden, or even in a field. They were probably cursed, but that did not worry Rhianon. All gold is cursed, if you count who it came from. Cursed and blessed all at once. And so was he.

She hastily banished her thoughts of Madael and looked at the leprechaun. He was just clutching a tiny hat with a feather to his narrow chest, waiting for something.

«I hope they didn’t send you from the School of Witchcraft? Do they want to watch me?»

«I just realized that my place is with you.»

The thin voice, which to human ears would have been no louder than a mosquito’s squeak, was clearly audible to Rhianon.

«Then stay,» she graciously allowed him. She already had a dragon, a harpy, a monkey, and a parrot in her tiny menagerie, so why not have the leprechaun join them. Oh, yes, she’d also forgotten about the personal spirit that followed her around. Now, if this went on, she’d have her own circus, and even without Loretta, she wouldn’t have to worry about making a living.

Staying without Loretta? Why did the thought suddenly cross her mind? The assumption was like a knell. It hurt for a moment.

When the door to the room opened silently, Rhianon jumped frightened. It wasn’t that she was afraid of danger, it was just that she wasn’t used to anyone entering her room without knocking. Hildegard, however, did not seem accustomed to etiquette.

She did not even curtsy, just walked in and looked at Rhianon, long and intently. At her approach, the leprechaun immediately slipped back into the snuffbox. Orpheus was lurking somewhere behind the curtain. Perhaps he was making faces at his guest. Rhianon could not turn around and check, she was staring just as intently at Hildegard. The black and purple silhouette was like a magnet, attracting and holding her gaze captive.

«I could burn you,» she warned.

«But you won’t,» Hildegard reached for her face, the black bouffant sleeve barely visible against the darkness, and the pale, narrow hand at the end of the black cuff seemed to flutter through the air like a firefly.

«You’re very pretty,» Hildegard said, not daring to touch Rhianon’s skin, though she clearly wanted to.

She already had the ivory-handled hairbrush in her hands. Before Rhianon could see it, the object was gone from the table. However, she was no longer surprised by such small tricks. She could make the studs fly out of the box and stab her rival, but for once it would have been unnecessary. Hildegard clearly felt terribly uncomfortable here herself.

«My hair will be styled by a maid or a chambermaid,» Rhianon almost mentioned that her tiny faeries could do a much more elaborate hairstyle in no time.

«I’ll do it better,» Hildegard said smugly.

Rhianon reluctantly nodded. Her unwelcome nocturnal guest was as dark as a shadow herself. The sleeves and ruffles of a cambric shirt flickered at the neckline of the sleeves did nothing to soften that impression. Her face against the jet-black hair looked like a white mask. As soon as Rhianon had taken her place on the dressing table, Hildegard began to brush her hair, gently and carefully. She was afraid to touch the curls with her hair, only gently ran the brush through it. But the luster of the golden curls below her waist clearly delighted her.

«You’re a queen now, you must impress everyone with your clothes and your hair,» Hildegard whispered. «You are more important than our coat of arms; your attire is like the emblem of our treasury, it should show courtiers and ambassadors how rich and powerful we are. And your hair should have some ruby threads woven into it.»

«No, not rubies,» Rhianon reminded herself of her earlier aversion to the color of fire and all its reminders. Her fear of flames was now a thing of the past. She did not seek to contain the fire; rather, she stirred it up. But no gifts from Hildegard she wanted to accept.

«I have enough jewelry. You’re very kind, but I’ll choose for myself.»

«I will.»

Now the brush glided through her hair in complete silence. A moment more, and Hildegard’s fingers touched her curls just as gently. Only fairies touched her like that. Rhianon closed her eyelids and remembered the touch of the green-eyed Phyllis. Or Flotus. Or maybe it was Chloe. Touching them was like dipping into a sea of flowers. All her fairy friends were bright or ghostly, but equally exhilarating. At the first caress she was immediately reminded of them, but there was only a dark shadow behind her.

Rhianon opened her eyes and saw Hildegard’s reflection in the mirror behind her. Her lips, lined with something purple, curved mockingly. Her headband slid down to the side, revealing stiff black curls. She might have been beautiful, or even attractive, if it hadn’t been for that deep black tone that surrounded her like an aura. Rhianon thought with a chuckle that Hildegard would have made an excellent match for the dark burnt creatures that nested in the tower of Madael. She looked so much like them, and she must have been close to them in spirit. If it weren’t for her matte pale skin, the resemblance would probably be complete.

«You glow like a candle,» Hildegard leaned very low over her and stopped brushing her hair for a moment, and now she only stroked it with her hand. «Even in the dark you can’t be unnoticed. If I were you…»

Out of the corner of her eye Rhiannon noticed in the mirror how Hildegard was taking something out of her own tightly knotted hair, a tiny pin in the shape of a sprig of grapes, it seemed. She winced, remembering the deadly fairy treat, and didn’t even notice the quick movement on her own neck. Something hissed right next to her ear. A dazzling, ringed ribbon sparkled. Hildegard did not notice all this. She continued to playfully run her hand through the soft golden curls, then, playing, touched her neck and recoiled. There was a look of horror on her face. Rhianon heard the snake hiss too, but didn’t understand what it was until she felt someone or something still sliding down her neck. Only it was no longer Hildegard’s fingers. Hildegard stood at the door itself, paralyzed with fear and disbelief. For the first time in her life, she was afraid of something. Rhianon only realized what it was when she looked in the mirror. The necklace around her neck, a gift from Madeel, was moving oddly. The necklace had lost its lovely gold lace and ornamentation, and now there were only curled rings and two opals depicting a crowned head. The golden snake itself might have been a mere ornament if it hadn’t moved. It wrapped itself in several rings around Rhianon’s neck, but its elongated golden body was still big enough to reach the frightened guest. The golden jaws hissed open. The snake ducked into a lunge. It lasted only a moment, during which time Hildegard managed to swing the door open and run out of the room. It was amazing dexterity for her. Rhianon had not expected that the staid black lady could be so swift when necessary. But she was more concerned with the snake. Would it strangle her? The rings around her neck loosened just a little. The necklace was loosening, and now the golden lace was hanging smoothly down over her chest again. The snake was gone.

«But it might reappear when you’re in danger again,» hissed a voice from the enamel snuffbox.

«I know,» Rhianon didn’t even look at the leprechaun. She had grown accustomed to his almost invisible presence. «Pick up that hairpin. It fell to the carpet.»

«Is it a sprig of grapes?»

«Yes.»

«What if she’s already turned into a toad?»

«Don’t mess with me. Be quickly!» Rhianon commanded, and the leprechaun reluctantly began to climb out of his hiding place. He clicked first on the cleverly positioned latch in the secret compartment, then lifted the little cornelian-encrusted lid and out came the fancifully dressed creature. He hurried past the incense bottles and down the satin ribbon.

«Here it is,» the cunning man still found what he needed on the floor when he was forced to.

As he climbed back up onto the table, Rhianon put her palm up to him and felt the chill of the dark agate in her fingers. The stones took the shape of grape pips, and at the tip of the clasp it looked as if poison had accumulated.

«I’ll have to find out what it is.»

«You still don’t believe in unselfish gifts.»

