Rhianon-7. Queen of Vinor

Rhianon-7. Queen of Vinor
Natalie Yacobson

Rhianon recruits supernatural supporters to go to war against Loretta. To gain Vinor’s support, she must marry the young king, but her heart belongs to a fallen angel. Madael has lost Rhianon, but feels he must ensure her protection. He sends an elf in love with her, turned into a winged horse.

Rhianon-7. Queen of Vinor

Natalie Yacobson

Translator Natalia Lilienthal

© Natalie Yacobson, 2022

© Natalia Lilienthal, translation, 2022

ISBN 978-5-0059-0405-8 (т. 7)

ISBN 978-5-0056-8618-3

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Death and the Queen

Waking up, Rhianon was surprised that the town had not yet rung the alarm bell to warn people of the disaster. The words of the angel she met on the street last night were unequivocal. It would be time for the alarm bells to ring. However, the city outside the window was unusually quiet. Rhianon squinted at the bright daylight flooding her bedroom. She didn’t immediately notice the black birds flying outside the window. Crows again? Squinting sleepily, she peered out the window. From here she could see the peaked towers with their brass plating glistening in the sun, the spires of the town hall, and the cathedrals. And everywhere she could see the black specks of feathered creatures flying by. Whole flocks flew over the city.

«They were flying away,» the spirit whispered in her ear. He was awake, but at least he did not disturb her during the night. He must have been a bit gallant, after all, to let her sleep.

«I see,» she admitted that she didn’t feel like she’d slept much, but she couldn’t stay in bed any longer. If the agitated court was already seething against her, then it was time to pack up and disappear. As the instigator of an unwanted war, she could only find herself insulted in Vinor. That means there will be no visit from the angel of death in three days. Or rather, there will be, but to her. If she is denied support here, she does not care that the disease will consume the city. Let herself be. Rhianon felt no pangs of conscience as she prepared to go.

Someone had left her beautiful new clothes. Examining the neatly folded bundles, Rhianon guessed that they were not the work of the king’s tailors, but a work of magical art. The spinsters had done their best. They may have been scheming, but they knew what they were doing. The night passed and they had already made for her a cloak framed with gold lace as thin as cobwebs, several luxurious outfits: green, blue and, to her displeasure, bright red. Though the latter was the prettiest, she wouldn’t dare wear it. And where is the camisole she had ordered. Right now it was far more important to her than dressy rags. Otherwise, how else could she leave the castle unnoticed unless she changed into a man? Under the three folds, Rhianon finally found the last one. The camisole, the shirt, the breeches, everything was in place. The black velvet blended gracefully with the intricate pattern of delicate white lace on the cuffs and collar. How beautiful and discreet. She had expected a brightly colored tunic, like all the courtiers’ dandies. The black and white tones reminded her of something.

Rhianon remembered, and almost let the garment out of her hands. It was the uniform of a student of the School of Witchcraft – black velvet and white lace, with witchcraft symbols skillfully woven into the pattern. Rhianon already recognized them in the intricate ligature. No, she would never wear this. Otherwise, the effect might be unpredictable. She would be bewitched, driven mad, dragged into a cursed place.

«Don’t be silly,» the spirit reassured her. «This will protect you.»

Little did she believe it, and yet the black velvet felt so lovely to the touch.

What better to wear her atypical red dress or this costume» Rhianon thought briefly. The camisole fit her like a glove.

«You didn’t seem pregnant at all,» the soft voice whispered.

Frankly, she didn’t know what was supposed to be happening to her. Her waist was still thin, even thinner than before. The tight clothing accentuated the boyish slimness. Rhianon glanced in the mirror; the simpler the outfit, the more dazzling her own beauty seemed.

There was one detail of her outfit that was missing. She lacked a hat that would hide her hair and make her look like a boy. And she would have needed a sword-band, or at least a short sword. What would a court dandy be without a richly instructed weapon? She didn’t feel like a court dandy. Strict and beautiful at the same time, the clothes were suitable only for a privileged and, of course, a chosen apprentice – a magician from the School of Witchcraft. Rhianon didn’t regret at all that she hadn’t stayed there. She wondered if Madael would have found her there. He might have. After all, everything to do with witchcraft applied to him in one way or another. He would have noticed her there and loved her.

She could have cut her hair, of course, but Rhianon didn’t dare. It was too thick and beautiful. It would probably grow back in just one night, but she wasn’t going to risk it.

She took one last look around the luxurious bedroom and grabbed the doorknob.

«Hey, where are you going, they’ll recognize you!» The spirit resented her, but Rhianon paid no attention. She only twisted her hair into a loose braid and threw it over her shoulder.

