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“I really try to make sure that at least others don’t break the laws.”
“Your established laws, and are they all just,” she interrupted defiantly. She wasn’t at all afraid that he might want to blow her head off, or at least intimidate her with his power. She was sure he wouldn’t do that.
When you hold someone in your arms, like this ball of fire that now hung in the darkness in front of her, you don’t worry about anything anymore. Tame fire is your element; there can be no rebellion in it. The ghost of the School of Witchcraft knew what he taught her. All you need is to know how to control fire, and it will not frighten you.
“I want justice, Rhianon, I want no unhappy people in my realm.”
“And I don’t want outside threats either. It is not only from men, but also from the evil of the forests. For this you are even ready to conclude a new political marriage, this time not with a mortal princess, but with a fairy queen out of the woods? You believe that an alliance with her would make the borders secure and the wicked obedient.”
Rhianon saw the blush on his cheeks. It pleased her. It was nice to see someone’s embarrassment.
Now she even understood why Orpheus so often joked and mocked others, he liked to feel like a winner. The joker is always on top, and the one who believes the joke is his plaything. That’s how jesters rule over kings. She laughed involuntarily. If Orpheus appeared to her now, she would not allow him any more such liberties. She must hold him in her hands.
“Don’t take everything so seriously. You, the ruler, are responsible for the people, for the nobles and for your own head. Just one conspiracy you didn’t watch out, and it’ll be off your shoulders. One mistake, one oversight, one failure to follow through, and you are no longer a king. Politics is a perpetual balance, life is black and white, there is no wholly white and wholly black even in heaven. God is also a ruler, sometimes very cruel, and the Devil is only his servant. The devil does evil only when he does God’s will, not when he wants to. We humans, ordinary and crowned alike, resort to belief in God only in order to protect ourselves from the devil. All is hypocrisy, and we live with it. So why should we, mere mortals, strive to be nobler than deity. After all, we are his creatures and we think in his image.
He looked at her and didn’t even dare raise his hand to wipe the burning sweat from his forehead.
“Are you excusing me or condemning me?”
“People are just trying to survive in an unjust world. And you also have great responsibilities. But I condemn all those who, instead of doing the work, indulge their own ego – the Inquisition and men of the rank among them. I despise them. And the evil one is not afraid of them. Think about it, can those who themselves stood in the ranks of the angels of God be afraid of divine symbols. Besides, these symbols were invented not by God, but by people. There is a belief-the serpent and the cross. I often imagine a crucifix wrapped around a serpent. It is said that such symbols are stamped on the covers of witchcraft books. But does the dragon run from the cross. Show him the cruciform shape of your sword and he will disappear. When you went into battle, you counted on it.”
“Not quite! More like a sword blade,” he admitted honestly. “Not really,” he admitted honestly. “We had archers, a lot of men who died in the swamp, cannon on a gun carriage, chains, maces…”
“Not even a catapult would have done you any good. Not many cannons, – dragons are invulnerable.”
“It’s their scales. They’re like jewels, aren’t they?”
Rhianon gave him a hard look.
“You are very observant. You noticed that too, didn’t you?” She stared at his face for a long moment, the straight, graceful nose, the seductive lips, the thoughtful, big eyes. He’s smarter than she first thought, yet he can be so sincere.
The ball of flame was still hovering in the air, but it had already begun to cast sparks. One of them fell on Rhianon’s dress, but it did not burn the thin silk. The cloth woven by fairies’ hands was not flammable, nor could it be damaged. Rhianon smoothed the ruffles with her fingers. It was as if sparks hadn’t touched them. The air around the balloon grew hot. She could feel the heat, but it didn’t hurt, and it was harder for Ferdinand, who was sitting beside her, to bear it. He was tense, but he wasn’t about to leave. He liked to sacrifice his own comfort to be near her. Rhianon leaned back and leaned her head against the trunk of a beech tree. Her golden hair laced the bark. She could feel the roughness of the wood in the back of her head, hear the woodworms crawling up and down the trunk, and hear the superhuman life bubbling up and down the leaves and the roots. Oh, she suspected it was there. There were supernatural beings everywhere, even if they remained completely invisible to mortals. No Inquisition could help against them. Ferdinand is somewhat ridiculous. But he could be so loyal and understanding. Just the kind of friend she had always dreamed of.
