at Fresia. Her mottled dress, as if sewn from autumn leaves, would have rather suited an actress or a colombina, but the expensive fabric and glittering rubies and proud posture clearly spoke in favor of a higher origin. She wondered if her patterned flame cloak might actually be fairy wings folded behind her back. Rhianon wondered about that and imperceptibly even ran her hand over the shiny folds, they seemed warm to the touch. Was it possible that they were about to move.
«And you are very beautiful,» while Chloe distracted Orpheus’ attention, Fresia continued to look at Rhianon, long and carefully, as if she was giving her appraisal to some rare jewel. «Such beauty is rare, even among us…»
Her thin, cold fingers touched Rhianon’s chin and lifted her face slightly to look directly into her eyes.
«They’re like sapphires,» she said, and then she whispered softly, «a piece of heaven is in your eyes…»
«And a piece of hell is in your cloak,» Rhianon joked in time with her. She wondered how that riot of scarlet color had not ignited a fire in her, or at least a desire to burn someone. Why weren’t the hands of Fresia caressing her still covered in burns?
«I must confess that until now I’d considered it a rarity, his privilege alone.» Her fingers stroked Rhianon’s hair, her neck, her cheekbones, and strangely enough, they didn’t burn. Rhianon expected her skin to blister, like a nettle burn, but it did not. It was as if Fresia was immune to the effects of her inner fire. Maybe it’s because her skin is as cold as ice. It is simply impossible to burn her or even warm her cold a little. But then why is the cloak behind her back so warm, almost exuding heat. Rhianon could not explain it. She only stared at her new friend in silence. Girlfriend! Could she call her that? Who was this Fresia, anyway? Rhianon knew nothing about her except her name, which was more like the name of a flower. And she herself had only seen her for a few minutes, but seemed to know her forever.
«I’m used to seeing only one of these things,» she whispered confidentially, touching Rhianon’s face again, as if she hadn’t dared to believe that it really existed. «It is so strange to me to realize that such beauty is possessed by someone other than our god… other than our cursed one.»
Her voice dropped to an almost indistinguishable whisper, and then suddenly there was a low hiss. It sounded like the hiss of a snake, not a woman. Rhianon recoiled, seeing the line of razor-sharp teeth beneath her blood-red lips.
«What do you mean?» she didn’t understand.
«Oh,» she said, shrugging her shoulders as if she couldn’t remember what she’d just said. Yes, she does have the memory of a carefree fairy. Rhianon wondered if fairies really could instantly forget and leave their chosen ones behind just because they were eternal and human life was only a moment to them, or if sometimes it was just convenient for them not to remember anything. In any case, there was a twinkle in Fresia’s eyes, and then they went from two sparkling emeralds to murky green lakes.
«I just like you a lot,» she explained.
«So do I,» Rhianon nodded, not knowing why, and then she heard Orpheus squeak in an angry, disgruntled voice outside the carriage window. Surely he could hear everything. Could he be jealous? Rhianon smiled smugly on her lips.
«You would have liked diamonds,» said Fresia.
She felt the drops of water cascading down her skin. They joined together and were as heavy as dew on a flower, but they never slipped behind her corset. Just a moment and Rhianon felt them harden around her neck into a thin, sparkling necklace. In her ears she found earrings to match. A matching bracelet wrapped around her arm, and she felt it touch her skin like clear water.
«Thank you,» Rhianon touched the jewelry around her neck, and felt its beneficial coolness. It felt so good. It was as if the fire inside her had subsided. She’d never felt cooler, as if the fire had been doused in a mountain stream.
Outside the window she passed unfamiliar landscapes, expanses and glades covered with darkness. Sometimes she could see a faint glimpse of the sky, studded with stars.
Rhianon gripped frantically at Fresia’s arm. «We’re not going east.»
She hadn’t even realized they’d turned, but now the carriage was taking a detour. They had made a circle, and probably more than one. But she didn’t need a compass to know that they’d changed direction; she could feel it, as if the ship had veered off course. This wasn’t where she needed to get to, after all. How she had allowed herself to be led astray by these ladies to some masquerade, to which, by the way, they had not yet made it, though they had been on their way for quite some time. Once, as a child, she had heard horror stories about ghostly carriages that circled from night to night along the same route, and those who saw them then disappeared themselves. She didn’t want to be in that position at all. She was looking for the way to the School of Witchcraft, after all. She needed to go there, not to some nocturnal masquerade.
«Order the carriage to stop,» she demanded of Fresia. «I need to get out.»
«How is it? Is it right now?» The lady frowned incredulously. «But we’re nearly there.»
Rhiannon couldn’t understand her, since it was all moss-covered heaths and valleys and darkness at night. They hadn’t encountered a single village, farmhouse, or hamlet along the way. So, where could they have come to, all around there was nothing but deserted land.
Fresia took her by the shoulders and turned her to face the window. Yes, now Rhianon also noticed sparkling lights in the distance, like fireworks they scattered the mist in a whole flock and seemed to be settling on the roof of some large building.
«The feast of sowing and harvesting has long passed, but we have come to harvest our crops only now, because the profits were not shared with us. And we are the true masters of the fields here. Then it’s time to claim what’s ours,» Fresia smiled in anticipation. «The master of the manor is mortal. Mortals think it’s so easy to deceive the Magical People. All you have to do is leave us a jug of milk and we’ll be satisfied. And if not, we can be raided by peasants armed with pitchforks, sickles and torches. How wrong he is.»
«Who will be at the masquerade?» Rhianon has already seen the driveway and the beautiful white stone facade with the colonnade. A motley crowd had already gathered there in the light of the night lights. Fresia could see it all over her shoulder, too.
«People like us,» she muttered. «People are hosts only, or think that if they make a reception for us at night, no one will suspect them of communicating with us afterward. Though there are a few other guests from distant places, they’re human too. Everyone else is just like us.»
«They are just like us,» Rhianon repeated and looked at her questioningly. But Fresia didn’t seem to notice the question in her gaze or in her intonation. She seemed to have no doubt that Rhianon was no different from her, her friend, or even the disembodied Orpheus. She herself was beginning to doubt her own sanity. Was it all a dream? She’d realized already that the people in the carriage beside her weren’t human, as Fresia herself had repeatedly reminded her. So why did they think she was of their unearthly company? Just because of the company of Orpheus who accompanied her? Then why did they drive him away from her? He was beside her as if he were superfluous. The fairies needed only her. There, the word came to her mind by itself. Fairies! Rhiannon had often heard of them, but never seen them. And how could she ever see something that didn’t really exist? She had been told stories about fairies when she was a child, about their glittering wings and their humming
