Rhianon-2. Princess of Fire and the Winged Warrior

Rhianon-2. Princess of Fire and the Winged Warrior

Natalie Yacobson

Translator Natalia Lilienthal

© Natalie Yacobson, 2022

© Natalia Lilienthal, translation, 2022

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 were clearly not among the people interested in her capture. Looking at how dispassionately they treated her spirit-companion, they themselves hardly had anything in common with humans.

Rhianon looked 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 voices. But why did she think these two ladies were fairies? What gave them away? Why did she think they were fairies and not witches or peri or, say, ghosts? Rhianon racked her brain some more, remembering the forgotten names. But the first definition that had already popped into her brain somehow couldn’t displace anything. Yes, that was exactly how she had imagined fairies to be, ethereal, beautiful, elegant, and uninhibited. They are absolutely sure of their own power, so they behave in a way that no earthly noble lady would allow herself. They can do anything, because they are above all. They are never shy about anything, because they know that any mortal would fall at their feet, if only they were to beckon. But what did they want with her? Rhianon suddenly felt a strange heartbeat. Her heart fluttered like a caged bird under a hard satin corset. Fresia’s closeness was so pleasurable. The cool touch of her hands left a feeling of ineffable tenderness, and her voice was mesmerizing. Rhianon looked at the rustling folds of her dress and kept expecting a flock of colorful butterflies to fly out of them. The dress seemed to be made entirely of their wings and flower petals. Rhianon caught herself thinking that she wanted to touch Fresia and see if her skin was really as cool as water in a mountain stream and if she had wings hidden behind her back. She had already reached out her hand to her outfit, not afraid to skin the bright red fabric. She usually avoided touching things of a warm hue, but now something pulled her like a magnet. No sooner had she touched Fresia, however, than the carriage came to a stop.

«Well, here we are,» Chloe sighed in relief and adjusted the cream ruffles on her skirt. A bone fan appeared from somewhere in her hand. She shook off a few pesky butterflies from it and began to wave it around herself. She was obviously tired of diverting a flying spirit from her carriage.

Rhianon leaned on Fresia’s arm to get out of the carriage. As soon as she was on solid ground, she began to look around for Orpheus. He was standing just behind them, two or three meters away. His reddish strands contrasted sharply with the brown alder trunk he was leaning against. He looked at his mistress with a challenge, almost a reproach.

«You had no right to leave me, much less trade me for this unseemly company,» his eyes spoke without words. Now with ineffable anger, they too were like two jewels.

«Come,» Fresia pulled her forward, but Rhianon still could not take her eyes off Orpheus. She had never seen him so angry before. He was still standing there by the tree. Long strands of hair were hanging down over his face, and he wouldn’t even raise his hand to fix them. It was unusual for him to do nothing. He’d been so vigorous before, but now it was as if he’d lost all his strength at once. Without his companion, it was as if he had lost himself. There seemed to be more life in those red locks than in his colorless face. They would have burned his cheek like a living flame.

Rhianon turned around several times to check again to see if he was following them, but he stood motionless.

«Of course he’s not invited, so he can’t follow us,» Fresia said in answer to her unspoken question.

«Is that so? – Rhianon turned once more. Her argument seemed quite logical. Orpheus could not violate unwritten etiquette and follow the ladies where no one called him. It happened to him for the first time. Earlier he was not afraid to break any prohibitions, and he had no respect for anybody, but today it was different. Orpheus did not dare to move, as if he were chained.

Chloe, who was adjusting her train showed him her tongue. Rhiannon shuddered involuntarily. Here was more proof that these were not just prim court ladies. None of them would allow themselves such a thing.

Guests were already gathering at the front door. The crowd, surrounded by soaring high-poverty lights, looked festive. Rhianon began to look closely at the lushly dressed figures. Fresia was insistently dragging her forward up the wide marble staircase, but Rianon did manage to get a glimpse of some of them. Under a dome of stars and obscure lights flying in the sky, everything might have seemed phantasmagoric, but some of the guests were truly astounding. Rhianon even parted her lips in amazement. Even at Athénaïs table she had never seen anything like this before. Wasn’t it all a dream, a question she had asked herself more than once?

