Rhianon-2. Princess of Fire and the Winged Warrior

«What would happen next?»

The fairy squeezed her hand tightly.

«Don’t ask questions. You do not want them to know that you were not privy to their plans, do you?»

Rhianon shuddered. What does that mean? Isn’t she being mistaken for one of their own here? Or does it stand out all too well that she is human? But after all, the dress she is wearing and the jewels in her hair are fairy creation. Hasn’t Fresia tried to make Rhianon look like them and even better than them. Did she not bring her here as a last-minute treat. At the end of the masquerade, when it is time to remove the masks, Fresia will announce to everyone that her companion is only human.

Rhianon looked once more at Chloe. She was already flirting animatedly with some strangers and expressing her excitement at someone’s particularly well-done masks. Both her condemnation and unconcealed admiration seemed to be expressed directly, like a child’s. She could not bring herself to pretend or lie. It wasn’t inherent in humans, but she wasn’t human. And she didn’t see Rhianon as a victim at all. Although on the other hand, maybe she was used to her friend picking up here and there her companions for the night to get rid of them in the morning. And Chloe herself was simply indifferent to these temporary companions. She probably lost count of them.

«Where have I got to,» Rhianon wondered if it would be possible to find ways to retreat, but ahead of her in the middle of it already seemed to begin to unfold the drama. No one was paying any attention to Rhianon herself yet. The guests, however, were encircling the host in a tight ring, and that ring was narrowing. How many of them were there, all dressed in fabulous costumes? Rhianon tried to count them, and felt dizzy. The counting seemed to only make more of them.

Could someone from the School of Witchcraft be here? A hunch struck her suddenly, and Rhianon began to look around. A couple in black caught her eye. The lady and the gentleman were conspiringly dressed in dark colors, and they stood out sharply in the crowd. They looked strange amidst the riot of color, but elegant all the same. White lace was gracefully woven into black velvet and silk. It looked like an ornament, and there seemed to be some symbols lost in its weaving. Not just a pattern… Rhianon squinted to get a better look. The two were standing too far away from her, but a cavalier in exactly the same black camisole could also be seen beside her. They were black velvet and white lace. It was like a uniform. Had Orpheus told her that the School of Witchcraft had its own uniform? Rhianon strained her memory, but remembered nothing of the sort. Orpheus generally tried not to talk particularly much about the School of Black Arts. He did not talk about the other students in it at all. Rhianon looked once more at the stranger, and she thought that even under the black mask she recognized the same condemned man who had left her a star. It was only an illusion, of course. The blond hair, scattered across the dark collar, seemed so familiar, but the face beneath the mask was as if it didn’t exist at all.

Just for a moment she was embarrassed. She didn’t like how long and attentive his gaze was. He continued to stare at her even as the attention of everyone present turned to the host of the reception.

Fresia pushed her under the elbow.

«Look!»

Rhianon watched as several graceful women brought a basket full of grapes to the hosts. The gift must have been symbolic. But what it meant.

«From our fields…» explained the girl in red whose hair and cleavage were also adorned with miniature tassels of grapes. Only whether the berries were made of jewels or whether the vines grew straight from her hands and scalp. Rhianon did not know; she could not get a closer look, nor could she hear all the remarks, as only scraps of phrase came to her. The master was saying something, frightened. He did not want to accept the gift, but the guests insisted. They wished that all his family could taste their fruit from the basket covered with leaves.

«Imagine him as a lord, not a country gent,» said Freesia with a chuckle. «And he can’t behave himself.»

Rhianon glanced over her shoulder and noticed the grapes rolling rapidly across the floor from the basket and seeming to turn into something else. One berry rolled so far that it fell right under her feet. For some reason Rhianon really didn’t want it to touch the hem of her dress. It glistened on the floor between her shoes, like a real ruby. Just a moment and that ruby spread across the floor in a living, sizzling juice. Rhianon clutched at Fresia’s arm and picked up her own hem. She saw the juice of the disintegrated grape burn through the floor, and small insect-like creatures swarming inside it.

