Читать книгу Rhianon-7. Queen of Vinor - Natalie Yacobson - Страница 3

«I sense something is not right,» Arnaud looked out to sea. He could hear the voices of the faeries in the sound of the surf. They merged with the melody of his harp and almost overlapped it. But the strings still twitched softly, as if they were the strings of his soul. He no longer had a soul, only a body. And that was almost immortal.

He glanced at Madael, leaning indifferently on his sword. The Angel stared blankly at the bloodied blade, and it was unclear which was more coldly glistening, the polished steel, or his blue eyes. Not long ago they had been blue. At the sight of them, Arnaud sighed involuntarily. His master was changing. And it was not for the better.

«He has become even more soulless than then in the war in heaven,» his conscience whispered to him, as well as his soul deeply buried between the harp strings, but Arnaud brushed the intrusive voices aside. He had long ago grown accustomed to ignore them.

The lord’s eyes, after all, are even more suited to the cold color of steel than the blue of the sky. The blade of his sword, by the way, quickly absorbed the blood he’d spilled and turned as blue as his eyes. He’d spilled a lot of blood today, but the sword needed more. It was forged that way. His blade was eternally hungry for blood, for bloodshed. An ocean of blood could be spilled, and it would not rest. As long as there was a shred of flesh on earth, it would seek it out to slay it. The devil’s weapon is indestructible, and only his strong arm can restrain such a sword. Madael, playing with it, handled it, and another angel would not have been able to. And after that, isn’t he the strongest. Arnaud looked almost with admiration at the winged figure in the purple cloak. For a moment he even forgot that his master was also his rival. Only he didn’t know it himself. He has no idea. He’s too self-assured to see that some insignificant insect has a claim on his property.

Except now someone else was claiming it. Arnaud bit his lips bloody in excitement. He could feel it. And he was panicking. It was as if his heart was being ripped out of him, though there was none left in his chest. The trickle of blood running down his lips suddenly became a living worm, which he swept away and crushed.

Though the harp strings were almost silenced, his conscience still pricked him. He should have been grateful to fate. The lowly degenerate had become a servant of the highest lord there could be. He enjoyed serving Madael. Of course, over the days and especially the nights, he had seen many disgusting scenes. Wars, massacres, attacks, the dismemberment of corpses, and the bloody feasts that followed… It would have turned the stomach of a mortal being inside out by now. But Arnaud felt nothing but stony emptiness inside his body. Perhaps there was nothing left inside him. The ritual he had performed was intended to do just that. Only this time the consequences were unexpected. He was changing, but not the way he should have. The change in him would have startled everyone but Madael. He was, as always, terrifyingly calm and completely unconcerned. He had nothing to be sorry about. He had already lost everything.

Arnaud looked at him, and then squinted painfully. It felt as if he was looking at the melting sun from a short distance away. His eyes were about to melt from the sight, too. But perhaps it would be worth it. His new master was incredibly, indescribably handsome. You could fall in love with him, even knowing who he was. Only Arnaud didn’t have to worry about himself. He could not fear that feeling for the fallen angel would enslave him. It was just that he knew the counterpart… a copy of the devil lived in the mortal world. And unless he was wrong, she was going to marry a mortal king.

«She betrayed,» Arnaud’s own voice seemed foreign and distant. Even the sound of the surf was closer to his throat than those words.

Madael turned toward him, brushed a disobedient strand from his face with his thin fingers. In an instant, more bloody scenes flashed across his eyes than Arnaud had seen in all the nights they’d been together on the battlefields. The angel was marching forward with his sword, leading companies of demons to carnage, while the wretched Harper was crouching behind him, thanking fate that his body was immune to spears and arrows. Otherwise he himself would already be dead and animated by magic to serve the fallen. That was roughly what had happened to him, by the way, but he preferred not to remember much about the ritual. He just remembered that it had hurt. And it was better to forget about the spell cast over the cup after the ritual. Otherwise, the lord would see through his mind and know what was going on. Then there would be no escape for him. Arnaud shuddered, hearing the clear voice of an angel. It cut his ears like the blade of a sword.

«How do you know?»

He felt like a fool. He’s just a lowly follower, and before him is Dennitsa himself. Angel is omniscient. He’s no one to teach him. Still, Arnaud muttered weakly in his defense.

«I feel…»

Madael’s quiet chuckle was like a peal of thunder. It was the sound of the echo that startled goblins into their dens, the clang of gold as it swept through dragon caves. The angel himself was suddenly in darkness, covered in golden light. This heartbreak… Arnaud shrank. He suddenly felt unbearably cold in his master’s presence, more than if he had plunged headlong into the icy waves.

«Feelings don’t matter,» the angel turned away from him quickly. «Try to forget everything.»

