Читать книгу Rhianon-8. War and Magic - Natalie Yacobson - Страница 3

It was heavenly strife. It was the deafening noise of wings beating against each other. It was the scratching of claws against thin angel skin. Shouts and accusations like a bird’s cackle. It was the dazzling gleam of swords. He was already nearly blinded once when he looked at Dennitsa. He dared to swing his sword at him, and now his hand was withering and worms were crawling in it. But the ruthless and beautiful angel still continued to beckon him through sleep.

Bertrand awoke in a cold sweat. He was still alive, and that was his greatest misfortune. It had been better to have died long ago. Then, on the battlefield, he had not yet understood that his happiness was to put his chest to the blow, not to repel it.

Until now, in the darkness of his bedroom, he had seen the battlefield illuminated by an unnaturally bright light. It was neither sunrise nor sunset. The light was not coming from the sun at all, though at that moment it seemed that the fiery ball of sun had become unnaturally close to the ground. In fact, the sun had disappeared behind the clouds; it was not in the sky. But the helmet fell from the unknown warrior’s head for a moment, and the glow became unbearable, so much so that it hurt his eyes. Even the tears that seeped from his eye sockets could have turned fiery in that moment. Bertrand could still feel the burning in his eyeballs. His vision was much worse than before, but that wasn’t what was most frightening. He seemed to be losing his mind, slowly and painfully. The longer he lived, the clearer the picture of a brutal overhead massacre overlapped with reality. And each time it became more terrifying.

He told the servants to leave a bowl of cold water and a wet towel beside his bed, but even ice would not bring down his fever. His shriveled hand burned as if it had been placed in an oven and roasted over hot coals. The healer, who tried in vain to conceal his own fright, bandaged it tightly, but the ugly growths were showing through even the bandages. They seemed to be diseased and living on their own, and there were worms in them, so disgusting they were not even in the grave earth. Maybe they weren’t worms at all. Bertrand almost screamed when he suddenly noticed that some disgusting creature that looked like a big rat had come up to the bandaged stump and was trying to gnaw at the growths.

He had been wary of rousing the servants who guarded the closed doors with their shouts. He did not want the vassals or the peasants to know what had happened to their feudal lord. Rumors were already rife in the surrounding villages. When the nobles talk of the devil it is even worth fearing an attack on the castle. In addition, the healer, no matter how well paid, must have told someone about the horror he saw. And they, in turn, told others. Another day or two and there would be a riot. But much scarier were the dreams. The creature that glowed beneath his armor by itself and beckoned him to the precipice, across the field where the massacre was taking place, became something secret, hidden and unspeakably cruel. No one was allowed to speak of it, his tongue would not obey, it was scary to see it in his dreams, but it was scary not to see it either.

The withered hand, with its living thorny growths, reacted to the thought of Dennitsa with unceasing flashes of pain. Bertrand could no longer move the arm, as if it didn’t exist at all, but the withered ashy creature it had become seemed to live on its own. It parasitized the weakened body, threatening to devour it like a fungus.

Bertrand was too weak to light a candle or reach for his dagger. He couldn’t even see in the darkness what the nasty creature was getting at his arm. Nor did he have the strength to drive it away. He tried to see the strange big rat and could not, but the candle at the head of his bed suddenly flashed on its own, revealing from the darkness the fine binding of the window, the brown bearskin on the floor, the carved chair and the creepy horned demon chewing on his bandages.

The scream stuck in his throat. He had only dreamt of creatures like that, but he had never seen anything like it in his life before, and he had no idea that such an abomination existed. In his dreams such creatures had eaten corpses on the battlefield. Was this not a dream, too? No, his needle-sharp teeth had jabbed into the outgrowth on his arm, and the pain, a red-hot arrow that pierced his whole body, was very real. Not a dream, then. The bloodthirsty creature grinned, the crooked horns on its head twitching, the black ashy skin on its shapeless body with its tail and claws gleaming greenish in the candlelight.

«It is leprechaun!» Said a beautiful and resonant voice came out of nowhere. It sounded like the echo of celestial spheres and heavenly melodies, only there was something cruel in it as well as indifference. The next moment Bertrand saw the glint of a sharp, mirrored blade reflecting the room. He braced himself for the worst. Now the sword would slash across his neck, and the dainty hand clutching the golden hilt of the sword would next be clutching his severed head. He covered his eyes in anticipation of retribution, but no blow came. The blade slid gently downward, and a sudden, shrill, nasty squeak reverberated through his ears.

