Rhianon-4. Secrets of the Celestials. Natalie Yacobson

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      The minutes passed, and she still pondered. Before she could make up her mind, the ifrit spoke suddenly, flatteringly and ingratiatingly.

      “He’s like us,” he said, his voice sounding convincing for the first time. No name was needed to be given. Rhianon knew who he was talking about.

      “No,” she said sharply. “You are not as beautiful as he is.”

      “But inside…” Her interlocutor said thoughtfully. “Why should he be beautiful if he’s like us?”

      “Perhaps he is more worthy,” Rhianon said, bravely defending her lover even though he did not need it. If he had heard that from any of his subjects he would have been a handful of ashes, but no one would have dared say that to his face. She is another matter, she can be tempted and tried to deceive, but Rhianon has tried to show that she does not succumb to lies.

      “Is he?” the ifrit flicked his claws over the carving of the mantelpiece. He could have damaged it, but somehow there were no scratches, as if all the things here were enchanted, or if these dark claws could do no real harm, only frighten.

      “And more honestly, at least he’d said from the beginning that staying with him would ruin us both,” Rhianon blurted out, only to remember moments later that Madael had never said such words. He had never threatened or implied tragedy, but there was a sudden sense of unseen, crushing doom. Rhianon looked around anxiously. She heard the words as clearly and distinctly as if they had really been spoken by her lover.

      Suddenly Rhianon was angry with the ifrit. It was as if he had spoken to her deliberately and as if he meant to do her harm. She wanted no more quarrels with him. Let him fly out of the tower and have his philosophical debates with one of the victims of the witch plague. If he was so eager to bicker, he might as well do it with the people who would soon take his secrets with them to the grave. Perhaps, as an ex-angel, he is more attracted to the princess than to the commoners, but she no longer cares. Rhianon deliberately pretended to focus on something else. She noticed a small harp with shiny strings behind the mantelpiece and reached for it.

      “Now go away,” she said to the ifrit. “I have nothing more to say to you.”

      He understood her at once, but he was too sensible to express his anger and resentment in any way. One second his claws were nervously tearing at the decorations on the mantelpiece, and the next it was empty. Something huge and unwieldy rushed upward under the gaze of the dark dome above the hall. Rhianon knew that even if she raised her eyes high she could not see the inaccessible ceiling. It went so far up that a whole flock of such creatures could still nest beneath it. She didn’t care anymore, even if their glittering yellow eyes were watching her from the celestial darkness. She decided to do something to distract her from the unearthly philosophy of these creatures and their creeping temptations. The graceful harp beckoned her to play, and Rhianon touched the strings. Instantly the sweet sounds of music flowed through the silence. She did not think of notes or melody, but it came out by itself. Never before had she been able to play so well. Her fingers used to be awkward and sometimes she even hurt them on the strings. If strict adherence to etiquette had been observed, the court music teacher would have been happy to scold her. But she was the daughter of a monarch, and he had to keep quiet. Rhianon smiled wistfully. Such beautiful harmonies she had never heard before. She could hardly believe it was her own hands plucking something like this from the strings. The music flowed like a silvery stream and enveloped everything. The gloomy tower, which must have never listened to such sounds, was transformed. The moans and sobs that sounded like living walls dissolved into it. Strange, in the earthly kingdom where Rhianon lived, at court they used to say that all walls have ears, that was a hackneyed expression, though it meant that behind the walls there are spies, while the monolith of the fortress itself does not breathe or live. But here in the tower of Madael, each wall seemed to live on its own and, at the same time, to be an organ of a single, independent entity: this fortress. The gloomy tower seemed a sleeping giant, as lost and parched as Madael’s army. And now in the very womb of this creature, magical music sounded. Rhianon opened her lips and sang in time to it, softly but expressively. Nor could she remember any song by heart. The words flowed by themselves.

      In a moment she wouldn’t even be able to remember what she was singing about, but of course the song was about the same motif as everyone else, there was passion and love and death, and of course the power of doom and betrayal.

      She stopped suddenly, sensing someone nearby. The song broke off halfway through. Rhianon quickly put the harp aside and turned around at the doorway. She feared that Madael was already standing there watching her. It was as if he had caught her at something forbidden. It seemed to her that she should not have played in that tower and now she should be silenced for doing so.

      Rhianon waited for some accusing words or a commanding shout, but the dark figure, frozen in the doorway, remained motionless. No wings could be seen behind its lean back. So it was not Madael or one of his subjects. Rhianon looked closely, but could make out nothing in the darkness.

      “Please continue, Your Highness,” the soft voice came from the darkness and sounded apologetic. “I did not mean to disturb you.”

      “Arnaud,” Rhianon guessed rather than saw. He was still in the shadows. She could see the outline of his shoulders and his voice was familiar. And of course he was the only one who could address her as “Your Highness. Others in the magical world would more readily mistake her for a queen, for she was the companion of their lord. None of them would repeat to her the words she heard in Loretta. Only Arnaud did.

      With a nod of her head she invited him to cross the threshold of the hall. He complied, but treaded softly, as if there were traps he knew would be set in the floor.

      “I didn’t want to disturb you…”

      “What are you doing here?”

      He was clearly embarrassed. Rhianon couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to get into a tower where only winged creatures, and not even birds, but those capable of flying much higher than them, could enter. One of Madael’s subjects could have brought Arnaud here, of course. Rhianon shuddered involuntarily. The young man was very handsome. Even the shabby garments he wore did not mar his handsome good looks, but she was sickened by the sight of him. She could only think of how he had come into the world. It wasn’t his fault, of course. It was silly and unfair to condemn him for someone else’s faults. Rhianon suddenly understood what Madael meant when he explained that fallen angels were not supposed to love humans, much less associate with them. Yet he himself had broken that rule. What might have been the consequences in their case? Rhianon swallowed hard and put her fingers to her thin waist. She didn’t want to think about something like that.

      “I go everywhere, even to the most inaccessible places sometimes,” Arnaud smiled guiltily. “Some people say that there are no doors that can be locked from me, because I can even go through the keyhole.”

      “This tower has no doors,” she reminded him reasonably.

      “But there are gaps between the stones and windows.”

      She didn’t quite see where he was going with that. To squeeze through a crevice is certainly impressive, but it’s hardly dexterity enough to do something like that. She СКАЧАТЬ