afternoon, during a halt, Rhianon caught Marla drawing some signs on the ground. Only not the kind of signs the dragon had burned on her body, a little different. How could a child of five or six remember something so complicated? And a scholarly old sage could have been confused by it. All the scientists and connoisseurs of the sciences and even the stargazers in the royal court are, after all, only human; the possibilities of their minds are limited. Rhianon knew only one kind of creature who knew everything and nothing is a mystery to them. It was the angels, whose head to this day was Mastema, and therefore the dragons that lived in the caves full of books belonged to them. Some of them might have forgotten what they once looked like and still be shocked in front of a mirror. Are they forgotten as quickly as moments of bliss? Hardly, dragons had always seemed too wise to her.
And now Rhianon was staring at the marks scorched by dragon fire on living flesh, and she was growing uneasy.
She tried not to think about what awaited her. The children reminded her of that. She knew what happened to pregnant women. It was different with her. Her belly still hadn’t rounded, though her conception date was probably a long time ago, probably as far back as that first night in the angel’s tent. Yes, it must have happened back then. It was as if she’d felt the flow of fire, not seed, inside her. Since then it was as if some power had entered her, dwelt in her, and began to change her perception of the world. By producing a supernatural being, Rhianon herself ceased to be human. She could see and hear differently than humans, she could easily learn magic tricks, understand the language of birds and beasts, and hear the voices of spirits. Her sense of smell was also heightened. She could spot a mouse in the grass a hundred paces away, or recognize tiny pixies on a flower from afar. The magical world opened up to her completely. It was everywhere: in the grass, in the trees, in the water, in the air, in the sunlight, and, of course, in the dark. On every blade of grass a lovely young creature, like a dragonfly in size, could flutter. Rhianon was fascinated by the supernatural world, but she tried not to forget her main problem. Fire had always lived inside her; now, besides fire, something crushing was maturing there. Childbirth can be extremely painful for humans as well, and what happens to the one that gives life to a supernatural being. What if the newborn actually kills her? What if it doesn’t? If she returns to Loretta and gives birth to a child who has no father, will this child turn out to be strong enough to strike fear into everyone. It is the child of a fallen angel. If it will not protect her from gossip, the same remedy remains – fire. It is not for nothing that by nature she is given the ability to ignite so easily and ignite everything around her. It is her only self-defense. And she must defend herself. Everyone in Loretta is against her. And there are only enemies in the world, except for Ferdinand. He turned out to be quite nice. It’s worth seeing if he’ll last. Whether his attitude toward her will change when she asks for his help?
Rhianon sat down on the grass next to the sleeping children and rested her chin on her knees. She didn’t want to have a child. She had never wanted one. But fate had seen it her way. What would happen now?
“I can’t sleep, either,” Ferdinand approached her, sleepy, rubbing his eyes and trying in vain to brush his fingers through his tangled blond hair. He sat down beside her on the grass.
“I like to look at the stars, too,” he said immediately. She doesn’t know how he could see the stars through the foliage. He must have followed Rhianon’s gaze to find a patch of black-blue sky between the larches.
“Do you like night skies? It’s a beautiful sight, I admit.”
“And what is beautiful about it?” She became angry, involuntarily. “Once upon a time, these poetically beautiful skies had been torn apart by a hellish battle. And now its echoes still echo through the skies. The war is gone, but the pain remains…”
Could he understand her? Rhianon shivered. She was no longer expressing her own thoughts, but his, Madael’s. She shouldn’t speak his words to mortals. None of this is for mortal ears at all. But Ferdinand tensed. It was as if he understood something.
“It terrifies me, too, to think that one day a dragon will fly across this sky, even if it shines like a treasure trove of gold, but it’s still dangerous and will burn all our crops.”
“Have you ever seen a dragon in flight?”
“No,” he said, a little taken aback by the question.
“I have,” Rhianon said, remembering the valley, and the swirling, colorful bodies, wriggling like jewels in a treasure house.
“And you were still alive after that?”
“Yes,” she told him the truth without hesitation. Perhaps one day she would regret it. Who could confess to evil spirits and stay alive after that, if not a witch. Perhaps one day Ferdinand will draw conclusions from her words. Just because of the fire inside her, she could be declared a witch. In Loretta they did not do so only because Conrad needed her. Had he not had a son who wanted her, Manfred would undoubtedly have taken the opportunity. How easy it is to declare an heiress a sorceress and get rid of her once and for all. But no, Conrad’s young blood had been roused and plans had to be changed.
Manfred saved her life for nothing. That is what she will tell him when she kills him. Every time she clutched the weapon in her hands she imagined slitting his flabby throat. The thought was as sweet as revenge itself. It was sweeter than the apple of paradise, sweeter than Madael’s lips… even nicer than an angel’s embrace. Revenge always comes first. Everyone must get what he deserves and there is no mercy for his enemies. Madael himself had fought to defend his independence and avenge his forced fetters, he should have understood her. He was only the first to set the example – you cannot tolerate any oppression over yourself, not even the oppression of a deity, and now every strong man in the world was following in his footsteps. What can you do, the world is set up so you have to follow the devil’s example to survive in it and become strong.
That’s what Rhianon was going to do. No one, not even Madeel himself, could stop her.
Her shoulders trembled a little with inner tension. She was already preparing for the fight and everything inside her trembled. Ferdinand interpreted her gesture in his own way.
“I must have a warm cloak in my saddle-bag. I will fetch it to you, my lady, to keep you warm.”
Rhianon gestured for him to stop.
“Leave it. I’m not cold.”
“But…”
He was taken aback when he saw the beautiful lady lift her fingertips and a flame flicker above her fingernails. At first it might have been an illusion, but gradually the flame took shape and hung like a hot ball over her palm. Now it would be unnecessary to remind her that it was quite chilly in the woods at night, and her shoulders were bare. Rhianon proved that she could warm herself.
“I don’t need warmth, especially human warmth.”
It would be a trifle for her to make a great fire in the evening. But she watched coldly as the others piled brushwood and searched their surviving luggage for drones, flints, and splinters of flint. They could not find anything. She had to sleep without the warmth of a crackling fire. Rhianon felt no remorse for refusing to help her knights. She had no intention of demonstrating her abilities in public. Why should she need to be called a witch? Some people were already mistrustful of her because they remembered her coming out of the woods, alone, without a horse and no retinue. A noblewoman should not be alone in the woods. Not a princess, or rather a queen. She needs companions,
