Rhianon-7. Queen of Vinor

Love is a Rose

The stables below burst into flames. The dried hay took over faster than turpentine. Madael heard the muffled shouts of the dwarves hastily leaving the stables. The dwarves who had been combing the horses’ manes up to that point even rushed to dump buckets of water to save their pets. And they, too, were afraid of fire. For a moment he was even ashamed that he had channeled his anger unnecessarily. But he should not have had a conscience. The frail voice that broke through the devil’s mind was quickly silenced. People don’t have consciences, why should he?

He clenched his fingers so tightly that the claws dug into his palm. With these very claws he’d been pounding the city’s roofs today until he could peel away entire strata of iron. Now the deep scratch marks would remain for a long time on the spires of the main cathedrals and the copper plating on the highest roofs. After sitting there all day, he already felt like a statue. In the overcast sky above him, even the birds had fallen away. Today he was angry and desperate. The echoes of the unearthly hours echoed in his mind like hell. There was probably nothing else for them to go on. It was done! He felt betrayed.

It was painful. After the fall, he hadn’t even imagined that there was a pain he couldn’t bear. As it turned out, there was. It turned out to be a pain stronger than any excruciating sensation he had experienced in the past. It overshadowed everything. He didn’t even think such a thing was possible. This acute sense of loss was beyond his perception. The pain became unbearable. It was joined by something else that pinched and crushed him, something he could not define.

It was as if everything was over. And at the same time it was not over. There would be no end to the pain now, no limit. He clutched his head violently with his hands. No, it had happened before. There was to be no end to the agony to come then, either. There wasn’t. He was used to not seeing any light. And now that the light had come and gone, it was even worse.

It could always be worse. No matter how bad it is now, it is impossible not to imagine even greater torment. The higher powers are inexhaustible in their inventions. Or else he didn’t know it before. Madael wanted to laugh bitterly, but the laughter stuck somewhere deep in his throat. No, you can’t laugh. Not here, not in Vinor. The distant echo of his voice could be heard by everyone, even her. He didn’t want to embarrass her. To think, for the first time in forever, he didn’t want revenge. It was so unnatural, it was even frightening. His hand wasn’t reaching for his sword, and he didn’t want to wring the thin neck of the princess. Sure, the blade in his scabbard begged for blood itself, but not her blood. He would not let that happen. What was he to do now? Fly over Vinor and guard her from all the hordes of people who would welcome a new queen one day and may wish to be treacherous the next. He knew people too well to believe in their sincerity. They too easily succumbed to evil whispers. Often there is no need to whisper. Life does everything. It’s in their nature to be sneaky, to betray. Now Rhianon is admired, in a moment she will be envied. If he does not watch over her and protect her, she will be killed sooner or later. She is too different and superior to humans in every way. They will not forgive her for that. She must be protected from them and even from herself. What he did not think of was ever being anyone’s protector. It was his destiny to be the punishing hand of God and to strike, not to be a shield for anyone. Well, he guessed it’s time to reconsider his fate. He glanced up at the dark skies above Vinor. He challenged them. And it was not for the first time.

He was stronger and more experienced now. Sometimes he felt almost free. The shackles that bound him with each passing century were losing their pristine strength. The farther from heaven, the farther from someone else’s power over him. He could break free. It is not too late. Time is his supporter, not his enemy. If only he had not fallen captive again. What made him skitter over Vinor all day, as if he were trapped in an enchanted circle? He hovered above the crowds, himself invisible to no one, but noticing everything below. He didn’t care about the people, he only watched Rhianon. It was always secretly, always with a touch of pain. He understood now why it hurt so much to look at her, because she no longer belonged to him.

It had been like that before. Somehow it had always hurt him to see her in a crowd. He couldn’t remember the first time he’d seen her, but it hurt when he looked at her. It was as if she’d burned him without his knowing it. It had never happened to him before. He was the one who gave that impression to all who looked at him, the sight of him that burned people like the sun. With Rhianon the effect was reversed and unexpected. He burned himself on her.

