Rhianon-5. Along the Way of Deception. Natalie Yacobson
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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.
Douglas himself did not think so. He watched the hall from his secret loopholes. Beneath him the two standards pinned above the doors were just crossed and the wall clock was nervously ticking. It was curious to watch the gathering from here, but not being able to fly from place to place and the fear of falling would chase him away. Too high, and he had no wings. Douglas sighed dolefully, catching the call in Manfred’s head. He didn’t want to use his wits right now. Besides, the wind seemed to have changed. The beautiful Rhianon was about to reclaim hers. He wished he had wings so he could fly to the burned city, scoop up a handful of ash, and let it fall between his fingers until the fragments of the night were upon him. Rhianon returns, and with her comes the element of fire. Douglas has lived long enough to fear fire, dragons, and any confrontation with what he himself is powerless against. But rumors of Rhianon suddenly drew him in as well. It is interesting to see a girl stronger than an entire dragon pack. The only thing was whether you would live to see such a beauty. He had nothing left to lose. A vision flashed through the tower and shook him. It was as if Mastema and Rhianon were together. He should have felt a burning jealousy, but he felt nothing. After Rianon had appeared and gone, a surprising emptiness had formed inside him. The wound once scorched in his mind by the image of Dennitsa began to heal. It was replaced by something else.
She longed unbearably for another glimpse of Madael. If only sometimes he’d fallen asleep, she could have looked at him asleep and imprinted every feature in her mind. But it was as if sleep was unnecessary for him. The seductive image of the angel sleeping with his own wings and sunny curls spread across the pillow was just a play on her imagination. He would be vulnerable if he could sleep. Even she, his lover, could sneak up on him and wound him. As long as a man sleeps, he is defenseless. Can a supernatural being sleep sensitively enough to wake up at the first approach of danger? And can such a creature be wounded at all? Rhianon had a lot of questions piling up. She had noticed that Madael never sleeps. Even when he cradled her in his arms at night, he himself never felt sleepy. He was also never tired, never eating or drinking, except for entertainment. Since his subjects had mutilated corpses on the battlefield, why shouldn’t he taste blood from time to time? It was a matter of principle, not necessity. He drank without taste and hardly touched raw meat. He took no pleasure in human suffering, but he didn’t want to end it either. He was tired of battles that meant nothing to him, but he still flew off to some of them just for the call of duty. Perhaps now he was flying off somewhere, too. Pity, Rhianon would have liked to see his golden-blond head bowed on their bed or beasts’ skins, would have liked to see how he slept for once and whether in his sleep he looked as vulnerable as any living person. She would like to see him one more time at all before she might be gone forever.
Forever! Is that really what she wants? Rhianon nervously clutched the pendant in her hand. The pendant had taken on the appearance of a pink thorn, and she could have wound herself on it in a moment. She did prick her finger. A scarlet drop of blood protruded from it, and it reminded her of death. She wondered if she had the strength and nerve to draw her sword and cut off the head of a sleeping angel. Would she have been able to do something like that out of jealousy or revenge, or maybe out of a desire to protect her own life? Was she the only one who dreamed of possessing Dennitsa’s non-smoldering head and taking it with her as a priceless trophy?
«I wanted to,» said a voice behind her, but Rhianon knew it was useless to turn around, because there was nothing but the vibrations of air and emptiness, but the voice sounded, stern. «I loved him, too. I too dreamed of his tenderness, not his war. Don’t make my mistake again.»
«I already