at all. There was an unearthly grandeur about her. Had she been in the arms of a fallen angel and become an angel herself? But Rhianon has no wings. She must still be mortal.
Rhianon will die. There will be no more of her seductive lips, no more of her expressive calm eyes, no more of her slender frame that you want to embrace. There will be no more temptation. Rhianon is an irresistible temptation, for men and women alike. Yet she herself is neither a woman nor an angel, but something indescribable. She is above everything. Such a being should be removed from the world as a filth, so that it would not seduce anyone else.
Hildegard smiled at the sight of the toads on her table. They sat next to empty vials of witch ointment. This substance attracted them and helped the black flowers bloom right on the tabletop. Everything gloomy is so beautiful. Black is the best color in the world. Why the need for a gamut of other hues when there is blackness. Now Hildegard despised herself for succumbing to a momentary impulse and trying on something purple. Only black suited her. And it was her favorite color, after all.
The color of the grave is also black, but the creature came from the cemetery was white and winged. Hildegard was already nauseated at the thought of being close to it. Why? After all, she has Velicia. Even though angels have female faces, women themselves are still more beautiful and seductive. To be with them is far more pleasant than with a cold piece of marble. And killing them was just as pleasant. She loved the feel of their warm blood on her neck, not the thick sludge that flowed from the corpse of her last lover.
She would not make the same mistake again. Nor would she feel pity for Rhianon. She paid Pheba in gold to make the spell particularly thorough. Rhianon would lose all her beauty and rot alive if she did it the right way, and she would beg for death. And in the end she will die. That’s it, no more angel. There’s no need for one on earth. Loretta is for mortals. This is no place for winged creatures.
Hildegard almost changed her mind when she noticed someone’s reflection in the mirror. The winged young man seemed incredibly beautiful to her. His face bore some resemblance to Rhianon’s, but his eyes… how evil they were. It was as if he was burning her through with his eyes. The vision lasted only a moment, but the sensation of an incredibly strong hand gripping her hair and nearly ripping her braids out remained.
Hildegarde grimaced in pain. The headdress seemed to be in place. The braids were not torn out either. And no one was reflected in the mirror but herself. Her outfit today was exquisite. Her favorite black color is set off by a smoky, somber veil. Dark amethysts adorn the corset and hemline. And her hair is like darkness itself. Except that in her mind, in her brain, just beneath her skull, a bright fire seemed to blaze.
Hildegard cried out in fright at the sight of the worms on the table, and she did not understand why she was so frightened. After all, she was not afraid of the sight of toads and rats prying into her elixirs. And nausea never felt. On the contrary, she was attracted to disgusting things. So why was she suddenly disgusted by worms?
«Worms,» the angel’s voice echoed in her mind, not from the mirror. «I’ll crush you like a worm before you can touch Rhianon.»
She didn’t believe him. So what if there are so many worms. They were crawling in exactly the places where something edible had lain recently: sweets, grapes, or figs. The food must have gone bad. So they crawled.
Hildegard didn’t want to imagine herself as one of those worms, but the idea was coming to mind. She even had to grab onto the first support she could find to keep from falling. Her legs did not hold her. She felt as if her body were becoming as flat and streamlined as a limbless worm’s.
«This is stupid,» she covered her mouth immediately, realizing that she was talking to herself. But it really was stupid. Who could have put such thoughts into her head? As she emerged from her tower, she realized that she could hardly make it to the Feast Hall on her own. She couldn’t be bothered to keep a thin cobweb of charms on the door.
The crown of Loretta rested on Rhianon’s head, she was given the main seat at the table, everyone listened to her, from the first minister to the latest minstrel, called to the court only for the evening. And yet here she felt like a statue or a ghost. That was how a visitor from another world felt, not understood or even noticed by people. That was probably how Madael felt, everything was in his hands, people’s lives, their souls, their destinies, they depended on him, but they did not notice him. Only he didn’t feel superfluous, and she did.
Madael was used to being worshipped, it was new to her. Rhianon watched the stunts of the acrobats, the mimes and actors, the jugglers tossing balls or burning torches. She did not mean to ignite anything, but one of the torches she had been watching for a particularly long time burst into flames so that it scorched the juggler’s hands. It must have been the first time that had happened to him. He stared so dumbfounded at his burned palms. Then they took him away. Rhianon watched it all with frightening indifference. It was as if the world did not exist in front of her. The action unfolded in a haze. The songs of the troubadours and bards sounded as if they were from afar. That must be what it feels like to be enchanted by elves. The world simply ceases to exist for him because his consciousness remains a prisoner of magical creatures.
Is she really a prisoner of Madael? Rhianon was not at all happy about the thought. She woke up and tried to come to her senses. She must cast off her spell like a bad dream. She shook her head persistently, but the only thing she could shake off was her wreath.
More and more dishes were brought from the kitchen. The guests ate and drank. Servants served them wine. Rhianon caught herself that the smell of meat and roast meat did not appeal to her at all. She wondered if she saw it raw… She’d have to hunt for it. The baby inside her must need food. It wouldn’t be likely to accept what normal people eat. Rhianon tried not to think about pouncing on anyone present. Does the court know about cannibals? Fallen angels also eat the flesh of fallen warriors and drink human blood, but it is as peculiar to them as it is to leeches. A queen who thirsts for the blood of her subjects would be treated differently by everyone than she would by the myths of the devil. Now she wished she could go out into the battlefield and kill only to tear the flesh and veins of her enemies afterward. She longed for blood, but the table poured only other drinks.
Sparkling wine trickled into the goblet. Something was wrong. The very color of the wine repulsed her, as if it were strewn with black ash. She didn’t immediately notice the small creature hiding in the shadows of the nearest dish. It only nimbly ran up to her fingers as she reached for the stem of the filled goblet.
Rhianon recognized the leprechaun. Strange how his mottled, red-colored robes didn’t stand out against the gold and silverware.
«Do not drink! Don’t drink!» He was mostly gesticulating, giving her conventional signs to let her know what he wanted to tell her.
Rhianon was sure no one could hear his little voice. To her, it had sounded like the squeak of a mosquito, and now she was probably the only one who could hear and understand faerie language, just as only Madael had been able to understand the language of birds and beasts before her.
Of course, there was poison in the glass. How she herself had not guessed before. What a profitable and deft move, to pretend to be hospitable so that during the feast the object causing so much strife – hers – could be discreetly removed. Just one goblet of wine and the new queen was gone. Rhianon almost sympathized with their foolishness. How they had miscalculated. And how naive they must be to easily believe that one who could ignite an entire city with her power could be too sensitive to a knife or poison?. This is all nonsense. There are no more weapons for her to fear. They still can’t believe it. She looked around the