The castle really looked like a beehive. The maids scurried forward with trays, not even recognizing Rhianon. A page fell at her feet. Rhianon pushed the frightened heralds out of her way and went toward the throne room. She wondered what was being said. She had expected to hear the Councilors protesting the war they had contemplated, arguing against the foreign princess and her designs, but to her surprise the castle was full of entirely different rumors. Either the spinsters had miscalculated, or something far more frightening had happened. Rhianon could hear the anxious courtiers whispering in corridors and alcoves, but their suspicious conversations never mentioned war or the royal marriage with the witch-like tendencies of the new claimant to the throne. Rhianon listened. They spoke of death, but not about war.

She was uncomfortable standing near someone for a long time and eavesdropping on their conversation, but as it turned out she could distinguish the voices speaking even at a decent distance.

She could hear every conversation in town, let alone in the castle, if she wanted to. She just didn’t realize it right away. As soon as she singled some people out from the crowd, she could hear only their words, no matter how far away they were from her. It was even interesting. Thus she learned a great deal and involuntarily shuddered.

The courtiers were anxious and the servants were on the verge of panic. The servants had to go out into town, for example, to the market stalls or to meet the carriages, and disease was already rampant in the city.

«I presume it was the children who died first?» Rhianon turned to the spirit. She didn’t think he would answer, wasn’t even sure if he was there now, but the voice came back.

«And don’t think. Innocent people always die first… though if you look at the moment from your spouse’s point of view, that is, from heaven, you can see things differently and thus it turns out that there are no innocents. Everyone is guilty of something. For example, the fact that he came into the world.»

«Leave your comments,» she demanded.

«Well, I’d better stop talking, then.»

That’s what she’d wanted him to do more than anything, but not now.

«There are enough people here to keep you entertained,» he finally said.

«Wait! What is in the city?»

«Why don’t you listen and see for yourself,» he advised.

Rhianon listened. All the sounds of the city below came to her in one cacophony. But then, after a second, she began to distinguish between the various sources of sound. Here a carriage carrying barrels of wine rode along the sidewalk, there lace-makers and embroiderers pulled the thread, their fingers slipped quietly over the fabric, somewhere dogs barked as if they sensed the approach of death, spiders weaved webs on the walls of houses, priests read a prayer over the deceased, but not near the deathbed, but kept at a distance. They, too, are afraid of getting sick. How many people have died in the city already? Rhianon listened to the conversations of the people in the streets. According to them, quite a few were already out, and even more were sick. But if you count by the size of Vinor, the number wasn’t too frightening yet.

«It’s convenient to be here and hear them all,» the spirit whispered again. «You know how to do that, unlike me.»

«And you, unlike me, can see through walls,» she retorted, not even thinking much about whether he was joking or serious. No one in the crowded and homophobic hall noticed that she was talking to the emptiness over her shoulder.

«You had better be queen here, no one would dare argue that your inheritance should be returned. It’s always more pleasant to stand up for something that won’t go far from the family later than it is to stand up for an outsider’s property.»

«What are you talking about?» She involuntarily perked up, even stopped eavesdropping on the others’ conversations. The spirit alerted her. She had already guessed what he was going to say next and still she clenched her fists angrily.

«You see, if Loretta is to be considered a mere legacy of the local queen, not a nation of its own, then no one would be strong enough to refuse its conquest. In the meantime, you’re just a guest, and helping you, much less your country, is a moot point. Who wants to go to war over someone else’s land?»

What a flattering voice and what a mean one. If it belonged to a man of flesh and blood, Rhianon would fight.

«Loretta will never be a province,» she hissed. «My country will remain mine.»

«Yes, as it is yours now,» he taunted her.

The sting was very tangible.

«You’d better accept it, my dear, because you’ve already sacrificed your maidenhood, and you’ve had nothing to gain by it. No one’s made you a queen of evil spirits. Although, if I’m not mistaken, your lover promised it, and yet you’re still picking up the crumbs of what he should have given you in full. The situation is different here; not all men lie, and not every man is in such a free political position that he can lie to you. Ferdinand is bound because his subjects are flesh and blood. Even if he does not want to keep his oath, a whole staff of advisers will persuade him, and duty to the people will compel him. Every ruler wants to annex a piece of another country to his own. And here is such a tidbit as a whole kingdom… I wonder how the king of any other country wouldn’t want to get you as his heiress. And if he was already married himself, there would always be single relatives. In this case it would be Leon, whom you have fortunately already got rid of. With your dowry no one would just let you go.»

«Loretta is not just my dowry, it’s my kingdom and only I can rule it.»

«You will only rule your dreams if you don’t compromise.»