Rhianon – Princess of Fire

«I don’t want to play anymore tonight,» Rhianon muttered, not taking her eyes off the red glittering eyes on the other side of the table.

«Winning is good, isn’t it?» The stranger grinned merrily, but not at all kindly. «And will it be so tomorrow?»

«Tomorrow is still to come,» Rhianon thundered down her mug on the table, she had to be swaggering, now that she was a boy, no one should question that.

«Yes, it is extremely difficult to survive in these times, isn’t it?» The stranger winked understandingly and leaned a little closer, the bells on his hat tinkling playfully in time with the movement of his head. It didn’t seem to be ringing really, but laughter. It was the laughter of dozens of little tongues.

Rhianon moved a little farther away so that the skinny hand reaching across the table would not touch her in any way. She didn’t like the intrusive interlocutor, though there was something about him that made her heart beat faster. It was as if she recognized an old acquaintance who shared all her interests with her. Except that this was a man she had never seen before. And was he human? He acted like a buffoon, but his eyes… That voice, those understanding nods. She clenched her hand under the table so no one could see. The lines on her palm began to itch. It had happened before. That momentary flash of recognition occurred to her at the sight of those who knew of her secret predilections.. A fleeting sorcery, quick, secret, inept… She had done it herself and now invariably recognized in the crowd those who had done it as well. And they recognized her, though they had never seen her before. But the doomed, that is, those who roll down the same path to hell and can no longer stop, easily recognize each other, easily dragged along with them. She had no choice, they might have, but they always looked at her derisively, just like this stranger sitting imposingly on the other side of the table. There was something else entirely.

«I’m almost on the run myself,» he whispered confidentially, and his eyes flashed dangerously again, as if he could see into her thoughts.

«I’m not,» Rhiannon finished the glass in front of her with a gulp. She tried to be rude and manly, but her overly-cute appearance must have spoiled the impression. It also made her feel uncomfortable how easily the man had figured out her plans. It was a fact one could only look at her wary demeanor and realize she had someone to run from.

«We’re on the run from ourselves,» the stranger said in a gentle voice, and he brushed aside any disbelief that might have been created by his first indiscreet words. «Sometimes what’s inside creatures is stronger than they are, and they try to escape it, but there’s nowhere to go. The danger is inside you, not outside. There’s no escape.»

«What do you know about it?» She asked haughtily, but nevertheless she glanced cautiously at the already-empty glass. The half-full bottle beside her now disgusted her and almost terrified her. How many times they had tried to convince her that her peculiarity was born in herself, like a curse. This curse needed no fuel to fuel it, but Rhianon was certain that alcohol promoted ignition. She couldn’t feel the heat inside her, and she didn’t see the fire rising out of nowhere, but even now she feared that if she got angry, the fire would flare up right on her fingertips, right on the dice on the wooden table in front of her.

She swallowed hard. Can the damned be seen in their faces? It is said that extraordinary beauty marks only those, like rebellious angels, close to the fall. In any case, at court so often whispered behind her back, unaware that she could hear everything from a mile around her. The royal astrologer hated her in silence until her father’s death, but on the king’s deathbed he was able to say it all.

Extraordinary beauty marks those from whom the fallen angel will come. Then she will be the worst of all, because no one has ever been more beautiful than her. Did the stargazer know of the terrible forbidden books she had collected? Rhianon guessed that he hated her for a very different reason. Just like every other mage she encountered. They all looked at her with envy and jealousy. And why was it? She wasn’t all-powerful and unlikely to ever be. Though she needed it so much, to gain superhuman strength and regain all that had been taken from her. To claim her property, she must first defeat all her enemies. And for that, even becoming a powerful king is not enough. Rhianon sighed. The trickster, ready to perform tricks now at her table, could hardly be of any real help to her. But he, with that same sly smile, kept making suggestions.

«I can make you win every time, every day, every night, at whatever hour you wish, the dice will fall as you wish. But do you want to?»

