Читать книгу Rhianon-2. Princess of Fire and the Winged Warrior - Natalie Yacobson - Страница 2

Rhianon felt the caress of satin gloved fingers on her cheek and turned to look out the back window anyway. The road behind them was empty.

«Sure enough, he trailed after the carriage. How could he possibly leave you behind?» Fresia hummed grudgingly.

«But I can’t see him,» Rhianon suddenly realized that she didn’t want to lose her only companion. As mischievous as he was, she felt much freer in his company than she did in the company of two graceful ladies.

«Is it possible to see the silver smoke,» Fresia shrugged her naked shoulders and the fiery ruffles gathered in a whole bouquet of folds at her cleavage. It seemed as if the whole of her were drowned in flower petals, miraculously connected to each other. «It was only a pity that this smoke could be so sticky. He could ruin our carriage in revenge for us stealing the girl away from him.»

Rhianon looked again at her dress, beautiful, studded with flower petals and embroidered with an intricate pattern of rhombuses and triangles and polyhedrons connected and multicolored. It seemed to be not a cloth, but a map of starry heavens, astrological symbols, and the whole universe. It was all complemented by a purple cloak with a hood and ruffles, and, of course, a garniture of large rubies. It seemed that only he could match such an intricate outfit. The rubies, polished in the shape of drops of blood, flashed around her neck, wrists, and ears like bits of living flame. The second lady wore a lush pastel dress embroidered with sprigs of myrtle, as if to contrast the first. The half-mask on her face resembled the wings of a butterfly. The cape behind her also looked more like transparent wings.

«Are we going to a masquerade?» Rhiannon squinted, because the too bright red was beginning to hurt her.

«Oh, yes, it is a masquerade,» Fresia laughed for some reason.

Rhianon wondered if she felt so uncomfortable in the company of the two ladies because she was not herself dressed in fancy dress. For a masquerade ball, of course, her pageant garb would do just fine, but any modestly dressed girl would naturally feel like a sissy next to such fashionable women. If she had been at the palace it would have been different. But what dressmaker she could order such a dress, which seemed to be sewn of flame and flowers. Not even royal white seamstresses would be capable of that. The feeling that she was in the company of non-humans only intensified further. Rhianon could have asked about it directly, but she was afraid of causing another burst of laughter.

«He’s clingy,» the other lady glanced through the carriage window as if she could really see the spirit flying behind them. She wondered if she could see anything in the darkness outside the windows. Rhianon snorted incredulously. But Fresia, too, seemed to see something. She frowned in displeasure and hugged Rhianon tighter.

«Haven’t you had enough of his company?» She muttered softly.

«You can’t get rid of him,» she murmured, trying to be diplomatic.

Someone just knocked quietly on the window, though no one was visible behind the glass.

«Distract him, Chloe,» Fresia commanded. «Let him look at you for now, not at her.»

«Why is it?» Rhianon did not like the way Fresia’s long thin fingers slipped under the collar of her jacket and began to undo the buttons. They slid over her skin like cold, uncomfortable insects. It was as if the skin on them oozed no warmth at all and would never be able to warm itself. Rhianon shuddered, thinking, these are the kind of creatures that drink people’s blood to take a little bit of their life. They waited in the dark and their skin was as cold as the dead and their calling voices were as melodic as sirens. She didn’t have to look out the window to guess that they were already out of town. The carriage raced through uninhabited countryside. Only once in the darkness did a road post and a cross at a crossroads glimmer. Fresia grumbled unhappily at the sight of it.

«We must dress you for the masquerade,» she announced.

«No,» Rhianon reached out to shake her clammy, cold fingers from her collar, but the buttons of her jacket were still undoing themselves, without Freesia’s help.

«Silly girl, it’s so simple…»

Before she knew it, the familiar, unobtrusive jacket was gone, replaced by soft waves of silk that drifted down her arms. Rhianon stared incredulously at the purple ruffles and pearls that lined the hard satin corset. It wasn’t even satin, but some much nicer and more expensive material, but she didn’t know exactly what kind. It was the first time she had ever touched such soft and delicate matter. The diamonds embedded in it seemed like dew scattered on a flower. The dress itself was also like a flower, like an iris, white with purple petals. Good thing the color was embroidered purple instead of say, red; Rhianon could only tolerate cold tones. The dress she wore was woven of snowflakes, as if they were about to cling to her skin, and the flame inside would go out, frozen by them. But it didn’t go out; it only hid. Rianon took a mask from Fresia’s hands, the same white and purple one made in the shape of a blossoming iris. She could have sworn that the mask hadn’t been there a moment ago, only Fresia herself making strange gestures with her hands. Now those same hands were again encircling Rhianon and sliding up and down her tightly corseted waist like pesky gummy bugs. Rhianon winced slightly. The corset seemed to be too tight. Or maybe it was Fresia’s embrace that was too tight.

