Rhianon-7. Queen of Vinor

His voice was much nicer than the hymns and chants in the cathedral. Rhianon wrinkled painfully when she heard them. Her ears felt as if they were about to bleed. The only thing that saved her was Ferdinand’s arm, which she could lean on. He was handsome in his white brocade embroidered with pearls. And yet he was no angel. Not Madael. Rhianon hastily looked away from his chiseled profile. She wasn’t even sure how old he was. He looked eighteen at most. The wreath of myrtle in his short, curly curls accentuated his fresh youth. Only there, in the cathedral, would he wear the formal crown. For Rhianon’s sake he had briefly abandoned the observance of tradition. It turns out he is also flighty. It was hard to believe he already had two children she had yet to meet. Rhianon preferred not to think about it yet.

She also tried not to think about the fact that there was only a man walking down the aisle beside her. This wedding was in every way a breach of tradition. Ferdinand was leading her forward by himself. There were no best men or bridesmaids, only the uniformly dressed blue brocade maidens carrying her train. Bouquets of white lilies adorned the entrance. Why lilies? Their persistent scent and memories made Rhianon so dizzy she almost fainted. Perhaps she thought she saw Asmodeus’ black claws and mocking eyes behind the lush flowers in the shadow of the nave. He is the harbinger of misfortune. Rhianon shuddered. Maybe she just imagined he was here.

«He’s not the only one,» the spirit whispered behind her shoulder. «The cathedral is always full of them.»

«But how…» «That’s not what religion teaches. It wasn’t that at all.

«And how can people know anything,» the companion said instantly.

He did. Rhianon was hurt by the sight of the lilies.

– «You’d better look up on the North Ridge,» the spirit advised her.

She turned swiftly, and saw nothing but a seemingly motionless statue. There was nothing else. It was only the glint of the sun on the metal. Her fear of heights suddenly receded, but with it came another.

«It’s empty,» she whispered disappointedly.

«What do you mean, my dear?» Ferdinand responded in place of the spirit. She had been as oblivious as ever and had spoken the words to the spirit aloud.

«It is nothing,» she hastened to assure him. Rhianon hoped that Ferdinand would not be aware of her disappointment. He might not understand her, or he might have drawn his own conclusions. He knew about her affair with the demon, after all. And she felt as if she knew nothing. And really, what did she expect to see there, the glint of golden curls and the dazzling ray of angel wings? Did she think that he was sitting there on the roof of one of the cathedrals, immortal, invulnerable and angry? That he would rush down, pick her up, and drag her down with him, like he had done long ago… the very first time.

«That’s exactly what he was going to do,» the spirit said.

«Now, really be quiet,» she called to him mentally. «Let me concentrate. You’re asking me to invite the devil to the wedding. Look, we’re already breaking all the rules. Neither Ferdinand nor I have family or friends here. Only strangers are invited. He’s already broken all the rules.»

«And he’s marrying someone else’s wife,» the spirit eagerly reminded her.

Rhianon wanted to turn around and remind him that she had made no vows to Madael, but she was afraid. What if she saw him behind her, or discerned a winged silhouette on one of the rooftops? It was better to look only forward. Like the flowers beneath her feet. She wondered why people are used to present flowers as a sign of love? They quickly wither? Is it as quickly as fame, youth or love? Love! It’s as if she’s been slashed with a sharp blade. Love is far away. It is in the fringes of heaven, in the cold underworld, or in hell, where exactly now the fallen angel was, she did not know. Perhaps he wandered the mortal world, looking for her, or going to wring her neck. Love and desire for power should not be confused. One day he would understand that.

For the hundredth time, Rhianon wondered why she did what she did. She wondered why she could not have won at a lesser cost. She could have used her ingenuity and sorcery instead of yielding. So why did she do it?

«Yes, because you like a handsome young king, even if he was already married, and you’re also attracted to the idea of becoming queen of Vinor,» the disembodied voice was mocking, but as always it hit the mark.