«No,» Rhianon touched the necklace around her neck. It had already become the same, but, as it turned out, even Madael never gave gifts for nothing. Perhaps one day that thing would strangle her. So shouldn’t she take it off? And lose her protection? But that protection is given to her by the Devil, and he can also kill her. Who is to be trusted when no one is trustworthy? Rhianon decided to choose the lesser of two evils and left the necklace around her neck. At least it protects her from all those people who dwell in the castle, and they are even more insidious than the devil.

«I’ll throw it into the castle moat,» she decided about the hairpin. For some reason she didn’t want to keep it. The grapevine sprig felt like it was pulsing with poison and burning. It was as if she were clutching a spark from a volcano in her fingers.

«Aren’t you afraid of poisoning the local vipers?» Orpheus joked, looking out from behind the curtains. Though who knows, maybe it wasn’t a joke at all.

Rhianon searched for a shawl or a muffler to cover her exposed shoulders, but found neither and decided to go out into the tower that way. The cold wind blew against her skin, and there was fire beneath her skin itself. She was not cold at all, and yet she felt a storm approaching. The night seemed almost icy.

For some reason there were no sentries on the roof of the castle. Rhianon didn’t worry about it. She wanted to be alone now. She unclenched her fingers and watched with satisfaction as the heavy object tumbled down. Her eyesight was sharp enough to see the dark waters closing over the glittering jewel from above. It flashed a ruby sparkle for a moment and then faded into the darkness forever.

And that was it! Rhianon turned to leave, and she gasped. He stood there, alive and beautiful, but so ancient that not even the stones of the castle could compete with him. The world was younger than he was, but he alone would remain forever young. He alone is unchanged, unlike his entire mutated army, but his wings had begun to darken beneath his cloak. His golden chain mail gleamed on his chest. Its links covered his skin like a dragon’s armor. But why, he was invulnerable as it was. He still wore the same wreath of unfading roses over his brown locks. It seemed to have replaced his crown now.

«Are you looking for me?» His voice became more deep and penetrating, more threatening at the same time. For a moment Rhianon even felt fear. Madael had changed, she could see it, and at the same time she couldn’t tell what exactly the change consisted of. It was as if the beautiful, innocent image had been impregnated with vice, and yet it had lost none of its pristine purity.

«What do you make to think it was you?»

«Why else would you look up at the starry sky?» He leaned forward, and Rhianon recoiled in horror. Despite all his beauty, he suddenly frightened her. She would have kept on retreating, had she not stumbled upon the parapet. She could have gone no farther; there was only the moat below, if she was lucky, and the sharp rocks if she had fallen a little to her left. Fall into the water after Hildegard’s ornament, and the underwater creatures might still pull her out, much worse would be crashing. It is a pity she still has no wings. And he had promised. She looked at Madael with challenge. Now she knew who killed all the sentries in the towers. And why was it? What did he want from her today? Did he want to fight? She had no sword with her.

She recoiled from the hand that reached out to stroke her cheek.

«Do I disgust you?» He spoke calmly, thoughtfully, unable to tell if there was a firestorm raging inside him, or if all the old wounds had been healed by the ice.

She turned her attention to the spikes almost wounding his forehead. He was in no pain, and the flowers on top of the thorny crown were so beautiful. They set off his beauty perfectly. Rhianon involuntarily reached for them with her hand. She clearly imagined the picture — Madael, about to go into battle, wearing a wreath of roses over his golden curls instead of his helmet. He has a helmet with which he is obliged to cover his inhuman appearance in battle, as well as his wings. For his help he would be offered the crown of any country. Humans can only dream of such a thing, but to him worldly values mean nothing. He would give it all up for Rhianon. He must be to her what he once delighted her to be, so he would go into battle with his head uncovered, with a wreath of roses in his golden curls. No mortal would dare do such a thing, for he too could so easily be blown off his head in battle if he crossed reasonable boundaries, but he didn’t care anymore, for her sake he must be bold and reckless. Is it possible to think that roses are protective? Perhaps it was only a legend, but now he himself was the legend of eternity.

He followed the movement of her hand and did not recoil when the flaming fingers touched him. She could smell the faint scent of roses, and heard his voice as if it had come from afar.

«They were said to ward off more wounds than any shield, and he who wears them is invulnerable, but I have been invulnerable since before the rose with thorns appeared.»

«How do you believe yourself?» She ventured to ask.

«I have always believed that the rose is the girl you love. It is one look at her before you even touch her, and you are too hurt.»

«My name is not rose.»

«But you hurt me before I even knew your name, before you even noticed me.»

His voice was calm, but it conveyed a brutal truth. Rhianon didn’t even have time to sob when strong arms tightened around her waist. It was frightening to even imagine how powerful they were. He could have crushed her with a single thrust, crushing her flesh like chunks of marble statue. Instead, he jerked her off the ground and set her on the parapet.

The height! Rhianon nearly suffocated. The teeth of the parapet beneath her feet were wet with rain and slippery. If Madael hadn’t continued to hold her, she would have fallen, but he didn’t loosen his embrace. His palms slid smoothly around her waist.

The long-standing fear of heights came back to life, but it was different. Maybe it was because someone else’s wings were fluttering behind her back. They were Madael’s wings. It was as if they were her own. His wings were for the two of them. As long as he was with her, she would not fall.

The heights were so dizzying. Someone else’s voices might have beckoned her from heaven and from the abyss, but she was with Madael. What would happen if he left her?

What would he want to do? He set her on the parapet of the roof. Is this not a dream?

«Are you tired of living?» His fingers lightly touched her cheek. How like the touch of a moth’s wings. «Everyone who sees me and can’t forget me eventually finds their way down,» he nodded at the sharp rocks. «Do you seek your death in battle? Or do you wish to fall prey to court intrigue?»

«Guard me from them if you wish,» she allowed graciously.

«Am I your enemy?»

Strangely, she wanted to fight him, and yet she did not consider him her enemy.

«Are you drawn to the abyss? Do you want to kill yourself? Do you want to fly down the parapet?»

She hesitated. No, she was not being pulled down. Perhaps he thought otherwise. He was used to the fact that once you see it, you can’t go on living.

«You won’t jump without me, because I am your wings,» Madael whispered to her.

Then he let her go. Rhianon didn’t even have time to see that they had switched places. She was now standing near the parapet, and Madael was hovering beside her. He himself was not afraid of heights. The golden-haired figure with wings, suspended in the air, was both strikingly beautiful and somewhat frightening at the same time.

The angel tilted his head slightly to touch her lips with his lips. The kiss was quick but sweet, just like touching the petals of a rose.

«Love me and I will give you wings.»

He had said those words before. Rhianon recoiled. They were empty words, beautiful though they were.

Madael grinned, noticing the change in her mood.

«Still want to fight me?»

She didn’t have to answer that question. She could have spared her the trouble of answering that question. A moment’s pause to make up had been and gone. Madael gently flapped his wings.

«There are no more sentries on the towers,» Rhianon reminded him sarcastically. «You have no one left to kill.»

He grinned, dismissive and arrogant.

«I’ll always find someone,» he said menacingly.

