Rhianon-7. Queen of Vinor. Natalie Yacobson

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.