Rhianon-5. Along the way of deception

“Is is a child?” She remembered Eve for some reason, his blond hair, his unearthly beauty, and his frail, broken body, which had become incredibly strong after the torture. He was sitting on the arrow of the devil’s watch, looking up at her from below. His bloodied lips opened for a moment only to utter the single word “mother”. He wanted to call her his mother, Rhianon only now realized, and shuddered, but the spirit hastened to dissuade her.

“It is about your child,” he said. “About what’s already inside you. Can’t you feel it?”

That’s where all those fiery explosions came from inside her. Rhianon put her hands to her lips.

“No,” she recoiled from the golden spirit so quickly that she nearly collided with the ones grating behind her, they passed through her like colored sparks, leaving a slight tingling sensation throughout her body.

“Yes,” the golden spirit jerked forward. “Or did you think you could only be carried by the swept ones?”

He was clearly mocking her. He knew it was impossible, he knew it himself. Rhianon broke into tears.

“It couldn’t be. It couldn’t, that’s all. Madael is not human.”

“And you are not,” the spirit nodded eagerly, shaking his weightless head like a lump of golden sand. “And the child inside you is not mortal. It is a catastrophe, the fruit of the union of two spirits, something that was not meant to be and that will become untold.”

“I don’t want that,” she backed away until she was against the wall, as if that were a way to escape her destiny.

“So what does it matter what you want? You should have thought about desire before you shared a bed with a fallen angel. You wanted him, just as others want a throne and piles of gold. So you get it all together. “You get wealth and power and the child of Dennitsa inside you. He burns you already, worse than any fire.”

Rhianon squinted at the golden spirit. She could feel it glowing intensely now.

“Can I get rid of it?”

“No, you can’t. Even if you kill yourself, he will go on living. He already is.”

How indifferent it all sounded. She felt trapped. There was no escaping it. It was inside her. Rhianon panicked. What if she really did die, producing such a creature? Is there a way to destroy it before it is born? She knew that there were tinctures and herbal potions to help induce a miscarriage. Any herbalist would be able to make them. Especially if she asked Madael for such a potion, he could get it for her. And what if he doesn’t want to destroy this child? What if that’s what he wanted? Did he fly over the worlds and seek out his mistress just to conceive? He wanted a son, a descendant, an heir, someone who would train with him to lead his dark army, grow by leaps and bounds and become an even more deadly creature than his father? He wanted to have such a toy, but he did not know how to acquire one. Mortal girls did not appeal to him, and so he found one that had fire inside her. She could be coveted, but not for long and for one specific purpose only.

If she died in childbirth, it would only benefit him. He would be alone with a creature who had no right to be born and who would probably be unusually strong. No one else will go after him and woo him. And if she even survives, he can send her to Loretta and keep the baby. Will she then be happy in her newfound kingdom, but with no hope of returning back to the magical world. Or would she, like any human exiled from the realm of fairies, be haunted by madness.

“This child is a mistake,” the spirit continued to whisper softly, hovering beside her. “It is a fatal mistake for all of us.”

“Is it a mistake for his father?”

“Well, you can protect him from his father.”

“How is it?” She lifted her weary eyes to the golden-haired spirit. She wanted to take what he needed from Madael. But how is it?”

“Give him a name.”

“What do you mean?”

The spirit nodded quickly at the walls.

“Put the letters together and it’s a name.”

She laughed tiredly.

“I’m serious,” said the spirit. “If you put all the letters together and call it that, we will all protect it. All together we are strength, separately we are not, but the five of us can handle anything. Unite us and we won’t let the father touch this baby. Our strength is a gift to the newborn. We will hide it from the one who conceived it.”

“And what favor do you expect from me?”

He nodded again at the wall. Rhianon reluctantly moved forward and again fumbled with the letters, one by one. They seemed to burn with fire. Five letters, one name. She didn’t even have to arrange them in any particular order; she just put them all together at random, from first to last.

“Edwin,” she said. She didn’t think it would be so easy to put unusual symbols together into one sound. Demon signs are a name for an unborn child, a name that in and of itself can be devastating. “Let it be Edwin. I like the sound of that.”