When Bertrand opened his eyes, the foul creature, which had been nibbling at his arm, was writhing in deathlike convulsions at the tip of its great sword. The green face was writhing painfully, but the leprechaun was not dying. How long would his agony last? Bertrand involuntarily shuddered in horror and disgust, and the creature hooked by the sword still continued to squirm and wriggle, but he could not get off the sword.

«They’re immortal, these creatures, as you see,» the same beautiful voice explained indifferently. For all its melody, it was surprisingly cruel. Such sangfroid was to be envied. The hand that gripped the sword with the creature writhing on it didn’t even waver.

«You should be used to them getting so close. It’s people’s good fortune that they all don’t see it. But you look at it once, and then you see things like that everywhere. It’s maddening, isn’t it?»

The question might have seemed sympathetic, but the tone of voice was unsympathetic. A cold, calculating voice, knowingly and indifferently explaining the essence of all human suffering, could only belong to an angel.

Bertrand did not immediately dare to look at the nocturnal visitor. At first he watched only the starry spheres outside the opened window, not daring to shift his gaze to the figure in front of his bed. The dainty hand clutching the gilt hilt might well have been a woman’s, but aren’t all angels marked by maiden beauty.

For a moment Bertrand caught the subtle scent of lilies that followed the figure. In a strange way it mingled with the smells of burning and fire, but it was still as divine and intoxicating as her voice. It sounded so cruel, but it seemed so all-knowing and beautiful. That’s the thing about angels, for all their coldness, they are beautiful. They pity no one, but you want to beg for mercy. They can only be compared to the stars, distant, not warming and still beckoning.

«The changes that happen to you will increasingly attract leprechauns and creatures like them, though your hour has not yet come. But it is coming. You are first on my list, for you did not side with me when the palace wrangling broke out, when you could have.»

Only now did he look at the speaker. The hand that held the sword was now thrown slightly to the side, and his face, unbelievably beautiful in a halo of tangled golden curls, could be seen. Her translucent skin shimmered with the moonlight. Golden lashes touched her cheeks, her half-covered eyelids didn’t flutter, and her lips curved contemptuously. How he would have liked to kiss those lips, even on his deathbed. He would have given anything for it. They would have smiled at him amiably, but the cruel expression that played over their faces was scalding cold. No one’s contempt could humiliate and scorch a man more than that of an angel. The higher being merely looks, but it’s as if he’s looking inside you, seeing all the baser instincts hidden inside, and you feel crushed.

Bertrand groaned in agony. The shriveled hand suddenly began to ache unbearably, as if it had been cut and tortured like a separate living being.

«Do you remember me?» The calm voice, asking something, was beyond his comprehension. Yes, of course he remembered. A battlefield, a bloody massacre, people fighting and dismembering each other right in his way, he risked being hit with a chain or an axe, losing an arm or a leg or a head or being killed altogether, and he didn’t care. Shattered bones, severed limbs, and swords swinging dangerously close to him no longer matter. He wades through the jumble of fighting and corpses without fear of being killed, because at the end of the field at the precipice a helmetless knight awaits him. The warrior with wings stretches forward with his arm partially clad in armor, and even hell is not afraid to follow him. The skin on his face is so transparent it could be mistaken for the smoothness of a cloud, only the arcs of his eyelashes and eyebrows stand out in bright gold against the pale luminous background. His curls, too, are golden. From beneath his pale lips the blood he had drunk, but which his internal organs had never accepted, was about to ooze out. Bertrand had seen in his dreams how this creature drank the blood of the warriors he had defeated, whether still alive or already slain, and then vomited, because unlike his subjects, he did not need food. In spite of this, the angel has become as bloodthirsty as his servants. His servants! Bertrand shifted his gaze in horror to the leprechaun twitching convulsively at the tip of the sword. He was struggling to free himself from the blade, but he could neither break free nor let out his last breath.

«Evil is as eternal as the god who created it,» the calm, angelic voice said. «You wonder that a divine being can be served by infernal creatures. But isn’t this world a mishmash of the sublime and the perverse. If anything were to be different, it would have been so from the creation of the earth, not only below, but also in heaven. All things are not as we would like them to be; all living things must suffer, and the chosen of the higher powers have suffered far more than lowly traitors like you. But in its time everything falls into its place, because one truth remains immutable. Do you realize what it is?»