«The diamonds in your hair are like dew,» she whispered, leaning close to her ear. Rhianon sensed that her hair, twisted into a high-pitched bob, was indeed a glittering net. Orpheus had already shown her the exact same tiered, curly hair that seemed to have been woven out of curls. He said it seemed that only fairies did it that way. But where was he? Rhianon thought she could see his freckled face and red strands dislodged from under the cap right on the other side of the window. Chloe was whispering something just into the darkness that passed outside the windows, and occasionally gestured. It seemed as if she was really communicating with an invisible fellow traveler, flying behind the carriage. Rhianon knew it had to be that way. With her hair entwined with jewel threads she felt a little out of place. It was as if a cloud of gold flew over the back of her head and her head, in spite of the jewelry, was unusually light. The ladies at her court never wore such hairstyles. They couldn’t have done anything like that. Rhianon herself did not know how she could have had her hair styled into a ballooning pyramid and have jewels embedded in it.

«It suits you,» said Fresia. She stared at Rhianon and her eyes sparkled. Like two emeralds shining out of her eyes. Rhianon stared at them, and felt as if she were drowning in a greenish pool. Dizzy, she could not even hear Chloe whispering something impertinent to Orpheus, freezing in the cold wind on the other side of the window. He flew behind the rushing carriage so fast that he himself must have joined the gust of wind. Rhianon felt a slight satisfaction that this time he was uncomfortable. Before, his insolent jokes and advances toward random strangers had made her the only one uncomfortable. Now she seems to have gotten her revenge on him. In any case, she could tell from his hurtful remarks on the other side of the window that he was uncomfortable.

Rhianon herself did not know whether to be pleased or surprised. The two ladies were clearly not among the people interested in her capture. Looking at how dispassionately they treated her spirit-companion, they themselves hardly had anything in common with humans.

Rhianon looked at Fresia. Her mottled dress, as if sewn from autumn leaves, would have rather suited an actress or a colombina, but the expensive fabric and glittering rubies and proud posture clearly spoke in favor of a higher origin. She wondered if her patterned flame cloak might actually be fairy wings folded behind her back. Rhianon wondered about that and imperceptibly even ran her hand over the shiny folds, they seemed warm to the touch. Was it possible that they were about to move.

«And you are very beautiful,» while Chloe distracted Orpheus’ attention, Fresia continued to look at Rhianon, long and carefully, as if she was giving her appraisal to some rare jewel. «Such beauty is rare, even among us…»

Her thin, cold fingers touched Rhianon’s chin and lifted her face slightly to look directly into her eyes.

«They’re like sapphires,» she said, and then she whispered softly, «a piece of heaven is in your eyes…»

«And a piece of hell is in your cloak,» Rhianon joked in time with her. She wondered how that riot of scarlet color had not ignited a fire in her, or at least a desire to burn someone. Why weren’t the hands of Fresia caressing her still covered in burns?

«I must confess that until now I’d considered it a rarity, his privilege alone.» Her fingers stroked Rhianon’s hair, her neck, her cheekbones, and strangely enough, they didn’t burn. Rhianon expected her skin to blister, like a nettle burn, but it did not. It was as if Fresia was immune to the effects of her inner fire. Maybe it’s because her skin is as cold as ice. It is simply impossible to burn her or even warm her cold a little. But then why is the cloak behind her back so warm, almost exuding heat. Rhianon could not explain it. She only stared at her new friend in silence. Girlfriend! Could she call her that? Who was this Fresia, anyway? Rhianon knew nothing about her except her name, which was more like the name of a flower. And she herself had only seen her for a few minutes, but seemed to know her forever.

«I’m used to seeing only one of these things,» she whispered confidentially, touching Rhianon’s face again, as if she hadn’t dared to believe that it really existed. «It is so strange to me to realize that such beauty is possessed by someone other than our god… other than our cursed one.»

Her voice dropped to an almost indistinguishable whisper, and then suddenly there was a low hiss. It sounded like the hiss of a snake, not a woman. Rhianon recoiled, seeing the line of razor-sharp teeth beneath her blood-red lips.

«What do you mean?» she didn’t understand.

«Oh,» she said, shrugging her shoulders as if she couldn’t remember what she’d just said. Yes, she does have the memory of a carefree fairy. Rhianon wondered if fairies really could instantly forget and leave their chosen ones behind just because they were eternal and human life was only a moment to them, or if sometimes it was just convenient for them not to remember anything. In any case, there was a twinkle in Fresia’s eyes, and then they went from two sparkling emeralds to murky green lakes.

«I just like you a lot,» she explained.

«So do I,» Rhianon nodded, not knowing why, and then she heard Orpheus squeak in an angry, disgruntled voice outside the carriage window. Surely he could hear everything. Could he be jealous? Rhianon smiled smugly on her lips.

«You would have liked diamonds,» said Fresia.

She felt the drops of water cascading down her skin. They joined together and were as heavy as dew on a flower, but they never slipped behind her corset. Just a moment and Rhianon felt them harden around her neck into a thin, sparkling necklace. In her ears she found earrings to match. A matching bracelet wrapped around her arm, and she felt it touch her skin like clear water.

«Thank you,» Rhianon touched the jewelry around her neck, and felt its beneficial coolness. It felt so good. It was as if the fire inside her had subsided. She’d never felt cooler, as if the fire had been doused in a mountain stream.

Outside the window she passed unfamiliar landscapes, expanses and glades covered with darkness. Sometimes she could see a faint glimpse of the sky, studded with stars.

Rhianon gripped frantically at Fresia’s arm. «We’re not going east.»