The spirits fell silent. They encircled her in a tight ring and at the same time seemed so intangible. Multicolored sparks fluttered before her like a rainbow, like a circle of autumn leaves. It was as if her five suitors had ceased to exist, and yet each rushed to touch her, to merge with her living body in a final embrace. They were all ethereal, but she could feel them.

“Where do you want to go this time, Princess?” The golden spirit whispered to her.

She knew it was the last question. They would never ask her again. They would simply be gone.

“I don’t know,” she said simply.

“There is one country that would have no difficulty, even without allies, in standing up to Loretta. Would you like to see its king?”

She only nodded. The pendant between her fingers warmed slightly, taking the shape of a crown. The next moment she was standing in a lavishly furnished room. It was night outside the windows. The curtains, woven with heralded insignia, fluttered gently. From behind the curtains of the closed doors voices echoed. Rhianon stepped silently on the tufted carpet. She was not alone here. Surprisingly the golden-haired spirit was beside her.

“Look,” he said, pointing to a table piled high with scrolls and charters.

Rhianon glanced at the velvet pad and the delightful crown, at the sharpened feathers and wax seals. The young man sitting at the table, parsing the papers, was surprisingly handsome and youthful. She suddenly felt the urge to go closer and flick the blond locks from his clean forehead. What a kind face he had, and what a pleasant one. She would never have imagined that such a handsome court dandy could be sympathetic and understanding. One glance at him was enough to know that he would be very pleasant to talk to. There was no evil in him at all, no dark vibe inherent in both demons and selfish mortals. Beautiful long lashes cast a shadow over his cheeks, ashy eyebrows frowned. He was tired, some edge of consciousness he was already in the realm of dreams but he had a lot more to do today. There was no sleeping, he kept telling himself. Rhianon caught his thoughts. She wonder who he is, a poor nobleman forced to serve as secretary, a member of the royal council, an archivist… he is so young, after all.

“You promised to show me the king, not this boy,” she reproached the spirit in a whisper. With the ruler she could negotiate, but not with the child. What could he do for her? The spirit had set her up with the wrong kind of meeting that could come to important negotiations. Here she would rather have a rendezvous.

“I would like to see the king,” she was sorry to leave the man who had grudgingly aroused such sympathy in her, but business comes first.

“It is the king,” the spirit leaned in beside her, the golden smoke almost penetrating her ear.

“Is this boy a king?” She stared in disbelief at the clean face and the long blond locks scattered across his collar.

“He’s not a boy anymore. Not looking at his innocent face, not even Manfred had to work as hard for his place upon the throne as this boy. But now his position is secure and his armies are extremely strong. You’ve got half the world in your hands by bargaining with him. I brought you to Vinor, one of the most powerful kingdoms in the world.”

“It was more as if you had brought me into the realm of dreams,” Rhianon moved forward. The young man never took his head away from the table, nor did he hear her movements. He looked up as she moved closer to him, touching his cheek with her hand. They were bright blue, tinted with wheat-colored lashes and the same light arcs of eyebrows. It was such a simple face and so beautiful. The mere sight of him reminded her of summer, of rye in the fields and the warmth of the sun. Rhianon smiled at him as if she had met an old friend. He dropped his quill in surprise. Was it just her imagination, or was he fascinated? Or was it the sight of the golden spirit nestled against her shoulder that confused him? Even before she could ask him about it, Rhianon heard footsteps and loud shouts outside the door. “Your Majesty.” Someone repeated it several times and asked permission to enter. The young man took his time answering. He still looked at Rhianon in silence, his lips slightly parted in astonishment. What could be done here? Rhianon turned toward the door. The door was knocked on desperately.

“Back,” she commanded mentally, and despite her spirit’s protests, they left the palace. She wanted to continue among the draperies with coats of arms, books and fine furniture, in silence and solitude, beside the handsome blue-eyed young man, but she was afraid of the unexpected arrival of the crowd and of being mistaken for a ghost. Of course, the young king could stand up for her and let her know that she was his new favorite, but Rhianon was afraid of embarrassing both him and herself. What if yelling “witch” made her angry and burn the palace down. She would not have wanted that.

“You missed your chance,” the spirit hissed resentfully.

