Rhianon-7. Queen of Vinor. Natalie Yacobson

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СКАЧАТЬ 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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