Maria said nothing, Maria continued, «Oh, but I shouldn't speak too lightly of our Prince. Not with him being so ill and — "
«Ill! What do you mean? Marfa, please, tell me!»
The peasant woman stared at her in astonishment. «Hey, now, gently! We don't get much news from Kirtesk, here in the forest. But a peddler told us poor Prince Finist flew back from who knows where—you did know he can change his shape? Into a beautiful, shining falcon?»
«Yes, of course. Please, Marfa, go on!»
«Well, he came flying back maybe a month, a month and a half ago, with gashes all over him. His cousin is tending him, the Lady Ljuba — "
«Ljuba!» That was the name of Finist's dangerous kinswoman. Dear God, when Alexei was raving about the woman «with Power, true Power," that could only have been Ljuba, too! That means she knows about me! That means—she wants me dead!
Maria froze in stunned horror at the realization. Sorcery, aimed directly at her… But if Ljuba had been able to strike her down, surely the woman wouldn't have needed the dubious aid of a madman. Surely that meant Maria was safe, as long as she stayed in the protection of the forest.
But I can't stay here forever! Her journey cross‑country had plainly used up at least a month already. I've got to get to Finist! What am I going to do?
«Maria?» Marfa asked warily. «Are you all right?»
«I—Oh, yes, of course. Please, go on.»
«Well, uh, the Lady Ljuba is something of a sorceress herself, but whatever she's doing isn't working too well, because Prince Finist is supposed to be…I'm sorry, but he's supposed to be burning up with fever, and no one knows for sure if he's going to live.»
«No, that can't be — "
«Uh… there's more. The Lady Ljuba is his Regent, since he's too sick to rule. And she…» Marfa hesitated, looking about warily. «She's not like our Prince; she's a real tyrant. And she's gotten herself betrothed to Prince Finist—but he said some sort of spell, and now she can't marry him until—until she manages to wash the bloodstains out of his caftan—easy, now! Don't faint!»
«I'm not about to faint," Maria said grimly. «Marfa, you and your people love the prince, don't you?»
«Saints above, yes! Stefan and I in particular! He-he saved us, you see, saved us from something that—well, never mind. We'd do anything for him, anything.» She hesitated, then added defiantly, «Not like for that… treacherous Lady! She's got to be treacherous! If she were so good, why'd our Prince put such a spell on her, eh?» Her eyes were suddenly very serious. «You love him, don't you? Not as subjects love their ruler, no, as—as woman loves man. Please, don't try to deny it. It's clear as sunlight on your face. So. I'm not asking who you really are, name or rank or anything. But if I were you, I wouldn't risk going straight to Kirtesk, not with that jealous sorceress waiting.»
«What other choice do I have? Marfa, it's true, I do love him. And the thought of Finist in such terrible peril — "
«Whoa, now. I'm not saying you should just give up.»
«What are you suggesting?»
«Did you ever hear of Prince Vasili? No? He's Prince Finist's uncle. And though he went into a monastery years ago‑I guess so he wouldn't confuse the line of succession or something like that‑it's said the royal magic runs in his veins, too. Go to him; he's a kind, saintly man. Who knows? Maybe he'll have some sort of counterspell that'll make the lady just» — she made a shooing gesture — «slink away.»
Maria hesitated. How wonderful it would be to be able to turn to someone magical for help… «But if he's a monk — "
«Well, as a monk, he'd be sworn to combat evil, wouldn't he? Surely he can help you—and our Prince!»
«Akh, but it's been so long already. And Kirtesk is so close.»
«Not as close as all that. Look you, it takes a good fortnight to get to Kirtesk from here, and that's riding, not walking. It takes only a week maybe, not much more, to get to the monastery. We'll lend you a horse, I promise.
And if the magician‑monk can help you, you haven't wasted any time at all, have you?»
«Marfa, I—Thank you!»
«Don't be thanking me just yet, not till all is well. But when it is‑do be reminding our Prince of Marfa and Stefan… Stefan, the—the wolf. Oh, but you can't be meaning to leave right away!»
«I can.» Maria's hand went to the silver necklace. «If Finist is as ill as you say, I can't afford to wait another moment.»
Chapter XLlll
The Regent
Ljuba lay staring up at the canopy of her bed, too worn, too weary for sleep even though her body ached for rest.
Finist, why didn't I realize what you were going to do? How could I have so sorely underestimated your strength?
That spell! That impossible, ridiculous, unbreakable spell! She'd tried, tried with every counterspell she knew, with every soap and powder and potion at her command, but the magic held fast, the bloodstains remained set in the silken fabric, she remained Regent but not ruler.
And Finist was weakening with every hour. If he died… God, if he died, with the spell in force and he unwed, Ljuba would be finished. The boyars‑damn them all—would never support her claim, nor would the guards—not a mere lady, not when they were all talking only of pious Prince Vasili!
Ljuba slammed her hand down on the bed cushions in helpless frustration. Akh, Finist! Since that dramatic demonstration of his magical strength, she'd been afraid not to keep feeding him at least the weakened form of her potion.
Yet his fever was so high. That Powerful outburst of his had nearly slain him. But… if she released her hold on him, let the potion's effect gradually drain from him, might that not give him a better chance for survival?
Still, there was no proof that the potion was harming him. And even if she stopped it, he would only have a very slight chance for recovery. At any rate, Ljuba didn't dare try it. She'd already gone too far: if she let him go, and he did recover, his first act would be to see she paid the traitor's price.
To be trapped in avian shape till the human mind was lost forever… No, no, no!
Ljuba let out a strangled sob. This had to be what those stupid peasants meant by «catching a wolf by the ears»: having to make such an impossible choice. Keep Finist in thrall, and she might risk slaying him. Let Finist go, and she'd almost certainly be slaying herself—
Oh God, what am I going to do?
She clenched her jaws till they ached, refusing to give way to tears, huddling amid the disordered cushions in silent misery. But her body's demands for rest at last outweighed her anguish, and Ljuba slipped, reluctantly, into a restless sleep…
«And did you think I'd let you rest?»
«Who… Finist! This is a dream!»
«Is it, my treacherous cousin?»
«Get out of my mind! Leave me alone!»
«Get out of my mind! You would enslave me! You would dare! Traitor, you'll never know peace, not from me!»
She could feel the wildness of his thoughts burning at her, close to madness in their fever-frenzy. Ljuba cried out in her sleep as it came to her that, reduced to the most primitive levels as he was, gentle Finist meant to destroy her mind:
«Saints in Heaven, help me! Help me!»
«What, call on Light? You?»
«Finist, no! Please!»
And: «No!» screamed Ljuba aloud, and woke herself, sitting bolt upright, shivering in fear.
The falcon stirred restlessly in his prison. Why was he here, trapped behind these cold stone walls, when he could be out in the free night sky? Yet his wings were bound. He fought… fought…