“I don’t think so.”

She was still clutching the pendant tensely. It had become almost red-hot in her hand. Did it mean she was destined for the crown? Rhianon grinned. What a thought that would have been. She did not dream of another’s kingdom, only her own, but the handsome young man was never far from her mind. His eyes were full of wonder and admiration when he looked up and saw her. Well, he’d dozed over his papers and the beautiful woman who’d appeared out of nowhere in his apartment might well have been the fruit of a dream. Besides, if he told anyone that something golden and unimaginable lurked behind that beauty, who would believe him. He has so many important affairs of state, and he gets so tired of dealing with them all personally, it’s no wonder he starts seeing strange things.

“I remember you promised to take me through the realm of dreams,” she reminded the still-present spirit. They were home again, not in the tower, but in the ramified corridors of the castle. Hearing a straining wheezing ahead, Rhianon quickly hid in an alcove. She waited for the creepy sculptor to crawl past before climbing out. She wanted to visit the clock tower again, which she did. The clock worked smoothly as one organism. There were no dwarves in sight, and Rhianon ventured around the enclosure and peered inside the mechanisms. It was a whole forest, a world of branching tracks and intricate counterweights. She bent down a little and ducked inside. She had to duck to get under the girders and hold the train with her hand so it wouldn’t accidentally get caught in the spinning gears. It was dark and dangerous, but she pushed forward. What did she expect to find? Is it him? It must have really taken a terrifying dream to meet him, and all around her was a terrifying reality. And it was like a horrible dream, too. Rhianon spotted a dwarf ahead in the thick of the beams and counterweights bent over his work. Cautiously she approached him. He was not dressed like the others. His apricot-colored coat sat unfortunate on his short, pudgy body. A cap of the same color almost fell off his head. Clumsy hands fiddled with nails stained with something thick and scarlet.

Rhianon came close and touched the dwarf by the shoulder. She didn’t even know why she wanted him to turn around so badly. Maybe she was just curious to know who he was. It was the first time she had seen him and she didn’t know his name. Horace didn’t introduce her to anyone like him.

When the little man turned to her, Rhianon flinched. She didn’t recognize him immediately, and when she did, she almost shrieked. The swollen face was almost impossible to match Dominic’s gentle boyish features, but now she saw what she saw. Dominic’s eyes stared at her with an unaccustomed puffy mask. Perhaps because she’d known him differently, his face seemed shapeless to her.

Rhianon darted quickly away, ducked hard to run under the gears, and felt herself burned again from within. Devil child, mistake, child of Dennitsa, hundreds of names swirled in her head, but they all didn’t quite fit. Pronouncing them was inaccurate; in fact, it was as if something like a fiery ball of sunlight had matured inside her and was burning her from the inside out.

Rhianon gave up trying to run away from herself. She still wandered between the machinery and sometimes she imagined a willow or a bloody box on the lid of which a black winged creature was sitting and poring over scarlet colored nails.

She stopped. What she should have wished for right now was somewhere else and to be far away from here. Could the spirits make it so Madael couldn’t find her in the big world? And why would she do that? Didn’t she want to be with him forever? Rhianon wondered. The dark romance had given way to an eerie truth. Something superhuman was maturing inside her. It might kill her, or maybe she was afraid for nothing. Everything is so mixed up. Why shouldn’t she be forever happy in the same bed with a demon? Who cares who he is and what he wants, as long as she feels so good with him. It was a shame that Loretta came between them, but after all, Madael claimed it was only temporary.

Rhianon looked at the case of the supernatural clock with anguish. It moved incessantly, but what was measured by its movement. Clearly not a time commensurate with what mortals lived. There was something else. She didn’t want to stand near those machines anymore. There was a pervasive sense of darkness and evil. The golden, inked hands seemed more ominous than the darkness gathering around them. Rhianon turned and walked away. It seemed it was time to choose her path.