She hadn’t even realized they’d turned, but now the carriage was taking a detour. They had made a circle, and probably more than one. But she didn’t need a compass to know that they’d changed direction; she could feel it, as if the ship had veered off course. This wasn’t where she needed to get to, after all. How she had allowed herself to be led astray by these ladies to some masquerade, to which, by the way, they had not yet made it, though they had been on their way for quite some time. Once, as a child, she had heard horror stories about ghostly carriages that circled from night to night along the same route, and those who saw them then disappeared themselves. She didn’t want to be in that position at all. She was looking for the way to the School of Witchcraft, after all. She needed to go there, not to some nocturnal masquerade.

«Order the carriage to stop,» she demanded of Fresia. «I need to get out.»

«How is it? Is it right now?» The lady frowned incredulously. «But we’re nearly there.»

Rhiannon couldn’t understand her, since it was all moss-covered heaths and valleys and darkness at night. They hadn’t encountered a single village, farmhouse, or hamlet along the way. So, where could they have come to, all around there was nothing but deserted land.

Fresia took her by the shoulders and turned her to face the window. Yes, now Rhianon also noticed sparkling lights in the distance, like fireworks they scattered the mist in a whole flock and seemed to be settling on the roof of some large building.

«The feast of sowing and harvesting has long passed, but we have come to harvest our crops only now, because the profits were not shared with us. And we are the true masters of the fields here. Then it’s time to claim what’s ours,» Fresia smiled in anticipation. «The master of the manor is mortal. Mortals think it’s so easy to deceive the Magical People. All you have to do is leave us a jug of milk and we’ll be satisfied. And if not, we can be raided by peasants armed with pitchforks, sickles and torches. How wrong he is.»

«Who will be at the masquerade?» Rhianon has already seen the driveway and the beautiful white stone facade with the colonnade. A motley crowd had already gathered there in the light of the night lights. Fresia could see it all over her shoulder, too.

«People like us,» she muttered. «People are hosts only, or think that if they make a reception for us at night, no one will suspect them of communicating with us afterward. Though there are a few other guests from distant places, they’re human too. Everyone else is just like us.»

«They are just like us,» Rhianon repeated and looked at her questioningly. But Fresia didn’t seem to notice the question in her gaze or in her intonation. She seemed to have no doubt that Rhianon was no different from her, her friend, or even the disembodied Orpheus. She herself was beginning to doubt her own sanity. Was it all a dream? She’d realized already that the people in the carriage beside her weren’t human, as Fresia herself had repeatedly reminded her. So why did they think she was of their unearthly company? Just because of the company of Orpheus who accompanied her? Then why did they drive him away from her? He was beside her as if he were superfluous. The fairies needed only her. There, the word came to her mind by itself. Fairies! Rhiannon had often heard of them, but never seen them. And how could she ever see something that didn’t really exist? She had been told stories about fairies when she was a child, about their glittering wings and their humming voices. But why did she think these two ladies were fairies? What gave them away? Why did she think they were fairies and not witches or peri or, say, ghosts? Rhianon racked her brain some more, remembering the forgotten names. But the first definition that had already popped into her brain somehow couldn’t displace anything. Yes, that was exactly how she had imagined fairies to be, ethereal, beautiful, elegant, and uninhibited. They are absolutely sure of their own power, so they behave in a way that no earthly noble lady would allow herself. They can do anything, because they are above all. They are never shy about anything, because they know that any mortal would fall at their feet, if only they were to beckon. But what did they want with her? Rhianon suddenly felt a strange heartbeat. Her heart fluttered like a caged bird under a hard satin corset. Fresia’s closeness was so pleasurable. The cool touch of her hands left a feeling of ineffable tenderness, and her voice was mesmerizing. Rhianon looked at the rustling folds of her dress and kept expecting a flock of colorful butterflies to fly out of them. The dress seemed to be made entirely of their wings and flower petals. Rhianon caught herself thinking that she wanted to touch Fresia and see if her skin was really as cool as water in a mountain stream and if she had wings hidden behind her back. She had already reached out her hand to her outfit, not afraid to skin the bright red fabric. She usually avoided touching things of a warm hue, but now something pulled her like a magnet. No sooner had she touched Fresia, however, than the carriage came to a stop.

«Well, here we are,» Chloe sighed in relief and adjusted the cream ruffles on her skirt. A bone fan appeared from somewhere in her hand. She shook off a few pesky butterflies from it and began to wave it around herself. She was obviously tired of diverting a flying spirit from her carriage.

Rhianon leaned on Fresia’s arm to get out of the carriage. As soon as she was on solid ground, she began to look around for Orpheus. He was standing just behind them, two or three meters away. His reddish strands contrasted sharply with the brown alder trunk he was leaning against. He looked at his mistress with a challenge, almost a reproach.

«You had no right to leave me, much less trade me for this unseemly company,» his eyes spoke without words. Now with ineffable anger, they too were like two jewels.

«Come,» Fresia pulled her forward, but Rhianon still could not take her eyes off Orpheus. She had never seen him so angry before. He was still standing there by the tree. Long strands of hair were hanging down over his face, and he wouldn’t even raise his hand to fix them. It was unusual for him to do nothing. He’d been so vigorous before, but now it was as if he’d lost all his strength at once. Without his companion, it was as if he had lost himself. There seemed to be more life in those red locks than in his colorless face. They would have burned his cheek like a living flame.