She looked at him for the first time with mild interest and wonder, the haggard face under the brim of his hat suddenly even began to look cute to her. The feverish, hungry gleam in his eyes was gone. They no longer glowed red. The skin on his cheeks was a little pinker. He seemed to be the kind of creature that feeds on the sympathy of his interlocutor. Like magic smoke, it only became alive and tangible when someone paid attention to it. That’s why he’s so interested in communication. Rhianon smiled at her own thoughts. He obviously took that smile as encouragement and continued to flirt as best he could. His bells were ringing even more merrily now. Their tongues no longer exuded laughter, but song.

«I want so much that I’m scared of my own desires,» she wanted blood, her hand clenched into a fist under the table again.

«And surely you don’t believe you can conquer entire kingdoms with agility?» He made some quick motions with his hands, and the dice on the table tipped over by themselves, revealing high points, and the gold jangled inexplicably.

Rhianon took a closer look at the coins. They were unusually minted. They were unlike anything she had ever seen. There were wings and sun on one side, there was a rose on the other. Somewhere she had seen this before, but not on doubloons. Somewhere else, and she couldn’t remember where.

«At least with dexterity you can get by,» she said smugly, though what she really wanted was something else. She had to take an entire country, overcoming the resistance of all her allies as well as the hired troops, mages, and diviners. Is it possible to accomplish such a thing? Somehow she became more and more convinced of this.

«Show me some more tricks,» she suggested in a commanding tone, wondering how, after all that had happened to her, she had not yet forgotten how to give orders. The capricious princess was sometimes dominant in her, and sometimes she tried to imitate the royal advisors, hypocritical and cunning, capable of prying everything out of their interlocutor and using it to their advantage. «I want to see something more serious than all the tricks you can see in the marketplace, too.»

He frowned, a little puzzled, a little disappointed.

At last she managed to get the better of him in some way. The playful, mocking look vanished from his face as if he’d had a moment’s makeup washed off. His features became elongated and pointed, the luster of his eyes faded.

«Well… here,» he muttered uncertainly, then he turned warily toward the inn.

«Not sure of your abilities?» She teased him.

He shrugged his angular shoulders as if they twitched violently in a comical manner. His expression became even more wary, and even the bells on his hat were somehow silent. He could tell he wasn’t telling the whole truth, or there was something he wasn’t letting on. «It’s not just my territory here…»

As if on cue, they both stared at the hearth. Not long ago she had felt as if someone were watching her right from the blazing fire and from every inch of ground and log wall and every pile, but that was impossible. Some super-powerful being cannot envelop the entire space around them with its power. It can’t be everywhere, like God himself. It can’t see and feel everything, and braid itself around every millimeter of air around them, and not burn in the flames. No one is capable of lurking in a burning hearth and peeking at everyone from there. No one can suppress the will of all powerful mages by their proximity alone. No one can be everywhere at once. Such a creature simply does not exist. But what if there is? After all, she could feel it. Unless it was a hallucination someone else had sent her. Such a game could have been a good thing, after all, to gain her trust. A lot of sorcerers do that – they send a person visions or premonitions on purpose, and then they sit down with him and pretend that they also went through such a thing. It’s a clever kind of scam. Rhianon had seen it before, and it wasn’t hard for her to figure out the trickster. When you know all the mages’ tricks, you can somehow parry them. She had learned too much when she had spied on wizards in the palace, including how to instill some sort of fear in a person that benefited you. But there was something else here. Her interlocutor wasn’t just trying to instill fear in her, he was afraid himself. She could sense that for sure.

He stared warily at the fire for a minute, then at the wine glass as if he could see dancing fairies in the liquid. He thought long and hard about something, his thin eyebrows furrowed at the bridge of his nose, he even bit his lips with sharp incisors, and then suddenly his eyes sparkled again, joyfully and mischievously.

«I’ve got it!» At last he exclaimed. «There is a place here. Well, more or less safe. Anyway, if there’s anywhere you can do tricks without worrying, it’s there.»