Madael hid his secrets. With him, understatement was acceptable. He was an angel, he was a mystery himself. Humans are simpler. Someone mortal could get closer and even say goodbye to life because of you. But a beloved demon is still no substitute for him. The handsome young man beside her dreamed of shared love, of mutual warmth, of trust. She could only offer him scalding fire.
She purposely loosened her grip for a moment, and the fireball burst into a myriad of sparkling sparks. Some of them burned Ferdinand. Other sleeping warriors, now reluctant to wake, muttered a curse and hurried to extinguish the items that had begun to ignite, or even the dry branches beneath them. A torrent of sparks fell into the grass and the driftwood, and even touched the trees, but there was no fire. Rhianon now knew how to neutralize the destructive force. Tiny sparks of fire reluctantly subdued her and went out, flying away harmlessly.
So she knew how to do some things without needing the advice of her mentor. Both Rothbert and Clive were right. They each said, in their own way, that he who has a priceless gift must learn everything on his own. So Rhianon was learning. She liked to master her talents the way others mastered the arts. To control the power that dormant in you is wonderful.
Ferdinand was impressed, but she knew he would not say a word to his entourage. No one would know that the little nighttime fireworks display was no accident. It had been set off by a lady who had come out of the woods. Now someone was reciting prayers, someone was inspecting the gaps in their cloaks, Ferdinand, for example, was holding back from blowing on his burned palms. He had taken off his gauntlets at such bad timing. Large red spots were now spreading across his fingers and down to his wrist. Such severe burns could not have occurred after the nettles. In her mind Rhianon sympathized with him, but she didn’t know how to help. It was unlikely her touch would be healing, and she was not yet versed in medicinal herbs. She was not Hildegard, she had no need to fumble with poisons and potions. Even if such ability came to her in time, she had no use for it. Her power lies elsewhere.
“Angry that I burned you?” She asked in a casual tone as the others went back to sleep after some grumbling. No supernatural foe threatened them from the darkness, and yet many knights clung to their swords even in their sleep. Ferdinand, unlike them, was calm, though he already knew what the source of the danger was.
He only shook his head in the negative and a coy smile bloomed on his lips. He had beautiful lips, Rhianon noted to herself, his mouth wide and sensual, his lower lip a little full, the color of his skin pale and still reminiscent of a juicy fruit. What would it be like to kiss a human rather than an angel? For the first time she thought about something like that. Aloud, however, she spoke on a very different subject.
“No one is allowed to insult the king. A wrongdoer, even an accidental one, can’t stay alive after he’s harmed you.”
She wanted to tease him, but it didn’t work with Ferdinand.
“But after all, fairies are supposed to have special privileges.”
How seriously he takes everything. Rhianon almost laughed in his face. So in his charming blond head there is still a plan to tie himself in a dynastic marriage to a fairy and thus protect his kingdom from invasion by evil spirits. She didn’t dare tease him about it. He was honest with her, and therefore did not take jokes.
Rhianon touched his palms gingerly and noticed the ugly red burn spots lightening. The decisive moment seemed to have arrived. Ferdinand believed her.
“If I ask you for something, so, as a fairy, you won’t deny me any request.”
He nodded. His consent she secured. Rhianon gave him a mysterious smile.