Yes, she liked Ferdinand, and she wouldn’t mind a kingdom like Vinor, either. In contrast to the flabby body, the empty purse, and the impoverished Duchy of Rothbert, the second offer was too tempting. And she accepted. And now, as in a morass, she walked down the aisle. She feared both revenge and indifference from her former lover. But the main goal of her life, Loretta, was far more important. Let her heart ache. It is supposed to. If it is to be believed that Dennitsa himself laid the foundation for the subsequent betrayals of all lovers on this earth, then they are following a path that has already been beaten. It was meant to be that way. What can you do against fate?

«And yet you could fight it…»

She let the spirit’s words pass her lips. And they didn’t sound any louder than an echo in the dark, airy cathedral. The massiveness of the building overwhelmed her. She felt like a speck of dust lost in outer space. In Madael’s arms she had never felt this way. Though he owned the whole world, it was so warm and cozy with him. The grandiosity of his designs and possessions never pressed her. And the vaults of the cathedral, though stretching to unreachable heights, seemed to close over her head like a tomb. The colored stained-glass windows in the height were beautiful, but they made her eyes sting. Columns of dark marble were lined with white garlands. Rhianon feared that Asmodeus was still hiding behind one of them, but she strode boldly down the nave anyway.

Many people crowded the place, and still the space seemed overwhelmingly large. Mostly the nobility was present. The common people stayed behind the massive doors. Only the most powerful and wealthy people of the kingdom were crowded into the front rows. Rhianon glanced over to see who had caught her talking to the spirit. He was present. He was in even richer robes than before. It was hard to see him in such a crowd. He was squeezed on one side by a number of counselors, and on the other by dressed-up ladies. Still, it was the lily pinned to his buttonhole that caught her eye. He knows, she thought. The flower is a sign to show it to her. Who does he know? She sensed no connection to astrologers or witchcraft.

«Domian, the First Minister,» the same spirit whispered in her ear. «Don’t see that his hair isn’t even gray yet. He’s older than he looks.»

She looked at him briefly, but he caught her gaze and tilted his head in deference. Just like the first time. It was as if he was stalking her and looking for signs of her attention himself, calling out from the crowd, and then happily intercepting her gaze.

She didn’t even have time to be wary. The marriage ceremony had already begun. The coronation would immediately follow. In some distant part of her hearing, she picked up the anxious cries of birds over the cathedral. It was as if they were warning her of something or trying to dissuade her. Such a commotion only came before a storm was coming. Even before an epidemic came to the city the flocks of birds did not seem so anxious.

«No! No! No!» she caught in the birds’ cries outside the windows and the rustle of their wings. There were even a few crows among the disturbed flocks. This seemed strange to her. She had long associated crows with Rothbert’s servants, but these evidently were not. Though who knew them?

She tilted her head so she couldn’t hear them. Still, she thought she could hear more powerful and massive flapping in the fluttering of the tiny bird’s wings. Other wings were flapping over the cathedral, too. They were his wings. Or were they the wings of his servants. She tried not to think about it.

«You’re just an illusion yourself,» Rhianon thought, and turned away. But his dry rustling laughter echoed in her mind. How easily he could have merged with the ringing of bells, the dry rustling of leaves, or the surrounding silence. People at Mass are most often unaware that the silence around them hums not from angelic voices, but from other dark and fearful ones lurking in the darkness. She knew that Asmodeus whispers whatever he wants to clergymen of all ranks, and they obey him. Blinded by their pride, they could not see that they were being led by the devil, or rather, not the devil himself, but his servants. Madael himself would never have condescended to such petty meanness or to such vanity-torn humans. Nor would God himself ever condescend to those who are called his earthly servants. Madael is the former favorite of God, and he imitates him in everything. And likewise, he has his own servants for minor errands. His servants here were just full, right in the darkness of the nave and the stuffy height above the heads of the crowd, while he himself remained unreachable. Quite like a deity. The only thing that distinguished him from a god was the love he had once known. In any case, the capacity to love had once been awakened in him. It was late, but it came to light. And from God, Rhianon only felt something crushing. The cathedral pressed against her. She felt stuffy, and she was glad she’d worn a dress with an open neckline instead of a lace jabot. Otherwise the collar would have begun to choke her. Someone was spreading the veil over her shoulders, but not a man. She felt the subtle touch of her invisible companion. He touched her gently, as if she were a shrine.

