Natalie Yacobson - Rhianon-9. The Birth of the Dragon

Hildegard almost changed her mind when she noticed someone’s reflection in the mirror. The winged young man seemed incredibly beautiful to her. His face bore some resemblance to Rhianon’s, but his eyes… how evil they were. It was as if he was burning her through with his eyes. The vision lasted only a moment, but the sensation of an incredibly strong hand gripping her hair and nearly ripping her braids out remained.

Hildegarde grimaced in pain. The headdress seemed to be in place. The braids were not torn out either. And no one was reflected in the mirror but herself. Her outfit today was exquisite. Her favorite black color is set off by a smoky, somber veil. Dark amethysts adorn the corset and hemline. And her hair is like darkness itself. Except that in her mind, in her brain, just beneath her skull, a bright fire seemed to blaze.

Hildegard cried out in fright at the sight of the worms on the table, and she did not understand why she was so frightened. After all, she was not afraid of the sight of toads and rats prying into her elixirs. And nausea never felt. On the contrary, she was attracted to disgusting things. So why was she suddenly disgusted by worms?

«Worms,» the angel’s voice echoed in her mind, not from the mirror. «I’ll crush you like a worm before you can touch Rhianon.»

She didn’t believe him. So what if there are so many worms. They were crawling in exactly the places where something edible had lain recently: sweets, grapes, or figs. The food must have gone bad. So they crawled.

Hildegard didn’t want to imagine herself as one of those worms, but the idea was coming to mind. She even had to grab onto the first support she could find to keep from falling. Her legs did not hold her. She felt as if her body were becoming as flat and streamlined as a limbless worm’s.

«This is stupid,» she covered her mouth immediately, realizing that she was talking to herself. But it really was stupid. Who could have put such thoughts into her head? As she emerged from her tower, she realized that she could hardly make it to the Feast Hall on her own. She couldn’t be bothered to keep a thin cobweb of charms on the door.

The crown of Loretta rested on Rhianon’s head, she was given the main seat at the table, everyone listened to her, from the first minister to the latest minstrel, called to the court only for the evening. And yet here she felt like a statue or a ghost. That was how a visitor from another world felt, not understood or even noticed by people. That was probably how Madael felt, everything was in his hands, people’s lives, their souls, their destinies, they depended on him, but they did not notice him. Only he didn’t feel superfluous, and she did.

Madael was used to being worshipped, it was new to her. Rhianon watched the stunts of the acrobats, the mimes and actors, the jugglers tossing balls or burning torches. She did not mean to ignite anything, but one of the torches she had been watching for a particularly long time burst into flames so that it scorched the juggler’s hands. It must have been the first time that had happened to him. He stared so dumbfounded at his burned palms. Then they took him away. Rhianon watched it all with frightening indifference. It was as if the world did not exist in front of her. The action unfolded in a haze. The songs of the troubadours and bards sounded as if they were from afar. That must be what it feels like to be enchanted by elves. The world simply ceases to exist for him because his consciousness remains a prisoner of magical creatures.

Is she really a prisoner of Madael? Rhianon was not at all happy about the thought. She woke up and tried to come to her senses. She must cast off her spell like a bad dream. She shook her head persistently, but the only thing she could shake off was her wreath.

More and more dishes were brought from the kitchen. The guests ate and drank. Servants served them wine. Rhianon caught herself that the smell of meat and roast meat did not appeal to her at all. She wondered if she saw it raw… She’d have to hunt for it. The baby inside her must need food. It wouldn’t be likely to accept what normal people eat. Rhianon tried not to think about pouncing on anyone present. Does the court know about cannibals? Fallen angels also eat the flesh of fallen warriors and drink human blood, but it is as peculiar to them as it is to leeches. A queen who thirsts for the blood of her subjects would be treated differently by everyone than she would by the myths of the devil. Now she wished she could go out into the battlefield and kill only to tear the flesh and veins of her enemies afterward. She longed for blood, but the table poured only other drinks.

Sparkling wine trickled into the goblet. Something was wrong. The very color of the wine repulsed her, as if it were strewn with black ash. She didn’t immediately notice the small creature hiding in the shadows of the nearest dish. It only nimbly ran up to her fingers as she reached for the stem of the filled goblet.

Rhianon recognized the leprechaun. Strange how his mottled, red-colored robes didn’t stand out against the gold and silverware.

«Do not drink! Don’t drink!» He was mostly gesticulating, giving her conventional signs to let her know what he wanted to tell her.

Rhianon was sure no one could hear his little voice. To her, it had sounded like the squeak of a mosquito, and now she was probably the only one who could hear and understand faerie language, just as only Madael had been able to understand the language of birds and beasts before her.

Of course, there was poison in the glass. How she herself had not guessed before. What a profitable and deft move, to pretend to be hospitable so that during the feast the object causing so much strife – hers – could be discreetly removed. Just one goblet of wine and the new queen was gone. Rhianon almost sympathized with their foolishness. How they had miscalculated. And how naive they must be to easily believe that one who could ignite an entire city with her power could be too sensitive to a knife or poison?. This is all nonsense. There are no more weapons for her to fear. They still can’t believe it. She looked around the gathering disparagingly, from beneath half-lidded lashes, lingering intently on each face and reading their innermost thoughts with ease. Who had made the effort this time? And who were his accomplices? With her newfound ability to find out the tiniest details was so easy. It was just child’s play, not a difficult conspiracy investigation.

While the feast was going on, she couldn’t even think about it. She would deal with everything later.

The table was overflowing with delicacies, and though she wasn’t hungry at all, she had to hand it to the castle’s chefs. Stuffed geese, ducks, slices of flavorful lamb with pieces of pineapple and olives, all on engraved dishes, and each dish was a work of culinary art. Hildegard, however, wrinkled her nose unhappily. Her dark onyx eyes ran restlessly over the table as if she were spotting rats on the tablecloth. Rhianon, too, examined the utensils, the wine decanters and dessert vases, as properly as she could. No, the leprechaun had only hidden near her wineglass, and that was not to steal another piece from her plate, but only to warn her that the wine was poisoned. He might not have known that the poison had no effect on her henceforth, or he might have simply decided to take precautions. No matter. The fact is, the conscientious servant had done his duty of guarding his mistress, and he was so dexterous that it was impossible to see him.

Hildegard! Rhianon met her black as the darkness itself for a moment, and somehow noticed the fear in her hitherto perpetually impenetrable eyes. Then she turned her gaze to the table and almost cringed in disgust herself. Worms! Where once there had been the aromatic smell of fried chicken and smoky punch, now there were disgusting gooey lumps of worms crawling all over the place. They were in balls, in glasses, in pike-perch where the fish lay, ghastly as the entrails that had fallen out of their ripped bellies. Rhianon had seen something like this on the battlefield, too, when she dissected her enemies with her sword. The guts spilling from open bellies smelled just as foul and disgusting, but surprisingly she could smell no earth or worms. There was still the sweet smell of honey and cream and candied cherries in the punch, but only disgusting worms crawled across the table. The guests continued to eat and enjoy themselves as if they were oblivious of the change. Their laughter sounded distant, ghastly and slightly muffled, like the swarming worms. Rhianon saw mouths full of nastiness, spoons with stalks braided with the slimy body of a worm. She was about to close her eyes and whisper a few magic words to banish the vision, but then suddenly it dissipated on its own.