Rhianon couldn’t even believe that he had flown away. Her first impulse was to go back to the bedroom and find the sword hidden there. So she did. With it in her hands she no longer felt weak and defenseless. It was a pity she couldn’t wear it at her side all the time. For that she would have had to give up her dress and flaunt it in men’s clothing. Of course, she’s the only lord here and any of her antics should be turned a blind eye by those around her.

Orpheus was pleased to tell her that Ferdinand had returned to Vinor with the rest of his troops and was waiting there to hear from Rhianon.

«I pretended to be a messenger and took him a letter from you and a couple of pretty gifts. He believes he must stay away from you for the time being for your own safety. He no longer claims to share the throne of Loretta with you,» Orpheus explained. «Well, I’ve managed to convince him. Well, I also cut a lock from your head while you were asleep and took it to him. It was necessary. And something else needs to be done to keep him from forgetting you while you’re away and choosing a minion, needing blood, his and yours, and some memorabilia.»

«Leave him alone,» Rhianon slid her fingers over the hilt of her sword. The dwarves had done their best for her. The blade gleamed in the candlelight as soon as the scabbard was removed. It thirsted for blood and was already vibrating quietly. Only now could Rhianon hold it for any length of time. Her hand grew stronger. The vibration of the blade was felt in her palm no more than the beat of her pulse. It should be. If Madael didn’t know how to control his powers exactly the same way, they would crush the world.

Rhianon caught herself thinking that she wanted to be like him in everything. Even if the next time he showed up at her window not with romantic confessions, but with threats of war and reprisals, she would still try to copy him in everything.

«Ferdinand deserves amusement,» she told Orpheus. «He must have someone to keep him from going mad. I will only encourage him to choose.»

«He has to want it himself,» Orpheus muttered, almost resentfully.

«And if he doesn’t want it, what’s the point of the spell?»

«It is just in case. I want to take care of longevity of his feelings. He’s not an angel or even a spirit, and people are so fickle.»

«Not everyone,» she thought of Ron, rotting in a deep grave, where his remains must have been devoured by something buried there with him, or nurtured by the earth after he’d fallen. There are always demons living in treasures, and it is the same in graves. If this young man had not turned out to be fanatically devoted to her, he would still be alive.

«Still, it wouldn’t hurt to secure our place in Vinor,» Orpheus snorted. «I could remove the heirs.»

«Don’t you dare!» Rhianon was distracted when she heard a low shriek. The sound had come from Hildegard’s chambers. It was easy for her to tell. For some reason she felt a strong urge to go and check what was going on there.

Her chamber was just below, in one of the towers. Rhianon had to go down there. A door opened and she beckoned. She hid her sword behind her back and entered. What she saw reminded her of a scene she had seen once before in this very bedchamber, in this very bed. Everything was the same, the candles lit in the candelabra, the dark silk of the canopy, and the strange, heady smells. Only the bodies entwined on the bed were different. It was one of them, to be exact. It was not the body of a girl; it was the body of an angel. Rhianon almost shrieked. Shimmering wings spread behind her sleek back, golden curls covered Hildegard’s dark-haired head, pale lips brushed against ruby ones, almost transparent hands intertwined with human ones.

The violent act of copulation was coming to an end. Rhianon vividly imagined the murals in Madael’s tower and the ghosts in the barn. Before the fire engulfed it, the same thing must have been happening there.

In her hand was a sword. Rhianon gripped the hilt tightly and stepped closer. She could not see the angel’s face. But it could have been Madael, after all. Then why did she feel no pain, only unaccountable anger? There is no treason here, or is there?

The neck beneath the golden curls was finally exposed. Curls like snakes slipped from it. Here was the right moment. Rhianon struck so quickly that no one would have had time to dodge. She heard Hildegard scream deafeningly. She was splattered with blood. Or rather, it was a black viscous slurry that looked so much like blood. The still convulsively moving decapitated body tried to rise on its elbows and found no support. His fingers slid over the sheets, and his head recoiled so far from them that they couldn’t find it. Rhianon grasped the tangle of tangled strands before anyone else could pick it up. Slowly she lifted it in her outstretched hand. The face, still writhing in agony, was unfamiliar to her. It wasn’t Madael. He was not the one in Hildegard’s arms. She should have felt relief, but all she felt was black anger.

Hildegard’s screams still wouldn’t stop. Before the servants could rush to them, Rhianon emerged from the bedroom, carrying the still-living head in her outstretched hand. A liquid that looked like blood dripped from the stump of its neck. It hissed and almost ignited as it fell on the carpet or the hem of her dress. His long hair was wrapped around her arm, tying it into a bundle, but Rhianon kept the strands in place. His face, distorted in pain, seemed pleasing to her. There was even a moment of admiration in his tormented eyes. Maybe that was what made her joke.

«Well, that you still love her and not me?»

The cracked lips quivered, trying to say something, but no words came out, just blood flowing from his lips. The head seemed to choke on it. Rhianon thought that the severed head would begin to grow ugly and rot right before her eyes, but that one remained beautiful, while the body in Hildegard’s room might be turning black and falling apart. If so, it was only becoming what it should be. It was ashes.

Barely reaching her room, Rhianon tossed the head into the fireplace without regret. Orpheus’s shrieking did not distract her. She watched arrogantly as the fire touched the beautiful features, but could not destroy them at once.

She felt no regret. What if this is the same creature that crawled in the ground and drank the remnants of life from her friend’s relics. To many of Madael’s fallen angels, beauty returned only after drinking someone else’s blood or someone else’s life. Setius was a case in point. And this angel she did not know at all.

At least she had managed to do something to spare Hildegard. Rhianon liked to take things from others, just as she had been taken from herself. Perhaps after Loretta she would like to take other people’s kingdoms, such as the Duchy of Rothbert. She found the very idea tempting.

«What have you done?» Orpheus held his own neck in horror, as if she could decapitate him as well.

Rhianon turned to him, still holding the bloodied sword in her hand.

«You’re not happy about something.»

He did not answer, and she added:

«If I am truly their queen, I have the right to take their lives.»

If they are immortal, they can rise from the flames like the phoenix. Rhianon stepped back from the fireplace. Sparks splashed the hem of her dress, but it did not burst into flames.

«See to Hildegard,» she said to Orpheus.

She is the madwoman?» He was clearly dissatisfied.

«I don’t want her plotting anything against us or making any noise today,» Rhianon explained.

«Then it will be done.»

Orpheus disappeared quickly.

Rhianon hid her sword back in its scabbard. She did not scrub the blade because she knew it would absorb blood like a sponge instead of rusting from it. She didn’t need a squire. How would he cope with such a sword that sought to slaughter him? She, on the other hand, was beginning to have the strength she needed to do it.

Strength! What if it were to be tested? No one who spent more than an hour in forbidden towers usually retained their wits. Sometimes convicts were locked up there on purpose. If someone snuck in and stole something, his hands were cut off. For those who tried to read the manuscripts, the punishment was blindness or insanity. What would happen to her?

Rhianon decided to check it out. She knew the secret passage that connected the towers to the castle. She could get there in a matter of minutes. But if she had called her retinue and left the castle gate, the journey to the towers in Loretta would have taken more than half an hour.