«No, it is not a dream. Could it all be a dream? You’d better remember heaven…»

She turned around and began to look frantically at the masked faces. Who could have said it? The voice sounded not here, but somewhere far away and at the same time right in her mind. It spoke of heaven.

«What’s the matter with you?»

Fresia saw Rhianon gasp frantically for air and press her hand against her corset, in the very place where a person’s heart should be beating. But do fairies have one? Rhianon was afraid of giving herself away. It seemed to her that a moth was imprisoned in her chest instead of her heart, beating its wings frantically against the wall of her chest. Her head felt foggy. There was someone beside her, someone, but not Fresia. Someone was standing so close that she could feel his presence, but she couldn’t see him.

«It is all right,» she tried to hide the fact that her dizziness and beating heart plagued her. Whether Fresia believed her or she was too perceptive for that. At any rate, they moved on smoothly. Rhianon stopped only once, feeling something press her sliding train to the floor behind her. She turned around and noticed the culprit. Someone in a harlequin costume was squatting and dislodging a piece of material that clung to the bobbin on his shoe. Or maybe he had stepped on it on purpose and was now pretending to be concerned in order to delay her even more. He suddenly looked up at her and one long, long look told her a lot. Whoever this visitor under the mask was, he knew her. Black as agates, his eyes almost grinned. Rhianon waited impatiently for him to release her, but even then, though she walked without turning around, she could still feel his gaze behind her. He seemed to follow her. She clutched tightly at Fresia’s arm, as if that could keep her from anything. In any case, she wanted whoever walked behind her to see that she was not alone here, but with her companions.

«You should have been here on the autumnal equinox, or even earlier on the winter solstice. We’re so late,» Fresia lamented on the way. «This masquerade should have been arranged a long time ago.»

«But then you wouldn’t have had time to invite me,» Rhianon didn’t know why she reminded her of that, probably because she always wanted to console those who complained loudly in front of her.

«Yes, it wouldn’t have been the same without you,» Fresia said, and she couldn’t quite make out whether she was joking or serious, but her arm was suddenly about Rhianon’s waist. It seemed no longer an arm, but a snake or a rope, wrapped tightly around her waist. Rhianon could still feel the coolness of the mountain stream, but being in such close proximity with someone was suddenly not very pleasant.

«Are we here all night?» Rhianon watched the chandeliers above the ballroom light up one by one. Maybe she thought she saw bats hiding among the pendants.

«Nightfall would not begin until after the master had greeted us all,» Fresia grinned, not in a very amiable way. Rhianon shuddered at the grin. She could sense at once when others were up to something. What could Fresia be up to? Chloe was just teasing some of the guests at this moment, telling them that their masks were no good. It was inconsiderate to impose so much on the quarrel, but Rhianon herself didn’t like their costumes and half-masks the color of flame either. They looked as if they were made of living flames, and if you came near them they would scorch you. Rhianon turned away quickly. The mere sight of red disturbed her. Lush greens, or gentle whites, were another matter. Those seemed to prevail here. Only once did a lady in a tight golden outfit and the same mask slip past them. Salamander, Rhianon called her to herself. The woman seemed to notice her, too, and touched her lightly as she passed. And it was no longer clear whether it was a woman or some extraordinary animal that really looked like a huge salamander. Rhianon suppressed the urge to turn around and stare after her. Instead she scrutinized the others in front of her. No one wore a mask. Many even wore fancy headdresses. Rhianon saw hats with veils and veil, peacock-feather headdresses, and whole flower pyramids in place of the tiaras. More than once she wondered if the sprouts of outlandish little flowers really did sprout from under the transparent skin of the ladies, or if it was just an illusion. Only she dared not ask Fresia that question. She might just laugh in response. For she knew all she knew for certain. But Rhianon could only guess at what guests in non-human societies might be like. But if Freesia was to be believed, the owner of this house was human. She spotted him in the center of the hall, just as he was greeting guests. He and his wife and children were unmasked. Though a small group of guests in well-made masquerade costume stood beside them, Rhianon knew at once that they were only human. People like the master of the house and his family, who had been called here on this particular night by accident or on purpose. For some reason Rhianon felt pity for them, and she didn’t even know why. Of course, it could be explained by the fact that in their usual costumes, sewn by mere mortal tailors, they looked too shabby in comparison to the gathering of unearthly guests. Rhianon looked questioningly at Fresia.