«Don’t be silly, no one’s forcing you to eat it,» Freesia hissed at her. Rhianon backed away, watching the other berries warily. They rolled off across the marble floor like hard stones. It seemed as if they were bouncing between shoes and hemlines of polished round rubies.

Rhianon grimaced dismissively. What could be with those who tasted it. The piteous cries told her that before she could look. Something strange was already happening to all the people in the center of the reception; they were falling to the floor, whimpering, as if they were being burned from within. Rhianon saw the blood mixing with the crushed berries on the floor. And the fairies were laughing. Their laughter made their ears ring.

«Why is it?» She asked Fresia quietly, so that the others could not hear.

«He used to cheat us out of our fields and pay us no taxes,» Fresia explained.

«You mean us?» Rhianon didn’t immediately realize that the term generalized everyone here, even her. It was as if she was already among them, and all because no one had noticed she was an outsider. And what would happen when they noticed.

She tried not to look frightened, but a shiver ran down her spine. Watching the carnage begin was hard. Rhianon had never thought that all it took to kill was a touch of hands, fangs, and claws, not hard steel. Some creature only remotely resembling a disembodied lady merely touched the last survivors. They were children, unformed teenagers, crying, unaware of what was happening to them. The fairy only pretended to want to caress them, but the light touch of her fingers opened a network of sores on their bodies. The sores would appear and burst, and nasty parasites would crawl out of them, tearing the clothes on their already dying bodies.

«And then the masquerade begins?» Rhianon asked softly when she saw the fairy take the masks off the dying men and throw them into the fireplace.

«No, it is not at all,» Fresia ran her fingers playfully over her shoulders and leaned close to her ear to whisper, «we won’t need masks after that. After all, there’s no one else to hide from.»

Even if that was a joke, it was a good one. Several of the fairies had already thrown off their bows, bravely displaying their bodies, covered only by a cloth of fresh flowers. One of the guests had slit the wrist of a corpse and placed a gilded goblet under it. The other fairies, who had cast off their masks, pinched and scratched the host’s body with pins. They checked to see if he was alive and laughed. Rhianon noticed that the clusters of rowanberries and grapes and buckthorn in their hair were most likely real and seemed to grow straight out of their skin rather than serve as decoration. How beautiful and scary it was. She wondered how she herself would feel if the flowers grew right out of her body.

Her musings were interrupted by the whimpering of a dog. Someone who looked like a mischievous elf had fed the leftover berries to the lord’s hounds, and now they were wriggling in agony on the floor.

«I don’t like dogs, it’s as if they were designed to interfere with my music and everyone’s fun,» remarked the same harlequin who had recently touched her train. Whether he had done it accidentally or on purpose, she did not know. He did not notice her now. He sat down in a comfortable chair by the fireplace, snatched a harp from somewhere and tossed off his jester’s cap. This fell to the floor with the mask attached to it. It must have been a mask, and not the whitewash and makeup on her face, as Rhianon had at first assumed.

«What to play gentlemen?» The harlequin laughed, the harp, which had fallen with the mask at his feet, was now making sounds all by itself, as if someone invisible was plucking the strings.

«You’d better not play at all, you’re not wanted here,» remarked some lady, who had also removed her mask to expose her face, whose forehead and temples were covered with a lush veil of violets, which stretched over her ears and even her neck, but the angry eyes on her face seemed even brighter than they were. They burned like two blue lights.

«Is it redundant?» The harlequin raised his head, tossing back his thick brown hair, and Rhianon recognized his face. He had expressive and enigmatic eyes, which sometimes danced with laughter, but the pleasant tanned face belonged to a young man, not a supernatural being. This minstrel had come to play under her tower windows more than once. He got nothing for it except a slap from her servants, but still he came back again and again. He was variously called a bard, a songbird, a troubadour, or more often just an unhappy admirer. He would appear under the windows of her tower with the sunset and play all night if he was not driven away. From other noble lords for his songs he could get gold pieces, from Rhianon he could not even count on words of approval and still he played for her as often as he could. Only once had she seen him in the hall at a feast. Her curls were then adorned with a crown, and power had not yet been taken away by the regents, and Arno said that his singing today was dedicated only to her. She tolerated this, as she did the fact that with every sunset he literally grew out of the ground beneath her window, unmistakably guessing in which wing of the castle she was, as if he could watch over her through the walls. Where had he been during the day? Was he communicating with evil spirits? Or was he only pretending to be human, when in fact he belonged to their secret society? No, he was most likely human. Rianon could tell, and so could everyone else here. But then why didn’t they touch him? After all, they had easily torn the other men apart. And Rhianon was sure that if someone suddenly noticed the presence of uninvited guests, ordinary mortals, they would be attacked.