He found the strength to shake his head in the negative. Dennitsa’s beautiful face compelled him to do so. Why did it seem so feminine to him, like his girlish voice and posture? Is it Dennitsa? Or is it someone who looks like him?

Her golden hair didn’t fan across her shoulders but slid gently down her back, her shoulders seemed too narrow even under the cloak, the gaudy fabric below her chest glowed like brocade. All this told him something. But of what is it? Or rather who is it? Someone he had forgotten, though he should have remembered, and now the angel reminded him.

There was still the princess he had sworn an oath to. He had never kept his promise to serve her. Bertrand raised his hands helplessly to his face. How could he have forgotten? Rhianon! He had never had a chance to examine her up close, but he knew she looked like that divine warrior. It was as if they were one.

Meanwhile the merciless voice continued melodiously:

«Touch an angel just once, you rulers of this world, and you will be ashes even before the one you have offended takes your throne.»

Now he recognized her. The maiden’s voice was so cold and vengeful. Rhianon was bent over him, oblivious of the leprechaun writhing on her sword, and she had never looked more dazzlingly beautiful to him. Her beauty was in itself the worst revenge. She killed just looking at her. A living person could not be so beautiful. Did that mean she was already dead? Or is she immortal? In her guise, a relentless, emotionless being, which is commonly called an angel, speaks to him.

«The Creator cruelly tests his favorites, but if you at his instigation, offend one of them, and your suffering will not end. You must be feeling it already,» she held out her hand, and the candlestick was already in her fingers as if she’d told it to go flying over the bed. Rhianon tilted it so that the hot wax flowed onto the bandaged stump.

Bertrand screamed in pain enough to startle not only the castle but the villages beneath it. But no one came.

«They have other things to worry about,» Rhianon glanced quickly out the window. «I must be going now, but they must see my seal on you.»

She pulled out a signet ring, the same one he had already seen on her father’s finger once when he was sworn in. Seeing such a seal on him, everyone would know that he supported Rhianon, not Manfred. He didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t even hear the screams and noise outside the windows. And there, in the darkness, there seemed to be dozens of torches blazing.

«The villagers aren’t happy,» Rhianon said, frowning. «They should have been, long ago and not now. Personally, I think it’s too much for Sky to bear with the terrible punishments it’s inflicted.

She straightened up, putting the candle back the way she had taken it, that is, in a completely untraceable way. In her presence, things seemed to move on their own, windows opened, water jugs disappeared and spilled, the flames in the fireplace flared.

Bertrand reacted too keenly to the heat to start a fire, and now the fire in his bedroom was even too much. How could that huge cloud of flame fit in a single fireplace yawn? There seemed to be a whole elemental raging there.

«I must go now!» Now Rhianon was looking only at the sword-wielding leprechaun, as if Bertrand were gone or would soon be. «There will be others after you. Anyone who has wronged me in any way will pay more than your feeble human imagination can ever imagine.»

She smiled, indifferently, contemptuously, wickedly… so that he could tell by that smile alone that she was not lying and in no way exaggerating, even downplaying. Her triumph was yet to come, and it would take place on blood and bones.

No words of farewell were uttered; instead, Rhianon merely tilted her sword gently, allowing the leprechaun to slide down onto the bed. After she left, he stared briefly at the lingering, bloodless hole in his belly. The bewilderment at the idea of the wound on his toothy green face was almost immediately replaced by a hungry grin. The wounded man became even more bloodthirsty than before. Bertrand realized only now how naïve he’d been to think the angelic creature wanted to play down his torment. On the contrary, after waiting only a moment, it had increased it. The freed leprechaun pounced on its prey even more furiously than it would have. The helpless stump was at the mercy of a greedy mouth full not of teeth but of needles. After Rhianon’s departure, Bertrand felt too crushed to think at all, rather than move. Now he was even easier prey than before, which the creature did not fail to take advantage of. Perhaps the castle, with its servants and knights trembling before the devil’s affliction of their lord, would be even easier prey for the rebellious peasants. They will need no knives, no pitchforks, not even wood cut down and sheared for a battering ram. The servants here are in such turmoil that they will open the gates themselves. And when they burst into the master’s bedroom, they will realize that they were not wrong in their speculation.