Rhianon turned around several times to check again to see if he was following them, but he stood motionless.

«Of course he’s not invited, so he can’t follow us,» Fresia said in answer to her unspoken question.

«Is that so? – Rhianon turned once more. Her argument seemed quite logical. Orpheus could not violate unwritten etiquette and follow the ladies where no one called him. It happened to him for the first time. Earlier he was not afraid to break any prohibitions, and he had no respect for anybody, but today it was different. Orpheus did not dare to move, as if he were chained.

Chloe, who was adjusting her train showed him her tongue. Rhiannon shuddered involuntarily. Here was more proof that these were not just prim court ladies. None of them would allow themselves such a thing.

Guests were already gathering at the front door. The crowd, surrounded by soaring high-poverty lights, looked festive. Rhianon began to look closely at the lushly dressed figures. Fresia was insistently dragging her forward up the wide marble staircase, but Rianon did manage to get a glimpse of some of them. Under a dome of stars and obscure lights flying in the sky, everything might have seemed phantasmagoric, but some of the guests were truly astounding. Rhianon even parted her lips in amazement. Even at Athénaïs table she had never seen anything like this before. Wasn’t it all a dream, a question she had asked herself more than once?

«No, it is not a dream. Could it all be a dream? You’d better remember heaven…»

She turned around and began to look frantically at the masked faces. Who could have said it? The voice sounded not here, but somewhere far away and at the same time right in her mind. It spoke of heaven.

«What’s the matter with you?»

Fresia saw Rhianon gasp frantically for air and press her hand against her corset, in the very place where a person’s heart should be beating. But do fairies have one? Rhianon was afraid of giving herself away. It seemed to her that a moth was imprisoned in her chest instead of her heart, beating its wings frantically against the wall of her chest. Her head felt foggy. There was someone beside her, someone, but not Fresia. Someone was standing so close that she could feel his presence, but she couldn’t see him.

«It is all right,» she tried to hide the fact that her dizziness and beating heart plagued her. Whether Fresia believed her or she was too perceptive for that. At any rate, they moved on smoothly. Rhianon stopped only once, feeling something press her sliding train to the floor behind her. She turned around and noticed the culprit. Someone in a harlequin costume was squatting and dislodging a piece of material that clung to the bobbin on his shoe. Or maybe he had stepped on it on purpose and was now pretending to be concerned in order to delay her even more. He suddenly looked up at her and one long, long look told her a lot. Whoever this visitor under the mask was, he knew her. Black as agates, his eyes almost grinned. Rhianon waited impatiently for him to release her, but even then, though she walked without turning around, she could still feel his gaze behind her. He seemed to follow her. She clutched tightly at Fresia’s arm, as if that could keep her from anything. In any case, she wanted whoever walked behind her to see that she was not alone here, but with her companions.

«You should have been here on the autumnal equinox, or even earlier on the winter solstice. We’re so late,» Fresia lamented on the way. «This masquerade should have been arranged a long time ago.»

«But then you wouldn’t have had time to invite me,» Rhianon didn’t know why she reminded her of that, probably because she always wanted to console those who complained loudly in front of her.

«Yes, it wouldn’t have been the same without you,» Fresia said, and she couldn’t quite make out whether she was joking or serious, but her arm was suddenly about Rhianon’s waist. It seemed no longer an arm, but a snake or a rope, wrapped tightly around her waist. Rhianon could still feel the coolness of the mountain stream, but being in such close proximity with someone was suddenly not very pleasant.

«Are we here all night?» Rhianon watched the chandeliers above the ballroom light up one by one. Maybe she thought she saw bats hiding among the pendants.

«Nightfall would not begin until after the master had greeted us all,» Fresia grinned, not in a very amiable way. Rhianon shuddered at the grin. She could sense at once when others were up to something. What could Fresia be up to? Chloe was just teasing some of the guests at this moment, telling them that their masks were no good. It was inconsiderate to impose so much on the quarrel, but Rhianon herself didn’t like their costumes and half-masks the color of flame either. They looked as if they were made of living flames, and if you came near them they would scorch you. Rhianon turned away quickly. The mere sight of red disturbed her. Lush greens, or gentle whites, were another matter. Those seemed to prevail here. Only once did a lady in a tight golden outfit and the same mask slip past them. Salamander, Rhianon called her to herself. The woman seemed to notice her, too, and touched her lightly as she passed. And it was no longer clear whether it was a woman or some extraordinary animal that really looked like a huge salamander. Rhianon suppressed the urge to turn around and stare after her. Instead she scrutinized the others in front of her. No one wore a mask. Many even wore fancy headdresses. Rhianon saw hats with veils and veil, peacock-feather headdresses, and whole flower pyramids in place of the tiaras. More than once she wondered if the sprouts of outlandish little flowers really did sprout from under the transparent skin of the ladies, or if it was just an illusion. Only she dared not ask Fresia that question. She might just laugh in response. For she knew all she knew for certain. But Rhianon could only guess at what guests in non-human societies might be like. But if Freesia was to be believed, the owner of this house was human. She spotted him in the center of the hall, just as he was greeting guests. He and his wife and children were unmasked. Though a small group of guests in well-made masquerade costume stood beside them, Rhianon knew at once that they were only human. People like the master of the house and his family, who had been called here on this particular night by accident or on purpose. For some reason Rhianon felt pity for them, and she didn’t even know why. Of course, it could be explained by the fact that in their usual costumes, sewn by mere mortal tailors, they looked too shabby in comparison to the gathering of unearthly guests. Rhianon looked questioningly at Fresia.

