to a fairy and thus protect his kingdom from invasion by evil spirits. She didn’t dare tease him about it. He was honest with her, and therefore did not take jokes.
Rhianon touched his palms gingerly and noticed the ugly red burn spots lightening. The decisive moment seemed to have arrived. Ferdinand believed her.
“If I ask you for something, so, as a fairy, you won’t deny me any request.”
He nodded. His consent she secured. Rhianon gave him a mysterious smile.
In the morning, promising that she would return soon and join the tiny cavalcade before she even entered Vinor, she turned the horse onto another road. The animal did not budge, though she felt her trembling. The danger of what she had conceived was weighing on her; the road was becoming perilous. There was also the risk of losing Ferdinand, whose support she had already secured, but Rhianon was betting first that her new talent for covering any distance quickly would help her catch up with him before the city gates, and second that she needed to find support still on the side. Mortal troops alone were not enough. She needed help from supernatural forces. The powers that interested her at the moment dwelt in the mountains and in the water. Very conveniently she remembered that Vinor was also a major maritime power. There are many ports here, where merchant ships from various lands arrive. There is a large flotilla, an armada of royal galleons. Rhianon involuntarily stared at them at the first port she saw on the way. She did not know whether this small piece of land in front of the endless expanses of water belonged to Vinor or to a neighboring country. The small port seemed ghostly. The little port town next to it was full of caryatids and sandstone statues. They were images of supernatural beings. And the port itself is called “Angelo.” Isn’t that a little eloquent. She would have thought that only the servants of Madael lived here. They might have taken over the city, pretended to be statues, or lurked in the shadows of the poor houses, which for some reason were decorated too lavishly with stucco and flowers. It was an amazing luxury for a port city. And the statues of supernatural beings are striking, as if they were the work of an unearthly sculptor. And the architecture of the town is strange. At first the streets seem empty, but then you notice the people and the perpetual accumulation of people in the port. On the way, she was told that even on the cloudiest day, Angelo’s harbor is always full of people. “They’re waiting for those who never come back,” a strange passerby told her. That is, mermaids and drowned men, she wanted to joke, but she kept silent. Wasn’t it the same creatures she was looking for herself now?
Now it was beginning to rain, and the crowd on the wharf was still thickening. Rhianon could see the forest of masts, the ships anchored or sailed away. In the noise of the rain there was no sound of work, no shouting of sailors and no creaking of rigging. Barges, galleys, schooners, small boats and dinghies, as well as huge ships with carved figures over the stem – there was a lot here. There was plenty to see. She was impressed only by the ships where the stern figure looked like a dragon. She wondered if the real dragons would decide to attack their wooden counterparts on the high seas. That would be fun. She flashed before her the names embossed in gilt letters on the hulls “Luck”, “Fast Wind”, “King of the Seas”, “Unicorn”, “Golden Apple”, so much fiction and ingenuity, somehow no one occurred to call their vessel a mermaid or an undine. Bad omens were feared by all. No one wants to go to the bottom. Not surprisingly, one ship, the largest and most intricate, caught her attention. “The dragon is a winner.” Who would dare shout such a motto? Rhianon squinted. And indeed if she looked closely the ship had the shape of a dragon, its head replacing the figure in the bow, the hull taking the shape of carved wings, if not for the masts, sails, and rigging, the illusion would probably be complete.
Rhianon stared at the unusual vessel, then she scolded herself for her own curiosity. That was not why she had come here. It was not the ship she was after; it was something else, hidden in the depths. But how would she get to it? She needed to find a deserted spot: a rocky shore, a lonely lagoon, an empty pier, where there were no crowds. Then she can summon those who live on the bottom.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to steal someone’s boat and swim into the deep water? Sometimes fishermen get caught in the nets of sea creatures instead of catching them. Swim deep and see for yourself,” someone whispered in her ear.
Rhianon turned, expecting to see a fairy or a playful elf standing nearby, but all around were mortals, lifeless and tired. And who spoke to her was not human, she thought, for it was too heartfelt and rich in different tones. People didn’t talk like that. Rhianon looked around and almost shuddered. It seemed to her that the carved figure of a sitting angel on one of the rooftops had come to life. Illusion, it was only an illusion, she repeated to herself, squeezing back through the crowd to get out of the port. A wild imagination might have painted that picture for her. And yet a strange suspicion lingered in her mind. Maybe it was Setius.
The beautiful curve of its eyebrows, though marbled, and the carelessly haughty flutter of its wing were so characteristic of him. It was amazing how, from this distance, she could even see the expression on his face. It was truly a dragon’s eyesight. She was afraid to look up at the statue again. It was better to look at the passersby and the people crowding the port. Their gray, expressionless faces and diminutive figures were much safer than watching a statue come to life. That’s when she spotted him, the giant in the cloak. The familiar figure was moving nimbly through the crowded lines as if there was a tunnel between them. And there was nowhere to go but through them. Now Rhianon shuddered. Even beneath the billowing cloak she could see the shape of wings. And the figure itself was familiar. Those shoulders, the curved chest, the height, the hands, the handsome thin fingers that held the curtains, the golden threads streaming out from under the hood – all so familiar, so near and yet so indescribably distant. Now the stranger would raise his face, and she would see the burning blue eyes of Dennitsa.
“Run while there’s still time,” the same voice whispered.
Run? Is it from him? How could she flee from him? If only he would let her. Rhianon was torn between the desire to stay and to hide in the crowd. Was it him, or was she just imagining it. But the little voice above her ear was already screaming again that she must run, and she obeyed. Soon the port and the city itself were behind her. Rhianon held the reins of her horse as it carried her through the valley, past thickets of heather and small hills. The mountain ranges in the distance beckoned. What if there was a dragon there? She could not see steam or flames rising over the mountains, nor could she sense the proximity of treasure or magic, and then she rode on. She needed to negotiate an alliance with at least one of the dragons. What if none of Madael’s servants wanted to talk to her? The dragon packs only obey him. That she had already seen for herself. But there had to be one exception. She wondered if any dragon might be seduced by her beauty and serve her, betraying their first master? It is improbable, but one of them might be tempted by Dennitsa’s repetition of her face. If it is so dear to them, then what is it. Rhianon bet primarily on her charms. Well, maybe some cards, too. She’d even forgotten that one deck was still with her. It was the very first card deck in the world that Orpheus had made especially for her. It could be used in case of an emergency. After all, that was how she had gotten Athenais to agree. She simply had no choice but to gather helpers for Rhianon. Then she would have to be fitted to gather the rvil spirits as quickly as possible. Rhianon wasn’t going to procrastinate with the war. Except that for a first offensive, she wouldn’t need Ferdinand’s troops and small, flattering imp, she’d need someone more intimidating.
“Give me a sign when you sense a dragon near,” Rhianon whispered to the harpy sleeping in her saddle. The creature, sensing the opportunity to rest, curled up snugly as a salamander in a crucible, cooing for gold. The harpy was of no use to her asleep in the saddle, and Rhianon tried to shake her awake.
“Do you think I can do it?”
She