He must have meant forbidden «tricks,» so called magic tricks, which not everyone is allowed to do. She didn’t care. She was wary of something else. He had been so good at bringing it all up in that «one place». She wondered if he was going to trap her. Sometimes spirits do that to too trusting travelers. And often they’re not spirits at all. She didn’t want to end up in an outlaw’s den, or in some backwoods tract where evil spirits ran wild. And she’d heard tales of mortals being enchanted at such secret nocturnal gatherings.

«What is this place?» She wondered.

«Oh,» he smiled slyly. «It’s in the middle of nowhere, and no one can get there but us. I mean, no one but me, even if they wanted to, could find their way there, and I’m inviting you along.»

«That’s very kind, but I won’t go,» she moved his glass and bottle away from the mysterious gold glittering on the table, as if to say that she didn’t need it.

«I think we’ll go,» he leaned over the table and grasped her hand with his skeleton palm, as thin and dry as a skeleton. And how strong those withered fingers were.

She flinched, but he immediately loosened his grip. He didn’t hurry to drag her, but pointed with his free hand toward something far away, where just outside the window she could hear the snorting of approaching horses and the shouting of horsemen. Someone had come at night, and these men, who looked like palace guards, were in a hurry.

«It would be better for you to spend the night where they can’t find you,» the man continued in a lazy tone. «Unless, of course, you’d rather spend time with them…»

He was evidently sure that she wouldn’t. Rhianon emptied her refilled glass in a gulp. It was a pity she wasn’t getting drunk. She would need it now. She glanced once more at the commotion outside the window, recognized some of the faces, and pulled the brim of her hat down over her face.

«How are we going to get past them?» She whispered to her companion.

«Do you trust me, then?» He shook off his mottled coat and put out a long dry hand to her as if he were calling her to go with him into a forbidden realm.

«I don’t trust you,» she pondered for only a few seconds. «But I’d like to believe in luck.»

His eyes lit up with an understanding fire.

Brocade and Flame

He led her to a strange place. Not that it was strange because of its appearance. Just no, it was the same driftwood, moss underfoot, and thin streams covered with fallen leaves. Nothing was drastically different from other thickets, ravines, or glades in the forest. Even the hollows in the trunks were the same as everywhere else, and yet there was something special, heavy and pressing, as if it came from the bowels of the earth. It was only here, nowhere else in the forest.

«We have farther to go», the guide reminded her.

Rhianon nodded and walked on. The view was the same, the trees and stumps all around, and yet something was wrong.

Rhianon felt strangely excited. Fire was about to burst from her nostrils again.

«Come on, little henchman, it’s freezing in the autumn.»

«What do you mean?» The strange escort seemed to read her mind, and she didn’t like it. She never understood how he’d managed to get her out of the tavern without the new arrivals noticing, but he had. No one realized it was her, the one they were looking for, no one noticed that they had left at all, and Rhianon was willing to bet that the owner of the tavern was extremely surprised when he realized he was demanding payment from a table that was already empty and not from those he thought had just been seated there. Well, from that one could conclude that casual acquaintances could sometimes be useful. At the very least, it was worth chatting with from time to time, or rather, once you got into special trouble, call him. That’s how it looked so far, unless he was leading her to a place far more dangerous than the one he was taking her from. Rhianon was wary. She knew that such tricks were common to all evil spirits. She could do anything with someone who was already in their care, but somehow she felt no danger, only a little unease.

«Come quickly!» A lean, lanky figure beckoned her into the thicket. His robes, more mottled than fall foliage, stood out among the trees, and his pale, luminous hands were the clearest contrast to the darkness. The skinny, long fingers dared not touch Rhianon herself, but gestured to her constantly.

She was cold. She was not accustomed to being cold. The heat lurking within her warmed her, even slightly scalding her in the bitterest of frosts. And now it was only early autumn, and if she counted the days she’d spent away from the castle, it was already October. The winter cold has not yet blown, and the forest, covered with a motley carpet of fallen leaves, feels warm and cozy, and she is so cold that she wraps herself in her coat and does not know how to warm her icy hands.