In the morning, promising that she would return soon and join the tiny cavalcade before she even entered Vinor, she turned the horse onto another road. The animal did not budge, though she felt her trembling. The danger of what she had conceived was weighing on her; the road was becoming perilous. There was also the risk of losing Ferdinand, whose support she had already secured, but Rhianon was betting first that her new talent for covering any distance quickly would help her catch up with him before the city gates, and second that she needed to find support still on the side. Mortal troops alone were not enough. She needed help from supernatural forces. The powers that interested her at the moment dwelt in the mountains and in the water. Very conveniently she remembered that Vinor was also a major maritime power. There are many ports here, where merchant ships from various lands arrive. There is a large flotilla, an armada of royal galleons. Rhianon involuntarily stared at them at the first port she saw on the way. She did not know whether this small piece of land in front of the endless expanses of water belonged to Vinor or to a neighboring country. The small port seemed ghostly. The little port town next to it was full of caryatids and sandstone statues. They were images of supernatural beings. And the port itself is called “Angelo.” Isn’t that a little eloquent. She would have thought that only the servants of Madael lived here. They might have taken over the city, pretended to be statues, or lurked in the shadows of the poor houses, which for some reason were decorated too lavishly with stucco and flowers. It was an amazing luxury for a port city. And the statues of supernatural beings are striking, as if they were the work of an unearthly sculptor. And the architecture of the town is strange. At first the streets seem empty, but then you notice the people and the perpetual accumulation of people in the port. On the way, she was told that even on the cloudiest day, Angelo’s harbor is always full of people. “They’re waiting for those who never come back,” a strange passerby told her. That is, mermaids and drowned men, she wanted to joke, but she kept silent. Wasn’t it the same creatures she was looking for herself now?
Now it was beginning to rain, and the crowd on the wharf was still thickening. Rhianon could see the forest of masts, the ships anchored or sailed away. In the noise of the rain there was no sound of work, no shouting of sailors and no creaking of rigging. Barges, galleys, schooners, small boats and dinghies, as well as huge ships with carved figures over the stem – there was a lot here. There was plenty to see. She was impressed only by the ships where the stern figure looked like a dragon. She wondered if the real dragons would decide to attack their wooden counterparts on the high seas. That would be fun. She flashed before her the names embossed in gilt letters on the hulls “Luck”, “Fast Wind”, “King of the Seas”, “Unicorn”, “Golden Apple”, so much fiction and ingenuity, somehow no one occurred to call their vessel a mermaid or an undine. Bad omens were feared by all. No one wants to go to the bottom. Not surprisingly, one ship, the largest and most intricate, caught her attention. “The dragon is a winner.” Who would dare shout such a motto? Rhianon squinted. And indeed if she looked closely the ship had the shape of a dragon, its head replacing the figure in the bow, the hull taking the shape of carved wings, if not for the masts, sails, and rigging, the illusion would probably be complete.
Rhianon stared at the unusual vessel, then she scolded herself for her own curiosity. That was not why she had come here. It was not the ship she was after; it was something else, hidden in the depths. But how would she get to it? She needed to find a deserted spot: a rocky shore, a lonely lagoon, an empty pier, where there were no crowds. Then she can summon those who live on the bottom.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to steal someone’s boat and swim into the deep water? Sometimes fishermen get caught in the nets of sea creatures instead of catching them. Swim deep and see for yourself,” someone whispered in her ear.
Rhianon turned, expecting to see a fairy or a playful elf standing nearby, but all around were mortals, lifeless and tired. And who spoke to her was not human, she thought, for it was too heartfelt and rich in different tones. People didn’t talk like that. Rhianon looked around and almost shuddered. It seemed to her that the carved figure of a sitting angel on one of the rooftops had come to life. Illusion, it was only an illusion, she repeated to herself, squeezing back through the crowd to get out of the port. A wild imagination might have painted that picture for her. And yet a strange suspicion lingered in her mind. Maybe it was Setius.
The beautiful curve of its eyebrows, though marbled, and the carelessly haughty flutter of its wing were so characteristic of him. It was amazing how, from this distance, she could even see the expression on his face. It was truly a dragon’s eyesight. She was afraid to look up at the statue again. It was better to look at the passersby and the people crowding the port. Their gray, expressionless faces and diminutive figures were much safer than watching a statue come to life. That’s when she spotted him, the giant in the cloak. The familiar figure was moving nimbly through the crowded lines as if there was a tunnel between them. And there was nowhere to go but through them. Now Rhianon shuddered. Even beneath the billowing cloak she could see the shape of wings. And the figure itself was familiar. Those shoulders, the curved chest, the height, the hands, the handsome thin fingers that held the curtains, the golden threads streaming out from under the hood – all so familiar, so near and yet so indescribably distant. Now the stranger would raise his face, and she would see the burning blue eyes of Dennitsa.
