Rhianon-3. Palace in Heaven. Natalie Yacobson
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was imprisoned in fetters, like the body, and only freed with the body. Madael ran his hands over the perfect female body, too thin for a grown woman, yet it was girlish and delicate. She was as fragile as heavenly light, he thought, and could become just as sizzling if the need arose. Who knew better than he that the peaceful glow of dawn could explode in a sizzling flash at any moment. When he should have been punished, that’s exactly what had happened. But now the punishment turned into bliss. The long, sweet kisses, the nights without sleep, not because he was going crazy with the crushing emptiness and inability to sleep, but because he was making love, and the desirable body beside him that felt like it was part of you-it was worth giving up heaven for all that. He pulled away from her lips with a quick grin, but the next moment he was back on them with a long kiss. Rhianon’s fingers tangled in his hair and slid pleasantly down the back of his neck. With her other hand she caressed his shoulders, sometimes touching his wings. His feet touched his hips, his knees his back. Now he really felt like a god.
Rhianon leaned back on the bed, letting him do things on his own. She liked it very much. She had never felt as good as she did right now. Only somehow it seemed to her that there were other things going on in the tent besides the rhythmic merging of their bodies. She could hear murmurs and soft voices, some rustling, whispering, rustling noises. And just for a moment she thought she saw something creepy in front of her. Heavens ploughed with the glitter of swords, like a battlefield, squabbling and shouting, bodies like the one in bed with her now, but there they were horribly disfigured. She covered her eyelids, and when she opened them, she thought that now he himself was unconsciously emitting some kind of witchcraft to make the tent brighter. She saw his handsome face before her, covered in a slight sweat, but unusually luminous. His glistening hair came down, covering them both in a golden veil. She wished I’d never taken her lips from his.
She reached into the bed and fumbled for something delicate, slippery, slightly covered in moisture. Lilies, both water lilies and garden lilies, weren’t here yesterday, but now the flowers were scattered across the bed and the floor. They gave off a sweet smell, but not like his skin.
She straddled his naked shoulders, marveling again at how the gold engraved bracelets on them had practically become part of his flesh. The cold body still evoked a fiery passion. She felt a flash of fire inside her, perhaps a man she would have burned with her kiss, but not him, the beautiful lips remained soft. But the lilies around them began to turn black and curl up from the fire that flashed on the petals. The flowers were turning black, but the bodies woven among them remained white. Madeel’s wing would have been unburned, even if he had touched the fire. But now the slight twitching of those wings made the fires in the tent go out a little. And yet the flowers withered inexorably, withering and exuding the smell of burning. She didn’t care. Rhianon ran her hand through his golden hair, feeling the curls immediately braid her fingers like a net. Her eyelashes touched his. It seemed that in another moment she would open her eyelids and see dead sapphires in the place of his real eyes, like the beasts’ skins in a tent. So be it. Even that didn’t scare her. And the fire didn’t scare her anymore. You can burn yourself now. There would be nothing better than this moment.
“You’re like marble,” she thought, feeling him inside her again.
“And you’re made of fire,” she thought back.
Later, she leaned back on the soft white hide laid on the side of the bed. Madael gently stroked her neck and thin shoulders with his hand. She was the first to sense that there was someone in the tent besides them. Someone was trying to convey her thoughts, but it was not her lover. The one who had just wandered the bleak city and country roads was now standing at the entrance to the tent. For a moment, Rhianon saw with his eyes the scant light on the rutted roadway and the strange creature that wandered there, seemingly neither demon nor human, but something in between. It wasn’t very beautiful, but there was obviously a fairy-tale beauty slumbering inside it. Rhianon could see it even through the alien eyes of the one who was transmitting the visual images to her. It is strange why this being is now so wretched and lost and miserable. He has a great talent. She did not know exactly what was in his purse: a brush, a pen, or a musical instrument, but she was sure it was part of his talent. Beneath the skimpy garment there was light, but it was obscured by pain. This incredibly beautiful, but unknowingly vilified creature would perish if he did not find his own special way to salvation. She suddenly felt sharply sorry for him. Pain pierced her heart like a sharp splinter. This creature is part of Madael’s troops. Rhianon wanted to see something else, but she couldn’t see anything else. Only a voice could be heard now.
“It is the Cathedral of Thunder! Its path lies in the Cathedral of Thunder! Where we all die in agony, to…”
She lifted her head above the pillow. Curls slid down her back like golden snakes, catching the hand that caressed her. She felt Madael tense.
He hissed something fast and harsh. The words left an unpleasant residue. Rhianon blinked to see a colorful figure materialize on the threshold. At first it was only a cloud, giving off a vague mottle, the more time passed, the brighter it became.
“To regain its former appearance,” were the last words she could not hear. Rhianon looked questioningly at Madael, but he was now sizzling with his gaze at the entrant. His blue eyes, black with anger, seemed to be about to burst into flames, and fire turpentine dripped from his lashes instead of moisture.
“How dare you…”
His low but menacing whisper seemed to make the walls themselves tremble.
Orpheus looked rather bewildered as he climbed into the tent.
“I… What? What?” He clearly had no intention of leaving. Not right away.
“Out,” Madael raised his head menacingly, and put his hand to the hilt of his sword. “But if you want to become a pile of ashes…”
Now Orpheus did retreat toward the exit. The reaction was instantaneous.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he mumbled guiltily, and a second later he was blown away like the wind. Rhianon still looked questioningly at the scarlet curtained exit of the tent, it did not even sway and the guest himself had disappeared, but the address “Your Majesty” so much reminded her. She could deduce, however, that he was not addressing her. But what shocked her most was how quickly he obeyed. She turned her gaze to Madael in surprise. He was sleepily brushing back tangled curls from his forehead and looking very young, but she seemed only to be convinced that the spirits considered him a king.
“It never worked out that way for me,” she nodded to where Orpheus had stood recently, the ground seemed to be burning beneath his feet there, and he still wanted to stay here. Is it next to her or to him? Probably with her, Rhianon judiciously decided, because the spirits were not very keen on intimacy with Madael. They were afraid of him, yes, they seemed to be, but that was something she didn’t understand. With him it was so easy, no need to think about any problems, because he solved everything instantly. Even the mediocre Orpheus listened to him. And with her he played the naughty child.
“You have to be tougher and tougher with them,” Madael was still sizzling his eyes into the empty space by the exit, and his gaze seemed able to burn through the empty space.
Then he softened and quickly pulled her to him, as if to prove, not to the spirit, but to the emptiness around them, that he would not give up his prey to anyone. It was his possessive instinct. He is a conqueror after all, a warrior, a victor… Rhianon grinned. It felt good to feel his embrace, but her thoughts of Orpheus still wouldn’t let her calm down. What was this place? What did he mean? Who is the wanderer who seeks his terrible fate in the Cathedral of Thunder, something terrible is there, but it is impossible not to go there, because it is even more terrible to stay here on earth. Thus the terrifying path is inescapable, but beyond it lies liberation and darkness. Rhianon huddled tighter against Madael. Beside him it was possible to escape the fear that stretched to the consciousness as if with pincers. It was good that the nearness of the angel was soothing and calming.
She was half lying on top of him.