Rhianon-2. Princess of Fire and the Winged Warrior. Natalie Yacobson

      ISBN 978-5-0056-8617-6 (т. 2)

      ISBN 978-5-0056-8618-3

      Created with Ridero smart publishing system

      Masquerade

      Rhianon felt the caress of satin gloved fingers on her cheek and turned to look out the back window anyway. The road behind them was empty.

      «Sure enough, he trailed after the carriage. How could he possibly leave you behind?» Fresia hummed grudgingly.

      «But I can’t see him,» Rhianon suddenly realized that she didn’t want to lose her only companion. As mischievous as he was, she felt much freer in his company than she did in the company of two graceful ladies.

      «Is it possible to see the silver smoke,» Fresia shrugged her naked shoulders and the fiery ruffles gathered in a whole bouquet of folds at her cleavage. It seemed as if the whole of her were drowned in flower petals, miraculously connected to each other. «It was only a pity that this smoke could be so sticky. He could ruin our carriage in revenge for us stealing the girl away from him.»

      Rhianon looked again at her dress, beautiful, studded with flower petals and embroidered with an intricate pattern of rhombuses and triangles and polyhedrons connected and multicolored. It seemed to be not a cloth, but a map of starry heavens, astrological symbols, and the whole universe. It was all complemented by a purple cloak with a hood and ruffles, and, of course, a garniture of large rubies. It seemed that only he could match such an intricate outfit. The rubies, polished in the shape of drops of blood, flashed around her neck, wrists, and ears like bits of living flame. The second lady wore a lush pastel dress embroidered with sprigs of myrtle, as if to contrast the first. The half-mask on her face resembled the wings of a butterfly. The cape behind her also looked more like transparent wings.

      «Are we going to a masquerade?» Rhiannon squinted, because the too bright red was beginning to hurt her.

      «Oh, yes, it is a masquerade,» Fresia laughed for some reason.

      Rhianon wondered if she felt so uncomfortable in the company of the two ladies because she was not herself dressed in fancy dress. For a masquerade ball, of course, her pageant garb would do just fine, but any modestly dressed girl would naturally feel like a sissy next to such fashionable women. If she had been at the palace it would have been different. But what dressmaker she could order such a dress, which seemed to be sewn of flame and flowers. Not even royal white seamstresses would be capable of that. The feeling that she was in the company of non-humans only intensified further. Rhianon could have asked about it directly, but she was afraid of causing another burst of laughter.

      «He’s clingy,» the other lady glanced through the carriage window as if she could really see the spirit flying behind them. She wondered if she could see anything in the darkness outside the windows. Rhianon snorted incredulously. But Fresia, too, seemed to see something. She frowned in displeasure and hugged Rhianon tighter.

      «Haven’t you had enough of his company?» She muttered softly.

      «You can’t get rid of him,» she murmured, trying to be diplomatic.

      Someone just knocked quietly on the window, though no one was visible behind the glass.

      «Distract him, Chloe,» Fresia commanded. «Let him look at you for now, not at her.»

      «Why is it?» Rhianon did not like the way Fresia’s long thin fingers slipped under the collar of her jacket and began to undo the buttons. They slid over her skin like cold, uncomfortable insects. It was as if the skin on them oozed no warmth at all and would never be able to warm itself. Rhianon shuddered, thinking, these are the kind of creatures that drink people’s blood to take a little bit of their life. They waited in the dark and their skin was as cold as the dead and their calling voices were as melodic as sirens. She didn’t have to look out the window to guess that they were already out of town. The carriage raced through uninhabited countryside. Only once in the darkness did a road post and a cross at a crossroads glimmer. Fresia grumbled unhappily at the sight of it.

      «We must dress you for the masquerade,» she announced.

      «No,» Rhianon reached out to shake her clammy, cold fingers from her collar, but the buttons of her jacket were still undoing themselves, without Freesia’s help.

      «Silly girl, it’s so simple…»

      Before she knew it, the familiar, unobtrusive jacket was gone, replaced by soft waves of silk that drifted down her arms. Rhianon stared incredulously at the purple ruffles and pearls that lined the hard satin corset. It wasn’t even satin, but some much nicer and more expensive material, but she didn’t know exactly what kind. It was the first time she had ever touched such soft and delicate matter. The diamonds embedded in it seemed like dew scattered on a flower. The dress itself was also like a flower, like an iris, white with purple petals. Good thing the color was embroidered purple instead of say, red; Rhianon could only tolerate cold tones. The dress she wore was woven of snowflakes, as if they were about to cling to her skin, and the flame inside would go out, frozen by them. But it didn’t go out; it only hid. Rianon took a mask from Fresia’s hands, the same white and purple one made in the shape of a blossoming iris. She could have sworn that the mask hadn’t been there a moment ago, only Fresia herself making strange gestures with her hands. Now those same hands were again encircling Rhianon and sliding up and down her tightly corseted waist like pesky gummy bugs. Rhianon winced slightly. The corset seemed to be too tight. Or maybe it was Fresia’s embrace that was too tight.

      «The diamonds in your hair are like dew,» she whispered, leaning close to her ear. Rhianon sensed that her hair, twisted into a high-pitched bob, was indeed a glittering net. Orpheus had already shown her the exact same tiered, curly hair that seemed to have been woven out of curls. He said it seemed that only fairies did it that way. But where was he? Rhianon thought she could see his freckled face and red strands dislodged from under the cap right on the other side of the window. Chloe was whispering something just into the darkness that passed outside the windows, and occasionally gestured. It seemed as if she was really communicating with an invisible fellow traveler, flying behind the carriage. Rhianon knew it had to be that way. With her hair entwined with jewel threads she felt a little out of place. It was as if a cloud of gold flew over the back of her head and her head, in spite of the jewelry, was unusually light. The ladies at her court never wore such hairstyles. They couldn’t have done anything like that. Rhianon herself did not know how she could have had her hair styled into a ballooning pyramid and have jewels embedded in it.

      «It suits you,» said Fresia. She stared at Rhianon and her eyes sparkled. Like two emeralds shining out of her eyes. Rhianon stared at them, and felt as if she were drowning in a greenish pool. Dizzy, she could not even hear Chloe whispering something impertinent to Orpheus, freezing in the cold wind on the other side of the window. He flew behind the rushing carriage so fast that he himself must have joined the gust of wind. Rhianon felt a slight satisfaction that this time he was uncomfortable. Before, his insolent jokes and advances toward random strangers had made her the only one uncomfortable. Now she seems to have gotten her revenge on him. In any case, she could tell from his hurtful remarks on the other side of the window that he was uncomfortable.

      Rhianon herself did not know whether to be pleased or surprised. The two ladies

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