The Shining Falcon

EPILOGUE

Two months, thought Finist. Has it really been only two months?

The time till he and Maria could be wed had seemed like an eternity:

Two months of slow boredom, as his worn body gradually regained its strength.

Two months of frenzied preparations, with all the city in such a whirl of busy confusion that the psychic overflow of excitement had left his mind spinning.

Two months of sheer torment, longing for Maria, yet not, thanks to the stern rules of royal propriety, being allowed to so much as touch her.

But now, at last, the time of waiting was over!

The day of his wedding passed for Finist in one shining, dizzying blur of light and music and joy, with only one constant: Maria. Maria, there by his side in the royal chapel, Maria aglow in robes and veiled headdress so splendid with gold, so stiff with pearls and priceless gems she'd needed the handmaids to help her kneel beside him. Lost in the radiance in her eyes, he hardly knew whether or not he was making the proper responses, his voice that of some hoarse stranger. When the time came for the exchange of rings, Finist, mortified, found his hands shaking so wildly he had a horrible image of the ring flying right out of his grip and rolling all the way down the length of the chapel. But somehow he managed to slip the ring on

Maria's finger, feeling her hand warm and dry and trembling only slightly in his own. When he must kiss her, there before all the assembled boyars and the crush of commons behind them—God, he didn't want to ever let her go.

The day sped on. Before Finist could credit his stunned senses, he and Maria were royal newlyweds sitting at their wedding feast. The great banquet hall was ablaze with torches, their light reflecting dazzlingly from the bright, ornately painted walls, striking many‑colored sparks from the rubies and emeralds worn by the boyars, transmuting the strings of harps and gusli to gold as minstrels vied with each other to sing finer and ever more intricate songs of royal glory, struggling to be heard over the chatterings and laughter of the crowd. The air was heavy with the scents of savory meats and pastries, with perfume and slightly overwarm humanity.

Finist looked down at the food before him, and realized he couldn't eat a bite to save him. Maria, he saw with a shy sideways glance, wasn't eating either, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the room, her lashes lowered. But she must have felt his gaze on her, because a small hand slipped unobtrusively into his own.

Akh, he mustn't forget his honored guest! Finist turned to the man at his left, to Danilo Yaroslavovich. Danilo looked very much like a man in a complete state of shock. After all, thought Finist in a flash of sharp humor, he'd just seen the fearsome, damned sorcerer not only enter a holy chapel, but complete a holy service without once vanishing in a cloud of smoke.

«Enjoying yourself?» Finist asked the man softly.

«As it pleases you, Prince Finist.»

«Oh, come now, man, unbend a bit! You are my father‑in-law.»

Danilo's glance was cool. «Again, as it pleases you.»

«What, still so hostile? Yet you and Vasilissa came.»

The cold facade shattered. «How could I not come? When you sent me that message…»

«You didn't object to its being a magical one, eh?»

«I… Anything that could get to me so swiftly, that could let me know my dear one was alive, and safe, and happy—How could I object? I love my daughter!»

«As do I," said Finist.

His heart was in the simple words. And, just for a moment, the two men were in complete accord, just for a moment the prince felt the wall between them start to crack.

A beginning, he thought, and smiled.

Outside, night darkened Kirtesk. Within the banquet hall, merriment still reigned. Though now, since all but Finist, who, as ever, dared not risk too much drink, and Maria, who was too wary to drink, had been liberally helping themselves to the sweet, dangerous mead and the rare wines from the East, the conviviality was taking a bawdy turn. Vasilissa, much to her father's shock and Finist's amusement, actually seemed to be enjoying herself, eyes bright with delight. She really did love her sister, the prince realized, really did wish her joy. But Maria, though she continued to smile valiantly, was beginning to droop.

Poor thing, Finist thought, weighed down by her robes and probably ready to faint from exhaustion.

He bent to her, whispering, «Want to get out of here?»

She shot him a grateful look, whispering back, «But how? They'll all want to see us to—to our bed and…»

Finist heard the quaver in her voice, and said firmly, «They'll just have to be disappointed. Watch.»

Delicately, feeling the force of Power bubbling up within him as though he'd drunk too much of that heady wine, the prince built up a haze of illusion about them. It wasn't the neatest spell he'd ever worked; Finist was tired from the long day, too. In fact, it probably wouldn't have fooled a sober soul for a moment. But by this point, none of the guests‑including Danilo, who was trying with ever fading coherency to explain his views on magic to an owl-eyed, beaming Semyon—were even remotely sober. Finist grinned. The haze should be just enough to confuse drink-befuddled sight even more! He caught Maria's hand and peeled her carefully away from the delicate illusion, leaving behind two smoky, almost solid images of themselves.

«Beautiful!» giggled Maria in his ear.

«Shh! Mustn't let them realize where we're going.»

Fighting down laughter, Finist and Maria tiptoed off, hand in hand, for all the world like two errant children, stealing up stairways and down corridors till at last they were safely behind the doors of Finist's private chambers.

«There, now! Home at last," the prince managed to get out, and then he and Maria were bursting into gusts of helpless laughter.

«They—they'll never forgive us!» gasped Maria.

«I suppose not!»

But as he looked at her, at his wife, Finist felt his laughter fade. Maria turned to him, eyes wide, and for a moment, dazed and wondering, they stared, quite speechless, at each other.

Overwhelmed by a sudden hot rush of love and desire, Finist murmured, «Akh, Maria, come. No one will disturb us now.»

Hand in hand, they entered the bridal chamber. Servants had been here before them, had strewn the floor with flowers and sweet-scented herbs. Herbs for good fortune, realized Finist, for fertility. He heard Maria give a little gasp as the implication of those herbs dawned on her. She pulled her hand from his and turned away, trembling, and he thought in pity, She's frightened.

He would be gentle. He would use every bit of his love and his magic to ease the way for her, and—

A sharp, half-stifled little oath startled him. «Ah, Maria?»

She turned a flushed face to him. «I wanted to be bold and—and daring for you, and let these robes just—fall where they would. But I can't get these d-damned laces open!»

He burst into laughter again, and after a moment, she joined him. Finist struggled with the stubborn knots, the warmth of her flesh beneath his hands feeding his impatience till at last he cried:

«Akh, enough of this!»

A surge of Power sent bridal finery flying from them both. Maria gasped again, reddening, but stood facing him for a moment before shyness sent her scuttling for the shelter of the bedclothes. Finist stared after her in sheer, joyous wonder. Deep within him, he realized now, there'd been the lingering fear that the memory of Ljuba might come cruelly between them. Now that fear seemed so foolish. Ljuba's golden loveliness had been too perfect, sterile. Maria was full-breasted, full-hipped, all that was womanly, all that was warm, living, happy beauty.

«Oh, my love," he breathed, «my heart, my life!»

For all that she continued to blush fiercely—with a surge of new delight Finist watched the spread of that blush down between those charming breasts‑Maria's eyes never left him, caressing the length of him. And all at once she gave a delightful little chuckle.

«Finist, love, you're going to catch a chill standing there like that. Do come to bed.»

Grinning like a fool, he obeyed. The touch of her skin, satin-smooth against his, sent desire raging like wildfire through him, racing from his mind to hers and back again in a sudden wonder of shared love and need: the psychic link they'd shared before would now, it seemed, grant them an added, unexpected delight.

Unless this last bit of strangeness was just too strange for Maria? For a moment the linking quivered and threatened to fall.

But then:

«Oh, I do pity women with mundane mates," said Maria smugly.

Finist gave a joyous laugh, and pulled her to him.