Some of the fairies did attack Arno, but so far only in words; they would not, or could not, harm him. That was interesting. Rhianon took a closer look at his face, but there was nothing unusual about it.

«Go away, you’re embarrassing us,» the girl, who had vines growing in her dark hair, actually clutched at his sleeve and tried to pull him from his chair. «Why do we need an ordinary mortal minstrel? Go and entertain the high-born lords, not their bones. There’s nothing left here but bones. We want to have fun without you.»

The bodies left lying on the floor of the hall would indeed soon become naked bones, Rhianon thought. Beautiful and elegant creatures pounced on the remains like dogs. Exactly the same fairy as the one that had been pinching Arno was just nestled against the former lord’s throat. For a moment she broke away from the meat and bones and looked at the harp lying nearby. Its strings twitched slowly, making faint sounds as Arno himself tried to free himself from his attacker’s claws.

«Thank God for unearthly music, not for the pitiful skills of musicians,» she hissed in his ear. «You’re not wanted here, you’re not wanted. No one invited you. Don’t you dare follow us again and spoil our heavenly tunes. This hall is not for the likes of you.»

«But there are others here worse than me,» he exploded. «Even I can smell extra, and you can’t.»

Rhianon involuntarily shuddered. Had he really decided to give her away? He had recognized her, that was for sure, but how could he expose her in front of everyone. She had not expected such meanness from him. Involuntarily she clutched at Fresia’s elbow, but she didn’t even notice it. Her dainty nostrils flared oddly. She sniffed the air, as if trying to smell something. It was like a dog following a trail. For a moment Rhianon felt disgust, and then suddenly realized that Arno was not going to give her away. He pointed his hand toward the gentlemen in the black robes. His eyes suddenly flashed a hostile glow. Such a fierce and impudent expression on his calm face she had never seen. It was as if he had changed in an instant, becoming a very different man, unfamiliar and possessed.

«They’re not one of yours,» he shouted. «But they’re allowed to be here, and I’m not. That’s not fair.»

His harp strings jerked sharply, as if to prove the accusation. At that moment Rhianon wanted to be invisible. She was afraid the next time someone would point her out. But so far that had not happened.

«Fresia, I’m sorry, but I have to go,» she was already looking for an escape route. So far, no crowd had gathered around the guests in black, as they had around the master of the house before. Rhianon did not know what would happen next, but she did not want to see it. Besides, for some reason it seemed to her that she herself, though doing nothing, was drawing much more attention to herself than the figures in black. No one was looking at her directly, but she felt the stares from the crowd burned her. These were non-humans, after all; they didn’t have to look someone straight in the eye to notice them. She felt uncomfortable here. And the doors of the hall, wide open, seemed to be beckoning her to leave. It was still possible to slip through them unnoticed and return to Orpheus, who was waiting for her downstairs. At the exit she might even run into the very guests in black who had attracted her attention. After all, unless they get mauled right now, they’ll probably have to leave. After all, Arno had said they were superfluous here, and the crowd seemed to agree with him. But he was superfluous here, too. Rhianon could no longer see him or the harp ahead of her. He had managed to disappear somewhere. It was time for her to go too.

