me and can’t forget me eventually finds their way down,» he nodded at the sharp rocks. «Do you seek your death in battle? Or do you wish to fall prey to court intrigue?»
«Guard me from them if you wish,» she allowed graciously.
«Am I your enemy?»
Strangely, she wanted to fight him, and yet she did not consider him her enemy.
«Are you drawn to the abyss? Do you want to kill yourself? Do you want to fly down the parapet?»
She hesitated. No, she was not being pulled down. Perhaps he thought otherwise. He was used to the fact that once you see it, you can’t go on living.
«You won’t jump without me, because I am your wings,» Madael whispered to her.
Then he let her go. Rhianon didn’t even have time to see that they had switched places. She was now standing near the parapet, and Madael was hovering beside her. He himself was not afraid of heights. The golden-haired figure with wings, suspended in the air, was both strikingly beautiful and somewhat frightening at the same time.
The angel tilted his head slightly to touch her lips with his lips. The kiss was quick but sweet, just like touching the petals of a rose.
«Love me and I will give you wings.»
He had said those words before. Rhianon recoiled. They were empty words, beautiful though they were.
Madael grinned, noticing the change in her mood.
«Still want to fight me?»
She didn’t have to answer that question. She could have spared her the trouble of answering that question. A moment’s pause to make up had been and gone. Madael gently flapped his wings.
«There are no more sentries on the towers,» Rhianon reminded him sarcastically. «You have no one left to kill.»
He grinned, dismissive and arrogant.
«I’ll always find someone,» he said menacingly.
Rhianon couldn’t even believe that he had flown away. Her first impulse was to go back to the bedroom and find the sword hidden there. So she did. With it in her hands she no longer felt weak and defenseless. It was a pity she couldn’t wear it at her side all the time. For that she would have had to give up her dress and flaunt it in men’s clothing. Of course, she’s the only lord here and any of her antics should be turned a blind eye by those around her.
Orpheus was pleased to tell her that Ferdinand had returned to Vinor with the rest of his troops and was waiting there to hear from Rhianon.
«I pretended to be a messenger and took him a letter from you and a couple of pretty gifts. He believes he must stay away from you for the time being for your own safety. He no longer claims to share the throne of Loretta with you,» Orpheus explained. «Well, I’ve managed to convince him. Well, I also cut a lock from your head while you were asleep and took it to him. It was necessary. And something else needs to be done to keep him from forgetting you while you’re away and choosing a minion, needing blood, his and yours, and some memorabilia.»
«Leave him alone,» Rhianon slid her fingers over the hilt of her sword. The dwarves had done their best for her. The blade gleamed in the candlelight as soon as the scabbard was removed. It thirsted for blood and was already vibrating quietly. Only now could Rhianon hold it for any length of time. Her hand grew stronger. The vibration of the blade was felt in her palm no more than the beat of her pulse. It should be. If Madael didn’t know how to control his powers exactly the same way, they would crush the world.
Rhianon caught herself thinking that she wanted to be like him in everything. Even if the next time he showed up at her window not with romantic confessions, but with threats of war and reprisals, she would still try to copy him in everything.
«Ferdinand deserves amusement,» she told Orpheus. «He must have someone to keep him from going mad. I will only encourage him to choose.»
«He has to want it himself,» Orpheus muttered, almost resentfully.
«And if he doesn’t want it, what’s the point of the spell?»
«It is just in case. I want to take care of longevity of his feelings. He’s not an angel or even a spirit, and people are so fickle.»
«Not everyone,» she thought of Ron, rotting in a deep grave, where his remains must have been devoured by something buried there with him, or nurtured by the earth after he’d fallen. There are always demons living in treasures, and it is the same in graves. If this young man had not turned out to be fanatically devoted to her, he would still be alive.
«Still, it wouldn’t hurt to secure our place in Vinor,» Orpheus snorted. «I could remove the heirs.»
«Don’t you dare!» Rhianon was distracted when she heard a low shriek. The sound had come from Hildegard’s chambers. It was easy for her to tell. For some reason she felt a strong urge to go and check what was going on there.
Her chamber was just below, in one of the towers. Rhianon had to go down there. A door opened and she beckoned. She hid her sword behind her back and entered. What she saw reminded her of a scene she had seen once before in this very bedchamber, in this very bed. Everything was the same, the candles lit in the candelabra, the dark silk of the canopy, and the strange, heady smells. Only the bodies entwined on the bed were different. It was one of them, to be exact. It was not the body of a girl; it was the body of an angel. Rhianon almost shrieked. Shimmering wings spread behind her sleek back, golden curls covered Hildegard’s dark-haired head, pale lips brushed against ruby ones, almost transparent hands intertwined with human ones.
The violent act of copulation was coming to an end. Rhianon vividly imagined the murals in Madael’s tower and the ghosts in the barn. Before the fire engulfed it, the same thing must have been happening there.
In her hand was a sword. Rhianon gripped the hilt tightly and stepped closer. She could not see the angel’s face. But it could have been Madael, after all. Then why did she feel no pain, only unaccountable anger? There is no treason here, or is there?
The neck beneath the golden curls was finally exposed. Curls like snakes slipped from it. Here was the right moment. Rhianon struck so quickly that no one would have had time to dodge. She heard Hildegard scream deafeningly. She was splattered with blood. Or rather, it was a black viscous slurry that looked so much like blood. The still convulsively moving decapitated body tried to rise on its elbows and found no support. His fingers slid over the sheets, and his head recoiled so far from them that they couldn’t find it. Rhianon grasped the tangle of tangled strands before anyone else could pick it up. Slowly she lifted it in her outstretched hand. The face, still writhing in agony, was unfamiliar to her. It wasn’t Madael. He was not the one in Hildegard’s arms. She should have felt relief, but all she felt was black anger.
Hildegard’s screams still wouldn’t stop. Before the servants could rush to them, Rhianon emerged from the bedroom, carrying the still-living head in her outstretched hand. A liquid that looked like blood dripped from the stump of its neck. It hissed and almost ignited as it fell on the carpet or the hem of her dress. His long hair was wrapped around her arm, tying it into a bundle, but Rhianon kept the strands in place. His face, distorted in pain, seemed pleasing to her. There was even a moment of admiration in his tormented eyes. Maybe that was what made her joke.
«Well, that you still love her and not me?»
The cracked lips quivered, trying to say something, but no words came out, just blood flowing from his lips. The head seemed to choke on it. Rhianon thought that the severed head would begin to grow ugly and rot right before her eyes, but that one remained beautiful, while the body in Hildegard’s room might be turning black and falling apart. If so, it was only becoming what it should be. It was ashes.
Barely reaching her room, Rhianon tossed the head into the fireplace without regret. Orpheus’s shrieking did not distract her. She watched arrogantly as the