«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.
«Do you think it would be much better if the natives deprived you of your mind?»
The voice didn’t come through; she was probably just imagining it. No one would be out there in the nighttime woods. Suddenly it was a woman’s squeaky voice, like a tiny fairy perched on the nearest driftwood.
And yet there was a point to what was being said. Rhianon knew from the tales of bards and the frequent arrivals at the castle gates that an encounter with fairy folk could drive a man mad. It was to be believed. In the castle, even the most innocuous spell had the power to take the mind of any court lady or gentleman. It often happened. Someone was thus deprived of an enemy, but sometimes there were occasional casualties. That’s the worst thing about witchcraft, you never know what powers you might summon and against whom they might turn.
You wouldn’t want to meet a creature that would drive you insane without even noticing it. Or maybe it was worth the risk, to see if everything was as they said.
Rhiannon looked around carefully. There was nothing but fallen foliage, tree stumps, and bare branches that weaved an intricate lace overhead so that the sky was barely visible. There was no movement, not even a remote hint that anyone was around, and yet her senses could not deceive her. There was life bubbling nearby. And it didn’t matter that there was silence all around. Even the sounds of an entire civilization could not excite her as much as what she felt.
«Come, come, we’re almost there,» her companion urged her on and on. He must have said that a hundred times, as if he believed that his words would determine how quickly they reached her.
«What is it?» As the forest landscape in front of them began to change into a cave-like darkness, Rhianon became worried.
«They are only abandoned mines,» said the companion nonchalantly, walking hurriedly down the rocky steps in the darkness of the cave. – Wouldn’t you like to find gold down there? You said you wanted to believe in luck.
«Wait, that wasn’t our agreement,» she didn’t want to go with him to the bottom of some forgotten mine, but she didn’t seem to have a choice; she wouldn’t be able to find her way back, and the green cap of her escort was already disappearing around the corner of the rocky staircase. Here’s the thing, it seems that not long ago it was a hat with bells, not a cap.
«Well, are you coming or not,» she heard from the depths of the ground, where the crumbling steps led. Rhianon looked back one last time; there the forest was behind her, and in front of her went down an impenetrable darkness, and that was where she had to go. She was afraid to step on the stairs carved in the cave, and when she did step, the darkness became impenetrable. It was as if something had closed in behind her, cutting off the way back.