Rhianon considered the naked sword in her hands. Her eyes must have glittered even more ominously than the deadly blade, because Ferdinand, who wanted to cross the threshold, never dared to do so.

She didn’t need him to come in. She knew all the news he wanted to tell her as it was. Not only could she read his mind easily, the sounds from the closed council chamber came to her ears as if the voices speaking there were communicating directly to her. She knew that there was to be war. Everything had been decided. Everything would not be enough for her now.

«I will go with you to the first battle,» she turned to Ferdinand, who had finally decided to enter the hall.

«But…» He was momentarily taken aback. The sword in her hand even startled him. The dwarf was right. The blade was begging for blood at every moment. Not just begging, but demanding. Her hand was strong enough to restrain it. It was for now. Too bad once it tasted blood, it wouldn’t be able to stop. It wanted to now. And Ferdinand was very near, so seductive, so close, so alive… it could be dead in a moment.

Rhianon took a few steps away from him. The long azure train draped behind her on the floor, cramping her movements, and yet she felt herself ready to fight. The sword was thirsty for blood. All she had to do was control it, pointing it at her enemies and not at her supporters. Too bad there was no choice now. Apart from Ferdinand there were no other people present. And blood had to be spilled now. The sword demanded it. She held it back with difficulty.

«You cannot go to the battlefield with me. You are not a knight,» Ferdinand began, for the first time, to dissuade her from doing something. He was frightened. She could see that.

«How can you fight with your frailty… and in your position?»

Oh, yes, he remembered about the child. It was the child of the devil. Rhianon grinned. With a flick of her hand, the sword made a dangerous arc that slid almost across his face. She played with the flame. In one second she had to bring the sword down. Immediately there was a squeak. When she raised the blade forward, there was already a strange creature with green skin and a gutted belly fluttering on it.

«Well, do you suppose there’s much in the world that you’re not yet familiar with?» She watched with pleasure the range of feelings on Ferdinand’s beautiful face, from amazement to almost disgust and fear. The infernal creature’s clawed limbs fluttered violently. A black liquid gushed out of its ripped abdomen. One drop of this substance and her new dress would be hopelessly ruined, but Rhianon was not frightened. She was watching her husband’s emotions more closely than she was watching the creature’s futile attempts to thrust herself up and off her sword.

«You have no idea what a fairy is capable of. To put on my armor and fight is the least I can do.»

«But you could be hurt or even killed,» he murmured in confusion. He could no longer call the creature wriggling on the tip of her sword a pleasant little beast from abroad, but he could at least cling to shards of truth. «Even with magic, you are not immune to injury.»

«How would you know?» She grinned triumphantly. «Look!» she grinned victoriously.

She let the creature go, but pressed it to the floor with the tip of her sword so that Ferdinand could see how its torn abdomen magically healed. It was as if leprechaun had never been wounded.

«He might still take you to the treasure, if you don’t lose him on the way. Who knows, maybe the pot of gold isn’t buried where the rainbow begins, but right under our horses’ hooves on the battlefield. We can take him with us to show us the right place. After all, the enemy troops will not be frightened away by this little fellow. He can be wounded and even killed, well, almost killed,» she pressed on him with the tip of her sword, but it had no effect other than another sob. «They’re immortal, you know. So am I.»

«Are you sure?» He was still hesitant. The dainty jagged crown pressed lightly against his smooth forehead. She was only now noticing it; if he didn’t send it back to the blacksmith to straighten it out a bit, it would push his wrinkles back into his old age.

«That’s true, Ferdinand, subconsciously you knew it already when you met me there by the swamp, but that didn’t stop you. Ten, maybe twenty more years, and you’ll grow old, but I won’t. The fire inside me won’t let that happen. If you thought a fairy could take the throne beside you, why can’t she fight? You think I am not yet acquainted with marquee, carnage, and cannon volleys. I have fought before, and as you can see there are no wounds or scars. My head is still on my shoulders. But I have seen more than the wars of men among themselves. Other creatures far more dangerous than humans are capable of warfare.

«Have you seen them, too? Was it in battle?»

She nodded.

«I have seen them, and the warlord, too. If he weren’t here, I could take them all into battle now and win instantly. But for now I would have to be satisfied with men.»