He tried to remember the very first time he had noticed her. That day he flew to his tower, wrapped his arms around his head, and sat motionless for a long time in front of the open window. Something flowed down his cheeks, scalding like mercury and seemingly ready to ignite. His skin burned, but it was much more painful what had settled inside him. Something was burning him from the inside, leaving him with a sense of painful heaviness and sorrow. It was like a fall. Like that first moment when he felt that heaven was gone and he was falling down.

Now he was hurtling through the sky even more swiftly than when he first fell. Now he could fly again, his wings holding him aloft. For some reason they began to twitch behind him. He didn’t even notice his small servants shaking the dust off them. He only lifted his hand to wipe the moisture from his cheeks and suddenly realized they were tears. He was crying. He was even sobbing. And the tears rolling down his cheeks seemed to be fiery.

«Why is it?» – The black creature was already crawling on the floor of the tower. «Are you in pain again?»

He didn’t even look away. The fall was behind him, they all knew it, but he did not hide his tears. He did not understand what was happening to him.

«I saw her,» he said to himself, not expecting anyone to understand. Who could, since he did not understand himself? «It hurts that she exists. It hurts!»

His fist came down and shook the wall. Crumbs fell from the pillar. His servants crawled nimbly into the shadows. They were afraid of him. He had taught them to be afraid. They were all afraid of him, even though he was so beautiful, but what good was that beauty if you couldn’t show it to anyone, couldn’t even take off your helmet in front of the men without blinding them. And why is it not? She, that girl, has exactly the same beauty as he himself. But she hasn’t blinded anyone so far. Only him…

Madael remembered it now with a very different feeling. He understood now. He knew now where the pain had come from and why. It had not been resentment at being privileged over someone else. It was the first prick of the rose thorns. That was what he called love. Love was a rose. But her name was Rhianon. He was ready to smash the wall again. He wanted to tear and smash so that nothing remained. Where the Garden of Eden had once blossomed, now there would only be ruins. He was betrayed. Now he understood the wrath of God. Treachery hurts too much. And still he wanted Rhianon back for himself.

That was something he could not even think about. If she did not want to return herself, he could not force her. He could, of course. He could even drag her back by force, but then there would be something missing between them. The fragile trust she’d felt for him when she’d first realized he was an angel would be gone. Before, she didn’t want love from a mortal, only from him. So now what had happened?.

Madael wandered through the night city, not even bothering to cover his face with a mask or helmet. No one would see him now anyway. The people are celebrating in the square, and the streets are empty. Vinor is so caught up in the festivities that even an entire army of angels wouldn’t make the right impression on them right now. People are already drunk. And drunk can seem like anything. Those who once tasted intoxicating drinks were so easy to control. They deliberately joined his defeated creatures. Madael did not remember whose dead particles stirred the heat in the wine. All he knew was that it was the blood of those who had died in his war. Their souls, still thirsty for vengeance, imprisoned in the drink, they tried and could guide all who tasted it. He could still summon his dead warriors through the bodies of the intoxicated men, but that was not his concern now. He didn’t even notice that he was already walking instead of flying. The scarlet cloak fluttered behind him, barely covering his wings. They had darkened so much that they were almost no longer glowing in the darkness, and yet they could still be mistaken for worm-gold.

The night wind parted his curls. Madael raised his hand to flick the strands from his forehead and involuntarily turned his attention to the handcuff-like gold bracelet on his wrist. There seemed to be a crack in it. Or was it the engraving that had changed slightly? It could have been. Drawings are messages, too, just like writing. They can change over time. The writings and spells on the gold that held it together were usually excessively strong, but now they were cracked. He looked at the other hand. Two exactly the same massive bracelets on his wrists he hadn’t been able to remove in a long time. They were, in fact, shackles, only without chains. They held him only by a tangible but invisible force. When they came to loosen, they both cracked in the same places.

Before, the feeling of the closeness of freedom would swallow him whole. He would soon be able to break free and live only by his own will. Wasn’t that what he had always wanted? Now he felt almost nothing. He did not even immediately notice that some drunken onlooker had stopped in the middle of the street, dropped the broken bottle and was now staring at him.

– Go away,» the angel whispered coldly but menacingly, but the man was still standing there with his mouth hanging open in astonishment. Though he was drunk, he could still tell the difference between a divine apparition and a delusional hallucination.