Dark and Light

“Did anyone even see her?” Conrad tensed and gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Manfred wondered if he should be dismissed, but the boy had become unmanageable. He might make a scandal, he might resist. They couldn’t have the guards drag him out of here. Marcus and Drusill who stood behind him would hardly dare calm the prince. Certainly none of them would have dared to advise him. And it would have been nice if any of them had advised him to stop loving Rhianon. Manfred longed for his son to be free of this love that had become an addiction. Not even a spell could have done to Conrad what the fiery girl had done to him. How could the court ladies distract him? Conrad wouldn’t want to hear about marriage to an overseas princess. As if there were no one left in the world but the unchanging object of his desire. He would become like his friends. No matter how well they had learned to hide their nocturnal exploits, rumors of their adventures reached Manfred. Many of their deeds were vile. But if Manfred had previously considered how to find more decent company for his son, now he wouldn’t mind having Conrad go through the taverns and whores. He needed some way to reconcile his passion before it burned him, as Rianon had burned the small provincial town south of Loretta yesterday.

“They were executing criminals there that day, weren’t they?” Hermione asked, in a businesslike tone, as he rattled through the verdicts. “It was a whole gang of captured outlaws.”

“And an entire town burned in their place,” Angus added grimly. He was the first to hear the news and was more worried about his holdings in the southern provinces than about the dead people. Conrad snorted contemptuously. The lowly man would have been more frightened by a dragon raid on his lands than by the myth of the girl who summoned fire.

“She couldn’t… no one could,” Roderick muttered, but his statement was weak. He himself wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying.

Manfred, unlike him, was not inclined to reassure himself. He knew what Rhianon was capable of. She would enter the dark chamber and the candles would flicker in the candelabra as if someone unseen had lit them. One caustic word was enough to make the hair on the head of her offender burst into flames. As if there weren’t enough hot young men at court always ready to protect her, Rhianon continually turned someone’s dress, train, or a lock of someone’s hair into a lamp. And that wasn’t the worst thing she could do. It was far worse when she scorched someone’s heart. Manfred was glad that he himself was not in love, but Conrad’s malleability was his punishment. The prince easily succumbed to the charms of the golden-haired witch. Rhianon! He should kill her, but where to find her now, and how to deal with her. The whole city! She has burned the whole city. Manfred ran his fingers through his graying hair. Even yesterday there were more dark strands in his head than today. Today he had grown old. He used to have energy boiling inside him, but now Rianon was the victor. Who would have thought her talent would have developed to such an extent. The crushing gift she possessed only gained strength over time.

“What about the dragons…” Manfred whispered softly. Rumors of dragons had long been circulating in Loretta’s countryside, bad tidings from burned villages, firebrands streaming into the capital to relay their harrowing tales, and circles of witchcraft and fierce evil in the scorched fields. The king did not believe it all, as he was supposed to, or pretended not to. Manfred did not want to feed the dragon rumors. They were troubling enough as it was. But just one girl was more dangerous than an entire dragon pack.

What was he thinking before, fool, he should have destroyed her. He knew, after all, that the gift of fire like vice lurked within her, he had seen the strings of the lute flare under her fingers, the candles themselves lit, the unearthly voices sounding in the heights above her head. A girl with fire inside her, followed on her heels by invisible companions, is a frightening power. We should have sent assassins to her, accused her of witchcraft and executed her as a witch, and let Conrad slit his wrists for her. Even he didn’t matter now. It was worth sacrificing his own son to get rid of a danger like Rhianon.

“What if she came to Loretta and burned the place down?” A naive question came over his ear, but Manfred couldn’t figure out who it was. The voice was unfamiliar to him, but how pleasant it seemed. Manfred would have turned to look at the speaker if he had not known he had an empty space behind him. His exquisite ivory throne stood close to the open window, but there was no one outside. Fortunately no one had ever seen a dragon in Loretta. The people were contented and undaunted, despite the fact that a war was raging somewhere on the borders of Menuel. The capital was unaffected by it. But Rhianon, with her gift of fire, could indeed destroy it. Manfred suddenly realized he was afraid of her. It was funny and bitter at the same time. He was afraid of some girl who had a destructive power slumbering in her frail body. She has the whole element of fire in her. Manfred himself gripped the armrests of the throne so tightly that his fingers ached. He scraped at the sharp serrations of the carving, but he did not care. He would have given all of blood to kill Rhianon.