Rhianon was unpleasantly surprised to find herself inside. Everything here seemed to retain the memory of Madael. His presence was felt in the crushing emptiness, as if a golden cobweb stretched over the dusty shelves. She could almost see the two of them huddled against the wall. From the outside it looked beautiful and frightening. It was as if the picture was imprinted on her retina. It was there, near that niche… Rhianon went that way.

«They say those towers were built long before the city was built, and that they were never torn down.»

A voice came from behind her and startled her. Rhianon looked behind her and saw no one there, but the voice was still there, seemingly coming from everywhere.

«They had not been torn down because the stonemasons’ hands had not obeyed them. No one wants his hands to be cut off, do they? But the governor, to whom Denitsa later appeared, did not dare to disobey him. He did not want the angel to rob him of his mind.»

She looked up. Douglas was perched at ease on one of the higher shelves. He was folding a scroll in his lap.

«Perhaps this place would someday be assigned a custodian. It would be someone as peculiar as the place itself…» Douglas traced the huge curved dome above. «You don’t find it strange that this tower exists at all. Its contents are valuable, but completely useless to the world. It cannot be touched or read or disposed of at will. It is unusual that a tower that has no function has remained untouched by the rulers of Loretta. It stands there as if it were a curse.»

«Perhaps it is the curse,» Rhianon twirled the globe nestled in the corner. It was unusual. The drawings on it looked more like a map of the stars Orpheus had drawn for her, rather than the usual pattern of bays and continents. It looked quite beautiful. Involuntarily she was fascinated by the symmetry of the constellations and the glittering lines drawn between them. It seemed as if the entire starry sky had been turned into one magical ball. A moment and it began to whirl under her fingers. Rhianon was mesmerized.

«Careful, this thing is capable of captivating your consciousness. Believe me, I almost got caught myself.»

Rhianon nodded reluctantly, but did not take her eyes off the globe. A harpy appeared from beneath her feet and tugged at her hem. Douglas, too, jumped down, traversing the floor-to-ceiling space in one fluid motion, and stood beside her.

«It is a lot of curious things here, but I try not to touch anything. I read it sometimes,» the wizard admitted.

«But your hands are still steady and you’re not blind,» she glanced at the scroll in his hands. «You’re not insane, are you?»

«I keep nothing,» he apologized hastily. «I only look through what I am allowed to and then put it back.»

«So you take nothing away from this place except stolen knowledge.»

«I only get what my already sold soul is worth.»

«So,» Rhianon shot him a curious look. «You know a lot about them.»

«It is not all of them,» he admitted frankly.

«I could have understood it all,» she said, reaching out to take the scroll, but then ducking back in time to look at it. She needn’t look at the strange symbols. She could imagine them anyway. The time of drill was over. She had become strong both mentally and physically. Knowledge that to others would be murderous was familiar to her. It seemed as if she could even penetrate Madael’s mind and learn all that he himself knew.

«You are special,» Douglas said. «It’s not that he chose you.»

«Then what is it?»

He stared at her face for a long moment, then he turned his gaze to her lips.

«It is something…» «Douglas never finished. Rhianon turned her gaze to his pale lips. His face resembled chalk against the dark jabot, but the arcs of his eyebrows and lashes stood out in seductive dark lines. He could have been handsome, but the magical experience he had gained had exhausted him. Around his multicolored eyes appeared a dark cusp. His hair, dyed black, had lost its former silkiness. Maybe it was punishment for him for taking the heads off all his competitors. Rhianon looked into his thoughts and experienced the horrors he had experienced with him. How he had been tormented. A boy who had fallen in love with Dennitsa and discovered his hidden talents, he feared that one of his brothers or kin would become his own rival. He demanded from the king heads of his half-siblings until he executed them all. Rhianon remembered the young man being dragged to the scaffold and the star he had given her. It was Douglas’s brother, condemned by him — who would have thought. It would have disgusted her before, but now she didn’t look away, following his thoughts. They tangled into such an intricate web, and the two multicolored eyes further accentuated his singularity. One eye was blue, the other eye was emerald. Only wizards had eyes of different colors, and not all wizards, only the most powerful. Douglas was a very special, but the struggle for supremacy nearly drove him mad. What was he fighting for? Did he hope that if he became first among the damned, he would win the sympathy of his chosen one? That goal had been relegated to the back burner. Rhianon saw what he was thinking and sighed. Her lips opened like gates, ready to breathe out fire, but she already knew that Douglas would not be burned. She leaned on his shoulder and pressed her lips to his. It was just one kiss. It was sweet. The supple cold lips immediately slid open to meet hers. Experience replaced desire. Surely he wanted more, but Rhianon was quick to pull away. She had no regrets about the gift. In years of torment and abstinence, Douglas deserved at least that.

«Will we meet again… here?» He gazed meaningfully around the tower beneath the high dome.

Rhianon shrugged. She hadn’t thought of having a secret tryst with him just yet, especially not here. Everything here held the memory of Madael, the intimacy and kisses of the fallen angel.

Douglas was losing badly against him. Yes, he was handsome, despite his black raven robes and forced celibacy. But he’s human, and while he’s a little different from the rest of mankind, he’s mortal, too.

«You waited too long for him,» she reminded him before she left. «Is it really all the fun in the world for you to wait even longer for me? It is all eternity, for instance.»

He only shrugged his shoulders.

«Some things are worth a lot.»

Rhianon was quite in agreement with him. Only unlike him, she wouldn’t wait in vain.

Six Spinsters

When she emerged from the towers, Loretta was still drowning in twilight. The dark streets were calm. Or did it just seem that way?

As she passed the well, Rhianon stopped and glanced down, apprehensive. Could Rothbert, out of spite, have let worms like those he’d let loose in the sewers down here too, to grow into dragons? Could there already be a dragon in the well? For a moment all she could see was a hunched winged silhouette, so much like Setius. Against the gleaming water below, it seemed a mirage made of moonlight. The creature lifted its head and stared at her with those same empty, moonlit eyes.

Rhianon merely shrugged her shoulders. They say that some of Dennitsa’s companions have fallen into crevices and wells. Those who dwelled in the water helped her take the city. The young queen was grateful to them for this. Now the underwater dwellers could get away, but they still found a place for themselves in the gutters and fountains. Perhaps, in time, a sea serpent would indeed appear in one of the wells, and a kraken would take up residence in the castle moat. Rhianon wasn’t too worried about that prospect. She could handle guests seeping through the water with ease. Unless, of course, there was an ocean nearby, fire would easily scare them off. Without water, they are nothing. Their tears for Dennitsa forced them into moisture for all eternity. Every time Rhianon spotted a new pearl in her caskets, she knew who had brought it, and the wet footprints leading to the gutter or bathtub said more about the visitor than they could say for themselves. Pearls were also a symbol of tears, and also of innocence. Those who now lived under the water had compassion for Madael and paid the price for it. On the one hand Rhianon sympathized with them, on the other she was concerned about how she would keep such supporters in line if they were to rebel. In the narrow streets of Loretta, where there is little water, fire would frighten them, but what would happen in the moat. For now it was best not to think about it.