Madael raised his head and stared him straight in the eye. He was not accustomed to having his orders disobeyed, much less by such lowlifes. The punishment was instantaneous. The man cried out at the sight, and put his hands to his own burned eyes. That’s the way to look at a deity. The punishment would be immediate. People go blind at the sight of him, and they always will. Madael did not even remember that he was instructed not to appear without his helmet in the presence of vulnerable mortals. He no longer had to abide by any conditions. From now on he was his own master.

He passed a screaming mortal in pain, barely touching it with his wing. The man, however, fell from that light touch. He must have been burned, too. Madael had never felt sympathy for anyone. Why? Would anyone sympathize with him, even after hearing how he stood up for his rights and his defeat? Only Rhianon felt sorry for him. He remembered the long gentle touches, her caresses and her desire to share his pain with him. Her sympathy did make him feel better. And now he wanted to tear the whole town apart, to blind, to maim, to roast all the living creatures present in the fire. Let them all know the same torment that his angels had known. How are humans any better?

He clenched his hand in his fist and felt a few cracks already forming in the bracelet. They were growing deeper and deeper. Soon the shackles would fall away. All he had to do was wait a little longer.

Arnaud was waiting for him far beyond the borders of Vinor. He was afraid to go into town. Madael did not want to bring company with him. He was alone in his grief, just as he was alone in his fall. He needed servants for other things, not to share his pain. Arnaud must have been entertaining spirits or lost passersby with his harp playing now. He likes to hide himself behind a tree or boulder, while leaving the harp on the road to play itself. In this way he has made more than one carriage turn over. After the first sounds of his music no one could hold back the reeling horses. And people went crazy for it. He could have bewitched any girl or any young man with his playing, to enclose them forever in a ring of his charms, but he preferred Rhianon and went mad himself. He was terrified to see her crowned in Vinor. He could no longer hold his own. Now he roamed the wasteland like a ghost, seeking solace in his sorcerer’s game.

Unlike him, Madael was used to loss. He wasn’t afraid to look at the marriage ceremony itself. It was painful to feel betrayed. He had already felt completely crushed when he fell. But then it had only been the pain of shattered bones, broken wings, and burns, and now something more excruciating. Still, he needed to see Rhianon at least from afar, just once.

Was that the last time he looked at her? It was as if everything inside him burned. His eyes tingled. He darted forward as fast as if he could outrun his own pain. The sidewalk of the city was behind him, and he pushed off sharply, then he flew away. First the brass rooftops disappeared from view, then the entire mainland on which Vinor stood and a dozen other states. The starry sky was more expansive than the land. There was room to spread out. After dashing through it faster than a whirlwind, he slowed his flight. Somewhere in the shimmering streak of heaven was still the remnant of the grand structure he’d given to Rhianon. It was impossible to destroy it entirely, for there, like a living heart, was a clock… an eternal clock.

Madael did not think of it. Rhianon no longer needed the castle, which meant that no one else would have it. After all, it had been made for her. And it was with such care.

Columns, fountains, arcades, stairs, and even the curb around the canal were all made of antique scarlet gold, like the chests of sunken ships, and everything exuded a faint glow, and over the golden arbors and balustrades, fragrant clusters of myrtle twined in delicate lilac. The sparkling water in the fountains gave off a pleasant freshness. There was always spring here, even if the frost reigned outside the island. It was… paradise.

«This is our paradise,» Madael affirmed as he brought his friend here. «Only ours…»

Rhianon turned away from him and noticed a real wrought iron chest from a shipwreck, open and full of glittering coins. Coins were pouring out of it by the handfuls, and the very tiny, angry dwarves, holding back their grunts, were melting the coins to make them into flat slabs on the floor in front of the small fountain in the archway, and the diamonds would go to decorate the statue in the lunette behind it. There already the harpies’ claws were quietly scraping the wall, covering it with carvings, and their black wings were like moving extensions of the ornaments, bits of the former hell in hell. Or an illusory paradise, with bits of it left behind that reminded me of what it really was, but the gold was real and the sparkling jets of water. It really was paradise, with Madael’s fluttering wings and fluttering hair and a face that was brighter than daylight against the dim backdrop.

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