«But I see her,» Arnaud himself did not know why he was pushing, but there was one vision that kept haunting him. Rhianon is walking on a solemn carpet sprinkled with myrtle beneath the nave of the cathedral where kings are crowned. She must not enter it. She is his master’s chosen one. She would stain herself and him if she did so. He wanted to shout this to her, as if from this distance she could hear him. Only it seemed to him that he was no longer here, but there, sitting on the crossbar under the nave and watching the ceremony from above. He should shout to her, but his tongue would not obey. There is no more blood in his veins and no more ligaments in his throat to speak. For the young queen, he is mute. Who needs a mute minstrel?

«Do you see her? Do you?» Madael suddenly looked at him intently.

Arnaud nodded uneasily. He did see. She was wearing an ermine robe and a golden crown. Her gown was made by mortal tailors, she was led by the hand of a mortal king. Her path is strewn with lilies, and the lilies begin to bleed. He saw everything so clearly, as if he were right there with her. Even more, he became one with her. It was a consequence of the spell. The side effect might well have been. He had counted on this effect and yet now it came as a shock to him. He had failed to bewitch the demon lover and now he would have to look at the world through her eyes forever. It is not he who has rounded her up, but he himself has become part of her being. There, seated on the throne of the new realm, Rhianon had enslaved him without her knowing it, and here on the rocky, cold shore the angel looked at him with a look of such fury that it made the blood run cold.

Arnaud glanced down at the glittering sword. Even after his recent bat, it still demanded blood. Where the master’s hand would guide it now?

«I… I can’t watch her right now,» he murmured apologetically. «Sometimes I feel like I’m dissolving into her. I didn’t mean to, but…»

He took the precautionary step back, but slipped and almost fell.

«So you did it after all,» Madael said, a split second, and he was pinned against the rock. The sword’s thin, cold blade brushed against the back of his exposed neck, its collar and tresses seeming to part on their own to make way for the steel. For all its coldness it burned, sending tingling sparks down his spine from neck to vertebrae.

«I could kill you,» Madael whispered, «you are immortal now, but I could destroy you. With a flick of my hand, your head would be separate from your body, burning eternally in one of my cauldrons below, and I would let the crows peck out your eyes. It was they who seduced you when you first saw a worthy woman’s camp and started chanting charms. You have nothing to offer a woman, only deceptions left. You put a veil over the victim’s eyes and she starts me in you? All spells work the same way. I begin to shine in someone else and seduce on his behalf. That’s when the process of seduction is irreversible. Only with Rhianon this trick won’t work, because she already knows me.»

«I…» Arnaud moved to loosen his grip, but the angel gripped him like a vice.

«Shut up,» Madael pressed his head against the rocky surface with one hand, exposing his neck even more. He pressed the blade slightly, letting the dark blood drain down. Blood poisoned by the ritual. It made the stunted grass beneath it rot more, and even the rocky surface grew moldy, its insects with hellish faces swarming over the surface.

«You’re not dead, but you’re not alive either, just a creature that has no place in life or death anymore. You wanted to be that. It was better to remain an outcast in both worlds than one who exists forever, who does not live. It’s a torment, isn’t it, Arnaud, to exist like that? And what if now you have to exist without eyes? Or without the right hand you used to strike at the ritual? Would you be able to play with one left hand or blindly?»

There was no mocking tone in his beautiful, smooth voice. He was terrifyingly calm. Arnaud sobbed and the strings of his harp echoed softly, as if they felt no danger.

Madael loosened his grip and squinted at the instrument. «You know, they say the voices of the celestials are born in the music that comes from the war, and they no longer exist. But I recognize their singing sometimes. If I spare you, it is for your skill, but not for your own.»

«Yes… my lord,» he felt his grip loosen, and was relieved to sing a hymn to Satan. My lord, my lord, my sovereign… He had so many flattering appellations, and with them all one unchangeable Mastema. But all these meanings coalesced in him.

Arnaud had barely had time to sigh when his strong fingers closed around his wrists, sniping and burning the skin. That’s what the game of cat and mouse was all about. Now he would forever feel pinned against the wall, even when they let him go for a moment.

«Remember,» Madael leaned so low over him that Arnaud could feel his fiery breath. One golden curl snaked down his cheek, Madael’s hair was soft, softer than silk, but it almost scratched him now. Not even a cat’s claws or a hot wire could bring his skin to such irritation. The angel’s whisper was also fiery.

«Just one step toward Rhianon, and even my troops wouldn’t envy your fate. Do you understand?»

«Yes, my lord.»

Madael released him, but Arnaud could still feel his grip on his wrists. Even in shackles or on the rack he would feel more comfortable. His soul was gloomy, and his harp began to play something cheerful as if out of spite. Arnaud thought that Madael would stop it with one look for disrespecting the sovereign of all the damned and his fury, but he merely stepped aside, not even looking at the twitching strings.

Rhianon tried on the diamond jewelry. Which would go better with the dress?

