With that, he marched boldly towards the prince's private chambers, hearing the others whispering nervously behind him. Fools! the old man thought sharply.
But Semyon was brought up short, staring in disbelief at the guards who moved to block his path.
«What's this?» he said indignantly. «Stand aside!»
«I'm sorry, my lord. But we are to let no one pass.»
«Nonsense! I have a perfect right to enter the princely chambers, unless Prince Finist himself denies me! Has he? Well? Has he?»
«Uh—no, my lord.»
«Then who dares to stop me?»
The closed door to the prince's bed‑chamber opened slightly. «I do," said Ljuba. «Kindly keep your voice down, boyar. Your prince is asleep.»
For all Semyon's angry words to the others, he had to admit that this new Ljuba, all soft submission gone for the moment, fierce-eyed and positively sorcerous of aspect, was enough to give anyone pause. And for a moment, Semyon found himself wondering if it had been wise to leave Finist in her hands. Then Ljuba was looking directly at him, her eyes so wide and deep… so deep… Semyon shook his head at his foolishness. Who better to tend the prince than someone skilled in the preparation of healing potions?
But why were her eyes so cold? Now that she wasn't staring at him, Semyon found himself fighting down a shudder, and asked hastily, embarrassed at himself, «How is he?»
Ljuba winced, slightly. «Still feverish.»
For a moment, the cold perfection of her control seemed to slip, just enough to let Semyon remember with a shock that this was still, for all her poise, only a very young woman. In sudden compassion, he murmured, «Akh, don't be afraid. I know you're doing your best.»
«Don't pity me!» The words were sharp as a slap, and Semyon flinched. «Go away, old man," Ljuba continued savagely. ' 'Go and tell the others that the prince lives and will recover. Do you hear me? He will recover!»
With that, she slammed the door in his face.
Alone in the royal bed‑chamber save for the restlessly sleeping Finist, Ljuba fell against a wall and desperately fought back shaken sobs. The strength needed to control Semyon's will, even for that little time, had nearly finished her. But she couldn't let go, not now!
And yet it had all seemed to be going so well. True, she'd been horrified at her first sight of Finist's injuries, prepared to find nothing worse than iron-scratches, just enough to throw off his magical and mental balance, and finding instead those deep, ugly wounds. Had Vasilissa been there by her side, the meddling little idiot would have died. But after that first fright, she'd realized that Finist was not fatally wounded; the iron-gashes, for all their ugliness, weren't so severe. And he wasn't some forest devil, to be poisoned by the mere touch of the metal!
Finist stirred in his sleep, moaning, and Ljuba winced. Everyone of the royal blood had gone through iron-fever at one time or another; it was impossible to live in an iron-oriented society without eventually getting cut by a knife or jabbed by a pin. But no matter how high the initial fever soared, it never lasted long, not unless there was a death-wound to go along with it. And Finist just wasn't that badly injured! What was wrong with him?
You know, her inner self whispered. It was the potion. It was the will‑destroying potion.
«That's impossible!» Ljuba said aloud. Oh, granted, she hadn't wasted any time, she'd given some of it to him, mixed with wine to sweeten the taste, as soon as they'd first been alone; feverish and raging with thirst, Finist had drunk it without question.
But it should only have lowered his resistance to my will. It couldn't have hurt him, not really!
Couldn't it? Ljuba realized with a sudden shock of horror that she'd never thought to test her potion on other than healthy subjects. She'd never even considered it!
And what effect might it have on someone weak from wounds, from fever… Oh, Lord above, what if I've poisoned Finist?
Cold with fear, Ljuba turned sharply way. He must live! Finist must live, or all her hopes and dreams died with him.
Chapter XXXV
Old Magic
Maria stirred gingerly under the protective mound of sacking, trying to stretch stiff muscles without letting the driver know his wagon was carrying a secret passenger. Not, she thought dryly, that he could have heard her over the monotonous creak, creak, crack of the uneven wooden wheels. But gradually she became aware of a new noise, counterpoint to the wheels' groaning, a rhythmic sort of rumbling… Thunder? If so, the storm was speeding towards them, because the sound was rapidly growing louder-No, not thunder, but the sound of cantering horses. Maria groaned. Things had been going so well—the driver had even taken the forest road towards Kirtesk. But now…
Maybe, she told herself hopefully, the riders had nothing to do with her. Warily, she peeked out, and quickly stifled a gasp. Those were her father's men, and with them, riders in livery—royal soldiers! Father must have gotten the prince to help him. And he must have figured out that she was trying to get to Kirtesk. This was the only road, so surely the soldiers would just keep patrolling it until they found her. And that meant they'd be searching the wagon again.
What if she abandoned the road altogether? Maria hesitated, thinking of all those versts of forest. It was one thing for Finist to fly lightly over them. But for all the time her family had spent on that farm, she was the first to admit how little she knew about actual wilderness survival.
Here came the soldiers, back again. There's no hope for it, Maria thought desperately, and dove into the forest.
At first all she sensed was silence, immense and alive. But slowly her ears adjusted to the feint stirrings of leaves, the rustlings of small creatures in the thick underbrush. Maria took a wary step forward, trying to judge direction through the heavy canopy of leaves.
A strange, intense warmth at her throat startled her: Something's burned me! But it wasn't really painful, not really hot—
And it was coming from the silver chain. Finist's gift.
Quickly she pulled it free of the neckline of her blouse, staring at it. Surely it should be glowing! But it looked the same as it had always looked, the finely wrought links glinting faintly in the dim forest light. Puzzled, she took a second, tentative step, back the way she had come.
Nothing happened.
Let's try this again.
Maria turned back to where she'd begun—and that was it! As long as she faced this way, the silver chain radiated warmth.
Magic? she wondered, then laughed at herself. Naturally, magic! She'd already had one experience of mind-to‑mind linking, thanks to this chain. And, though she'd been too dazed to take much notice of it at the time, Finist had mentioned he'd accidentally spilled a drop or two of his blood into the molten metal. And blood, according to the old tales, was strong with the Power of Life. Now, even though the prince wasn't here, Maria guessed that the forest's magic, Old Magic, had stimulated the Power of silver and blood a new. The necklace did still seem to be attuned to Finist.
Maria grinned in sudden delighted relief. If she was correct, all she need do was follow the chain. No matter how dense the forest might become, this wonderful, magical chain would guide her right to Kirtesk—and to Finist.
The leshy frowned. He had felt the presence of the human riders, of course he had. But they had stayed on the road, that uneasy compromise between Human and Forest. They hadn't trespassed, and therefore didn't concern him. Yet there was someone, some fool of a city-bred intruder! The being moved silently forward, tracking, then stopped, hidden by dappled shadow, to watch.