Rhianon looked into all the wells and fountains as she passed. She saw water droplets silvery on mermaid scales, unusual fish splashing in someone’s tubs, living pearls gliding down the gutter, supported by unusual creatures. Loretta came alive. Every drop of water in it became animate, and so did every leaf on the branches. As she walked past someone’s front gardens, Rhianon could hear the leaves rustling anxiously. It was as if someone was calling to her from the crowns of the trees. Sometimes she recognized the dryads, but she did not want to communicate with them today. Phyllis had long been angry with her and hid in an orange tree near the castle. Rhianon hadn’t spoken to her in a long time, and the dryad was angry. She wanted to flirt and play cards with her mistress, not remain a neglected servant. She often said that the rustling of playing cards reminded her of the foliage and her home far away in the forest. More than once she had suggested that Rhianon go back into the thicket with her, to the tree that Phyllis said grew to the heavens.

Rhianon did not doubt her words now, but she did not want to leave Loretta just yet. She walked through the streets and enjoyed the feeling that everything here now belonged to her. The streets, deserted at night, were beautiful and spacious.

The figure sitting alone by the fountain would have seemed asleep to Rhianon had it not been for the scarlet trickle that trickled into the water. The girl was not asleep. Rhianon stepped closer to take a closer look. She had already expected to see Setius leaning over the corpse. He was the one who could nestle into the maiden’s delicate neck and bleed her.

Rhianon touched her shoulder. Her hand felt as if it had touched a helpless rag doll. The corpse fell limply to the curb of the fountain. Blond strands were wet and covered her face, but not the sign scratched into her neck. Rhianon immediately recognized it. The mark of the fallen! Someone had branded the corpse with it.

«He kills all golden-haired girls who look like you,» a small voice whispered from around the corner. «That’s because he can’t touch you. And he can’t touch the Master. That’s why he looks for copies and kills them.»

Near the scene, Rhianon had expected to see the black hunched over shadow of Asmodeus, but not one of the six spinsters. Madeleine, who had come around the corner, seemed to have grown in stature. She resembled a girl of twelve now, but not a little dwarf, and yet her outfit remained the same. Even the cap on her oversized head was the same, and so was her hair. But her face, under the curls of red curls, looked more grown-up.

Rhianon remembered that those who were too guilty were especially diminished after the fall. Could they have atoned for their sins and changed? It is unlikely, no one would forgive them, and they did not want forgiveness. Pride and desire for independence would not have allowed them to ask for anything.

«Only I shouldn’t have told you that,» Madeleine put her finger to her lips and turned as if she were looking for witnesses.

It seemed to Rhianon that she had not come here alone.

«Why are you here?» The queen asked.

The spinster only grinned mischievously.

«We wanted to make a dress for her,» she nodded at the corpse. «It was a garment of thread that would drink the life from her. The wretch wanted to take from us the workshop, you see, she is heir to a house where we already worked… We would not have tolerated her, but he left us behindt.

Madeleine raised her head on tiptoes and looked at the corpse, as if she wished to be sure that the girl would never rise again.

«Farewell!» She nodded quickly to Rhianon.

«Farewell?» She thought the word was astonishing. Wasn’t all eternity in front of them? «Won’t you serve me anymore?»

The spinster only shrugged her shoulders. She disappeared into the darkness faster than Rhianon could call out to her. She wandered the streets for a long time, hoping to find one of the spinsters and figure out what they were doing in Loretta, but they were nowhere to be seen. Along with them all the supernatural creatures seemed to have gone into hiding. The only unusual silhouette that separated itself from the shadows was gray and unsightly. Occasionally he would stop in front of someone’s door and knock on it, but the knock itself was inaudible. At first he seemed to Rhianon to be nothing more than an illusion. She did not immediately recognize the familiar face under the hood. When she recognized it, Rhianon shuddered. The gray angel was here again. Who was he looking for? She dared not go up to him and ask him that. But it seemed as if he wanted to take everyone at once. His every gesture said so. He moved through Loretta, smoothly and silently, as if he were taking the city in a ring. Rhianon followed him to watch his strange manipulations. He touched doors and locks with his pale fingers, ran his fingers over the eaves. Every stone, as if it were to soak in his touch. Rhianon would have followed him further, but she became dizzy. She had to return to the castle. Orpheus was already waiting for her there. He was shuffling cards and whistling merrily. The tune was frivolous and mischievous.

«Hello, my beautiful queen,» he grinned as she crossed the threshold. — «Did you have a good night?»

«Not very much,» Rhiannon said, feeling tired. She wanted to go to the mirror and remove the hairpins from her tangled hair, but the spirit blocked her path.

«Do you look disappointed?» Orpheus took a closer look at her face. «The colored-eyed boy hasn’t lived up to your expectations?»

«What do you mean?» she stared at him in amazement.

«You know, the one pretending to be a witch doctor. Damned undertrained and unsuccessful,» Orpheus almost swore.

«Ah, that’s who you mean,» Rhianon was surprised at how quickly he found out. It would have been well if he had begun with the important news and then moved on to the distractions. Douglas was of little concern to her now, but Orpheus continued to badmouth him.

«If it were up to me, I’d have his head on a stake in no time. It would make a fine addition to the collection that already frightens the guards in the courtyard.»

«Those heads should be buried. That reminds me,» Rhianon grimaced, remembering the eerie sight, the half circle of stakes stuck in the ground, each crowned with a disfigured severed head.

«That’s where they belong,» Orpheus snapped. «Your betrothed knows how to put fear into his subjects. It’s his way of emphasizing his power since time immemorial. Personally I think that young wizard’s head would be a fine addition to his collection. There must be the heads of other traitors as well, of course.»

«I’ve already heard that you would like to behead them.»

«Would you?»

He puzzled her with his question. A voice that spoke one word, «They are doomed,» was whispered in her ears again, loud and clear.

«I’ll think about it,» she decided.

«You can think of a riot.»

«I can pacify it.»

«And this rogue warlock would help you? Your betrothed might not appreciate your intercourse with his servants. They’re just insects under his feet.»

«And I am his favorite golden snake. I am a traitor. And he knows it.»

She wanted to hurt Orpheus, but her words hit the mark. Her spirit let them slip past his ears. He shuffled the deck so deftly that from the outside it looked as if the cards were flying in the air, caught in the wind. Then he became visible, and the mirror caught his reflection.

«That’s how you shuffle young men,» Orpheus grinned. «And you discard the superfluous ones in search of the one and only trump card.»

«What do you mean?»

He sat down on the table and grinned defiantly. She snapped and clenched her fists.

«Don’t dare to cheek me. You forget, I am still your queen.»

«Oh, yes, of course you are,» his mischievous smile grew wider, only this time there was something malicious in it. «You’re lucky to find your trump card. Madael is your trump card. If you hadn’t become the devil’s minion, you’d have nothing now. You were better off holding on to him.»

«That’s not what you told me before? Who but you promised me Loretta back with your arsenal of jokes and insignificant tricks? Do you think you could have done it?»

«Of course,» he pouted resentfully. How could she not believe him?

Rhianon sighed. Orpheus would have made a fine actor.

«I wonder how you’d do it. You would have hired a former king as a jester and started to torment him with your pranks, and then, after bringing him to a heart attack, you would bring me in the castle and leave alone in the throne room to deal with a pack of predators around me.»

«I would stand behind you and give advice, and intervene myself if necessary. I could be invisible and very agile. I would disarm all your detractors and whisper to the unruly that you are the strongest.»