«It looked like tears…»

The voice of the spirit might not have told her that. She saw for herself, so she merely nodded. Her interlocutor, after a moment, was himself disappointedly silent. And it was good. She didn’t feel like talking to him today.

She rummaged through the contents of the boxes herself, without the help of her ladies. She had good taste, and the trinkets the court jewelers had made especially for her were not bad either, but today she noticed that the glittering diamonds looked like tears. Were they tears of fairies? Rhianon had heard somewhere that they could turn into diamonds. She couldn’t remember exactly. She had only recently begun to think that Madael’s tears should not be transparent, but bloody. And his spilled blood could only turn into a ruby.

«Then you must have hundreds of shards of rubies inside you by now,» the spirit gently reminded me.

«That’s not what I meant…» Why should she have to justify her own thoughts to him? Yes, she remembered the taste of angel’s blood on her lips and the incredible sensation of warmth and power flooding her body afterward. It was even more pleasurable than love. A drop of his blood… Rhianon tried not to think about the way she touched the ground and turned into rubies. Madael is invulnerable, after all. He could not be killed or hurt. And he is immortal.

«Perhaps I will die, and he will still kill his enemies on the battlefield… and if only his own enemies, not the enemies of the Almighty…»

«Don’t go into mourning. Not yet. We have a wedding to celebrate before then,» the spirit reminded her. «Then it will be the coronation.»

She nodded again, indifferently. There was a knock at the door. She must go now.

«Couldn’t you…» she turned to the spirit, and then stopped short. No, she wouldn’t do that. No, she wouldn’t send anyone to him now, notify him of her intentions. Otherwise he would come here and ruin everything. She won’t have Loretta or Vinor or hope for the future. She didn’t want that.

«If it weren’t for God,» she’d thought of it so often. «He could avenge for her, return her Loretta and never lost her himself.»

«If there was a god, there would be a devil,» the spirit finished for her. «And if there were no devil, the world would be just. You’re dreaming for nothing, child, the world was already created that way.»

«You see everything in black,» she teased him.

«I can see deeper than mortals like you can,» he said nonchalantly.

He had a point, and yet Rhianon protested:

«I’m not like other mortals anymore.»

«You’re better off if no one else knows about it but me. People don’t like those who are too different from them. Remember, one false step and your recent success in the throne room could backfire on you. If the queen ends up causing displeasure, she too may be burned as a witch. The occasion is already there. Everyone remembers how death worshipped you. Do you think she fell in love with you?»

– He, not she,» corrected Rhianon sharply.

«It is he, not she,» corrected Rhianon sharply.

«What difference does it make? It has not made any difference to you.»

«And you have been watching me the whole time, how could you have known?»

«You look like an angel, my dear, and angels are sexless.» He easily found excuses and turned everything into sophistry. «That’s why it’s easier for angels to choose their lovers. Nothing matters to them but a beauty like yours.»

Someone touched her cheek lightly. Rhianon felt the touch, though she did not see the speaker. It was exciting and unsettling at the same time. He seemed to be leaning over her right now. And there was already a knock at the door.

«Come, they’re waiting for you,» he announced, as if she didn’t know it yet.

Rhianon took one last look in the mirror. She was too pale. The white gown embroidered with pearls and the white myrtle in her hair accentuated the deadly whiteness of her skin. And her golden eyebrows and eyelashes look like painted ones against her. Is this what an angel should look like? More like a marble statue. Rhianon reached for the jars of blush, but someone seemed to have intercepted her spirit. She had barely touched it, and the blush had scattered all over the lace tablecloths in a sea of glitter.

«And yet you’re perfect,» the same spirit whispered in her ear. «The world has never seen a prettier queen. I mean both your world and ours. Don’t take a harpy with you to the ceremony, she’ll ruin it.»

«I’ll do as I please,» she was suddenly angry.

«Of course, darling,» he answered in a venomous tone, and yet the touch on her fingers was immediately insensible. So he let go of her hand. Rhianon fixed the curls in her forehead. Combined with the white flowers, they looked like pure gold. Indeed, she was beautiful. The whole town would notice it tonight.

She just didn’t want the pesky spirit to distract her from the ceremony. She already felt awkward enough before the wedding and coronation. She would be entering the Temple. The thought of it made her sick to her stomach. She felt as if she was betraying someone by entering a consecrated place. Here we go, she was already afraid to even call him by his name. What if he flew in? And then what would happen? He will crush Vinor faster than the epidemic, or just throw accusations in the face of the newfound queen. She is a traitor. And she knows it herself. He can show up here and call her that in front of everyone. Without his cloak he is but an angel with wings, no one can see the devil’s grief in his eyes. And who would be right, he or she?

