«What, after all I've survived so for, do you really think one little peasant lass could possibly hurt me?» He paused, glancing about with well-trained caution. «Come, girl,, this innkeeper knows me. We shall have at least the illusion of privacy.»
«I can't tell you my true name," Maria began. «No, it's not a trick, I swear. It's only— You see, there's — " She stopped, took a deep steadying breath, and started anew. «It has something to do with a fragile spell of disguise. You know about such things? Akh, of course you would! You remember when Finist was hidden as Finn!» Semyon's eyes widened. «How would you know — "
«Because I was there! Boyar, I'm the one of whom he's spoken, the—ah—the daughter of that exiled boyar from Stargorod. Please, before you interrupt, let me tell you why I'm here.»
«I wouldn't dream of interrupting!» Semyon said.
«… and so," Maria concluded, voice quavering, «Finist was gone.»
«And you came all the way from Stargorod to find him," Semyon said carefully, «all by yourself.»
«I didn't have a choice. There wasn't anyone to go with me.»
She stopped to catch her breath, fighting back sudden tears. «Oh, don't you see? How could I not come? He—
In a dream‑message, he cried out to me to seek him, to— to save him. How could I not come to Kirtesk?» Maria hesitated, studying Semyon's face. «You—you do believe me?»
«I do.» His voice was grim. «But‑my dear, do you know what you're doing? The, ah, lady will not be gentle with someone who tries to stand in her way.»
Maria stared at him. «And would you willingly abandon Finist?» she asked.
Semyon winced. «No, I would not.»
He fell silent for so long that Maria felt her spirits sink.
«But… for all and all, you're not going to help me, are you?»
The boyar gave her a startled look. «Of course I am!» he said. «Now," he added thoughtfully, «I have only to figure out a way to get you safely into the palace.»
Ljuba glanced at herself in the mirror, then looked quickly away. Face wan, drawn, eyes haunted and dark‑circled— God, she looked like an old woman!
But how could she look any other way? Every time she dared relax her guard and sleep, the forest and all its demons taunted her. Sick for want of rest, she was finding it more and more difficult to keep the boyars in check-why, this very morning she'd overheard them murmuring something about her and madness in the same breath! And Finist—
She glanced down at him, lying motionless, only the faint movement of his chest proving he still lived. The iron pin had worked too well, subduing his will so firmly that he was nearly in coma. But at least the thing was doing some good! While it kept him in that deep, dreamless sleep, his fever-exhausted body had a chance to heal. In fact, the fever seemed to have broken, much to Ljuba's relief.
But what about the effects of the potion? Had he sweated that out, too? Ljuba sighed wearily. She didn't dare give him another dose, not as weak as he was. If she left the iron pin in place, he'd never be able to truly wake. But if she removed it, and the potion no longer bound him, she was doomed.
It was all too much for her to bear. Ljuba rushed from the room, leaving orders to the servants to summon her if there was any change in the prince's condition, hurrying she knew not where. She narrowly avoided a collision with some homely young woman servant.
«Fool! Get out of my way!»
«Ah‑Lady Ljuba?»
«Of course, you idiot!»
«Wait, lady, please. I've heard of your troubles, with that stained caftan, I mean, and— Well, I think I just may be able to help you!»
Maria had been hard put to keep her voice light and casual. It hadn't proven too difficult for Semyon to smuggle her into the palace with some of the real servants, it hadn't been too difficult to wander her way towards the royal quarters, she hadn't even had too long a wait before Ljuba had come tearing out of there as though possessed. But now that she was actually face to face with the woman—
Akh, Ljuba was beautiful! Even now, looking haggard, she was so beautiful that Maria's heart ached.
How can Finist love plain, unbeautiful me, when every day he's faced with this golden wonder?
And yet… he had wanted to wed Maria, not treacherous Ljuba.
But this was no time for self‑doubt, while Ljuba was shouting angrily for her to stand aside. Maria saw the sorcerous rage in those lovely eyes, hot as the heart of hate, and was very much able to believe that this exquisite creature had tried to kill her. Fighting down her terror, her urge to run, Maria stood her ground and told Ljuba, with feigned cheerfulness, how she knew of that stained caftan. She concluded with:
«Well, I think I just may be able to help you!»
Ljuba tensed. «What do you mean?»
«It isn't nice perfumey stuff such as you ladies use, but…»
«Out with it, girl! What are you trying to say?»
«Only that I've got a concoction of sorts, a soap we use back in my village. It gets most any stain out of anything.
And I don't doubt it'll take the bloodstains right out of that caftan you've got, and let you w-wed your prince!»
Would Ljuba accept Maria's story? It was a bluff, of course. Still, to judge from those marks of strain on Ljuba's face, she must have reached the point of being willing to try anything.
And so it was. «What is your price?» she asked.
«No more than you can pay, lady," answered Maria, rather surprised at her own blitheness.
«So.» Ljuba hesitated, absently tapping a long, elegant finger against a perfectly curved lip. «Come with me» she said. «You'll have your chance. Of course," she added over her shoulder, in so casually cruel a voice that Maria shuddered, «you do understand that if you fail, if you damage the caftan in any way at all—you'll die.»
Chapter XLVII
Counterspells
LJuba walked ahead, not once checking to see if Maria—who, not being as tall as the elegant sorceress, had a shorter stride—was keeping up with her. It was only to be expected, Maria thought. Why should the Regent of Kirtesk care about the comfort or discomfort of a mere servant? At least this frantic scuttling didn't give her time to be afraid.
A respectful servant cast open a door so finely crafted and ornate that it could only lead to the royal suite.
«There," said Ljuba.
For one brief moment, Maria thought they were facing some manner of bizarre altar, complete with silken altar cloth. Then she saw dark, brownish stains marring the shimmering fabric.
The caftan—and Finist's blood.
Ljuba gave her a sharp glance. «Have you suddenly turned squeamish?»
«Uh… No, lady, of course not. I was… only pitying the poor, wounded prince, that's all.» Boldly, Maria moved forward to the caftan. But when she tried to pick it up, her hand was stopped by empty air that felt quite solid. «There seems to be a magical barrier around it, lady.»
«Of course there is, fool! Did you think I'd let any idiot touch it?» Ljuba gestured with a flicker of supple fingers, and the barrier was gone. Convenient, Maria thought, and gently picked up the caftan.
Ljuba was watching. «There is purified water in that basin. Do you need anything more?»
«No, lady.» Maria hesitated, waiting for Ljuba to leave. But Ljuba showed no sign of stirring. «Uh, lady, it's all right, you don't have to stay, really.»
A corner of that perfect mouth turned up in a wry, cold little smile. «Did you think I'd trust you alone, girl?»
«But — "
«No. Come, you made your boasts! Clean the caftan, or learn to regret your lies.»
Maria turned away, clutching the caftan to her, heart pounding. She rummaged frantically about in her pouch-there was a sliver of soap in there. At least she could go through the motions of washing. But even a sorceress couldn't remove those sad stains. How could Maria ever hope to succeed?