Читать книгу Rhianon-9. The Birth of the Dragon - Natalie Yacobson - Страница 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

«Why are you here?» The queen asked.

The spinster only grinned mischievously.

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

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

«Farewell!» She nodded quickly to Rhianon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

«Would you?»

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

«I’ll think about it,» she decided.

«You can think of a riot.»

«I can pacify it.»

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

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

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

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

«What do you mean?»

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

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

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

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

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

Rhianon sighed. Orpheus would have made a fine actor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shook her head negatively.

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

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

«That’s not how it happened.»

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

«If only you had been of any use.»

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

«Well, yes,» he hesitated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That silenced him for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

«They are doomed!»

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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