Rhianon bit her lips nervously. How easily he could have ruined her. Even without sorcery, he could ruin her plans with his mere appearance. If he was jealous of her, he would do so. And if he loved her, he wouldn’t. She had little faith in love. Far more important is desire, especially for the devil. Once satisfied, he can forget forever. Besides, if there is no beautiful body, there is no love. She herself could not fall in love with one of the burnt monsters in his army. So what if they used to be the most beautiful angels, but now they are disgusting. Neither would Ferdinand have offered her to be his queen had he not found her the most beautiful girl in the world. Now of course she could have tinted her face with talcum powder and rouge and lined her lips with carmine, but she decided to leave it as it was. The angelic pallor suited her better.

She had already had an elegant wreath made of gold, adorned with large pearls and sapphires. The cooler shades suited her very well. In the past she would have been glad of ice-colored stones and white brocade woven with flowers, but now she longed for something scarlet. What a pity her new crown lacked rubies.

A drop of blood appeared on her lips, but it was not the usual scarlet color, just the warmth of it. Rhianon tried to brush it away, but only smeared it on her lower lip.

«That’s good,» the spirit whispered approvingly. «At least your lips look a little pink.»

«Yes, now, shut up,» she demanded.

«For how long is it?» His voice was mocking as usual.

«Till tonight.»

He snorted disapprovingly, but obeyed the order. She wondered how long his patience would last.

Rhianon unfurled the puffy ruffles around her shoulders. Made of lace, they still looked like a cloud of eiderdown, a setting worthy of a queen. Gold lace ran along the embroidered sleeves, the tight corset was embroidered with a floral pattern, and the long belt was embellished with filigree. There was no hint that she was pregnant. The very thought of it seemed strange to her. She didn’t feel anything foreign brewing inside her. On the contrary, the fire inside was only a part of her being. Perhaps it wasn’t a child, but just a sheaf of her own flame. She would breathe it out burning the castle and there would be nothing left inside either. They were futile dreams. Rhianon knew that the seed of the fallen angel would not simply be disposed of. It was already forming into a living and omnipotent being, but her waist was still thin. Otherwise Ferdinand would hardly have decided to marry her. Who would want a pregnant bride? And Madael? Would he fly here to claim her and the child if he knew the child was his? Oh, by the way, did he know that? Rhianon had no one to ask. Well, when you look at it from all angles, how could he not know? He’s omniscient. Could such a small but significant detail have escaped his perception? And if he knew, why didn’t he insist on his rights until now? Surely he wants this child, doesn’t he? Does he want it? Or hadn’t he even considered the possibility of having one?

He complained that he was lonely. Rhianon remembered. He had said that he had always been lonely, even there in paradise, when he had been considered a favorite of God. Was his loneliness here on earth even more palpable? He also said that he had missed love long ago before the beginning of time. How strange and cruel, everyone knew him as the favorite of the Almighty, and he felt no one needed him. When there is no love, you are alone even in the noisiest society. Now Rhianon felt it for herself. Enthusiastic crowds had gathered around her, and the nobles were also preparing to rejoice. Everyone was greeting her, throwing the same unfailing flowers at her feet, surrounding her with attention, and she felt so lonely. She was miserable.

That would soon pass when she got Loretta back into her possession. How much she had sacrificed for it, though if she looked closely, there was not much to sacrifice.

Now she even missed the annoying spirit. She wished he would have distracted her with some sharp remark.

«You look like you’re going to the scaffold,» he whispered. Rhianon saw the bales of discarded flowers on the carpeted path, though no one had stepped on them. Her invisible companion was there. And he promised to keep quiet until tonight.

«But you wanted to hear me,» he excused himself. «You were the one who called me.»

His voice was much nicer than the hymns and chants in the cathedral. Rhianon wrinkled painfully when she heard them. Her ears felt as if they were about to bleed. The only thing that saved her was Ferdinand’s arm, which she could lean on. He was handsome in his white brocade embroidered with pearls. And yet he was no angel. Not Madael. Rhianon hastily looked away from his chiseled profile. She wasn’t even sure how old he was. He looked eighteen at most. The wreath of myrtle in his short, curly curls accentuated his fresh youth. Only there, in the cathedral, would he wear the formal crown. For Rhianon’s sake he had briefly abandoned the observance of tradition. It turns out he is also flighty. It was hard to believe he already had two children she had yet to meet. Rhianon preferred not to think about it yet.

She also tried not to think about the fact that there was only a man walking down the aisle beside her. This wedding was in every way a breach of tradition. Ferdinand was leading her forward by himself. There were no best men or bridesmaids, only the uniformly dressed blue brocade maidens carrying her train. Bouquets of white lilies adorned the entrance. Why lilies? Their persistent scent and memories made Rhianon so dizzy she almost fainted. Perhaps she thought she saw Asmodeus’ black claws and mocking eyes behind the lush flowers in the shadow of the nave. He is the harbinger of misfortune. Rhianon shuddered. Maybe she just imagined he was here.

«He’s not the only one,» the spirit whispered behind her shoulder. «The cathedral is always full of them.»