«How nice is it. I see that you and I would make a great couple,» she said sarcastically.

But Orpheus did not detect the mockery in her tone. Apparently, he was so used to being witty himself that he denied humor to everyone else.

«We are a great couple,» he affirmed cheerfully. «I’m reflected behind you in the mirror. You are as bright as fire, and I am your blackened heart, given over to a fallen angel. You are the queen, and I am your personal demon.»

«And yet I would rather have a dragon than you.»

The words came like a slap in the face. Orpheus flinched, jumped up from the table, and hovered in the air for a second.

«No, you can’t really think like that. You’re lying to hurt me.»

She shook her head negatively.

Orpheus couldn’t believe it, or pretended that he couldn’t. «You chose me, you gave me a name, you appointed me as your companion, you awakened me to life there in the caves. I would still be asleep if it weren’t for you. Your voice, like a silvery bell, called me to your service.»

«And before that, in the inn, you had brazenly imposed yourself as my fellow traveler.»

«That’s not how it happened.»

«I am your companion, your good fortune, I should have followed you.»

«If only you had been of any use.»

He seemed about to cry. She wondered if his tears would be as bright orange as his hair, or as blood-red as liquid flame. Rhianon felt no pity for him at all.

«You don’t need a dragon,» Orpheus was angry and jealous. «There is more fire in you yourself than in a pile of dragon’s throats. You can easily ignite this city like a volcano ready to erupt. You are stronger than a pack of fire-breathing reptiles.»

«They are your former brethren,» she added reasonably.

«Oh, that…» Orpheus brushed the pesky memory aside. «I wouldn’t like to be like them.»

«Perhaps you are less guilty, and I am attracted to vice. There’s more of it in Madaael, so I choose him. He could have been a golden dragon, too.»

«Did he tell you?» Orpheus frowned and began counting something on his fingers, as if he were shuffling invisible cards again. «Of course he told you. You shared a bed with him,» he grimaced hostilely. «I don’t know that. I’m not a man, and I’ve never tried anything like that until now, but they say all secrets are revealed in bed.»

«Did you want me and you to check it out?» She arrogantly arched her eyebrows.

«Well, yes,» he hesitated.

«I think it’s a good thing we didn’t, or you’d have told me all your little secrets, and then you’d have been sorry. I wouldn’t have tolerated the presence of a howling spirit behind my back.»

Rhianon was not surprised that, for all his good looks, he had not yet been able to seduce any girl. His garrulity would have put any girl off. No one wants to end up in bed with a lunatic, even one so pretty. One look at the way his eyes occasionally sparkle with wild fire, like facets of cold jewels, and you no longer doubt that in the morning he could slit your throat if you were in the same bed with him. Orpheus could kill, cripple, and trick you without even realizing that he had done something wrong. He was a typical madman. Rhianon turned her back on him with disdain.

«Now leave me alone,» she demanded. «I have a feast to get ready for.»

«Ah, yes, there are still celebrations in your majesty’s honor,» Orpheus mocked in a mellifluous tone. «Since when have usurpers like you or your winged betrothed been unselfishly celebrated?»

«Since I became queen,» she cut off, picking out an outfit. She liked the one brocade dress with the ermine best. The faeries had already unlaced her corset to help her change, and Orpheus was furious.

«Not long ago you’d have been turned away just to get rid of the rightful heiress. And if it weren’t for Conrad’s passion, you might have been declared insane and imprisoned in a tower. The dungeons beneath the keep are excellent, damp, dirty and cold, and full of creatures of all kinds, including those of unearthly origin. If you tell anyone about your time with the winged creatures, you’ll be deemed insane.»

«I have the power on my side now,» she retorted.

That silenced him for a moment.

Already dressed in her sumptuous ceremonial attire, Rhianon listened to the sounds that filled the castle. The general cacophony almost made her ears ache. The heralds’ trumpets were blowing, the kitchens were clinking, footmen and cooks were fussing, and the guests were preparing for the feast. To think how many whispers, sounds, and voices could fill one castle. Otherworldly beings were swarming too, but Rhianon didn’t listen to them. She was on her way to feast with the humans.

Douglas refused to help her. He was captivated by the girl. He would not harm Rhianon for any money or promises. Hildegard herself thought with regret that she would no longer be such a beauty, but she was faced with a choice. Which was sweeter: the lips and long lashes and languid glances of the devil’s mistress or the power? Anyone who was smart would have chosen the latter.

Had Douglas learned of her plans, he would have been dangerous. He might have blabbed everything to Rhianon. So it was worth using all her charms to weave a sorcerer’s web around the tower so that no one’s thoughts could penetrate it. No sorcerer could understand what she was doing.

The witch potions and potions in Hildegard’s jars were running out. And there were no ingredients to make new ones yet. They were too difficult to obtain. She had to go to the cemetery and dig in the places where she could hear claws clawing under the ground and nocturnal creatures. The bones they nibbled in the graves were perhaps the most necessary, just as the seed of the hangmen or the mandrake growing under the feet of the hanged. She needed many things to maintain her witchcraft arsenal. Talented magicians use their charms; she had to act more like a witch doctor. No potions, no effect. She could only conjure using formulas given to her by others.

Pheba, the witch doctor of the village, was another matter. She had recently been brought in by Velicia, one of Hildegard’s special friends. She had long been bewitching suitors for court ladies, or casting spells. If Hildegard could have given her a golden lock of Rhianon, she would have done so. It was a pity she had only managed to comb a few hairs out of the strands of the newfound queen. But even those should have been enough.

Rhianon is a queen, but her age is short. Hildegard decided to take care of it. She tried not to miss a single detail, even the most insignificant. Pheba’s efforts alone did not seem enough to her. She could have done something herself. If only Rhianon would accept gifts from her. How easy it would have been to slip her poison and spell-soaked things. Such jewelry would have killed her faster than any knife. Yet Hildegard also hoped for a conspirators’ knife. As a last resort, it was not a sin to rely on them either. Just as long as, after the death of one queen, they decided to support a new one. There seemed to be no other candidate but Hildegard. She could be confident in her powers and still she had doubts. Lately she had felt like she was on pins and needles. Her skin prickled and her eyes stung, as if she’d seen the fallen angel firsthand. Until now she had only noticed the ugly burnt limbs that sometimes peeped out of the grave earth, heard the moans and rustling of wings at the bottom of the well, noticed the inhuman footprints beside the tree of the hanged man. The supernatural was very close and yet she never really came into contact with it until she saw Rhianon return and realized how much she had changed. It was as if she were no longer human at all. There was an unearthly grandeur about her. Had she been in the arms of a fallen angel and become an angel herself? But Rhianon has no wings. She must still be mortal.

Rhianon will die. There will be no more of her seductive lips, no more of her expressive calm eyes, no more of her slender frame that you want to embrace. There will be no more temptation. Rhianon is an irresistible temptation, for men and women alike. Yet she herself is neither a woman nor an angel, but something indescribable. She is above everything. Such a being should be removed from the world as a filth, so that it would not seduce anyone else.

Hildegard smiled at the sight of the toads on her table. They sat next to empty vials of witch ointment. This substance attracted them and helped the black flowers bloom right on the tabletop. Everything gloomy is so beautiful. Black is the best color in the world. Why the need for a gamut of other hues when there is blackness. Now Hildegard despised herself for succumbing to a momentary impulse and trying on something purple. Only black suited her. And it was her favorite color, after all.

