at the bottom of a chasm a long way from here, milady. And you have no intention of parting with the golden toy, have you?»
«Don’t touch it,» Rhianon said, shielding her pet.
«Tell that to sir Vivian,» snorted the spirit.»
«Don’t worry. He won’t come into my chambers.»
«But the little dragon might slip out.»
«I’ll keep an eye on him,» Rhianon promised.
«It’s difficult. He’s restless. What if someone sees him?»
Rhianon was about to say that if she was to have a lover, it would be an angel, not a man, but she remembered Ferdinand. Though he was the least of her worries, he would mistake her new pet, like the harpy, for a charming overseas beast recently imported by merchants from distant lands. In general, he would be able to find a reasonable explanation for everything.
«Would you like to give birth to one?» The spirit’s ominous whisper above her ear sent a chill down her spine.
«Leave me alone,» she commanded.
«But it can be so soon,» he kept repeating himself. «You will give birth to a dragon, beautiful and golden. Gold is his father’s color. The moment it comes into the world, Madael’s watch will chime, and he will know.»
«Don’t you dare to speak his name. You mustn’t.»
«I know.» He snapped back. «But I’ve already broken every possible rule for you. There’s nothing left to do now.»
«Is it for me?» She looked incredulous. «Who am I to tell you that you have to do anything for me? You didn’t even see me before I came to Vinor. You were sitting here all alone, waiting for someone to pick on, and I was the only one who showed up. That’s all.»
«You’re shortsighted.»
«And you’re a bad kiss-ass. You can’t convince me that you were in love with me long before you saw me.»
«Considering what you look like, none of us can help falling in love with you. You’re the kind of girl you can see from a distance. And it hurts to look at you, if you must know. It hurts to be far away from you, and you won’t let me be near you.»
«I think it’s because of the baby,» she tried to comfort him. «If he really is his father’s son, he is your future lord. You see him in me, and your instinct to serve is working. You see it as love for me, but when Edwin is born, it will be different.»
Edwin! This is the first time she has uttered his name. Rhianon had already promised the spirits that she would call him that. What is so magical about that name? And why did she think she would not give birth to a monster? After all, the invisible interlocutor had already informed her that she would give birth to a dragon. Why, then, does she need a special name to make it unavailable to his father. All dragons are subjects to Madael anyway. And yet it seemed to Rhianon that now, by naming him out loud, she had stirred up something unforeseen. It was as if she had deliberately made a comment to inform his immortal father that Edwin existed. Madael has a right to know that he is about to have a son. Yet he does not know this. Perhaps he has no idea. The name, like a spell, must hide the truth from him. But it’s not like he flew here in anger to demand his child back, so the spirits haven’t lied. He could still be, though. He can assert his rights to the child, and then really be war. Or rather, war will not change anything; the duel must be between her and him. Rhianon prepared herself for that. Madael’s son would be prince of Vinor, no one would ever know the truth. You can’t pass off a monster as Ferdinand’s child anymore. And a boy, even handsome as an angel, could pass for a brother of Florian and Claude. They need a younger brother, don’t they? Perhaps in the future some disease will take the lives of the older princes and Edwin will be king. Rhianon stared at her own fingernails with exaggerated attention. It wasn’t fair, but Setius was in the castle, after all. He could have brought the vibe of the very creepy contagion that roamed beneath Madeel’s tower here. And if he didn’t bring it in now, he might bring it in later, she might ask him to, if he didn’t figure it out himself. All of them cursed and beautiful are themselves interested in their lord’s son being first in everything.
Rhianon watched the miniature dragon on her desk. He was perched on the pages of an open book, and a fragrant rose now lay beside him, along with several other precious ornaments, which he scrutinized. He must have been cramped and uncomfortable in the box where he had been locked up, for now, free, he was wrinkling painfully and kneading his stiff claws.
He was very handsome. Rhianon admired him as if he were a rare jewel. It was a gift she had never dreamed of receiving. It would be good if, contrary to the spirit’s warning, it did not grow, but remained as diminutive as an expensive toy. Then it would be possible to spoil it, to give it jewelry, and to put it to sleep on a velvet pillow. She wanted a pet like that, and he, despite all his dexterity and laudable agility, was in no hurry to get away from her.
Rhianon took the brooch out of the box and held it out to him, to which the little dragon reacted with great joy. He was real, or he wouldn’t be so fond of jewelry. Rhianon had noticed that he wasn’t interested in just any object, only the purest stones and trinkets of gold.
«So you are still in the power of your former master,» she gently caressed his golden-tipped head, combed and feathered with sharp ears. The little dragon obviously did not understand her, but his claws slid enchantingly over the gold, so reminiscent of Dennitsa, almost forgotten but still unconsciously and warmly loved. To Rhianon herself, too, he reached out as if he had known her for a long time. She even laughed at the warnings of her invisible companion.
«Well, my little one, if you believe him you will soon have a brother like you in every way,» she stroked the golden head, which was nice and warm, and laughed merrily. «Then you will not only share the contents of my boxes. You will also have to fight over Ferdinand’s crown.»
She figured the little dragon wouldn’t mind snatching the glittering crown from her head even now. She would lend the crown to him for a while. She was even curious to see how, for its tiny size, it would manage to try it on. The suddenly and long silent spirit apparently disapproved of her jokes. Rhianon didn’t care. Let him keep his mouth shut; if he was dissatisfied or jealous of something, that was his problem. She watched as the little dragon greedily gathered jewels from the table and laughed. In the same way she was going to take treasure from her enemies.
More than revenge
It was heavenly strife. It was the deafening noise of wings beating against each other. It was the scratching of claws against thin angel skin. Shouts and accusations like a bird’s cackle. It was the dazzling gleam of swords. He was already nearly blinded once when he looked at Dennitsa. He dared to swing his sword at him, and now his hand was withering and worms were crawling in it. But the ruthless and beautiful angel still continued to beckon him through sleep.
Bertrand awoke in a cold sweat. He was still alive, and that was his greatest misfortune. It had been better to have died long ago. Then, on the battlefield, he had not yet understood that his happiness was to put his chest to the blow, not to repel it.
Until now, in the darkness of his bedroom, he had seen the battlefield illuminated by an unnaturally bright light. It was neither sunrise nor sunset. The light was not coming from the sun at all, though at that moment it seemed that the