«You should stay,» Fresia turned to her. «It’s too far before dawn. It’s too early to leave. When the rooster crowed, it would be time to observe tradition, but now…»

«I’m already too late,» she remembered perfectly that she’d agreed to go with them, but now she felt as if she’d made a mistake. Her instinct for self-preservation told her to get out of this house as soon as possible, but Fresia’s eyes beckoned her to stay, so expressive and alluring, and they changed color on top of that. Looking into them seemed to plunge you into a floral abyss. Rhianon forced herself to look away. She turned and walked away, not so fast as to draw attention, but trying not to linger either. The train slid freely across the floor behind her, and it felt like a blue wave running. The hem was cold on her legs. For the umpteenth time that evening, for some reason she had the association of a mountain stream in her mind. She wanted so badly to turn around and look at Fresia one more time. Rhianon did not want to leave her at all. On the contrary, she wanted to be close to her, to touch her hand, to feel her light embrace, to drown in her bottomless eyes. But it was dangerous.

«Wait, don’t go,» a worried Chloe grabbed her near the stairs. The whole time she was flying after her. It was not walking, but flying. Rhianon noticed that the hem of her beige dress hung an inch above the floor, and the toes of her light beaded shoes did not touch the ground either.

«Better stay with us for the night,» Chloe’s pale hand tried to catch her wrist, but Rhianon dodged and picked up the train to make it easier to run up the stairs. The least resistance she expected from Chloe. Fresia’s passive and carefree companion seemed to notice her no more than a piece of furniture. It turned out that her distracted attention was capable of focusing on something after all. At any rate, she wasn’t about to let Rhianon just walk away.

«Stay with us for good, not just one night,» the unfamiliar fairy was now nimbly clutching at Rhianon’s waist. How could she have crept up behind her so silently? She hadn’t been there a moment ago. She hadn’t even been there a moment before. It was a tiny, fragile arm, but that wasn’t what made Rhianon sick. The fairy was dressed in a bright red outfit, as if woven from a purple web. Instead of a mask, her heart-shaped face was covered by the same red thread veil. To top it all off were her crimson lips, the scarlet plume of her hat, and an incredibly bright blush on her very pale face. Two scarlet blotches seemed spread across her dead-white skin. Rhianon almost vomited. It was as if on purpose the color of fire was chasing her. Could this all be a practical joke? She lashed out sharply, but someone else approached her.

«Stay with us!» In a second the voices turned into a chorus. Before she could count how many figures in fanciful costumes and masks rose up before her, one after the other.

«We won’t let you go,» the others murmured.

«We like you too much. You’re so beautiful.» Some of them were running their fingers through her hair, others were stroking her shoulders. What cold fingers they were, and how tenacious. She looked around helplessly, but all she saw were masks. It was a whirlwind of bizarre and fantastical images. White, red, purple, silk, satin, with peacock feathers or flowers-all around her were masks, and the faces under them must have been laughing. If only there were any faces under them at all. Somehow it seemed to Rhianon that it was not the masks, but nature itself that had made these creatures so unimaginative. They surrounded her. Everyone wanted to touch her. That’s how you surround a shrine, so that everyone can touch it. That was how they treated her, but she was not. Now she really felt cursed. That must have been what Manfred called her. Rhianon tried to shield herself from the touch of the masks, but they grew more insistent. Perhaps she should still thank fate that they were not trying to kill her, like the owners of this house, where they had decided to hold a masquerade. The feeling that these masks could not be removed for the simple reason that there were no other faces beneath them only intensified. She was getting scared.

«Stay with us, Goldilocks,» the hissing voices kept whispering to her. They called her many things: angel, child, princess, even my love, but she did not like the sound of their intonation. They seemed to tease her and at the same time could not understand why they were all so attracted to her. Rhianon would have used any weakness in the circle of masks to escape, but it seemed impossible to break through the breach.

«Leave me alone!» she shook off the strangers’ hands. Their coldness was making her uncomfortable. Gnarly shivers coursed down her spine, but somewhere deep inside her a flame was beginning to rise.

«Go away!» she pushed someone away, but another sprang up in his place.