«But how…» «That’s not what religion teaches. It wasn’t that at all.

«And how can people know anything,» the companion said instantly.

He did. Rhianon was hurt by the sight of the lilies.

– «You’d better look up on the North Ridge,» the spirit advised her.

She turned swiftly, and saw nothing but a seemingly motionless statue. There was nothing else. It was only the glint of the sun on the metal. Her fear of heights suddenly receded, but with it came another.

«It’s empty,» she whispered disappointedly.

«What do you mean, my dear?» Ferdinand responded in place of the spirit. She had been as oblivious as ever and had spoken the words to the spirit aloud.

«It is nothing,» she hastened to assure him. Rhianon hoped that Ferdinand would not be aware of her disappointment. He might not understand her, or he might have drawn his own conclusions. He knew about her affair with the demon, after all. And she felt as if she knew nothing. And really, what did she expect to see there, the glint of golden curls and the dazzling ray of angel wings? Did she think that he was sitting there on the roof of one of the cathedrals, immortal, invulnerable and angry? That he would rush down, pick her up, and drag her down with him, like he had done long ago… the very first time.

«That’s exactly what he was going to do,» the spirit said.

«Now, really be quiet,» she called to him mentally. «Let me concentrate. You’re asking me to invite the devil to the wedding. Look, we’re already breaking all the rules. Neither Ferdinand nor I have family or friends here. Only strangers are invited. He’s already broken all the rules.»

«And he’s marrying someone else’s wife,» the spirit eagerly reminded her.

Rhianon wanted to turn around and remind him that she had made no vows to Madael, but she was afraid. What if she saw him behind her, or discerned a winged silhouette on one of the rooftops? It was better to look only forward. Like the flowers beneath her feet. She wondered why people are used to present flowers as a sign of love? They quickly wither? Is it as quickly as fame, youth or love? Love! It’s as if she’s been slashed with a sharp blade. Love is far away. It is in the fringes of heaven, in the cold underworld, or in hell, where exactly now the fallen angel was, she did not know. Perhaps he wandered the mortal world, looking for her, or going to wring her neck. Love and desire for power should not be confused. One day he would understand that.

For the hundredth time, Rhianon wondered why she did what she did. She wondered why she could not have won at a lesser cost. She could have used her ingenuity and sorcery instead of yielding. So why did she do it?

«Yes, because you like a handsome young king, even if he was already married, and you’re also attracted to the idea of becoming queen of Vinor,» the disembodied voice was mocking, but as always it hit the mark.

Yes, she liked Ferdinand, and she wouldn’t mind a kingdom like Vinor, either. In contrast to the flabby body, the empty purse, and the impoverished Duchy of Rothbert, the second offer was too tempting. And she accepted. And now, as in a morass, she walked down the aisle. She feared both revenge and indifference from her former lover. But the main goal of her life, Loretta, was far more important. Let her heart ache. It is supposed to. If it is to be believed that Dennitsa himself laid the foundation for the subsequent betrayals of all lovers on this earth, then they are following a path that has already been beaten. It was meant to be that way. What can you do against fate?

«And yet you could fight it…»

She let the spirit’s words pass her lips. And they didn’t sound any louder than an echo in the dark, airy cathedral. The massiveness of the building overwhelmed her. She felt like a speck of dust lost in outer space. In Madael’s arms she had never felt this way. Though he owned the whole world, it was so warm and cozy with him. The grandiosity of his designs and possessions never pressed her. And the vaults of the cathedral, though stretching to unreachable heights, seemed to close over her head like a tomb. The colored stained-glass windows in the height were beautiful, but they made her eyes sting. Columns of dark marble were lined with white garlands. Rhianon feared that Asmodeus was still hiding behind one of them, but she strode boldly down the nave anyway.

Many people crowded the place, and still the space seemed overwhelmingly large. Mostly the nobility was present. The common people stayed behind the massive doors. Only the most powerful and wealthy people of the kingdom were crowded into the front rows. Rhianon glanced over to see who had caught her talking to the spirit. He was present. He was in even richer robes than before. It was hard to see him in such a crowd. He was squeezed on one side by a number of counselors, and on the other by dressed-up ladies. Still, it was the lily pinned to his buttonhole that caught her eye. He knows, she thought. The flower is a sign to show it to her. Who does he know? She sensed no connection to astrologers or witchcraft.

«Domian, the First Minister,» the same spirit whispered in her ear. «Don’t see that his hair isn’t even gray yet. He’s older than he looks.»

She looked at him briefly, but he caught her gaze and tilted his head in deference. Just like the first time. It was as if he was stalking her and looking for signs of her attention himself, calling out from the crowd, and then happily intercepting her gaze.

She didn’t even have time to be wary. The marriage ceremony had already begun. The coronation would immediately follow. In some distant part of her hearing, she picked up the anxious cries of birds over the cathedral. It was as if they were warning her of something or trying to dissuade her. Such a commotion only came before a storm was coming. Even before an epidemic came to the city the flocks of birds did not seem so anxious.

