was unfriendly and silent.
«Well…» he hesitated for a moment. «I think the first thing we need to do is find a fairy to make you a camisole.»
«Is it here?» She paused. Rhianon glanced around the feast hall, which, in spite of its profusion of luxuries such as drapery, gold tableware, and chandeliers, was more like a forest. It was not the trees with pomegranate stones instead of berries that looked artful decorations, but the objects of the interior themselves seemed to be merely decorations set in a wild forest. The wind would sweep them away, and all that was left would be rowan thickets.
Once more the girl tried to free herself, but the train stuck tight. True, it was long enough to allow her to take a couple of steps into the depths of the hall; on the third step the brocade crunched, letting her know that the train was tearing.
«That’s all right, get Griselda’s gnats over here, they’ll sort it out quickly,» Orpheus worried. Clapping his hands, he did manage to summon some tiny creatures dragging gold scissors and thread. They looked more like fleas than fairies in size, but they got to work quite bravely. They were called pixies, Rhianon recalled. The tiny dressmakers worked, and Athenais watched her intently from across the table with unblinking, long stares. She had even set the goblet of wine aside, and now her fingers, covered with ingrown wood, were clearly visible. What a creature is it? Rhianon had found the doll peculiar and pretty, but even she shuddered at the sight of such ugliness.
«Restore the pattern, this brocade is very valuable,» Orpheus directed the work. «Not a single sign must be changed…»
Is it a sign? Rhianon hadn’t noticed that the dress was embroidered with signs. They were probably quite tiny, almost indistinguishable to the mortal eye. But judging by Orpheus’ commands and the intense work of the fairies, every inch of the brocade abounded with them. And they could not be confused with anything else. Orpheus repeated this many times.
«Or else your friend will be ignited?» Athenais raised her defiantly arrogant voice.
«I am his mistress, not his friend,» Rhianon stepped forward, not even thinking about how Athenais could know about her inner flame. And when she did, it was too late to take it back.
«Ah, that’s how,» the fairy smiled coldly, at that moment looked ominous both herself and her not at all childish, but dwarfed, because the tiny face here and there covered with a crust of wood suddenly seemed old, not doll-like. She must be thousands of years old, like all these creatures sitting at the table with her, Rhianon thought. And she talks to her like a child.
«No offense to you,» the fairy dwarf said, and with a graceful gesture of her tiny hand she adjusted her curls. They, too, were the color of tree bark, brown and stiff, but curled in a way that made her look like a porcelain doll. If only it hadn’t been for the crusts that plagued her skin and the fingernails that looked more like the growths on a tree.
«Me, too,» Rhianon said, and her beautiful but human voice boomed over the banquet table like something foreign. There were no bells and no violin in her speech. Everyone here should have realized long ago that she was a mere human being, yet no one made the slightest attempt to attack her, take her captive, or dope her with her wine. The table was as full of fruit as a cornucopia, and a single crumb of those plums or apples is probably enough to poison a person. Fairies always did. Their fruit seemed especially juicy, poured with color like sparkling jewels, but their juice was only enough to act as a potion to drive a mortal mad rather than quench his thirst.
An eternal thirst awaited her if she tasted anything from their table. They say it happens to everyone, they want to see the fairies again and can’t, and the impossibility of that desire drives them mad. After all, the magical world seems so close, yesterday you were in it, and today you can no longer find it.
Rhianon looked at Athénais. Her eyes twinkled as if she wouldn’t mind drawing the princess to herself, treating her to her wine, her fruit, and maybe even bewitching her.
Some furry creatures in bright hats were swinging from the chandelier, as if it were attached not to the ceiling, but to the branches of trees woven above the table. Candles in candelabras lit on their own, like fireflies. The pomegranates rolled from dish to dish as if they were alive, and Rhianon felt herself drowning in an abyss of inhuman, laughing eyes, now green with foliage, now dark with agate. Athenais would not let her go, but she could not hold her back either. Rhianon had already gathered her willpower and was about to turn away, when suddenly it was even darker than it had been. The candle lights were still lit, but the feeling of darkness thickening around her like a black cloud was so strong and oppressive. It seemed as if the darkness was not descending, but flying wildly and swiftly toward the hall. The candles fluttered in the oncoming wind. Soon it would be a real hurricane.
Rhianon noticed the consternation and then the wild fear on the tiny faces of those seated at the table.
«It’s him, it’s him,» several voices shouted at once. «Run quickly. He’s coming back.»
She shuddered.
«Who is he,» she wanted to ask, but didn’t, remembering that the first time she’d never heard the answer to that question.
The tiny creatures scurried from the table, some dashing across it, others picking up fruit as they went. Everyone was in a hurry to escape, and only Athenaïs alone was still slow, keeping her piercing eyes on Rhianon.
«What does it mean?» the girl asked her, and, like the first time, the question went unanswered, except that someone’s shadow suddenly descended on the table and the unfinished wine in the glasses changed its hue in an instant, thickened, poured over the edge of the tablecloth. How similar to blood, Rhianon’s mind flashed. The fruit was changing, too, rolling across the table like burnt heads, and if it had been worth painting a still life here before, now the girl shuddered with revulsion. It was bones and meat and entrails. She turned away from the table in horror and noticed that the ceiling was gone, too, and that the tree branches woven into the canopy ended in height, revealing a bottomless sky. She spotted there someone’s winged shadow too high above the ground and against such blackness that she became frightened. The wings flapped gently. The thing was approaching swiftly. It was hurtling this way, but already toward another frightening feast.
Now even Athénais preferred to run away. Picking up her puffy scarlet skirts and rustling tree bark, she cast a vengeful and hostile glance at the thing that had interrupted her feast, and so quickly, as if she feared being burned by the sight of it as she had been by the sun. And then there was no sign of her. The low, luxuriously dressed figure disappeared behind a tree as if she had slipped into a burrow.
«Go away!» Orpheus was alarmed this time as well, for he had time to gather in a handful as many tiny portly fairies as he could fit into his arms.
Perhaps he was right, he should have fled from the unknown but tangible danger, but Rhianon could not take her eyes off the skies, split by the storm and the beating of the black wings. There was evil coming from up there, for sure, but it was beckoning. It pierced her like lightning, like a jet of fire through her body, and there, high in the sky, a dazzling golden beam shone in the darkness.
«Let’s go, quick,» Orpheus couldn’t stand it, he grabbed her by the hand and he burned himself. His excited shriek of incredulity lifted Rhianon out of her torpor.
«Yes, of course let’s go,» she agreed, but she really didn’t want to take her eyes off the sky and what might be there. It was what everyone feared, but it was what she longed for. Surely it must have been something