«My men will not fail you,» he promised her with sudden seriousness. «They can fight.»

«It is a startling statement for one whose troops have never been in battle.»

«But they are well trained, though all they do is joust, train, and occasionally help other warring countries, but I know they will prove themselves in combat.»

«And we’re outnumbered,» Rhianon shot him back. «Who can resist that?»

«You’re pleased.»

«Yes,» she agreed. «But revenge knows no boundaries. If I were to fight him at the head of an army of evil spirits, and die in the aftermath, I would accept without hesitation. Whatever the price of my enemy’s head, I would get it. The deal with the devil doesn’t matter anymore. The only devil is the one you hate, not the one holed up in a tent far from our world.»

«But you have seen what he is like in battle?»

She shrugged indifferently.

«Whether he’s on our side or theirs doesn’t matter, I can be stronger than him,» she pressed the leprechaun harder against the floor, making him squeal in pain. «Angels used to fight, too. We are two angels. And only one of us is the strongest.»

She let go of the leprechaun. The leprechaun leaped up and sprinted off, running so fast that she barely had time to follow him. The tip of her sword greedily absorbed the black blood. In a moment it would not be enough for it.

Rhianon quickly turned away from Ferdinand. His proximity for a sword in her hands was too tempting.

«I am going into battle, whether you like it or not. You cannot win without me. You may object now, but once you know Manfred better, you will see how right I was. Your astrologers are nothing compared to his tricks. A battle with him without the use of sorcery would be lost in an hour.»

«I’m not against the protection of enchantments, believe me, but if you have to risk it…»

«I’ve risked all my life,» she turned sharply, barely able to hold her blade, which was already hissing with temptation. «That’s what I am.»

She was taking a risk even now. His unprotected throat was close at hand, and her fingers were struggling to hold the twisted, gilded hilt, which curved into the shape of a salamander with its outstretched wings forming a cross and a thin tail that curled into a hilt. The dwarf smith did his best, and she didn’t even thank him. After the sacrifices she had made, it was unnecessary. The steel had drunk their blood only recently, but its appetite had only grown.

«I need the armor,» she only now noticed that Ferdinand had even noticed where his queen had gotten such a rare and unusual sword. Well, his lack of curiosity played right into her hands. To live in marriage with a fairy and not interfere with her affairs, the betrothed must be completely intoxicated by her.

«Also my own camping tent and squires, my warhorse will be Noreus. That’s the name of the horse I was given,» she quickly explained, noticing his bewilderment. It’s a good thing he doesn’t ask whose gift it is. Such a question would have been more difficult to answer. She would have had to make something up as she went along, and Rhianon didn’t like to lie. It was better to keep silent about loving a fallen angel than to lie that you had never seen one. Lies had become disgusting to her as of late. Madael would say it was a purely angelic trait. A proud, exalted creature never lies, for it is above all and has no one to ingratiate itself to. To hide the fact that she opened her paradise in the arms of a demon, Rhianon was not going to. Everyone would see her worth in the war anyway. Soon her supernatural allies would join her army. All she has to do is click. The wise dragon in the tower gave her an unusual horn, trumpeting it to summon all the evil of Vinor and himself. The further she went, the more supporters she found. She is queen of the evil spirits, and soon her army will be innumerable.

«And by the way,» she was about to leave, but she remembered on the way out. «I’ve tamed the little dragon, so no one can touch it.»

Ferdinand gasped.

«Don’t be worried, it won’t get any bigger while I’m around it. But keep the others away from it, especially Vivian, with his dragon-fighting instincts. I will not forgive anyone who touches my pets.»

She had to hurry. The blade in her hands was becoming almost uncontrollable. It thirsted for blood, anyone’s blood, even that of Rhianon herself. And the scabbard of it remained in her bedroom. Never again would she leave them lying around. The feeling of holding a snake in her hand, ready to sting, grew stronger and stronger. On the way she couldn’t find a single mouse or rat to stab it, so she could temper its bloodthirstiness, at least for a while. And to kill a man in the castle she would not dare. She was still lucky that Gwendolyn and Ulrich’s disappearance went unnoticed by anyone. For that, the spirit had done its best. He advised her to use spells that took away the memory of everyone. Only astrologers could have suspected anything, but they were powerless. Rhianon was even glad now that she had broken their web. At least from then on they tried not to get in her way anymore. Their strength had been unequal in the beginning, and now she could easily destroy them all if she wanted to.