«No! No! No!» she caught in the birds’ cries outside the windows and the rustle of their wings. There were even a few crows among the disturbed flocks. This seemed strange to her. She had long associated crows with Rothbert’s servants, but these evidently were not. Though who knew them?

She tilted her head so she couldn’t hear them. Still, she thought she could hear more powerful and massive flapping in the fluttering of the tiny bird’s wings. Other wings were flapping over the cathedral, too. They were his wings. Or were they the wings of his servants. She tried not to think about it.

«You’re just an illusion yourself,» Rhianon thought, and turned away. But his dry rustling laughter echoed in her mind. How easily he could have merged with the ringing of bells, the dry rustling of leaves, or the surrounding silence. People at Mass are most often unaware that the silence around them hums not from angelic voices, but from other dark and fearful ones lurking in the darkness. She knew that Asmodeus whispers whatever he wants to clergymen of all ranks, and they obey him. Blinded by their pride, they could not see that they were being led by the devil, or rather, not the devil himself, but his servants. Madael himself would never have condescended to such petty meanness or to such vanity-torn humans. Nor would God himself ever condescend to those who are called his earthly servants. Madael is the former favorite of God, and he imitates him in everything. And likewise, he has his own servants for minor errands. His servants here were just full, right in the darkness of the nave and the stuffy height above the heads of the crowd, while he himself remained unreachable. Quite like a deity. The only thing that distinguished him from a god was the love he had once known. In any case, the capacity to love had once been awakened in him. It was late, but it came to light. And from God, Rhianon only felt something crushing. The cathedral pressed against her. She felt stuffy, and she was glad she’d worn a dress with an open neckline instead of a lace jabot. Otherwise the collar would have begun to choke her. Someone was spreading the veil over her shoulders, but not a man. She felt the subtle touch of her invisible companion. He touched her gently, as if she were a shrine.

«You are the only sacred thing there is, and not for me alone… for him too,» he might not have whispered it. Rhianon covered her eyes. Her golden lashes suddenly became stiff and stabbed her skin. The words of the Archbishop who crowned them were lost in the general hum. There was a murmur in her ears. The light crushing in the colored stained-glass windows stabbed her eyes. In a moment it would burst into flames and burn everything around it. Rhianon was afraid to look up and see one of Madael’s servants sitting high on the balustrade around the dome or one of the rungs below the ceiling. What if he himself is here?

The persistent scent of flowers made her dizzy. There was a sea of them here today. Gardeners must have cut whole plantations of white roses and lilies to garland the apse, and the pulpit, and all the arches or columns. White bows matched the bouquets. Everything here was white against the gloomy background of the majestic structure. Just for one moment she thought the lilies in the bouquets were bleeding.

«Don’t look ahead!» The spirit warned.

But why is it? She is about to be crowned. Rhianon could almost feel the thin golden hoop of pearls and golden prongs being placed upon her head. It was so reminiscent of a ceremonial wreath, only it was not made of flowers but of jewels. It would now replace the myrtle. She bent over as the clergyman’s wrinkled hands placed the wreath on her head. Only when she felt the pleasant cool weight on her forehead did Rhianon lift her eyes. What was so scary ahead that she should not look at? She hadn’t seen anything like that. And none of the local servants, no matter what rank he wore, could see the seal of the devil’s kisses on her lips. They didn’t even suspect. No one in Vinor except the astrologers and the First Minister could look inside her and see the devil in her heart, much less consider the supernatural fiery fruit in her womb. Even more, these people had no idea how dangerous she was. She could breathe fire on them at any moment, easily ignite everything here and burn herself. No, she would not. Rhianon believed that Madael would have pulled her out of the fire anyway. It was as if he were invisibly with her everywhere…

And then she saw the crucifix. The thin gold cross and the figure on it struck her as a symbol of suffering, not as something sacred. Was that what people worshipped? Is that what the legend says keeps dragons away? And would it frighten Madael? Rhianon didn’t know what feelings dominated her now, contempt, apprehension, or fear. At any rate a sense of acute dislike. She felt dislike and pain, and the next moment a trickle of blood was dripping across her lips.

«Turn away!» The spirit whispered furiously, but she stared.

It was partly a deception, how one could deify someone’s torture and find comfort in it. As she looked at the crucifix she felt that she too was being tortured. It was as if it were a symbol of evil. She imagined the thin, glittering serpent coiling around the cross and almost merging with it. They were the serpent and the cross. An expression from the same half-forgotten legends suddenly came to mind. So the cross keeps the demons away. Why didn’t it burn on the spot? If you believe the legends, then long ago she should have turned into a pillar of fire, barely crossing the threshold of the holy place. But it didn’t happen.