The color of the grave is also black, but the creature came from the cemetery was white and winged. Hildegard was already nauseated at the thought of being close to it. Why? After all, she has Velicia. Even though angels have female faces, women themselves are still more beautiful and seductive. To be with them is far more pleasant than with a cold piece of marble. And killing them was just as pleasant. She loved the feel of their warm blood on her neck, not the thick sludge that flowed from the corpse of her last lover.

She would not make the same mistake again. Nor would she feel pity for Rhianon. She paid Pheba in gold to make the spell particularly thorough. Rhianon would lose all her beauty and rot alive if she did it the right way, and she would beg for death. And in the end she will die. That’s it, no more angel. There’s no need for one on earth. Loretta is for mortals. This is no place for winged creatures.

Hildegard almost changed her mind when she noticed someone’s reflection in the mirror. The winged young man seemed incredibly beautiful to her. His face bore some resemblance to Rhianon’s, but his eyes… how evil they were. It was as if he was burning her through with his eyes. The vision lasted only a moment, but the sensation of an incredibly strong hand gripping her hair and nearly ripping her braids out remained.

Hildegarde grimaced in pain. The headdress seemed to be in place. The braids were not torn out either. And no one was reflected in the mirror but herself. Her outfit today was exquisite. Her favorite black color is set off by a smoky, somber veil. Dark amethysts adorn the corset and hemline. And her hair is like darkness itself. Except that in her mind, in her brain, just beneath her skull, a bright fire seemed to blaze.

Hildegard cried out in fright at the sight of the worms on the table, and she did not understand why she was so frightened. After all, she was not afraid of the sight of toads and rats prying into her elixirs. And nausea never felt. On the contrary, she was attracted to disgusting things. So why was she suddenly disgusted by worms?

«Worms,» the angel’s voice echoed in her mind, not from the mirror. «I’ll crush you like a worm before you can touch Rhianon.»

She didn’t believe him. So what if there are so many worms. They were crawling in exactly the places where something edible had lain recently: sweets, grapes, or figs. The food must have gone bad. So they crawled.

Hildegard didn’t want to imagine herself as one of those worms, but the idea was coming to mind. She even had to grab onto the first support she could find to keep from falling. Her legs did not hold her. She felt as if her body were becoming as flat and streamlined as a limbless worm’s.

«This is stupid,» she covered her mouth immediately, realizing that she was talking to herself. But it really was stupid. Who could have put such thoughts into her head? As she emerged from her tower, she realized that she could hardly make it to the Feast Hall on her own. She couldn’t be bothered to keep a thin cobweb of charms on the door.

The crown of Loretta rested on Rhianon’s head, she was given the main seat at the table, everyone listened to her, from the first minister to the latest minstrel, called to the court only for the evening. And yet here she felt like a statue or a ghost. That was how a visitor from another world felt, not understood or even noticed by people. That was probably how Madael felt, everything was in his hands, people’s lives, their souls, their destinies, they depended on him, but they did not notice him. Only he didn’t feel superfluous, and she did.

Madael was used to being worshipped, it was new to her. Rhianon watched the stunts of the acrobats, the mimes and actors, the jugglers tossing balls or burning torches. She did not mean to ignite anything, but one of the torches she had been watching for a particularly long time burst into flames so that it scorched the juggler’s hands. It must have been the first time that had happened to him. He stared so dumbfounded at his burned palms. Then they took him away. Rhianon watched it all with frightening indifference. It was as if the world did not exist in front of her. The action unfolded in a haze. The songs of the troubadours and bards sounded as if they were from afar. That must be what it feels like to be enchanted by elves. The world simply ceases to exist for him because his consciousness remains a prisoner of magical creatures.

Is she really a prisoner of Madael? Rhianon was not at all happy about the thought. She woke up and tried to come to her senses. She must cast off her spell like a bad dream. She shook her head persistently, but the only thing she could shake off was her wreath.

More and more dishes were brought from the kitchen. The guests ate and drank. Servants served them wine. Rhianon caught herself that the smell of meat and roast meat did not appeal to her at all. She wondered if she saw it raw… She’d have to hunt for it. The baby inside her must need food. It wouldn’t be likely to accept what normal people eat. Rhianon tried not to think about pouncing on anyone present. Does the court know about cannibals? Fallen angels also eat the flesh of fallen warriors and drink human blood, but it is as peculiar to them as it is to leeches. A queen who thirsts for the blood of her subjects would be treated differently by everyone than she would by the myths of the devil. Now she wished she could go out into the battlefield and kill only to tear the flesh and veins of her enemies afterward. She longed for blood, but the table poured only other drinks.

Sparkling wine trickled into the goblet. Something was wrong. The very color of the wine repulsed her, as if it were strewn with black ash. She didn’t immediately notice the small creature hiding in the shadows of the nearest dish. It only nimbly ran up to her fingers as she reached for the stem of the filled goblet.

Rhianon recognized the leprechaun. Strange how his mottled, red-colored robes didn’t stand out against the gold and silverware.

«Do not drink! Don’t drink!» He was mostly gesticulating, giving her conventional signs to let her know what he wanted to tell her.

Rhianon was sure no one could hear his little voice. To her, it had sounded like the squeak of a mosquito, and now she was probably the only one who could hear and understand faerie language, just as only Madael had been able to understand the language of birds and beasts before her.

Of course, there was poison in the glass. How she herself had not guessed before. What a profitable and deft move, to pretend to be hospitable so that during the feast the object causing so much strife — hers — could be discreetly removed. Just one goblet of wine and the new queen was gone. Rhianon almost sympathized with their foolishness. How they had miscalculated. And how naive they must be to easily believe that one who could ignite an entire city with her power could be too sensitive to a knife or poison?. This is all nonsense. There are no more weapons for her to fear. They still can’t believe it. She looked around the gathering disparagingly, from beneath half-lidded lashes, lingering intently on each face and reading their innermost thoughts with ease. Who had made the effort this time? And who were his accomplices? With her newfound ability to find out the tiniest details was so easy. It was just child’s play, not a difficult conspiracy investigation.

While the feast was going on, she couldn’t even think about it. She would deal with everything later.

The table was overflowing with delicacies, and though she wasn’t hungry at all, she had to hand it to the castle’s chefs. Stuffed geese, ducks, slices of flavorful lamb with pieces of pineapple and olives, all on engraved dishes, and each dish was a work of culinary art. Hildegard, however, wrinkled her nose unhappily. Her dark onyx eyes ran restlessly over the table as if she were spotting rats on the tablecloth. Rhianon, too, examined the utensils, the wine decanters and dessert vases, as properly as she could. No, the leprechaun had only hidden near her wineglass, and that was not to steal another piece from her plate, but only to warn her that the wine was poisoned. He might not have known that the poison had no effect on her henceforth, or he might have simply decided to take precautions. No matter. The fact is, the conscientious servant had done his duty of guarding his mistress, and he was so dexterous that it was impossible to see him.