«You are the only sacred thing there is, and not for me alone… for him too,» he might not have whispered it. Rhianon covered her eyes. Her golden lashes suddenly became stiff and stabbed her skin. The words of the Archbishop who crowned them were lost in the general hum. There was a murmur in her ears. The light crushing in the colored stained-glass windows stabbed her eyes. In a moment it would burst into flames and burn everything around it. Rhianon was afraid to look up and see one of Madael’s servants sitting high on the balustrade around the dome or one of the rungs below the ceiling. What if he himself is here?

The persistent scent of flowers made her dizzy. There was a sea of them here today. Gardeners must have cut whole plantations of white roses and lilies to garland the apse, and the pulpit, and all the arches or columns. White bows matched the bouquets. Everything here was white against the gloomy background of the majestic structure. Just for one moment she thought the lilies in the bouquets were bleeding.

«Don’t look ahead!» The spirit warned.

But why is it? She is about to be crowned. Rhianon could almost feel the thin golden hoop of pearls and golden prongs being placed upon her head. It was so reminiscent of a ceremonial wreath, only it was not made of flowers but of jewels. It would now replace the myrtle. She bent over as the clergyman’s wrinkled hands placed the wreath on her head. Only when she felt the pleasant cool weight on her forehead did Rhianon lift her eyes. What was so scary ahead that she should not look at? She hadn’t seen anything like that. And none of the local servants, no matter what rank he wore, could see the seal of the devil’s kisses on her lips. They didn’t even suspect. No one in Vinor except the astrologers and the First Minister could look inside her and see the devil in her heart, much less consider the supernatural fiery fruit in her womb. Even more, these people had no idea how dangerous she was. She could breathe fire on them at any moment, easily ignite everything here and burn herself. No, she would not. Rhianon believed that Madael would have pulled her out of the fire anyway. It was as if he were invisibly with her everywhere…

And then she saw the crucifix. The thin gold cross and the figure on it struck her as a symbol of suffering, not as something sacred. Was that what people worshipped? Is that what the legend says keeps dragons away? And would it frighten Madael? Rhianon didn’t know what feelings dominated her now, contempt, apprehension, or fear. At any rate a sense of acute dislike. She felt dislike and pain, and the next moment a trickle of blood was dripping across her lips.

«Turn away!» The spirit whispered furiously, but she stared.

It was partly a deception, how one could deify someone’s torture and find comfort in it. As she looked at the crucifix she felt that she too was being tortured. It was as if it were a symbol of evil. She imagined the thin, glittering serpent coiling around the cross and almost merging with it. They were the serpent and the cross. An expression from the same half-forgotten legends suddenly came to mind. So the cross keeps the demons away. Why didn’t it burn on the spot? If you believe the legends, then long ago she should have turned into a pillar of fire, barely crossing the threshold of the holy place. But it didn’t happen.

«And you’re not afraid to go blind looking at it?» The same invisible companion teased her.

«I’m not,» she whispered back. A trickle of blood still trickled down her lips, causing a pain that was subtle but stinging. The jolt of fire inside her was barely perceptible, either. She did not smell flame or even hot steam on anyone, but those in the front rows, especially the priests, noticed the blood. Were they startled? Frightened? Rhianon could not have characterized the whole gamut of feelings that flashed across their unpleasant faces. Let them be against it. She didn’t care anymore. She was Queen of Vinor now, after all.

They left the cathedral to the solemn ringing of bells. Ferdinand was happy, she was not. She could barely manage to pull a smile. A whole rain of white flowers and grains of rice flew on the newlyweds. One had to rejoice with everyone else, or at least feign joy. Such a beautiful bride the world had never seen before. Naturally, she was welcomed, and she searched with the eyes of a lost angel. Rhianon looked up at the rooftops of the tallest buildings and cathedrals, squinting painfully at the sun, trying to see something. Her eyesight had become especially sharp lately, and yet it was as if a veil covered her eyes. She could not find the one she was looking for, though she felt he was here. He was looking up at her, she could feel it, and she couldn’t even look back. She wouldn’t dare ask the question where you were. She was afraid.