“Run while there’s still time,” the same voice whispered.
Run? Is it from him? How could she flee from him? If only he would let her. Rhianon was torn between the desire to stay and to hide in the crowd. Was it him, or was she just imagining it. But the little voice above her ear was already screaming again that she must run, and she obeyed. Soon the port and the city itself were behind her. Rhianon held the reins of her horse as it carried her through the valley, past thickets of heather and small hills. The mountain ranges in the distance beckoned. What if there was a dragon there? She could not see steam or flames rising over the mountains, nor could she sense the proximity of treasure or magic, and then she rode on. She needed to negotiate an alliance with at least one of the dragons. What if none of Madael’s servants wanted to talk to her? The dragon packs only obey him. That she had already seen for herself. But there had to be one exception. She wondered if any dragon might be seduced by her beauty and serve her, betraying their first master? It is improbable, but one of them might be tempted by Dennitsa’s repetition of her face. If it is so dear to them, then what is it. Rhianon bet primarily on her charms. Well, maybe some cards, too. She’d even forgotten that one deck was still with her. It was the very first card deck in the world that Orpheus had made especially for her. It could be used in case of an emergency. After all, that was how she had gotten Athenais to agree. She simply had no choice but to gather helpers for Rhianon. Then she would have to be fitted to gather the rvil spirits as quickly as possible. Rhianon wasn’t going to procrastinate with the war. Except that for a first offensive, she wouldn’t need Ferdinand’s troops and small, flattering imp, she’d need someone more intimidating.
“Give me a sign when you sense a dragon near,” Rhianon whispered to the harpy sleeping in her saddle. The creature, sensing the opportunity to rest, curled up snugly as a salamander in a crucible, cooing for gold. The harpy was of no use to her asleep in the saddle, and Rhianon tried to shake her awake.
“Do you think I can do it?”
She heard nothing but a sleepy, indistinct mumbling in reply. The harpy was obviously unhappy about being poked and prodded. She used to run at the first call. That’s how Ferdinand makes supernatural creatures unhappy with his excessive attention. If he treats his subjects the same way, he will be lost. Rhianon involuntarily thought of the conspiracy. Yes, he needed the queen’s firm hand and her urgent advice. The blond fellow doesn’t know how to run a business himself. He’s gone to fight a dragon, thinking his armor will protect him. What a fool. Better on your own? One searches for a dragon in the mountains and woodlands.
If her plan fails, she will be in trouble. However, unlike the simple-minded Ferdinand, who can only count on himself, she always has one option. Call for Madael, and he will fly in. Even if he decides to abandon her, he won’t abandon his supernatural child. Does he even know about him? Rhianon wondered. She did not say. But he could sense everything. How someone who knows every movement of sinners or impurity in the universe, both on earth and under the earth, may not know that his seed has sprouted and now an unearthly creation will be born. Dennitsa will become a father. Is he ready to be one? And what will his child be like? If he combines his beauty with his strength, it will truly be a disaster. How not to fall in love with him and how not to be hurt by him? The sun burns. Rhianon was not burned by her closeness to her beloved only because she herself was like the sizzling sun. Would the dragon appreciate her strength, and her beauty? Would he agree to an alliance, or at least a treaty, with her?
She looked once more at the valley and the mountain ranges. At last she sensed something. It was the nearness of something supernatural. Fire, dreams filled with magical memory, ingots and things of gold. It was all around her somewhere.