The scabbard, made by the same dwarf, and covered with special runes that held back the power of the blade, remained where she had thrown it. She quickly hid the sword in them, and yet the blade managed to cut her. It hissed triumphantly, but only for a moment. A drop of blood immediately burst into flames on the carpet, reminding Rhianon that to wound her was to endanger one’s own life as well. Apparently, the wondrous sword was no exception. She clutched the hilt and felt that it would not dare to hurt her a second time. The enchanted sword, as if for the first time, became a natural extension of her hand, recognizing her as its true mistress. She was stronger than it, which meant that only she could wield it. Rhianon grinned. Everything was now falling into place. This weapon must obey her will, not the other way around. It can be difficult to wield a sword that pierces and slashes at will. It can want blood all it wants, but it must be guided by her.

«Can I be the best knight I can be? Better than him?» She asked, but the spirit did not respond.

He would not say a word. Rhianon grew furious at him, but quickly recovered her composure. For if she could not make all arrangements with Madael herself. She needed to know this. Would he bow to her, even if he were stronger himself? If he loves her, he must. And she needs at least one more look at him before the fight begins. She remembered the pendant she always carried with her now. It kept changing shape without end, so she hid it behind her corsage so it wouldn’t embarrass people with its changeability. Lately it had taken the form of a sword, a tower, or a salamander writhing in flames. She had grown weary of its endless transformations, but now, as she pulled it out into the light, she saw only a flat, golden blob. What could that mean? It looked like a drop of liquid gold, only it was solid and the flat droplet felt like there was no beginning or end. She squeezed the pendant in her hand.

«What are you doing?»

A nasal voice made her shudder. She hadn’t heard it in a long time, and she didn’t expect to hear it anymore. It made her dumbfounded for a moment. Rhianon had no idea the dwarf could be so far off the ground. Her tower was high above the sea that lapped at the rocks. Only an angel or a dragon could reach it, and only someone with wings. Fate, however, who had crawled out from behind a pedestal in the corner, was quite unlike either of them.

Perhaps he had used the tunnels to get in here, Rhianon consoled herself, and then turned away from him. She tried not to see that the dwarf was acting as if this were his moment of triumph. He would never take anything from her again.

He grinned, but she couldn’t even look at him.

«Don’t disturb me to think.»

«Thinking about where you’d like to go?» He suddenly became very wary. «I can see it in your mind. I couldn’t go there even with the pendant.»

«Of course you wouldn’t. Now go away.»

But he didn’t budge. She shrugged nonchalantly, ignoring his bad manners. When a lady demands, one must obey, but he evidently did not know that.

«Well, you may remain, for in a moment I shall be gone anyway.»

She looked at the pendant and mentally wished for one place, her bedroom in the celestial castle, the bed where Madael so often slept, his curls scattered on the pillows frolicking with leprechauns. He shook off strange insects and black fairies from his wings. She wanted to be where she saw him again, but the pendant didn’t seem to understand her until she imagined all the passages and galleries of the castle beyond the clouds. It was nothing again. Something wasn’t right. She’s not imagining things well, or the gnome’s presence is getting in her way. He lurked in a corner and waited. Rhianon chose to forget his presence and imagined the place even more clearly. Now that she concentrated on one object entirely, it should work. Her thoughts ran faster than the wind through balustrades of flowers, gardens of paradise, massive arcades, enfilades of gleaming halls, and even a bird house. Somehow, despite her flight of fancy, it all seemed terrifyingly empty, and yet she persisted in imagining the vaults of the grand heavenly structure.

«I want to be there. Immediately,» she demanded.

And the pendant was suddenly gone. She clutched it in her fingers, a hollow space.

«What? What is it?» She stared at Fate, perplexed. The dwarf was clutching at his bubble-like belly and writhing in laughter. He looked as if he were going to burst.

«You tricked me, didn’t you?» Rhianon stepped menacingly toward him and snapped her fingers together, sending out sparks.

«It is not at all.» He moved swiftly out of her way. «You’re just forgetting something, aren’t you, my pretty?»

«What’s that?»

He stared at her triumphantly, his dark eyes sparkling with angry beads.