What if he was about to destroy the whole town? Or maybe he would rush down and take her with him? Perhaps he was just waiting for the marriage ceremony to be complete, so that he could now completely break all existing inhibitions? Now that she was a stranger’s wife… Only Rhianon did not feel like Ferdinand’s wife. Everything had been accomplished, and he was still a stranger. She held his hand and felt nothing.

Even the leaden gargoyles and caryatids hunched over the cathedral were closer to her than this lively, warm man. In general, statues attracted her more than living people. It was as if they lived above the city of their own secret life, and came into motion when their actions had no other witnesses but the indifferent starry skies. She was reminded of the seven angels and Setius. They knew how to turn into statues. Were all sculptures like them? Did someone with magical powers or one of Madael’s armies breathe sorcery life into every statue on earth?

She stared up into the height for so long that the sunlight made her eyes tingle. The last thing she needed now was to cry.

Rhianon spotted pilgrims in the crowd, each time trying to see if their wings were fluttering under their rags. Only they were all ordinary people. There were a few wandering wizards in cloaks woven with sorcerer’s symbols, and two or three sad fairies. The magical creatures that danced friskily through the crowd and snatched the purses of the townsfolk for fun better than any pickpockets today looked at her disapprovingly. They enjoyed the festivities and the opportunity to frolic, but they kept their eyes away from Rhianon.

«The Queen is a traitor,» the spirit whispered defiantly, and laughed. Rhianon did not even shake him off. Why should she? He is right. She sighed and was glad that the tiny cloud of fire remained unnoticed. She couldn’t let anyone notice her peculiarities and unusual tendencies today. After the incident in the cathedral, rumors would already be circulating. She had already wiped the blood from her lips, but she still felt the center of attention.

«It is too soon for these people to realize who you are. Let them get used to you first. Then show them your fire. And the power is in your hands. You’re doing the right thing, sweetheart. You’ve learned how to play politics after all. The mistakes of the past have not been in vain for you. You’re smart now, secretive and calculating.»

She ignored the spirit’s words. Why spoil her mood by quarreling with him? Perhaps she could have some fun after all. A feast and an evening ball awaited her at the castle. There, too, she will be decorated with flowers, and she will be congratulated and presented with gifts.

«Don’t let the poison in the cup get to you. You have many competitors,» the invisible companion warned her.

Rhianon let his words pass her lips again. In the castle, the aromas of fresh baked goods and roasts made her slightly groggy. Dishes that would have awakened her appetite even for a well-fed man seemed utterly unappealing to her. Roasted pheasants, quail, capons, and spit-roasted ox and pork reminded her of the feasts of Madael’s servants. She looked at the carcasses of birds, hens, partridges, or turkeys, or the carcasses of wild boars cooked in gravy, and she saw corpses on the battlefield, torn apart by black claws. The wine in the goblets resembled thick blood. Rhianon felt nauseous. So much meat here, roasted, boiled, served in sauce, or laden with herbs and peas. Meat! She couldn’t even look at it. It was carrion. How many human corpses had gone to satiate the inordinate appetite of her fallen angel’s army? And now she watches as people prepare to eat animal corpses. Pigeon pies, pilaf, ham and pâté… how many smells blended into one. She could only smell death in them. The royal hunters, cattlemen, and shepherds knew their business. Rhianon looked at a carcass laden with cranberries and pineapples, and saw a doe beating under a spear. Any of the black creatures of the fallen armies would have enjoyed its taste as much as humans now enjoyed it.

Unlike her, the guests paid homage to all the dishes. The nibbled bones remained on the exquisite dishes. People devoured the meat along with it as if taking someone else’s life. No, only Madael’s subordinates did that, she reminded herself, but she was still disgusted. She would have joined in the meal earlier, too. The pile of stuffed cabbage rolls on the platter in front of her exuded a pleasant, spicy aroma, and Rhianon was about to vomit. She remembered the raw meat on the golden plate, Madael bringing the bloody scraps to her pale lips and blood on them. He eats though he does not want to, only to show her how it is done. In that desolate tower at the edge of the earth, they could do anything together. He could have killed and skinned her just as he did the corpses of defeated warriors. After all, he had defeated her on the battlefield and still he liked having a live toy better. He needed a friend, even a lover. He could not understand his own feelings at the time, nor could he understand why his army needed to feed on raw cape. It was simply their nature. And the nature of men was no better. Rhianon grimaced. She would have gladly gotten up from the table and left, but that would have been impolite. Her first day on the throne should not be marred in any way. So it was necessary to conceal her dislike. But she felt like a fallen angel who suddenly found herself among humans. Heaven no longer exist, there are only creatures like the cattle they consume. And they disgust her. Now, she understood how those who have fallen from heaven feel.