She frowned. What if she rode at random? The horse beneath her began to fidget. Rhianon felt him shudder and startle. The only thing that prevented him from jumping and fleeing was her strong hand clutching the reins. So she hadn’t been wrong in her calculations after all. The animal’s reaction was evidence of that. Horses can sense a threat approaching, just as she herself senses another’s fire. The harpy in her saddle woke up, too, and perked her ears. Clearly the proximity of gold spears, precious deposits, and her former companion had attracted her, too. Rhianon had noticed that it was the jewelry that most attracted the supernatural creature here on earth. It was still different in the heavenly castle, but Dennitsa lived there, and away from him the harpy’s greedy claws reached for anything that even remotely reminded her of her former owner. She tried to tear a large sapphire from Rhianon’s dress until her claws scraped it off. She felt pity for the beast, and gave it a single gold coin. She was glad to see it. The feeling that the gold was Dennitsa’s glow was so strange. It reminded her of him, too. It was all the more clear why dragons were so fond of hoarding gold. With them they are closer to their dreams. Even the reminder of the warlord who led them to this day’s doom was so sweet that they would not let it out of their claws, would not let it out of their sight, and even would attack any man who saw a gem that caught their eye. In part, Rhianon understood them. If even here on earth her lover was such that it was impossible to resist him, then how was he to lead his heavenly armies into battle. It must have been a sight that burned them all as much as the punishing fire. That’s why they’re hoarding gold now. It was for the memory of the past and their idol.
Rhianon heard the gold coins clinking in the distance. The dragon himself was asleep, but the pixies were counting his gold, riding his pearls, climbing into gold goblets, and feasting there. When the sleeping monster awoke, Rhianon involuntarily shuddered. He was there in the mountains, in a deep cave, she on a stake in the wasteland, and still, when he opened his eyes, she felt it.
It was as if he were calling to her, and she drove forward, imagining rough, keratinized skin, scales like emerald armor, shiny yellow eyes. Eyelids covered with skin like a dense crust. The sharpest dagger could penetrate it, and not a scratch would remain. The weapon might break, but it would not wound a dragon. Rhianon had no reason to arm herself. No blade would line up in front of such armor. All she could rely on was her latent abilities. But if you do the math, they are just as reliable as any earthly weapon. She would achieve more with sorcery than she would with a sword.
Be brave! Whether the same haunting voice whispered it to her, or whether she thought it up herself. It was no longer important. Rhianon had entered dangerous territory. There was no turning back. Now she would indeed have to be brave and uncommonly clever. She would have to negotiate, not fight. Who dares to offend his lord’s chosen one? That was one of the things Rhianon was banking on. They could not harm her. But they must obey her.
Well, there’s nothing but trouble. She pouted, like a hurt child, and unintentionally released tiny rings of fire into the air. The horse beneath her roared in fright at the flames, but Rhianon pulled the reins tighter. The strength of her hand forced the animal to obey. And the strength of her will. Leading beasts was easy. One mental effort and they obeyed you. If only it were that easy with supernatural beings.
But if she could do the first, she could do the second. In the end she would succeed. After all, she is the queen of demons. That’s what Madael said. He wanted her to be his queen.
At the foot of a small hill, Rhianon dismounted and told the harpy to stall the horse. The sleepy beast became lazy. Rhianon pondered feverishly who she should leave to watch the horse. Not a harpy. She might need her nimble claws for anything. Stealing something, planting it, or fetching it on time, that’s just what the sloth would have to cope with. Of course you can’t steal anything in a dragon’s cave, but Rhianon was suddenly excited.
“Hey, you,” she called out to the tiny dwarf who had appeared suddenly at the foot of the hill. It wasn’t Fate, and it wasn’t one of her longtime acquaintances. Dressed all in red, the little man bore little resemblance to those she had met so far.
Rhianon rummaged through the folds of her dress and with a magician’s gesture drew out a gold coin. The gold pieces were sticky to the silk fabric and didn’t even need to be put into the little purse she wore on the lanyard at her waist.
“Take it as a reward for your hard work,” she held out a dwarf’s coin. “I want you to look after my horse.”
The dwarf cautiously approached the horse. Rhianon heard him whisper a few sweet words before he took the reins. The horse did not seem to be frightened of him. That was a good thing. Except that the dwarf shook his head negatively at the glinting coin.
“No payment, ma’am.”