«What would happen next?»

The fairy squeezed her hand tightly.

«Don’t ask questions. You do not want them to know that you were not privy to their plans, do you?»

Rhianon shuddered. What does that mean? Isn’t she being mistaken for one of their own here? Or does it stand out all too well that she is human? But after all, the dress she is wearing and the jewels in her hair are fairy creation. Hasn’t Fresia tried to make Rhianon look like them and even better than them. Did she not bring her here as a last-minute treat. At the end of the masquerade, when it is time to remove the masks, Fresia will announce to everyone that her companion is only human.

Rhianon looked once more at Chloe. She was already flirting animatedly with some strangers and expressing her excitement at someone’s particularly well-done masks. Both her condemnation and unconcealed admiration seemed to be expressed directly, like a child’s. She could not bring herself to pretend or lie. It wasn’t inherent in humans, but she wasn’t human. And she didn’t see Rhianon as a victim at all. Although on the other hand, maybe she was used to her friend picking up here and there her companions for the night to get rid of them in the morning. And Chloe herself was simply indifferent to these temporary companions. She probably lost count of them.

«Where have I got to,» Rhianon wondered if it would be possible to find ways to retreat, but ahead of her in the middle of it already seemed to begin to unfold the drama. No one was paying any attention to Rhianon herself yet. The guests, however, were encircling the host in a tight ring, and that ring was narrowing. How many of them were there, all dressed in fabulous costumes? Rhianon tried to count them, and felt dizzy. The counting seemed to only make more of them.

Could someone from the School of Witchcraft be here? A hunch struck her suddenly, and Rhianon began to look around. A couple in black caught her eye. The lady and the gentleman were conspiringly dressed in dark colors, and they stood out sharply in the crowd. They looked strange amidst the riot of color, but elegant all the same. White lace was gracefully woven into black velvet and silk. It looked like an ornament, and there seemed to be some symbols lost in its weaving. Not just a pattern… Rhianon squinted to get a better look. The two were standing too far away from her, but a cavalier in exactly the same black camisole could also be seen beside her. They were black velvet and white lace. It was like a uniform. Had Orpheus told her that the School of Witchcraft had its own uniform? Rhianon strained her memory, but remembered nothing of the sort. Orpheus generally tried not to talk particularly much about the School of Black Arts. He did not talk about the other students in it at all. Rhianon looked once more at the stranger, and she thought that even under the black mask she recognized the same condemned man who had left her a star. It was only an illusion, of course. The blond hair, scattered across the dark collar, seemed so familiar, but the face beneath the mask was as if it didn’t exist at all.

Just for a moment she was embarrassed. She didn’t like how long and attentive his gaze was. He continued to stare at her even as the attention of everyone present turned to the host of the reception.

Fresia pushed her under the elbow.

«Look!»

Rhianon watched as several graceful women brought a basket full of grapes to the hosts. The gift must have been symbolic. But what it meant.

«From our fields…» explained the girl in red whose hair and cleavage were also adorned with miniature tassels of grapes. Only whether the berries were made of jewels or whether the vines grew straight from her hands and scalp. Rhianon did not know; she could not get a closer look, nor could she hear all the remarks, as only scraps of phrase came to her. The master was saying something, frightened. He did not want to accept the gift, but the guests insisted. They wished that all his family could taste their fruit from the basket covered with leaves.

«Imagine him as a lord, not a country gent,» said Freesia with a chuckle. «And he can’t behave himself.»

Rhianon glanced over her shoulder and noticed the grapes rolling rapidly across the floor from the basket and seeming to turn into something else. One berry rolled so far that it fell right under her feet. For some reason Rhianon really didn’t want it to touch the hem of her dress. It glistened on the floor between her shoes, like a real ruby. Just a moment and that ruby spread across the floor in a living, sizzling juice. Rhianon clutched at Fresia’s arm and picked up her own hem. She saw the juice of the disintegrated grape burn through the floor, and small insect-like creatures swarming inside it.

«Don’t be silly, no one’s forcing you to eat it,» Freesia hissed at her. Rhianon backed away, watching the other berries warily. They rolled off across the marble floor like hard stones. It seemed as if they were bouncing between shoes and hemlines of polished round rubies.

Rhianon grimaced dismissively. What could be with those who tasted it. The piteous cries told her that before she could look. Something strange was already happening to all the people in the center of the reception; they were falling to the floor, whimpering, as if they were being burned from within. Rhianon saw the blood mixing with the crushed berries on the floor. And the fairies were laughing. Their laughter made their ears ring.

«Why is it?» She asked Fresia quietly, so that the others could not hear.

«He used to cheat us out of our fields and pay us no taxes,» Fresia explained.

«You mean us?» Rhianon didn’t immediately realize that the term generalized everyone here, even her. It was as if she was already among them, and all because no one had noticed she was an outsider. And what would happen when they noticed.