It’s all about this patch of woods. It’s not like other places. There’s something in the air itself, in the aura, in the circle of falling leaves. Something whispers and hides, and it’s everywhere.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the stirring in the deep hollows in the oaks and the silent flickering of some strange silvery insects on the bare branches, and sometimes there were piles of glowing mushrooms by the stumps. She noticed on the way only mushrooms growing in bunches and whole rings, and if she suddenly came across one that stood alone by the stump, its colorful cap seemed like someone’s home. Everyone in the villages believed in evil spirits, in elves and fairies, but Rhianon had long ago realized that if there were magic folk, they bore very little resemblance to the abstract stories about them that the old men could tell. In fact, magic has always turned out to be black and scary. That was what Rhianon believed. She had been convinced of that when she was still in her parents’ castle. And nothing could dissuade her, not even a smiling fairy, if she suddenly appeared before them right now, such as coming out from behind a tree and summoning them both with her.

Witchcraft has always hidden behind the hypocritical smiles of courtiers, and this witchcraft has not produced winged fairies at all, it has contributed to the sending of pestilence and disease, secret poisonings, spoiling, hundreds of ways to drive a person with spells, while remaining above suspicion. Rhianon despised such people who, hiding behind a corner, slowly and painfully killed others, while they themselves always remained innocent to witnesses. Such were all her friends and vassals. They would never lie and pretend not to believe in anything, but black magic had already enslaved each and every one of them. After all, it was such an easy way to achieve your goal, to take out your enemy, to intrigue, to corrupt those you envy. Spells could not create beautiful creatures with wings, but they killed, brought misery and enmity. If one could believe in a world of beautiful fairies, if one could use enchantments to create or summon an unearthly winged lover to one’s empty royal bedroom. But that was impossible. One could only be enchanted to torment each other. The intrigue wove slowly but ruinously. People often sat at the same feast table, expecting each other’s deaths from one day to the next, but they all smiled sweetly at each other, hiding their thoughts. And Rhianon could read the thoughts of them all, so she alone was getting sick at noisy receptions. She alone by her silence aroused the suspicion, because she could not laugh and joke with those whose secret plans terrified her. So she read and about what they want to do to herself, and she ran away, but if she ran away from the castle, she could again believe that there is a magical world and under the ground, on which she now treads may well be a friendly clanging hammers dwarves – smiths.

The girl sighed. How long ago she had believed in beauty! And that belief had worn thin, killed by the intricacies of palace intrigue and the cruelty of life.

Rhianon fixed an unruly lock of gold that had fallen from her beret. It would have been better to cut her hair, at least then there would be less danger of exposure, but foolish sentimentality would not allow her to get rid of the heavy golden braid. That way, at least, anyone who saw her would still be able to believe in magic. Her beauty has always been called magical.

«Where are we going?» Rhianon looked out over the same monotonous forest landscape in front of them. In the darkness, even the splendor of colorful autumn foliage could not diminish the overall impression. It was a lost place, and her companion was leading her deeper and deeper into it.

«Be patient,» he said with a strained nonchalance, «we’re nearly there.»

«Come? We’re nearly there!» She involuntarily reached for the dart she had hidden in her boot.

«Hey, are you trying to tell me you don’t trust me after the way I saved your life back at the tavern?» The escort, who had evidently noticed that she was drawing her weapon somehow, became alarmed. God, aren’t there eyes on his back?

«Saving mtis life is an overstatement,» Rhianon corrected him; she didn’t like to be obligated to anyone, much less such a strange-looking fellow.

«You mean the King’s soldiers didn’t scare you?» He tried to crack a joke.

«What king is this?» Rhianon involuntarily broke out in a huff and no longer felt cold even as she struggled to contain the heat and fire that was coursing through her veins. That’s how others were warmed by the wine they drank. She leaned tiredly against a tree trunk. Is it any wonder that the mention of impostors and regents infuriates the only legitimate heir? It was a truth she could explain to no one without losing her head.

«I wasn’t serious,» her companion suddenly realized he’d overreacted and sprang back toward her, «just don’t get upset.»

His skinny hands tried to touch her shoulders, but Rhianon recoiled. A man’s hands would never be like that, she was sure of that.

«We should continue on our way.»