“As you wish,” Rhianon hid the coin back with mild disappointment. She couldn’t wait to get rid of all the gold. It was as if it were weighing her down. She felt lightness every time she parted with a piece of gold. She wanted to dance right on the spot, as if it was not the empty purse that lightened, but her soul. Could it be that by parting with that enchanted money, any man could say goodbye to most of his misery and even disease. It would seem so. Rhianon hoped that by spending the last coin she would be rid of all her problems at once. And the main problem was Loretta. Or rather, the fact that she did not own it yet. Well, that was exactly what she was going to fix.
Rhianon cast a long glance at the mountain range. Rather instinctively she knew where the cave should be located. She could not see it from afar. Perhaps the entrance was enchanted. The girl sighed in frustration. No, she could not retreat. The harpy, already bustling around the hem of her dress, seemed to agree.
Already crossing the meadow separating her from the mountains and rocky spurs, Rhianon thought that the dwarf was right not to accept a coin from her hands. All those to whom the gold had fallen into the hands had died in strange ways. She thought of Leon and his conspirators, for example. It turned out to be simple, ridiculous, and quick. She wanted to buy off their evil with these coins, and she gave them death herself. It was a wonderful reward for their evil. Everyone gets what they deserve. If it is true, and the coins have such power, she will reward Loretta’s advisors with them. But will she have enough coins for everyone. Rhianon could hardly keep herself from reaching into her purse right now to count the coins. She probably would have done so, had there not been an unsettling snore somewhere in the stony depths. Rhianon felt the proximity of steam and flame. Such sounds as reached her could only be made by a single creature. It was a dragon. Then she was almost there.
She took a deep breath in her chest and stepped forward. There must be a cave nearby. The sounds and sensations of something dangerous but desirable grew stronger. She held her breath. If anything, she might well breathe out fire now, and fire so strong that it would consume half of these mountains. There was a real elemental bubbling inside her, and something was slumbering in the depths of the cave.
The harpy lurking behind her train suddenly fell silent. Rhianon realized that she had to step into the darkness first. She found the entrance to the cave easily. As she drew nearer, the view of the mountain hollow opened up to her. If the path was enchanted for others, it was not for her. All doors in the magical world seemed to be open to her as of late. Along the way, she wondered if this was the same dragon cave where Madael had led her once. It didn’t seem to be. It was much more spacious, and there was no hilly terrain or heather fields in front of the ridge. And there were shimmering stalactites and stalagmites, but here it smelled of slime and mold and stale blood. Rhianon saw a pile of tarnished weapons in front of the entrance. The blades were rusted with dried blood and something else. Green slime trickled across the stony floor, like dragon poison. It was the same kind that the creatures at the bottom of the well usually exuded. The glitter of the jewels in the distance also seemed too dim. What attracted Rhianon was something else: the books. The precious folio covers must have cost a fortune. One such book, with its gold clasps studded with carbuncles and sapphires, could buy its own fortress or estate. They were decorated with large emeralds, topazes, opals. One ruby, like a large tear, twinkled against the gold binding, and looked as if a heart had been taken out of her chest from afar. She wanted to open the books and see what was inside. Whether she could read the intricate symbols, the whole ligature of ancient witchcraft spells? Rhianon let her hands free and reached for the precious settings. The clasps clicked lightly, and immediately she pressed them with her finger and the pages, made of calfskin or maybe even human, rustled. The dry parchment resembled the rustling of autumn leaves. Autumn! Rhianon sighed softly. Soon it would be summer, the heat, the sultry days, the season of bright sunshine. But after all, the sun is associated with Madael, and thus with luxurious autumn. She met him in autumn, and autumn is a time of fading. The last flash of nature’s exuberant luxury paves the way for a harsh winter. What else could be more symbolic of the fallen angel? Autumn seems to characterize him – his rise and his fall. Those brightly colored gems on the covers of witch books also remind us of autumn, colored with unusually variegated colors before the fading. Can the coloring of a gemstone also fade? Probably yes, but only with the demise of Dennitsa. As long as he is, the jewels will not lose their value, nor will they fade or crack like simpler, short-lived materials. It is as if he feeds his gold with his own life. It’s part of him.