She tried not to look frightened, but a shiver ran down her spine. Watching the carnage begin was hard. Rhianon had never thought that all it took to kill was a touch of hands, fangs, and claws, not hard steel. Some creature only remotely resembling a disembodied lady merely touched the last survivors. They were children, unformed teenagers, crying, unaware of what was happening to them. The fairy only pretended to want to caress them, but the light touch of her fingers opened a network of sores on their bodies. The sores would appear and burst, and nasty parasites would crawl out of them, tearing the clothes on their already dying bodies.

«And then the masquerade begins?» Rhianon asked softly when she saw the fairy take the masks off the dying men and throw them into the fireplace.

«No, it is not at all,» Fresia ran her fingers playfully over her shoulders and leaned close to her ear to whisper, «we won’t need masks after that. After all, there’s no one else to hide from.»

Even if that was a joke, it was a good one. Several of the fairies had already thrown off their bows, bravely displaying their bodies, covered only by a cloth of fresh flowers. One of the guests had slit the wrist of a corpse and placed a gilded goblet under it. The other fairies, who had cast off their masks, pinched and scratched the host’s body with pins. They checked to see if he was alive and laughed. Rhianon noticed that the clusters of rowanberries and grapes and buckthorn in their hair were most likely real and seemed to grow straight out of their skin rather than serve as decoration. How beautiful and scary it was. She wondered how she herself would feel if the flowers grew right out of her body.

Her musings were interrupted by the whimpering of a dog. Someone who looked like a mischievous elf had fed the leftover berries to the lord’s hounds, and now they were wriggling in agony on the floor.

«I don’t like dogs, it’s as if they were designed to interfere with my music and everyone’s fun,» remarked the same harlequin who had recently touched her train. Whether he had done it accidentally or on purpose, she did not know. He did not notice her now. He sat down in a comfortable chair by the fireplace, snatched a harp from somewhere and tossed off his jester’s cap. This fell to the floor with the mask attached to it. It must have been a mask, and not the whitewash and makeup on her face, as Rhianon had at first assumed.

«What to play gentlemen?» The harlequin laughed, the harp, which had fallen with the mask at his feet, was now making sounds all by itself, as if someone invisible was plucking the strings.

«You’d better not play at all, you’re not wanted here,» remarked some lady, who had also removed her mask to expose her face, whose forehead and temples were covered with a lush veil of violets, which stretched over her ears and even her neck, but the angry eyes on her face seemed even brighter than they were. They burned like two blue lights.

«Is it redundant?» The harlequin raised his head, tossing back his thick brown hair, and Rhianon recognized his face. He had expressive and enigmatic eyes, which sometimes danced with laughter, but the pleasant tanned face belonged to a young man, not a supernatural being. This minstrel had come to play under her tower windows more than once. He got nothing for it except a slap from her servants, but still he came back again and again. He was variously called a bard, a songbird, a troubadour, or more often just an unhappy admirer. He would appear under the windows of her tower with the sunset and play all night if he was not driven away. From other noble lords for his songs he could get gold pieces, from Rhianon he could not even count on words of approval and still he played for her as often as he could. Only once had she seen him in the hall at a feast. Her curls were then adorned with a crown, and power had not yet been taken away by the regents, and Arno said that his singing today was dedicated only to her. She tolerated this, as she did the fact that with every sunset he literally grew out of the ground beneath her window, unmistakably guessing in which wing of the castle she was, as if he could watch over her through the walls. Where had he been during the day? Was he communicating with evil spirits? Or was he only pretending to be human, when in fact he belonged to their secret society? No, he was most likely human. Rianon could tell, and so could everyone else here. But then why didn’t they touch him? After all, they had easily torn the other men apart. And Rhianon was sure that if someone suddenly noticed the presence of uninvited guests, ordinary mortals, they would be attacked.

Some of the fairies did attack Arno, but so far only in words; they would not, or could not, harm him. That was interesting. Rhianon took a closer look at his face, but there was nothing unusual about it.

«Go away, you’re embarrassing us,» the girl, who had vines growing in her dark hair, actually clutched at his sleeve and tried to pull him from his chair. «Why do we need an ordinary mortal minstrel? Go and entertain the high-born lords, not their bones. There’s nothing left here but bones. We want to have fun without you.»

The bodies left lying on the floor of the hall would indeed soon become naked bones, Rhianon thought. Beautiful and elegant creatures pounced on the remains like dogs. Exactly the same fairy as the one that had been pinching Arno was just nestled against the former lord’s throat. For a moment she broke away from the meat and bones and looked at the harp lying nearby. Its strings twitched slowly, making faint sounds as Arno himself tried to free himself from his attacker’s claws.

«Thank God for unearthly music, not for the pitiful skills of musicians,» she hissed in his ear. «You’re not wanted here, you’re not wanted. No one invited you. Don’t you dare follow us again and spoil our heavenly tunes. This hall is not for the likes of you.»

«But there are others here worse than me,» he exploded. «Even I can smell extra, and you can’t.»

Rhianon involuntarily shuddered. Had he really decided to give her away? He had recognized her, that was for sure, but how could he expose her in front of everyone. She had not expected such meanness from him. Involuntarily she clutched at Fresia’s elbow, but she didn’t even notice it. Her dainty nostrils flared oddly. She sniffed the air, as if trying to smell something. It was like a dog following a trail. For a moment Rhianon felt disgust, and then suddenly realized that Arno was not going to give her away. He pointed his hand toward the gentlemen in the black robes. His eyes suddenly flashed a hostile glow. Such a fierce and impudent expression on his calm face she had never seen. It was as if he had changed in an instant, becoming a very different man, unfamiliar and possessed.

