«So be it. Lady, you shall have my written resignation by midafternoon.»
«I shall be expecting it," said Ljuba flatly. «Now get out of my sight!»
Semyon bowed in reluctant obedience as Ljuba swept by, then straightened slowly, painfully, a storm of rage behind the practiced blandness of his face. Curse her! After all the long years of service, to be casually thrown aside by that fickle, malicious child!
That sorcerous child.
Damn it, why did I try to challenge her?
If only he'd kept his mouth shut! Maybe Ljuba did have something to do with the death of poor Maria, but such things could have been settled when Finist recovered. Now it was too late. Words spoken couldn't be unspoken, and now he must leave the palace—and Finist.
Akh, Finist! As long as I was still within the palace, you had at least one loyal protector, old and worn though I may be. Now …
But surely Ljuba wouldn't hurt her own cousin.
«Or, rather," murmured Semyon with more than a touch of cynicism, «she wouldn't hurt her one real hope for genuine power!»
Would she… ?
But the guards were eyeing him with wary, sympathetic glances—sympathetic glances that certainly wouldn't stop them from following their Regent's orders. Rather than suffer the shame of being formally thrown out of the palace, Semyon gave them the curtest of bows, and left.
Midnight: The chamber was small and dark and window‑less, there beneath Ljuba's palace, almost featureless, the door bolted fast by iron and magic both. And in the center of the room, within a circle marked—for those who could see it—by glowing lines of force, Ljuba stood, naked, trembling more from exertion than cold, her golden hair a long wild mass clinging to skin glistening with perspiration there in the candlelight.
As always, it had been a struggle to form the circle properly, to hold the mystic forces properly in place. But now it was complete, the correct scrolls were open before her, the correct items stood on the small table beside the scroll-stand, all of them properly aligned to the four directions. There was no reason to delay.
No reason save fear. There on the table was the object of her magic, no great or terrible thing, just a small pin such as a woman might use to hold back her hair, nothing frightening at all. But that pin was made of iron. Pure, cold, magic-hating iron.
And Ljuba didn't know whether she had the strength to work with iron. If she failed, even for a moment, and the force of it broke free…
She would be dead so quickly she'd feel nothing. And no magic at all could be worked through a fog of self‑doubt! Ljuba set about casting her mind inward and inward… calming… calming…
Cool-eyed, she began. Stretching out her hand to the eastward item, a candle red as flame, Ljuba murmured, «Svarozits, hear my call," dimly aware that the force she invoked had once been a god of the old, pagan days. «Svarozits, Lord of Fire, hear my call.»
The candle burst into flame at her touch.
«Svarozits, once I call you, twice I call you, thrice I call you: as this candle burns, so shall this iron pin burn Finist's will. In your name, be it!»
Too soon to tell if her charm was working. Quickly Ljuba reached out a hand to the southern item, a clod of dark, fertile earth.
«Syra, hear my call. Syra, Lady of Earth, hear my call.»
She crumbled the earthen clod, let it sift to the chamber's floor.
«Syra, once I call you, twice I call you, thrice I call you: as this earth covers the floor, so shall this iron pin bury Finist's will. In your name, be it!»
Odd; the air within the circle seemed to be growing so close, so heavy, making her eyes burn. Ljuba wiped a hasty hand across them to try to clear them, then reached out for the third item, the westward item, a small bowl of water.
«Vodyankoi, hear my call. Vodyankoi, Lord of Water, hear my call.»
Slowly she poured out the water.
«Vodyankoi, once I call you, twice I call you, thrice I call you: as this water falls, so shall this iron pin drown Finist's will. In your name, be it!»
Akh, the air was heavy, making her head ache, making her lungs labor, making it difficult to remember the next step… How she longed for sleep. She wanted nothing so much in all the world as to sleep… but she dared not. If the charm were left unfinished, if the Power was roused but not controlled, she might as well slit her throat here and now and be done with it. Grimly determined, Ljuba reached out to the last item, the northern item, one shining feather lost by Finist in falcon-form.
«Perun, hear my call. Perun, Lord of Sky and Wind and Storm, hear my call.»
With a sharp Word, she hurled the feather from her. It whirled about and about as though caught in the heart of the wind.
«Perun, once I call you, twice I call you, thrice I call you: as this feather is conquered by the wind, so shall this iron pin conquer Finist's will! In your name, be it!»
Hot, it was so hot, stifling, dry heat—the iron! The power of the iron was aroused. She must bind it—now.
«By Fire, Earth, Water, Air I bind you! By the Power of Day and Night I bind you! By—by the — " She couldn't think. There was wild, terrible pressure on her mind, on her body, crushing her.
Savage with determination, with pain, Ljuba shouted,
«By the Power of Light and Dark I bind you! By the power of my will you must yield to me! By the Power of my will—you are mine!»
The force of magic, the force of iron, whirled up in one great, silent explosion. Ljuba had time for a sharp, anguished scream-Then she knew nothing more.
Aching, groaning, Ljuba forced her heavy eyelids open, forced an unresponsive body to its knees. The circle had burst wide open in the explosion of raw Power: Shreds of her scrolls and splinters of the table littered the floor, and the walls were darkened with scorching. Shaking, she glanced down at herself, half expecting some hideous, dying ruin. But she seemed whole; the magic she'd conjured had flung itself out and away from her. And the iron pin? Ljuba reached out for it with a trembling hand, seeing it glowing red with heat. But as she gingerly touched it, the heat drained away.
She had done it. The magic was complete—and now Finist would be hers.
Shaking with exhaustion, Ljuba struggled to her feet, wearily pulling her caftan about herself. Soon the pin would be in place. Soon she'd be able to sleep.
Finist stirred as she approached him. Amber eyes opened, too bright, too mocking. «You… don't give up… do you?» It was a painful whisper of sound. «Poor cousin… never have real power, never… Never break my binding…»
«I shall," she hissed.
«Shall you?» he taunted with feverish glee. «Have you washed the bloodstains from my caftan? No? Then you shall never wed me, cousin! Never have the throne of Kirtesk!»
Enough of this! Ljuba stabbed the iron pin into the shining locks of his hair, feeling him tense with the shock, then collapse into deep, mindless slumber.
«So, cousin.» Ljuba smoothed his hair back to hide the pin. «No more defiance. No more taunts. No more disturbing my dreams!»
She managed to reach her own bed before collapsing, sinking immediately into a well of sleep.
But…
Eyes were watching her in her slumber‑mocking, inhuman eyes. A voice, the whisper of wind on leaves, laughed softly.
«Did you think to escape so easily? You have roused the forest's wrath, oh woman! You have harmed a forest-friend and threatened the forest—you shall never know peace again! Sleep well, oh woman! Sleep while yet you can!»
And Ljuba awoke with a start, head pounding, aching for sleep, alone and afraid and at last despairing.
Chapter XLVl
Kirtesk
Maria clung frantically to the smooth-feathered back as the golden eagle plummeted helplessly, wild wind pulling the air from her lungs. Seeing the fields once so far below them seeming to rush up at them, she tried to pray, but the only thing that came to mind was an anguished memory of Finist's face, eyes warm with love…