«Yes, of course,» she nodded and tried to push his palms away from her. She could see the sudden twist in his face, and she noticed that he leaned down so that his eyes were hidden by the brim of his hat. Of course she had burned him. And now he tried to hide the burn from her and from himself, though an itchy stain was already spreading over his long, dead-white hand. Did he realize that it was she who had burned him with her touch? People usually didn’t understand. Rarely did anyone realize that it was dangerous to be around her. And few were willing to believe that the fragile princess could incinerate anyone, and then she herself could stand there in bewilderment to see what, in its own words, had happened and why the recent interlocutor now writhing in agony at her feet. Victims rarely suspected anything, and Rhianon burned many. Not that her conscience particularly tormented her when she managed to light the clothes on a negligent guard, or the hair on a lord’s eavesdropping footman, or cause a blaze of fire in the fireplace when the discussions in the throne room reached their limits. Her only regret was that her tiny talent was too insignificant to conquer an entire kingdom. To do little mischief yes, but to assert her own rights to the throne – that with a pair of miraculously lit candles she simply could not do. Yes, if she were to return suddenly, all the candelabras would erupt when she entered the hall and the flames would whisper something in the fireplace, but it would hardly be enough even the heavenly fire itself so that all her enemies would be dead, all the rebellious subdued, and the throne already occupied by an arbitrary regent would be vacant. And to have an army of demons at her back, with only she could control, and powerful supporters, and inexhaustible power. To get her goal, all methods are good.

Yes, that was her dream. Why be hypocritical or overly noble when others in her country had long ago abandoned nobility. It would be good to defeat them with the same weapons they had used more than once. If only she could, if only her tiny gift would eventually flare up to the point where it would be enough for any exploit. And to take back a kingdom as powerful as Loretta was no mere feat, not even a theme worthy of the tales and legends of the people. Bringing Loretta back was like turning the whole world upside down.

If only some powerful demon had supposed her help in this, she would have agreed to anything. But all that stood before her was a skinny, buffoonish ghost. He could be compared to a petty demon, a jester spirit, or just a mischievous ghost. Most likely now he would lead her into the swamp and that would be the end of their little nighttime adventure.

«Shall we go?» He was clearly nervous and was pushing her to where.

«Are we late for the ball?» she asked irritably, for he had torn her away from all the hard thinking she’d done over and over in her head to make her own strategy, and every time for nothing. It was easier just to watch the falling leaves dance and think about nothing. «You’re in a hurry to get me to a night coven or any other feast of the damned, where everyone expects a man as a treat, and you bring him.

«Well, yeah, a lot of people have a feast of sorts,» he answered evasively, «but that’s none of our business. Fairies have balls every day, but we’ve never been invited.»

«Speak for you,» said Rhianon, eyeing his frail and lanky build with disdain. She herself boasted a good – too good – build that often drew attention from men and women alike. In any case, both dreamed of dancing with her, and not just dancing. It was a pity that real balls with quick dances in the castle happened quite seldom. More often it was unhurried movement under the sluggish music of minstrels, moreover, burdened with a heavy dress. And the partners most often were not those she herself had chosen. The castle had lately become a prison. There everyone chose for her, from the page carrying her train and ending even the groom. So now she was no longer in the castle. The fresh air and smells of the forest should have cheered her up, for it was the scent of freedom, but for some reason Rhianon was afraid. Everything about this corner of the forest was somehow wrong, not to mention a very unusual escort.

And yet she kept following him, warily looking around. Everything about her was unnecessarily frightening, and most suspicious of all was the long, nimble figure looming up ahead. Perhaps it was stupid to be afraid, though. She had nothing to lose, that’s for sure. She’d already lost everything. It was her whole kingdom. Everything was now a stranger. She could only be glad that her head was still on her shoulders, as the minstrel who had once joked outside her tower window. He, too, had only the wind in his pockets and a harp, and he used to sit for hours under her tower, especially during sunset. Yes, her head was indeed still on her shoulders, and perhaps that was something to be glad about, but her conscience would not allow it. What good is that preserved head if there is nothing else at all.