«They’re not one of yours,» he shouted. «But they’re allowed to be here, and I’m not. That’s not fair.»

His harp strings jerked sharply, as if to prove the accusation. At that moment Rhianon wanted to be invisible. She was afraid the next time someone would point her out. But so far that had not happened.

«Fresia, I’m sorry, but I have to go,» she was already looking for an escape route. So far, no crowd had gathered around the guests in black, as they had around the master of the house before. Rhianon did not know what would happen next, but she did not want to see it. Besides, for some reason it seemed to her that she herself, though doing nothing, was drawing much more attention to herself than the figures in black. No one was looking at her directly, but she felt the stares from the crowd burned her. These were non-humans, after all; they didn’t have to look someone straight in the eye to notice them. She felt uncomfortable here. And the doors of the hall, wide open, seemed to be beckoning her to leave. It was still possible to slip through them unnoticed and return to Orpheus, who was waiting for her downstairs. At the exit she might even run into the very guests in black who had attracted her attention. After all, unless they get mauled right now, they’ll probably have to leave. After all, Arno had said they were superfluous here, and the crowd seemed to agree with him. But he was superfluous here, too. Rhianon could no longer see him or the harp ahead of her. He had managed to disappear somewhere. It was time for her to go too.

«You should stay,» Fresia turned to her. «It’s too far before dawn. It’s too early to leave. When the rooster crowed, it would be time to observe tradition, but now…»

«I’m already too late,» she remembered perfectly that she’d agreed to go with them, but now she felt as if she’d made a mistake. Her instinct for self-preservation told her to get out of this house as soon as possible, but Fresia’s eyes beckoned her to stay, so expressive and alluring, and they changed color on top of that. Looking into them seemed to plunge you into a floral abyss. Rhianon forced herself to look away. She turned and walked away, not so fast as to draw attention, but trying not to linger either. The train slid freely across the floor behind her, and it felt like a blue wave running. The hem was cold on her legs. For the umpteenth time that evening, for some reason she had the association of a mountain stream in her mind. She wanted so badly to turn around and look at Fresia one more time. Rhianon did not want to leave her at all. On the contrary, she wanted to be close to her, to touch her hand, to feel her light embrace, to drown in her bottomless eyes. But it was dangerous.

«Wait, don’t go,» a worried Chloe grabbed her near the stairs. The whole time she was flying after her. It was not walking, but flying. Rhianon noticed that the hem of her beige dress hung an inch above the floor, and the toes of her light beaded shoes did not touch the ground either.

«Better stay with us for the night,» Chloe’s pale hand tried to catch her wrist, but Rhianon dodged and picked up the train to make it easier to run up the stairs. The least resistance she expected from Chloe. Fresia’s passive and carefree companion seemed to notice her no more than a piece of furniture. It turned out that her distracted attention was capable of focusing on something after all. At any rate, she wasn’t about to let Rhianon just walk away.

«Stay with us for good, not just one night,» the unfamiliar fairy was now nimbly clutching at Rhianon’s waist. How could she have crept up behind her so silently? She hadn’t been there a moment ago. She hadn’t even been there a moment before. It was a tiny, fragile arm, but that wasn’t what made Rhianon sick. The fairy was dressed in a bright red outfit, as if woven from a purple web. Instead of a mask, her heart-shaped face was covered by the same red thread veil. To top it all off were her crimson lips, the scarlet plume of her hat, and an incredibly bright blush on her very pale face. Two scarlet blotches seemed spread across her dead-white skin. Rhianon almost vomited. It was as if on purpose the color of fire was chasing her. Could this all be a practical joke? She lashed out sharply, but someone else approached her.

«Stay with us!» In a second the voices turned into a chorus. Before she could count how many figures in fanciful costumes and masks rose up before her, one after the other.

«We won’t let you go,» the others murmured.

«We like you too much. You’re so beautiful.» Some of them were running their fingers through her hair, others were stroking her shoulders. What cold fingers they were, and how tenacious. She looked around helplessly, but all she saw were masks. It was a whirlwind of bizarre and fantastical images. White, red, purple, silk, satin, with peacock feathers or flowers-all around her were masks, and the faces under them must have been laughing. If only there were any faces under them at all. Somehow it seemed to Rhianon that it was not the masks, but nature itself that had made these creatures so unimaginative. They surrounded her. Everyone wanted to touch her. That’s how you surround a shrine, so that everyone can touch it. That was how they treated her, but she was not. Now she really felt cursed. That must have been what Manfred called her. Rhianon tried to shield herself from the touch of the masks, but they grew more insistent. Perhaps she should still thank fate that they were not trying to kill her, like the owners of this house, where they had decided to hold a masquerade. The feeling that these masks could not be removed for the simple reason that there were no other faces beneath them only intensified. She was getting scared.

«Stay with us, Goldilocks,» the hissing voices kept whispering to her. They called her many things: angel, child, princess, even my love, but she did not like the sound of their intonation. They seemed to tease her and at the same time could not understand why they were all so attracted to her. Rhianon would have used any weakness in the circle of masks to escape, but it seemed impossible to break through the breach.