«You make a wish for a place that isn’t there, and the gold pendant loses all its power. You send your magic to emptiness, and emptiness is what you get!»

He disappeared, and Rhianon was still staring after him in amazement. What did he mean by that? You can’t wish for magical places, but she did, and she succeeded. But places that aren’t… Wasn’t there a castle in the sky? That’s where she lived. And the messenger, who had seen it in the light of dawn, claimed it was there. But the pendant was gone, as if she had really sent it into the void. Did that mean the castle was gone? Rhianon didn’t want to believe it.

How was that possible? She still couldn’t come to her senses. It was like a nightmare dream. She would have considered it a dream if the pendant were still with her. But it was gone.

The miniature dragon was poking around her chest of drawers, clawing at the boxes and counting how much jewelry was hidden in each one. He was so amusing. Rhianon tried to distract herself from her thoughts by watching him. She hadn’t even given him a name yet, she had to name him something and still be able to use magic to make him respond to that name.

«Nugget,» she decided after a moment’s hesitation, and the little dragon turned at the sound of her voice, twitching its wings deliberately. He was perched on top of the chest of drawers, clawing at the handles with only his claws, wondering if the new name suited him. Rhianon thought it did. Since, curled up in a ball, he would have looked like a solid gold bar with aquamarine eyes, anyone would have guessed to call him a nugget.

«It sounds silly,» the spirit said angrily. At last he spoke up. Rhianon almost laughed. She could tell if he was being silent enough to bite him in the ass and he would speak again.

«You must obey my whims, even if you deem them foolish. Otherwise you can go away.»

There was a moment’s pause, after which a heavy sigh blew through the silence.

«It’s a good thing you didn’t call him a pot of gold. It would have suited him, too.»

The remark came just right. Her little pet was already a treasure collector, if only within the confines of his lady’s room for now. The spirit must have put up with her whims rather than leave. Rhianon felt victorious. Lately it had been surprisingly easy to insist on her way with him. She’d even figured out the easiest way to do it. All she had to do was demand that he obey her or get out, and then victory was on her side.

«So are we preparing for war?» The spirit’s question caught her off guard.

«I’m already doing it.»

«You’re not doing it well.»

«Yes, how dare you!» She instinctively grabbed her sword and suddenly realized that it was useless. There is no blood in the veins of a disembodied spirit, so the wondrous blade cannot be turned against it either.

«Did you at least check to see if all those you recruited would answer your call?» He continued to lecture her. «What if they can’t keep their word – the spirits and the fairies and the dragons? They’re all tricky. You expect them to rescue you from the first danger on the battlefield.»

«I’ll prove it when I march,» Rhianon observed recently, noting that the tiny creatures even accompanied her on her walks and often on her hunts. Dwarves appeared under her horse’s feet every now and then, escorting her, and pixies flew overhead. When she hunted with the royal retinue, she knew that she could lure the magical creatures from the thicket and they would bring a doe, weasel, or deer to her themselves. They obeyed her as they did their lord. What alarmed Rhianon most of all was that her instincts had become like Madael’s. Once she had shot a doe with a bow, she felt a strange thirst. Even before the huntsmen had begun gutting the carcass, she wanted to put the flask under the trickle of blood, or press her lips to the wound. What if she had done it in front of everyone? Madael could, unashamedly on the battlefield, drink the blood of the wounded if he wanted to. He was surrounded by those who understood him. And she had to have the decency to avoid the bonfire herself. Vivian, who had joined the hunters, looked at her suspiciously enough. He was good himself. Rhianon only managed to spot one small dragon in the thicket, but it was quite active, not inebriated. He was beyond Vivian’s control. If it got out of hiding it could have torn apart their entire small squad, but when it spotted Rhianon it only quickly tilted its head and hurried to hide.

Rhianon was about to mentally warn Vivian not to stare at her so stunned, but the smell of flayed game was so irritating to her sense of smell that she couldn’t think of anything else. The smell of blood became a lure. She wanted to put the goblet under the scarlet stream and in place of the slit throat of the doe, she imagined Manfred’s throat.

Soon it would not be a fantasy, but a reality. For some reason Conrad came to her mind first. Pulling out the dagger with which to finish the animal, Rhianon imagined the prince’s throat. He had encroached on her, he deserved to die. Even Madael would decide exactly as she did.