No, and no! He would not let his body rule him! Desperate and angry, Finist turned to leave… tried to turn… but something was going very wrong. He could still think, but he couldn't seem to move. Struggle though he would, he just couldn't get his legs to obey him. Somehow he found himself still facing Ljuba, and all at once admitted fiercely, Yes, here in this room, here in this bed! I'll burn this passion from me and be done with it!
The cold statue melted into warm, willing life as he pulled her into his arms.
The forest was dank and close about him, no longer friendly, but hostile, hating, so dark he stumbled blindly through a never-ending maze of trees. There must be a way out, if only the forest would let him go. But now vines were reaching out for him, weaving their silken way about him, tightening no matter how he struggled, gently, firmly tightening as he realized in helpless horror that they were draining the strength from him, the magic, the very soul—
«No!» Finist sat bolt upright, eyes wild. What—
A dream. Only a dream. He was still sheltered and warm in Ljuba's bed, she was still peacefully asleep beside him. And she was lovely, no denying it, relaxed and defenseless in sleep, the yellow candlelight soft on curve of cheek, of shoulder, of breast. Even now he felt a returning stir of desire…
«No," Finist repeated, softly, fiercely. Even in the throes of his lust, he'd tried to be gentle, he'd tried to please them both, he'd tried for at least a semblance of love. But as before, there'd been no joy in their coupling, not even relief, nothing but anger and a vague sense of revulsion, almost as though there were something unnatural about this most natural of acts.
She can't be bespelling me, Id know it! I wasn't fool enough to eat or drink anything from her hand, she wasn't wearing any ointments or sorcerous perfumes… Yet… I—I just can't seem to think…
The candles weren't helping. Their light was beginning to hurt his eyes, while the smell of the scented wax lay so heavy in the air that he found it difficult to breathe. And his head was pounding. Feeling like a man wading through syrup, Finist reached out a heavy arm to pinch out a flame. There. That seemed to relieve the pressure, however slightly. He wasn't sure his legs would hold him, but if he stretched out a bit more, he could reach a second candle and extinguish it, a third… Yes, the air did seem to be clearing faintly, at least to the point where he didn't have to struggle for each breath. Now his muddled mind seemed to be clearing, too…
Clearing, indeed.
«My God.'' Finist sat bolt upright. «What a fool I am!»
As Ljuba stirred, blinking in confusion, Finist struggled to his feet. Head still reeling, he fought his way to the window, casting open the shutters to take deep lungfuls of cold, clean night air, feeling the haze leave his brain. Quickly, holding his breath, he reached for the remaining candles, hurling them out, watching in grim satisfaction as they fell, trailing small tails of fire, till they hit the cobblestones far below.
«Finist… ?» Ljuba's voice was pathetically weak, and her eyes, when he whirled to face her, were wide and fearful.
«Oh yes, cousin," hissed Finist, «fear me!»
«I—I don't understand.»
«Don't you? How clever you were! Your potions were worked into the candlewax itself, weren't they? So simple a trap! If I hadn't been so—so damnably besotted, I'd have realized it from the first.»
«I didn't mean — "
«Don't lie to me! Why did you do it, Ljuba? Answer me!»
Her head dropped. «I… wanted you. But you… just never looked at me, not as a man sees a woman.» She glanced up, face pale. «What are you going to do to me?»
What could he do? Ljuba lied as easily as she drew breath. But what if this once she was telling the truth? He could hardly banish her for that! Seduction of a man old enough to know what he was doing was hardly a treasonable offense! And if he made matters public at all—oh, wouldn't that do wonders for his royal image? Devil take it, Ljuba knew he wouldn't—couldn't—publicly chastise her, not his cousin, not under these circumstances!
It took every bit of regal self‑control to keep his voice level. «This time, you are forgiven. But I promise you this, cousin: try any magics against me again, any magics at all, and I'll find a way to see you declared a traitor to the crown.»
«But, Finist, you don't understand — "
«I understand enough!»
If he stayed there a moment longer, Finist knew he'd do something he would regret. With a swirling of shape, he was falcon, and soaring up out of that stifling room. Behind him, he could hear Ljuba calling frantically, «Finist! I did it because—Finist, wait!»
Then, as he fled away into the night, came one last, despairing waiclass="underline" «I did it because I love you!»
Chapter Vlll
The Lovers
Prince Finist of KIrtesk flew from his cousin's palace, his anger slowly cooling in the night chill. After all, hate the thought though he might, he had to admit that she could never have seduced him, even with those ridiculous candles, if he hadn't consented, somewhere deep within himself.
Akh, Ljuba, what am I to do with you? How lovely if he could merely do as other princes did: marry off an unwanted or dangerous female relation to some foreign potentate, or force her into a convent! But Ljuba had never shown the slightest interest in marrying anyone. And as for a convent— The falcon gave a sharp squawk of laughter at the idea. Even were he sufficiently cold-hearted to attempt it, a magician could hardly be wed or incarcerated against her will! What does she really want of me? That despairing «I love you!» still echoed in his mind. For a moment he wondered uneasily, could it be… ? But he couldn't believe that, not from Ljuba, not from his cousin who'd made it very clear over the years that she'd never loved anyone or anything in her life. If she were some magicless commoner, he could have the truth from her in a moment, read easily from eyes or face. But Ljuba, of course, knew enough to know how to shield her thoughts.
She certainly wasn't just seeking bed-sport. What else could someone who was related to the royal line want, except: power? His wings missed a beat as the realization struck him. And here I thought all this time that she was quite satisfied with whatever she could gain from her studies. Intellectual power. Ljuba had to know she hadn't a hope of inheriting the throne; Finist would never have dared allow her so much freedom otherwise. But could it be she's decided that isn't enough? Maybe she's decided that the path to true power can only lie in becoming the royal mistress. Or—good God, my wife!
Stunned by that, he came to a rough landing on his windowsill, scrambling into the room, transforming from falcon to man.
«My wife? Oh no, Ljuba. That, you'll never be!»
For a long time, Ljuba had huddled motionless in her bed, too dazed, too fearful, to move. But at last she uncurled, stretching stiff muscles, the memory of her desperate cry returning to her: I love you!
Whatever possessed me to say such a ridiculous thing? For no reason she could name, Ljuba felt a little shiver run through her. It isn't true… And yet … Bah, of course it isn't true! No wonder he didn't believe me!
Ljuba got to her feet, moving slowly to the window, half expecting to see the glint of silvery feathers against the night. But of course, by now the sky was quite empty, and she pulled the shutters closed, leaning wearily against them, her body remembering his strength, his unexpected gentleness…