«Leave me alone!» she shook off the strangers’ hands. Their coldness was making her uncomfortable. Gnarly shivers coursed down her spine, but somewhere deep inside her a flame was beginning to rise.

«Go away!» she pushed someone away, but another sprang up in his place.

«My darling,» someone whispered softly, and cold fingers touched her face again. That’s when Rhianon couldn’t take it anymore. Perhaps the strong emotions in her were always triggered in the same way, whether it was fear or anger. In any case, now a jet of fire burst from her lips as she breathed, and the man beside her recoiled. He was screaming and hiding his face. Rhianon understood why. Her brain was working feverishly and everything inside felt like it was shrinking. She felt the heat. The cold tones of the corset she was laced in could no longer contain it. Flames were bursting out and not just with her breath. Those who touched her naked shoulders jerked their hands away in horror. They were burned. Rhianon turned around at the crowd of masks. Some of them shouted, some blew on their palms, some just backed away, slowly and incredulously. Along with this, the objects around them ignited. Curtains burst into flames, flames ran through the ceiling beams. If it had found a way out, now the tension inside her would only subside after something was burnt. Rhianon feared that now the whole house would burn down, all just because they tried to keep her here. Did anyone need this house, after the owners themselves were gone. The fairies were only going to enjoy themselves here for one night and fly away for good. In that case, they could fly out of the flames as well. As if to confirm her thoughts, figures began to fly out of the burning rooms, just as unusual and masked as the ones that had followed her. They did not know what was happening, or they were furious. Rhianon did not wait for what was to come; with her hand she picked up the hem of her dress and hurried down the stairs. She tried not to touch the railing and still there were sparks dancing on it. It was the most uncontrollable flash of flame she’d ever produced. She didn’t even know she was capable of that. And, of course, she wondered why she didn’t burn with it. Each time her anger or fear burned the others, but the flames only burst out, as if there was a hearth inside her, like the mouth of a dormant volcano. She herself remained unharmed. That must be how a basilisk or salamander felt, but they knew the nature of their powers, and she didn’t. Rhianon didn’t know where it came from, and she probably didn’t even want to know. It was scary. Do dragons know the nature of their powers? There she thought again about those mythical monsters, but instead of gleaming jewel-like scales she somehow imagined someone else’s armor and a helmeted blond head, and under the visor his dragon’s gaze. There were all-seeing dragon eyes on an ever-young face. Why did she think of it that way? Maybe because if all that was left of the mansion after tonight was a crumbling wreck, the locals would blame it on the dragon. Rumor had it the creatures had rarely, if ever, been seen and not invented, but it was easier to lay the blame on them than on the princess who’d escaped. The only pity is that Manfred could link such a fire that came out of nowhere to her and then he’d be on the right trail. Then it’s a good thing the gossip didn’t get to him. Peasants in nearby villages would be far more alarmed by the bloodless corpses than by a burnt-out house. Fires sometimes do happen, with or without dragons. If the flames reached enormous proportions, it was easier, of course, to make up a dragon. Rhianon didn’t even know what would happen to her if she encountered such a creature, with scales that glittered like precious chainmail and flames bursting from its nostrils and mouth. Such a creature would be like her, but would it accept her as its own. Or would it have to assert its rights to life with its own fiery breath. She, too, could produce fire, but unlike dragons she could not do so by choice, and she had no control over her ability. She wanted only to break free of the ring of masks that surrounded her, but instead she set the whole house on fire.

The flames were devouring the mystery that would remain after the fairies were gone. She imagined those bones, adorned with velvet and jewels, but stripped of their flesh, and thought of the talk it might provoke. The superstitious villagers were ready to gossip about anything, and here was such an accident. It turns out sometimes a fire is even good for you. Once you light a house, the flames will cleanse it of the coming of evil, and then no one will know of the drama that has unfolded in it. Rhianon was only glad it wasn’t her own house or the estate of someone she knew. Such an outburst of rage would have been inappropriate there, and from here she was fleeing for good.

By the same tree Orpheus was waiting for her. He leaned carelessly against the trunk, crossed his arms across his chest, and watched apathetically as flames burst from the windows.

«Best fireworks I’ve ever seen in my life,» he commented as he spotted the Mistress running down the stairs.

«You mean all eternity,» she frowned. «Oh, don’t be so modest, I’m sure you’ve seen better fireworks. There were at least the dragon raids. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen one in your whole life.»

«Are we expecting something like that here?»

«I won’t stay long here,» she was reluctant to give him the details, and she was sure he knew all too well.

«How are we leaving already?» Orpheus pretended to be amazed. «And I thought my beautiful lady would be celebrating all night. It is the death of other people’s enemies, not yours, but who cares if you can feast at other people’s expense. Besides, the enemies of friends are our enemies. You liked being friends with the fairies, by the way.»

«Don’t waste your breath,» she snapped at him. «Would you steal a carriage or horses for us?»

«What is it for?» Now he really didn’t understand her.

«I can’t go on the muddy roads dressed like this,» Rhianon wondered how he didn’t understand her at once. She could barely hold the train of her dress with her hand so it wouldn’t end up in the dust.

«Ah,» Orpheus snapped his fingers at her as if he hadn’t noticed just now. «Well, all right. I think I’ve seen a suitable carriage here.»