Rhianon was distracted only at the sight of the ripe fruit. The tiered platters in the center of the tables filled with grapes, apples, and pears resembled a cornucopia. She reached for an orange, touched the juicy crust with her fingernails, and smiled. The fresh fruit reminded her of fairies. She didn’t want to eat them at all, but touching them made her feel closer to nature. Perhaps if she walked through the garden and looked closely at the trees, she would find that one of them belonged to a dryad who looked like Phylliss. Rhianon slid her gaze over peaches, pomegranates, gooseberries, black and red currants. The fruits and berries resembled both gems and fresh fairies’ kisses at the same time.

Rhianon remembered herself dancing in a circle of ethereal ladies. Now another company awaited her. The magical society was far away. And yet in the ballroom she encountered a girl who reminded her strikingly of Phylliss. One quick touch left her feeling fresh, as if leaves had slid down her arm. Rhianon turned around, but she couldn’t see the girl in green anymore. But Ferdinand was beside her. They were to open the ball. Several more days of festivities would be, there would be hunting, tournaments, and masquerades. Rhianon had not expected to see her unearthly friends at one of them, and yet a tiny hope lingered in her heart. Her hand, in the place where the stranger had touched it, still had a kind of freshness about it.

Rhianon heard the first sounds of music, felt Ferdinand’s fingers on her waist, she began to move to the beat of the tune. But everything happened so mechanically. She couldn’t even bring herself to smile. Her senses wound up like the mechanism of that huge angelic clock and now she involuntarily moved along the dashed hand. It was as if her desires were guided by extraneous forces. Was this fate? Rhianon did not want to believe in fate. She also wanted to enjoy the dance, but she could not. Maybe it was the white brocade dress that restricted her movement. She felt constrained. The ceremonial attire was heavy, of course, but not so heavy that she could not move. The dance steps were difficult for her. The guests must have noticed that she kept turning away from the bridegroom and not because of her modesty.

She must have thought she saw someone’s wings rustling outside the window. Was someone leaning against the glass? No, then the guests would have noticed it too. True, one of the footmen who lit the chandeliers near the windows was frightened, but Rhianon could not read his thoughts. She felt too weakened and the simplest magic did not even come easily to her. Tomorrow would be different, and today her eyes were closing.

«A feast can be a harbinger of mourning,» the spirit whispered in her ear, «but for now, have fun.

She couldn’t have fun. A large floor clock was striking midnight somewhere in the distance, and she felt as if she could hear the devil’s chimes from a heavenly palace. And they were measuring not the time of her life, but the whole eternity. The countdown had begun. After that the war begins. Everything was written.

Rhianon shook her head wearily. She pulled away hastily, feeling Ferdinand’s lips almost touch her forehead and at that very moment something flashed through the void. She didn’t even remember exactly what she saw. A familiar silhouette flashed somewhere by the fireplace, and then he was standing right beside her. It was her angel, or just a ghost of him. And it wasn’t ruby dust on his cheeks, but drops of blood. Is he crying blood? Why does she think he has a crown of thorns in his hair? Rhianon opened her eyes wide, but she could see nothing. When she was agitated, she couldn’t control her flames. Now it seemed to be just such a moment, because the dress of one of the court ladies suddenly burst into flames. The poor girl didn’t even realize what was wrong. By the time she realized she had to put out the flaming outfit, the fire had already spread to others. There were many servants, it would certainly be put out, only it seemed to Rhianon that there was more to it. It seemed that the stables near the castle and some buildings in the city were also occupied. She could almost see the dwarves running wild, forced out of their comfort zone. She caught their coarse curses. Well, they had every right to hold a grudge if she accidentally set fire to their usual hiding places. Except that she was somehow certain that this time it wasn’t just her fire that had caused the many nighttime fires in Vinor.