Rhianon-6: Mistress of Magical Creatures. Natalie Yacobson

looked at her and didn’t even dare raise his hand to wipe the burning sweat from his forehead.

      “Are you excusing me or condemning me?”

      “People are just trying to survive in an unjust world. And you also have great responsibilities. But I condemn all those who, instead of doing the work, indulge their own ego – the Inquisition and men of the rank among them. I despise them. And the evil one is not afraid of them. Think about it, can those who themselves stood in the ranks of the angels of God be afraid of divine symbols. Besides, these symbols were invented not by God, but by people. There is a belief-the serpent and the cross. I often imagine a crucifix wrapped around a serpent. It is said that such symbols are stamped on the covers of witchcraft books. But does the dragon run from the cross. Show him the cruciform shape of your sword and he will disappear. When you went into battle, you counted on it.”

      “Not quite! More like a sword blade,” he admitted honestly. “Not really,” he admitted honestly. “We had archers, a lot of men who died in the swamp, cannon on a gun carriage, chains, maces…”

      “Not even a catapult would have done you any good. Not many cannons, – dragons are invulnerable.”

      “It’s their scales. They’re like jewels, aren’t they?”

      Rhianon gave him a hard look.

      “You are very observant. You noticed that too, didn’t you?” She stared at his face for a long moment, the straight, graceful nose, the seductive lips, the thoughtful, big eyes. He’s smarter than she first thought, yet he can be so sincere.

      The ball of flame was still hovering in the air, but it had already begun to cast sparks. One of them fell on Rhianon’s dress, but it did not burn the thin silk. The cloth woven by fairies’ hands was not flammable, nor could it be damaged. Rhianon smoothed the ruffles with her fingers. It was as if sparks hadn’t touched them. The air around the balloon grew hot. She could feel the heat, but it didn’t hurt, and it was harder for Ferdinand, who was sitting beside her, to bear it. He was tense, but he wasn’t about to leave. He liked to sacrifice his own comfort to be near her. Rhianon leaned back and leaned her head against the trunk of a beech tree. Her golden hair laced the bark. She could feel the roughness of the wood in the back of her head, hear the woodworms crawling up and down the trunk, and hear the superhuman life bubbling up and down the leaves and the roots. Oh, she suspected it was there. There were supernatural beings everywhere, even if they remained completely invisible to mortals. No Inquisition could help against them. Ferdinand is somewhat ridiculous. But he could be so loyal and understanding. Just the kind of friend she had always dreamed of.

      Madael hid his secrets. With him, understatement was acceptable. He was an angel, he was a mystery himself. Humans are simpler. Someone mortal could get closer and even say goodbye to life because of you. But a beloved demon is still no substitute for him. The handsome young man beside her dreamed of shared love, of mutual warmth, of trust. She could only offer him scalding fire.

      She purposely loosened her grip for a moment, and the fireball burst into a myriad of sparkling sparks. Some of them burned Ferdinand. Other sleeping warriors, now reluctant to wake, muttered a curse and hurried to extinguish the items that had begun to ignite, or even the dry branches beneath them. A torrent of sparks fell into the grass and the driftwood, and even touched the trees, but there was no fire. Rhianon now knew how to neutralize the destructive force. Tiny sparks of fire reluctantly subdued her and went out, flying away harmlessly.

      So she knew how to do some things without needing the advice of her mentor. Both Rothbert and Clive were right. They each said, in their own way, that he who has a priceless gift must learn everything on his own. So Rhianon was learning. She liked to master her talents the way others mastered the arts. To control the power that dormant in you is wonderful.

      Ferdinand was impressed, but she knew he would not say a word to his entourage. No one would know that the little nighttime fireworks display was no accident. It had been set off by a lady who had come out of the woods. Now someone was reciting prayers, someone was inspecting the gaps in their cloaks, Ferdinand, for example, was holding back from blowing on his burned palms. He had taken off his gauntlets at such bad timing. Large red spots were now spreading across his fingers and down to his wrist. Such severe burns could not have occurred after the nettles. In her mind Rhianon sympathized with him, but she didn’t know how to help. It was unlikely her touch would be healing, and she was not yet versed in medicinal herbs. She was not Hildegard, she had no need to fumble with poisons and potions. Even if such ability came to her in time, she had no use for it. Her power lies elsewhere.

      “Angry that I burned you?” She asked in a casual tone as the others went back to sleep after some grumbling. No supernatural foe threatened them from the darkness, and yet many knights clung to their swords even in their sleep. Ferdinand, unlike them, was calm, though he already knew what the source of the danger was.

      He only shook his head in the negative and a coy smile bloomed on his lips. He had beautiful lips, Rhianon noted to herself, his mouth wide and sensual, his lower lip a little full, the color of his skin pale and still reminiscent of a juicy fruit. What would it be like to kiss a human rather than an angel? For the first time she thought about something like that. Aloud, however, she spoke on a very different subject.

      “No one is allowed to insult the king. A wrongdoer, even an accidental one, can’t stay alive after he’s harmed you.”

      She wanted to tease him, but it didn’t work with Ferdinand.

      “But after all, fairies are supposed to have special privileges.”

      How seriously he takes everything. Rhianon almost laughed in his face. So in his charming blond head there is still a plan to tie himself in a dynastic marriage to a fairy and thus protect his kingdom from invasion by evil spirits. She didn’t dare tease him about it. He was honest with her, and therefore did not take jokes.

      Rhianon touched his palms gingerly and noticed the ugly red burn spots lightening. The decisive moment seemed to have arrived. Ferdinand believed her.

      “If I ask you for something, so, as a fairy, you won’t deny me any request.”

      He nodded. His consent she secured. Rhianon gave him a mysterious smile.

      In the morning, promising that she would return soon and join the tiny cavalcade before she even entered Vinor, she turned the horse onto another road. The animal did not budge, though she felt her trembling. The danger of what she had conceived was weighing on her; the road was becoming perilous. There was also the risk of losing Ferdinand, whose support she had already secured, but Rhianon was betting first that her new talent for covering any distance quickly would help her catch up with him before the city gates, and second that she needed to find support still on the side. Mortal troops alone were not enough. She needed help from supernatural forces. The powers that interested her at the moment dwelt in the mountains and in the water. Very conveniently she remembered that Vinor was also a major maritime power. There are many ports here, where merchant ships from various lands arrive. There is a large flotilla, an armada of royal galleons. Rhianon involuntarily stared at them at the first port she saw on the way. She did not know whether this small piece of land in front of the endless expanses of water belonged to Vinor or to a neighboring country. The small port seemed ghostly. The little port town next to it was full of caryatids and sandstone statues. They were images of supernatural beings. And the port itself is called “Angelo.” Isn’t that a little eloquent. She would have thought that only the servants of Madael lived here. They might have taken over the city, pretended to be statues, or lurked in the shadows of the poor houses, which for some reason were decorated too lavishly with stucco and flowers. It was an amazing luxury for a port city. And the statues of supernatural beings are striking, as if they were the work of an unearthly sculptor. And the architecture of the town is strange. At first the streets seem empty, but then you notice the people and the perpetual accumulation of people in the port. On the way, she was told that even on the cloudiest day, Angelo’s harbor is