Hildegard! Rhianon met her black as the darkness itself for a moment, and somehow noticed the fear in her hitherto perpetually impenetrable eyes. Then she turned her gaze to the table and almost cringed in disgust herself. Worms! Where once there had been the aromatic smell of fried chicken and smoky punch, now there were disgusting gooey lumps of worms crawling all over the place. They were in balls, in glasses, in pike-perch where the fish lay, ghastly as the entrails that had fallen out of their ripped bellies. Rhianon had seen something like this on the battlefield, too, when she dissected her enemies with her sword. The guts spilling from open bellies smelled just as foul and disgusting, but surprisingly she could smell no earth or worms. There was still the sweet smell of honey and cream and candied cherries in the punch, but only disgusting worms crawled across the table. The guests continued to eat and enjoy themselves as if they were oblivious of the change. Their laughter sounded distant, ghastly and slightly muffled, like the swarming worms. Rhianon saw mouths full of nastiness, spoons with stalks braided with the slimy body of a worm. She was about to close her eyes and whisper a few magic words to banish the vision, but then suddenly it dissipated on its own.

It happened at the very moment when Hildegard jumped up from the table and rushed away. Before that she pushed back her chair so sharply that everyone present stared after her in surprise, and the footmen hurriedly picked up the dishes and food, which she had dropped on the floor.

«It was nice to look at the world through her eyes,» the black burnt hand with excessively elongated fingers habitually not visible to everyone else lay on the naked shoulder of Rhianon and gently squeezed. «He can make you see the world in the same grim tones. And he is already angry with you.»

Leprechaun hid himself in the shadow of the glass. Rhianon tried to pretend not to notice the black creature that leaned toward her ear as everyone else does, but here it was, clawed fingers charred to the color of coal rubbing her long sapphire earring and seemingly capable of leaving a black indelible mark on her skin. But he touched neither her neck nor her cheek, though his claws slid close to hers. That’s right, they were probably forbidden to touch Dennitsa’s face, or rather his perfect replica, now. Funny, contrary to all their expectations, instead of burning it, Madael set a guard around it, as if it were not a replica of his face, but a rare work of art. He loves his twin, though he should have hated it.

«Would you like me to help you regain his favor…»

And those words again. It’s as if they had sounded before, meaningless and hypocritical.

«You don’t have it, I do,» Rhianon said.

For a moment it seemed as if the black claws wanted to claw at her shoulder with rage, and they couldn’t. Asmodeus gave up and stood gracefully behind the back of her chair, but at some distance. His silhouette in the darkness few could make out, but he noticed Rhianon’s gaze sliding over the conspirators. She moved her eyes from one face to the other.

«They are doomed!»

The voice was no longer in her mind; it was Asmodeus who spoke.

«You don’t have to punish them yourself,» he explained. — So abstain from judgment and executioner, or fire, whichever you choose. Their punishment will come to them.»

«Is it destiny?» She inquired with a touch of sarcasm.

«It is in my face, my dear,» he echoed. She seemed for a moment to hear his dry, rustling laughter behind her.

«Why is it yours? Since when have you been on the side of mercy?»

He was silent for a second. She didn’t even think she’d get an answer.

«I only come for the price,» Asmodeus said at last. «It is as death with a scythe comes to take someone’s life.»

Rhianon grimaced, remembering the gray angel. She wondered why he had come to Loretta? Whose lives did he want to take in this city? Hermione, Angus, Darius, Clotter, Roderick, Hildegard… She moved her eyes from one face to the next, and saw no sign of joyful superiority in them. They all seemed to be mortified about something.

«They made a pact with the Devil, not you,» Rhianon reminded her, though it was probably unnecessary. He ought to know. «You’re not his reaper, taking the souls he’s been promised, are you?»

«I’m just his servant.» The black silhouette leaned over her shoulder again. It reeked of soot and ash and a pervasive sense of wonderfully dark emptiness. «But that was only for the time being.»

Rhianon didn’t even have time to call out to him before he disappeared. Once again she was alone with the revelers and the conspirators among them. There was no longer any sign of the supernatural in the hall, except for the leprechaun who had come out of hiding. He didn’t look happy. Rhianon could understand his tiny thoughts, though his head was no bigger than a pea, and his thoughts were open to her. He regretted very much that the queen was left alone at court as in an enemy camp. She has no right even to touch the condemned. And by the time the devil had carried out his own sentence, those scoundrels might have finished off his mistress.

«Well, I’ll have to defend myself as best I can,» Rianon decided to herself. «And wait for the fatal hour.»

Apparently, the conspirators themselves were already waiting. Rhianon did not know what their deadline was, but she could see that it was coming to an end. They knew it, they were afraid.

«You are doomed!» She said it out loud, and though the word was spoken in a whisper, Darius, who was sitting beside her, heard it and shuddered with all his body. What a hunted look he gave Rianon, and she smiled, insidiously and triumphantly. It was her turn to celebrate. And then she put the goblet to her lips…

«You saw their faces,» Orpheus chuckled, holding his stomach. «They thought you’d die as soon as you drank, but you stayed alive. I bet they’re walking around now, wondering if they should check on your well-being, send the court physician to see if there are any dangerous symptoms: headaches, weakness, vomiting… anything the poison could cause.»

Rhianon didn’t listen to him. The wine had long since dissolved into her fiery blood; the poison certainly hadn’t worked. And it couldn’t have. She took a sip of the goblet, but she didn’t collapse from weakness to the floor from the first sip, nor did she cringe in pain, nor did she suffer from nausea. She didn’t even get a headache. And they had been waiting so tensely…

Rhianon almost laughed herself, but she remembered the face she’d glimpsed at the feast and immediately became serious. She’d seen this girl somewhere before, her heart-shaped face in a halo of red curls, a cap with a long veil, and a bright green outfit trimmed with fur. It all told her something. At least the gamut of colors: red and green, and the golden spindle hanging from her belt.

Only the girl couldn’t have been one of the spinsters. She was an adult. She was full-grown, tall, statuesque, not a dwarf. Most likely, she was one of the noble ladies who had come to court. Not a fairy by any means, though you could tell from her face and pointed ears that she had a touch of magic blood. She couldn’t be one of the little spinsters. But then what would explain the presence of the spindle?

Rhianon thought about that for a long time. The pretty, freckled face lingered in her mind for a long time. It was familiar and at the same time not. The network of freckles on it seemed like whimsical glitter or insects. Rhianon had never before seen freckles on such a dead-pale face.

Orpheus had disappeared, but she sat in the darkness and pondered. The flames in the fireplace turned to smoldering sparks. Rhianon could have lit it again, but she didn’t want to. She wasn’t cold. The fire inside her was already too powerful. Once again she felt a powerful internal jolt and buckled from it. The wave of pain that swept through her body burned even worse than the flames. It pulsed through every vein, but especially under her heart, in her stomach, as if a horrible lump of fire was building up there.

«Aren’t you afraid that he’s inside you?»

The voice, coming from the darkness between the tapestries, was clearly that of Asmodeus. He was the only one who could speak with such a husky, yet convincing and insidious voice. Rhianon didn’t need to turn around to be sure she was right; she could already feel him crawling toward her on the carpet, leaving an ashy trail. She shook her head negatively in response to his words. No, she wasn’t afraid of it being inside her, she was afraid of the result it might bring.