Natalie Yacobson - Rhianon-4. Secrets of the Celestials

Of course, such thoughts might have come to him under the pressure of numerous messengers. Manfred sent them every week, later every day, he asked and even demanded that Moren think of a way to not only throw his remaining forces into battle, but to find the unknown warrior. Where to look Manfred did not say, but he promised that he would execute his commander-in-chief for not carrying out his orders.. Rumors have reached Moren that Manfred is already considered mad at court. He scurried about the throne room like a black raven, claiming that he could tame the deity and make it serve him. In the same way, one might claim to reach for a star in the sky and catch flames with one’s bare hands. The courtiers nodded smartly in the king’s face and chuckled behind his back. Many even regretted the fleeing princess Rhianon. Even if she had gone mad, she would have attracted people with her charms and wouldn’t have prevented her advisors from ruling for her. This would have been a place where court intrigues and parties of minions would have been free to snatch a piece of power by befriending the charming young queen. Conrad, on the other hand, was looked upon with either condescension or contempt. Even the prince’s friends ran off to play cards and wander the pubs, leaving him alone. They were tired of hearing him harp on about his runaway lover and his penchant for black magic. Many were also frightened by his complete unwillingness to think about the affairs of the country. No one thought of Princess Hildegard as a potential queen.

Because of her unattractiveness, she was forgotten. But she had her chances. This cunning black lady was capable of much. Moren remembered her scheming and her greedy look when she lured him once into the dark tower.

“You might fall down this steep staircase if you don’t accept my offer,” she hinted to him. He had forgotten her words then, but they came sharply to mind now. She had promised him her advisor’s place if he would help her take her father’s place. At the time he thought it was a game. One of Hildegard’s ladies-in-waiting might just be lurking behind the draperies and laughing at a successful joke. However, the game was repeated over and over again. Again and again the unassuming lady dressed in black lured the knights into the corner tower, offering them seats near the throne if they would help her occupy it. If not, they would wring their necks. In the beginning the threats were empty, but then some accidents did happen. Like a true gentleman, Moren kept quiet about the antics of the strange lady, and who would believe him. Who knows how many she had already lured or intimidated to her side? As he walked through the throne room, he caught the icy glances of her ladies-in-waiting. Even in their bright dresses and wreaths they looked like harpies, daring to leap. They chuckled nastily and joked behind the knights’ backs. And Hildegard, perpetually dressed in black, already looked like the queen-widow in their circle, or the black lady of death. Moren disliked her, but he had no intention of engaging in intrigue.

Of course, he himself, like many, would have preferred to see Rhianon, the rightful heiress and beautiful girl, as queen. But where is she? Does she know what is happening in her country? What if she is too far away from Loreth and has no idea that a rift is brewing at court? Now would be a good time for her to return. Manfred is mad, he can easily be overthrown and imprisoned, the courtiers will support her, Conrad cannot oppose her, and probably will not want to. He is naturally passive and easily sidelined. And the golden-haired princess is said to have a strong character and an unwavering will. Some have even predicted that she could fight with a sword in her hand, not just lead a weak-willed husband. But Moren was certain that if she took the throne, and if she rejected a foreign prince, she would choose the best of the knights of her land, the one who could truly defend herself and her power with his sword.

“Like you,” a mischievously mocking voice rang out, and then someone nearby laughed, lightly, mockingly, and at ease, as if it had become a pleasure to drive one to madness with jokes.

He turned around abruptly. There was no one around, only silver snowflakes trembling and flying from the branches of a lone fir tree. If someone unseen was talking to him, he would have to fit on this branch, right on the spruce needles or the snowflakes falling from them.

Moren shook his head wearily. He hadn’t rested or eaten properly in a long time, and no wonder his imagination was playing tricks on him.

It was better not to give in to black fantasies, but to think of something pleasant. What if Rhianon came back and really chose him as her husband? For that he need only find a nameless knight to help him. It turns out that he will win, and Moren will only be his right hand, but after all, the deity will not even marry a beautiful princess. He will give his reward to Moren, as his mortal companion.

“And then we’ll have to fight forever,” the voice from his dream repeated, but it was really just a playful imagination.

Moren knew that he’d painted a far-reaching plan for himself, and that he had no hope of fulfilling it. He ruffled his curly blond hair with his hand. He’d lost his hat a long time ago, and he was afraid to put his helmet on because of the cold. The hard iron would just freeze to his skin, leave scars on his cheeks. He’d seen knights this had happened to before. They became disfigured. And he would have liked to present himself to Rhianon in a better light. He was said to be rather handsome, but there were so many handsome and noble young men at court. And there were always so many knights fighting at tournaments, even over the princess’s shawl or scarf. He wanted to win at least such a tournament to touch her hand holding out the scarf for once, but he failed. Once he was badly wounded and lay in oblivion for a couple of days. It seemed to be during that period that he began to have visions. He had strange dreams. He saw dark creatures pressing against his chest to drink blood from his wound and ripping off the bandage.

“You could be like us, but you won’t,” they hummed, driving him almost insane.

When he recovered from his wound it was springtime, the May fair had begun, and he walked to the fortuneteller’s tent to ask her if his feelings could become mutual, but he did not have to go in to the fortuneteller. A dry hand caught him still at the entrance to the tent. The fearful fortuneteller merely glanced at the lines of his palm and whispered in a squeaky voice that he would never get what he wanted unless he died. It was more like a mockery. Now every time he looked at the colorful ribbons and tents of the fairgrounds he remembered that occasion. The fortuneteller’s voice reminded him of the vile squeaking of his dreams. Now he thought that her words might not have been true. The wretched old woman might have laughed at him. The knight had just recovered from his wounds and was looking for someone in the crowd, a perfect target for impertinent jokes. You could tell he was in love.

That day, after all, he had seen Rhianon. She rode by on a raven stallion, escorted by her retinue, and didn’t even look in his direction. But her mere sight was already like a sunrise. Perhaps now in these thickets and snowy heaths he would meet her and she would let him bring victory to her feet. They will return to Loretta together and she will let him take his place beside her.

Moren shook his head stubbornly. He felt it could not be, and he hoped anyway. Sometimes the most impossible things happen, after all.

Just now, someone was chuckling over the empty snow-covered field and calling to him from the far blackening forest. Moren thought he was going crazy, but what if that wasn’t it at all. In his dreams Rhianon was still returning to the throne, laying a crown on his head, and the treacherous Hildegard retreated into the background for the sake of decency and pretended to share in everyone’s merriment. If he had been Rhianon’s protector, he would have banished the black ogre, for she had squinted too enviously at the princess. She was jealous of Rhianon’s beauty and charm.