The Shining Falcon

Chapter XLlll The Regent

Ljuba lay staring up at the canopy of her bed, too worn, too weary for sleep even though her body ached for rest.

Finist, why didn't I realize what you were going to do? How could I have so sorely underestimated your strength?

That spell! That impossible, ridiculous, unbreakable spell! She'd tried, tried with every counterspell she knew, with every soap and powder and potion at her command, but the magic held fast, the bloodstains remained set in the silken fabric, she remained Regent but not ruler.

And Finist was weakening with every hour. If he died… God, if he died, with the spell in force and he unwed, Ljuba would be finished. The boyars‑damn them all—would never support her claim, nor would the guards—not a mere lady, not when they were all talking only of pious Prince Vasili!

Ljuba slammed her hand down on the bed cushions in helpless frustration. Akh, Finist! Since that dramatic demonstration of his magical strength, she'd been afraid not to keep feeding him at least the weakened form of her potion.

Yet his fever was so high. That Powerful outburst of his had nearly slain him. But… if she released her hold on him, let the potion's effect gradually drain from him, might that not give him a better chance for survival?

Still, there was no proof that the potion was harming him. And even if she stopped it, he would only have a very slight chance for recovery. At any rate, Ljuba didn't dare try it. She'd already gone too far: if she let him go, and he did recover, his first act would be to see she paid the traitor's price.

To be trapped in avian shape till the human mind was lost forever… No, no, no!

Ljuba let out a strangled sob. This had to be what those stupid peasants meant by «catching a wolf by the ears»: having to make such an impossible choice. Keep Finist in thrall, and she might risk slaying him. Let Finist go, and she'd almost certainly be slaying herself—

Oh God, what am I going to do?

She clenched her jaws till they ached, refusing to give way to tears, huddling amid the disordered cushions in silent misery. But her body's demands for rest at last outweighed her anguish, and Ljuba slipped, reluctantly, into a restless sleep…

«And did you think I'd let you rest?»

«Who… Finist! This is a dream!»

«Is it, my treacherous cousin?»

«Get out of my mind! Leave me alone!»

«Get out of my mind! You would enslave me! You would dare! Traitor, you'll never know peace, not from me!»

She could feel the wildness of his thoughts burning at her, close to madness in their fever-frenzy. Ljuba cried out in her sleep as it came to her that, reduced to the most primitive levels as he was, gentle Finist meant to destroy her mind:

«Saints in Heaven, help me! Help me!»

«What, call on Light? You?»

«Finist, no! Please!»

And: «No!» screamed Ljuba aloud, and woke herself, sitting bolt upright, shivering in fear.

The falcon stirred restlessly in his prison. Why was he here, trapped behind these cold stone walls, when he could be out in the free night sky? Yet his wings were bound. He fought… fought…

And suddenly he was up and soaring out over open country, out over forest, free …

Deep in the forest, the leshy paused, frowning, staring into the night. Now, what had he sensed… ? It had the feeling of the human‑magician's aura, yet with a chaotic strangeness to it… Humans were usually unable to bear such chaos. And even stranger, there was nothing of tangible form behind the aura…

Suddenly he had it puzzled out, and said, quite reasonably, «Is this wise? Human‑magician, is it wise to leave your body behind when it has been so weakened? Go home, forest-friend, before it's too late.»

«Too late!» came the echoing mind‑cry. «It's already too late! My cousin has poisoned me. She holds me ensnared! She will slay me, slay me!»

The leshy shivered, leaves stirring about him, confused by the force of human illness, by the unfamiliar tangle of human emotions. Yes, but the man, human or no, had always been a forest-friend. While the woman… Oh, the leshy knew of whom the magician spoke! He knew mat woman well! How many times had he felt her hatred of the forest? How many times had he heard her gloat at the very thought of its destruction?

«I mink I will help you, forest-friend," the leshy said thoughtfully. «Go, now, back to your body," he added, almost gently. «I do believe the forest shall help you!»

LJuba sat on the throne of Kirtesk, her form regal in gold brocade, her face a beautiful, impassive mask. This was the moment of which she'd dreamed, yet right now she could feel no triumph, no pride, nothing but fear.

I can't go through another night like that!

The worst of it hadn't come from Finist—not directly. After that first, terrifying attack on her sanity, Finist had fallen into so deep a slumber that she'd had to check to be sure he still breathed. No, the messages had come from the forest, there'd been no doubt of it, messages of hate, warning her, Walk warily, mocking her with Fool! Your doom is very near! Ljuba surreptitiously clenched her fists beneath her caftan's long sleeves. Those forest devils knew she feared them!

They knew, too‑curse the things! — that she had no way to defend herself against them.

Don't I? thought Ljuba savagely. It's Finist who's to blame, Finist who sent for them, Finist's who's always thought nothing of consorting with those demons. He sent his spirit-self roaming free to summon them—but I will bind it back in his body, bind it fast. He shall not elude me, body or soul. And if any of his demon-friends try to stop me, I will crush them!

«Your pardon, lady," said a voice, and Ljuba started, glancing sharply down from the high dais.

It was old Semyon, dipping his head to her in a brief, formal salute. Ljuba stared at him, unblinking, eyes cold as midwinter ice, till the old fool got the point and went down on one knee before her. She let him stay there long enough to think things over, then calmly bade him rise, smiling thinly at his aura of frustrated anger.

Too bad, old man! Ljuba mocked him silently. You yourself vowed to serve the crown. And, like it or not, right now I am the crown. Aloud, she asked curtly, «What is it?»

«Emissaries from Stargorod have just arrived, lady.»

Ljuba tensed. «What, from Prince Svyatoslav?»

«Ah, no, lady. Not officially. They seem to have no royal backing at all, but — "

«Common messengers?» From the late Maria's family, perhaps? She couldn't afford that! She didn't dare have anyone raise potentially awkward questions, not when her authority was still to be firmly established. «Let them wait," said Ljuba regally.

«But, lady, they — "

«Did you hear me?»

«Yes, of course, lady, but — "

«Then obey me! If these so‑called messengers have no official status, let them wait for an audience, just like any other common folk!»

Semyon started to argue, then sighed, bowing in reluctant submission. «So be it, lady.»

Ljuba glanced about the chamber at the other boyars, seeing them wary, skeptical, hostile, and her thin smile sharpened a touch. Thanks to the edict she'd forced from Finist, they must obey her, or be named traitors to the crown. And in these short days since she'd come to sit as Regent of Kirtesk, she was already beginning to bend these fools to her will, showing them just how spoiled and soft they'd become under Finist's gentle hand—showing them what a true ruler was like!

«Think of me as you will," murmured Ljuba under her breath. «Mistrust me, fear me, even hate me. But—obey me, you shall!»