“She herself was unharmed, was she not?” Conrad shocked his father with his questions, but he didn’t even notice it. He was too worried about himself to be sensitive to the feelings of those around him. “Hildegard says she cannot be burned. Is this true?”

Hildegard herself resembled a gloomy shadow lurking behind the draperies of the great hall. Manfred did not immediately notice her. She was eavesdropping, as usual, but she did not hurry to interfere in the argument. She was diplomatic and artful, and sly as a cat. In his mind he complimented her. He would have had a son of such character and finesse. The princess, dressed in black, with the usual raven on her shoulder and a whole arsenal of witchcraft tricks remained inconspicuous and heard everything. Conrad, on the other hand, noisily continued to demand answers from one or all of them at once. And everyone was already fed up with him. Sometimes even the prince was difficult to maintain respect for.

“Surely she and the bandits she slept with are all in one piece,” said Angus venomously, cutting off the young prince’s temper.

“What do you mean?” Conrad was momentarily taken aback. “Why would she do that?”

“Perhaps she was drawn to befriending the commoners,” Angus smiled. “Or perhaps the eyewitnesses were mistaken and she did not mean to save anyone but was merely nervous about an execution. Either way there are many questions.”

“And more to lose,” Hermione remarked. “Just count how many things burned for miles around. A few more attacks like that and there’d be nothing left of the country.”

“Well, that’s an exaggeration,” Roderick interjected.

“Stop arguing,” Conrad suddenly slammed his fist on the table so hard that the objects on it rattled. “I want to know who she was with. Was there a blond in this executed gang?”

There was silence over the council chamber for a moment. It should have been followed by amused laughter. Manfred himself would have laughed at other times. He cared about national problems, perhaps the country was in danger, and Conrad wondered if there was even one blond in some band of outlaws. There might have been a dozen of them, thieves, robbers, murderers, all those for whom the noose cries. And he’s looking for one. Or did he think Rhianon had disguised herself as a boy? Manfred frowned. It was quite an obvious possibility. Why couldn’t they find her? The princess was not invisible, and she could not have fallen underground, but to change her dresses for men’s clothing, it might have occurred to her. He remembered the girl’s archery skills; she could go far with other weapons as well.

“Was there a blond boy?” Hermione clearly couldn’t figure out what the prince was getting at.

“No,” Conrad said, his cheeks crimson for a moment with the blood rushing in. “Was there someone… who, like a dawn…”

He said it as if in a dream, and shrank back. He did not seem to understand himself, but his words made Manfred shudder. Dawn, the light, the warrior… everything he was looking for, but if this conversation were to go on now, he would no longer be able to control himself.

“I think their leader was blond,” Angus broke the lingering silence. “He looks very much like the son of a certain nobleman, a traitor.”

“Is he still alive?” Conrad tensed up.

It was the only question no one could answer. There was a silence hanging over the hall even longer than on the first occasion. It was Conrad himself who interrupted it.

“I want his head,” he demanded. “Immediately, now…”

He seemed about to lose control of himself and go into a scream. Even Manfred looked at him in amazement. For the first time Conrad had demanded something in such a way that those around him were frightened. Before he had been unfit to rule, nervous and melancholy, he had not made the right impression on anyone. Now a ruler was awakening in him. The boy began to behave like a man.

Manfred wondered. She could burn other cities, after all. How could she be stopped? No one had ever been able to catch her. It was useless to send guards to look for her. It was as if she vanished into space, only to reappear for a brief moment, make trouble, and then disappear again. Was there anything he could do against her at all? He could think of nothing himself. Nor was it any use going to his advisors. Everyone in the hall looked lost and dejected. Angus was worried about his lost lands, Hermione was nervously biting his lower lip, Roderick, Darius and Clotair were muttering silent glances at each other. No one was in a hurry to suggest anything. Manfred himself was confused. At moments like this, it seemed to him that all earthly and material things were powerless, kingdoms and armies and weapons, nothing could help. So is it not time to resort to the unearthly and forbidden. It is worth calling for Douglas. He balled his hand firmly into a fist and almost shouted his name. The young warlock was just what he needed. Let him earn his keep as court sorcerer. He was honored that the king wanted to see him at all.