«My darling,» someone whispered softly, and cold fingers touched her face again. That’s when Rhianon couldn’t take it anymore. Perhaps the strong emotions in her were always triggered in the same way, whether it was fear or anger. In any case, now a jet of fire burst from her lips as she breathed, and the man beside her recoiled. He was screaming and hiding his face. Rhianon understood why. Her brain was working feverishly and everything inside felt like it was shrinking. She felt the heat. The cold tones of the corset she was laced in could no longer contain it. Flames were bursting out and not just with her breath. Those who touched her naked shoulders jerked their hands away in horror. They were burned. Rhianon turned around at the crowd of masks. Some of them shouted, some blew on their palms, some just backed away, slowly and incredulously. Along with this, the objects around them ignited. Curtains burst into flames, flames ran through the ceiling beams. If it had found a way out, now the tension inside her would only subside after something was burnt. Rhianon feared that now the whole house would burn down, all just because they tried to keep her here. Did anyone need this house, after the owners themselves were gone. The fairies were only going to enjoy themselves here for one night and fly away for good. In that case, they could fly out of the flames as well. As if to confirm her thoughts, figures began to fly out of the burning rooms, just as unusual and masked as the ones that had followed her. They did not know what was happening, or they were furious. Rhianon did not wait for what was to come; with her hand she picked up the hem of her dress and hurried down the stairs. She tried not to touch the railing and still there were sparks dancing on it. It was the most uncontrollable flash of flame she’d ever produced. She didn’t even know she was capable of that. And, of course, she wondered why she didn’t burn with it. Each time her anger or fear burned the others, but the flames only burst out, as if there was a hearth inside her, like the mouth of a dormant volcano. She herself remained unharmed. That must be how a basilisk or salamander felt, but they knew the nature of their powers, and she didn’t. Rhianon didn’t know where it came from, and she probably didn’t even want to know. It was scary. Do dragons know the nature of their powers? There she thought again about those mythical monsters, but instead of gleaming jewel-like scales she somehow imagined someone else’s armor and a helmeted blond head, and under the visor his dragon’s gaze. There were all-seeing dragon eyes on an ever-young face. Why did she think of it that way? Maybe because if all that was left of the mansion after tonight was a crumbling wreck, the locals would blame it on the dragon. Rumor had it the creatures had rarely, if ever, been seen and not invented, but it was easier to lay the blame on them than on the princess who’d escaped. The only pity is that Manfred could link such a fire that came out of nowhere to her and then he’d be on the right trail. Then it’s a good thing the gossip didn’t get to him. Peasants in nearby villages would be far more alarmed by the bloodless corpses than by a burnt-out house. Fires sometimes do happen, with or without dragons. If the flames reached enormous proportions, it was easier, of course, to make up a dragon. Rhianon didn’t even know what would happen to her if she encountered such a creature, with scales that glittered like precious chainmail and flames bursting from its nostrils and mouth. Such a creature would be like her, but would it accept her as its own. Or would it have to assert its rights to life with its own fiery breath. She, too, could produce fire, but unlike dragons she could not do so by choice, and she had no control over her ability. She wanted only to break free of the ring of masks that surrounded her, but instead she set the whole house on fire.

The flames were devouring the mystery that would remain after the fairies were gone. She imagined those bones, adorned with velvet and jewels, but stripped of their flesh, and thought of the talk it might provoke. The superstitious villagers were ready to gossip about anything, and here was such an accident. It turns out sometimes a fire is even good for you. Once you light a house, the flames will cleanse it of the coming of evil, and then no one will know of the drama that has unfolded in it. Rhianon was only glad it wasn’t her own house or the estate of someone she knew. Such an outburst of rage would have been inappropriate there, and from here she was fleeing for good.

By the same tree Orpheus was waiting for her. He leaned carelessly against the trunk, crossed his arms across his chest, and watched apathetically as flames burst from the windows.

«Best fireworks I’ve ever seen in my life,» he commented as he spotted the Mistress running down the stairs.

«You mean all eternity,» she frowned. «Oh, don’t be so modest, I’m sure you’ve seen better fireworks. There were at least the dragon raids. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen one in your whole life.»

«Are we expecting something like that here?»

«I won’t stay long here,» she was reluctant to give him the details, and she was sure he knew all too well.

«How are we leaving already?» Orpheus pretended to be amazed. «And I thought my beautiful lady would be celebrating all night. It is the death of other people’s enemies, not yours, but who cares if you can feast at other people’s expense. Besides, the enemies of friends are our enemies. You liked being friends with the fairies, by the way.»