«And you’re not afraid to go blind looking at it?» The same invisible companion teased her.

«I’m not,» she whispered back. A trickle of blood still trickled down her lips, causing a pain that was subtle but stinging. The jolt of fire inside her was barely perceptible, either. She did not smell flame or even hot steam on anyone, but those in the front rows, especially the priests, noticed the blood. Were they startled? Frightened? Rhianon could not have characterized the whole gamut of feelings that flashed across their unpleasant faces. Let them be against it. She didn’t care anymore. She was Queen of Vinor now, after all.

They left the cathedral to the solemn ringing of bells. Ferdinand was happy, she was not. She could barely manage to pull a smile. A whole rain of white flowers and grains of rice flew on the newlyweds. One had to rejoice with everyone else, or at least feign joy. Such a beautiful bride the world had never seen before. Naturally, she was welcomed, and she searched with the eyes of a lost angel. Rhianon looked up at the rooftops of the tallest buildings and cathedrals, squinting painfully at the sun, trying to see something. Her eyesight had become especially sharp lately, and yet it was as if a veil covered her eyes. She could not find the one she was looking for, though she felt he was here. He was looking up at her, she could feel it, and she couldn’t even look back. She wouldn’t dare ask the question where you were. She was afraid.

What if he was about to destroy the whole town? Or maybe he would rush down and take her with him? Perhaps he was just waiting for the marriage ceremony to be complete, so that he could now completely break all existing inhibitions? Now that she was a stranger’s wife… Only Rhianon did not feel like Ferdinand’s wife. Everything had been accomplished, and he was still a stranger. She held his hand and felt nothing.

Even the leaden gargoyles and caryatids hunched over the cathedral were closer to her than this lively, warm man. In general, statues attracted her more than living people. It was as if they lived above the city of their own secret life, and came into motion when their actions had no other witnesses but the indifferent starry skies. She was reminded of the seven angels and Setius. They knew how to turn into statues. Were all sculptures like them? Did someone with magical powers or one of Madael’s armies breathe sorcery life into every statue on earth?

She stared up into the height for so long that the sunlight made her eyes tingle. The last thing she needed now was to cry.

Rhianon spotted pilgrims in the crowd, each time trying to see if their wings were fluttering under their rags. Only they were all ordinary people. There were a few wandering wizards in cloaks woven with sorcerer’s symbols, and two or three sad fairies. The magical creatures that danced friskily through the crowd and snatched the purses of the townsfolk for fun better than any pickpockets today looked at her disapprovingly. They enjoyed the festivities and the opportunity to frolic, but they kept their eyes away from Rhianon.

«The Queen is a traitor,» the spirit whispered defiantly, and laughed. Rhianon did not even shake him off. Why should she? He is right. She sighed and was glad that the tiny cloud of fire remained unnoticed. She couldn’t let anyone notice her peculiarities and unusual tendencies today. After the incident in the cathedral, rumors would already be circulating. She had already wiped the blood from her lips, but she still felt the center of attention.

«It is too soon for these people to realize who you are. Let them get used to you first. Then show them your fire. And the power is in your hands. You’re doing the right thing, sweetheart. You’ve learned how to play politics after all. The mistakes of the past have not been in vain for you. You’re smart now, secretive and calculating.»

She ignored the spirit’s words. Why spoil her mood by quarreling with him? Perhaps she could have some fun after all. A feast and an evening ball awaited her at the castle. There, too, she will be decorated with flowers, and she will be congratulated and presented with gifts.

«Don’t let the poison in the cup get to you. You have many competitors,» the invisible companion warned her.

Rhianon let his words pass her lips again. In the castle, the aromas of fresh baked goods and roasts made her slightly groggy. Dishes that would have awakened her appetite even for a well-fed man seemed utterly unappealing to her. Roasted pheasants, quail, capons, and spit-roasted ox and pork reminded her of the feasts of Madael’s servants. She looked at the carcasses of birds, hens, partridges, or turkeys, or the carcasses of wild boars cooked in gravy, and she saw corpses on the battlefield, torn apart by black claws. The wine in the goblets resembled thick blood. Rhianon felt nauseous. So much meat here, roasted, boiled, served in sauce, or laden with herbs and peas. Meat! She couldn’t even look at it. It was carrion. How many human corpses had gone to satiate the inordinate appetite of her fallen angel’s army? And now she watches as people prepare to eat animal corpses. Pigeon pies, pilaf, ham and pâté… how many smells blended into one. She could only smell death in them. The royal hunters, cattlemen, and shepherds knew their business. Rhianon looked at a carcass laden with cranberries and pineapples, and saw a doe beating under a spear. Any of the black creatures of the fallen armies would have enjoyed its taste as much as humans now enjoyed it.

