the spell cast over the cup after the ritual. Otherwise, the lord would see through his mind and know what was going on. Then there would be no escape for him. Arnaud shuddered, hearing the clear voice of an angel. It cut his ears like the blade of a sword.
«How do you know?»
He felt like a fool. He’s just a lowly follower, and before him is Dennitsa himself. Angel is omniscient. He’s no one to teach him. Still, Arnaud muttered weakly in his defense.
«I feel…»
Madael’s quiet chuckle was like a peal of thunder. It was the sound of the echo that startled goblins into their dens, the clang of gold as it swept through dragon caves. The angel himself was suddenly in darkness, covered in golden light. This heartbreak… Arnaud shrank. He suddenly felt unbearably cold in his master’s presence, more than if he had plunged headlong into the icy waves.
«Feelings don’t matter,» the angel turned away from him quickly. «Try to forget everything.»
«But I see her,» Arnaud himself did not know why he was pushing, but there was one vision that kept haunting him. Rhianon is walking on a solemn carpet sprinkled with myrtle beneath the nave of the cathedral where kings are crowned. She must not enter it. She is his master’s chosen one. She would stain herself and him if she did so. He wanted to shout this to her, as if from this distance she could hear him. Only it seemed to him that he was no longer here, but there, sitting on the crossbar under the nave and watching the ceremony from above. He should shout to her, but his tongue would not obey. There is no more blood in his veins and no more ligaments in his throat to speak. For the young queen, he is mute. Who needs a mute minstrel?
«Do you see her? Do you?» Madael suddenly looked at him intently.
Arnaud nodded uneasily. He did see. She was wearing an ermine robe and a golden crown. Her gown was made by mortal tailors, she was led by the hand of a mortal king. Her path is strewn with lilies, and the lilies begin to bleed. He saw everything so clearly, as if he were right there with her. Even more, he became one with her. It was a consequence of the spell. The side effect might well have been. He had counted on this effect and yet now it came as a shock to him. He had failed to bewitch the demon lover and now he would have to look at the world through her eyes forever. It is not he who has rounded her up, but he himself has become part of her being. There, seated on the throne of the new realm, Rhianon had enslaved him without her knowing it, and here on the rocky, cold shore the angel looked at him with a look of such fury that it made the blood run cold.
Arnaud glanced down at the glittering sword. Even after his recent bat, it still demanded blood. Where the master’s hand would guide it now?
«I… I can’t watch her right now,» he murmured apologetically. «Sometimes I feel like I’m dissolving into her. I didn’t mean to, but…»
He took the precautionary step back, but slipped and almost fell.
«So you did it after all,» Madael said, a split second, and he was pinned against the rock. The sword’s thin, cold blade brushed against the back of his exposed neck, its collar and tresses seeming to part on their own to make way for the steel. For all its coldness it burned, sending tingling sparks down his spine from neck to vertebrae.
«I could kill you,» Madael whispered, «you are immortal now, but I could destroy you. With a flick of my hand, your head would be separate from your body, burning eternally in one of my cauldrons below, and I would let the crows peck out your eyes. It was they who seduced you when you first saw a worthy woman’s camp and started chanting charms. You have nothing to offer a woman, only deceptions left. You put a veil over the victim’s eyes and she starts me in you? All spells work the same way. I begin to shine in someone else and seduce on his behalf. That’s when the process of seduction is irreversible. Only with Rhianon this trick won’t work, because she already knows me.»
«I…» Arnaud moved to loosen his grip, but the angel gripped him like a vice.
«Shut up,» Madael pressed his head against the rocky surface with one hand, exposing his neck even more. He pressed the blade slightly, letting the dark blood drain down. Blood poisoned by the ritual. It made the stunted grass beneath it rot more, and even the rocky surface grew moldy, its insects with hellish faces swarming over the surface.
«You’re not dead, but you’re not alive either, just a creature that has no place in life or death anymore. You wanted to be that. It was better to remain an outcast in both worlds than one who exists forever, who does not live. It’s a torment, isn’t it, Arnaud, to exist like that? And what if now you have to exist without eyes? Or without the right hand you used to strike at the ritual? Would you be able to play with one left hand or blindly?»
There was no mocking tone in his beautiful, smooth voice. He was terrifyingly calm. Arnaud sobbed and the strings of his harp echoed softly, as if they felt no danger.
Madael loosened his grip and squinted at the instrument. «You know, they say the voices of the celestials are born in the music that comes from the war, and they no longer exist. But I recognize their singing sometimes. If I spare you, it is for your skill, but not for your own.»
«Yes… my lord,» he felt his grip loosen, and was relieved to sing a hymn to Satan. My lord, my lord, my sovereign… He had so many flattering appellations, and with them all one unchangeable Mastema. But all these meanings coalesced in him.
Arnaud had barely had time to sigh when his strong fingers closed around his wrists, sniping and burning the skin. That’s what the game of cat and mouse was all about. Now he would forever feel pinned against the wall, even when they let him go for a moment.
«Remember,» Madael leaned so low over him that Arnaud could feel his fiery breath. One golden curl snaked down his cheek, Madael’s hair was soft, softer than silk, but it almost scratched him now. Not even a cat’s claws or a hot wire could bring his skin to such irritation. The angel’s whisper was also fiery.
«Just one step toward Rhianon, and even my troops wouldn’t envy your fate. Do you understand?»
«Yes, my lord.»
Madael released him, but Arnaud could still feel his grip on his wrists. Even in shackles or on the rack he would feel more comfortable. His soul was gloomy, and his harp began to play something cheerful as if out of spite. Arnaud thought that Madael would stop it with one look for disrespecting the sovereign of all the damned and his fury, but he merely stepped aside, not even looking at the twitching strings.
Rhianon tried on the diamond jewelry. Which would go better with the dress?
«It looked like tears…»
The voice of the spirit might not have told her that. She saw for herself, so she merely nodded. Her interlocutor, after a moment, was himself disappointedly silent. And it was good. She didn’t feel like talking to him today.
She rummaged through the contents of the boxes herself, without the help of her ladies. She had good taste, and the trinkets the court jewelers had made especially for her were not bad either, but today she noticed that the glittering diamonds looked like tears. Were they tears of fairies? Rhianon had heard somewhere that they could turn into diamonds. She couldn’t remember exactly. She had only recently begun to think that Madael’s tears should not be transparent, but bloody. And his spilled blood could only turn into a ruby.
«Then you must have hundreds of shards of rubies inside you by now,» the