Unlike her, the guests paid homage to all the dishes. The nibbled bones remained on the exquisite dishes. People devoured the meat along with it as if taking someone else’s life. No, only Madael’s subordinates did that, she reminded herself, but she was still disgusted. She would have joined in the meal earlier, too. The pile of stuffed cabbage rolls on the platter in front of her exuded a pleasant, spicy aroma, and Rhianon was about to vomit. She remembered the raw meat on the golden plate, Madael bringing the bloody scraps to her pale lips and blood on them. He eats though he does not want to, only to show her how it is done. In that desolate tower at the edge of the earth, they could do anything together. He could have killed and skinned her just as he did the corpses of defeated warriors. After all, he had defeated her on the battlefield and still he liked having a live toy better. He needed a friend, even a lover. He could not understand his own feelings at the time, nor could he understand why his army needed to feed on raw cape. It was simply their nature. And the nature of men was no better. Rhianon grimaced. She would have gladly gotten up from the table and left, but that would have been impolite. Her first day on the throne should not be marred in any way. So it was necessary to conceal her dislike. But she felt like a fallen angel who suddenly found herself among humans. Heaven no longer exist, there are only creatures like the cattle they consume. And they disgust her. Now, she understood how those who have fallen from heaven feel.

Rhianon was distracted only at the sight of the ripe fruit. The tiered platters in the center of the tables filled with grapes, apples, and pears resembled a cornucopia. She reached for an orange, touched the juicy crust with her fingernails, and smiled. The fresh fruit reminded her of fairies. She didn’t want to eat them at all, but touching them made her feel closer to nature. Perhaps if she walked through the garden and looked closely at the trees, she would find that one of them belonged to a dryad who looked like Phylliss. Rhianon slid her gaze over peaches, pomegranates, gooseberries, black and red currants. The fruits and berries resembled both gems and fresh fairies’ kisses at the same time.

Rhianon remembered herself dancing in a circle of ethereal ladies. Now another company awaited her. The magical society was far away. And yet in the ballroom she encountered a girl who reminded her strikingly of Phylliss. One quick touch left her feeling fresh, as if leaves had slid down her arm. Rhianon turned around, but she couldn’t see the girl in green anymore. But Ferdinand was beside her. They were to open the ball. Several more days of festivities would be, there would be hunting, tournaments, and masquerades. Rhianon had not expected to see her unearthly friends at one of them, and yet a tiny hope lingered in her heart. Her hand, in the place where the stranger had touched it, still had a kind of freshness about it.

Rhianon heard the first sounds of music, felt Ferdinand’s fingers on her waist, she began to move to the beat of the tune. But everything happened so mechanically. She couldn’t even bring herself to smile. Her senses wound up like the mechanism of that huge angelic clock and now she involuntarily moved along the dashed hand. It was as if her desires were guided by extraneous forces. Was this fate? Rhianon did not want to believe in fate. She also wanted to enjoy the dance, but she could not. Maybe it was the white brocade dress that restricted her movement. She felt constrained. The ceremonial attire was heavy, of course, but not so heavy that she could not move. The dance steps were difficult for her. The guests must have noticed that she kept turning away from the bridegroom and not because of her modesty.

She must have thought she saw someone’s wings rustling outside the window. Was someone leaning against the glass? No, then the guests would have noticed it too. True, one of the footmen who lit the chandeliers near the windows was frightened, but Rhianon could not read his thoughts. She felt too weakened and the simplest magic did not even come easily to her. Tomorrow would be different, and today her eyes were closing.

«A feast can be a harbinger of mourning,» the spirit whispered in her ear, «but for now, have fun.

She couldn’t have fun. A large floor clock was striking midnight somewhere in the distance, and she felt as if she could hear the devil’s chimes from a heavenly palace. And they were measuring not the time of her life, but the whole eternity. The countdown had begun. After that the war begins. Everything was written.

Rhianon shook her head wearily. She pulled away hastily, feeling Ferdinand’s lips almost touch her forehead and at that very moment something flashed through the void. She didn’t even remember exactly what she saw. A familiar silhouette flashed somewhere by the fireplace, and then he was standing right beside her. It was her angel, or just a ghost of him. And it wasn’t ruby dust on his cheeks, but drops of blood. Is he crying blood? Why does she think he has a crown of thorns in his hair? Rhianon opened her eyes wide, but she could see nothing. When she was agitated, she couldn’t control her flames. Now it seemed to be just such a moment, because the dress of one of the court ladies suddenly burst into flames. The poor girl didn’t even realize what was wrong. By the time she realized she had to put out the flaming outfit, the fire had already spread to others. There were many servants, it would certainly be put out, only it seemed to Rhianon that there was more to it. It seemed that the stables near the castle and some buildings in the city were also occupied. She could almost see the dwarves running wild, forced out of their comfort zone. She caught their coarse curses. Well, they had every right to hold a grudge if she accidentally set fire to their usual hiding places. Except that she was somehow certain that this time it wasn’t just her fire that had caused the many nighttime fires in Vinor.