There was no eluding mat merciless flood of truth… Finist: She had tried to believe she loved him, but it wasn't love, she didn't really understand love. It had been a hunger for dominance, no more, a hunger for power…
And what's wrong with that? she thought defiantly. Kings have ruled with less.
But the images were still flooding her mind, sharper, clearer images from deeper within herself… And all at once Ljuba was seeing not that crippled, love-starved child, but the thing she'd deliberately become, the cold-hearted, empty creature—
The pathetic creature! The laughable creature, unable to love, unable to trust, unable to feel anything save lust and hate and fear.
Stop it! Please, please, stop it!
Ljuba fought to flee the torment of her own mind, but there was no escaping that prison, and so she found instead the very heart of her fear, found the forest there within her, there with all its ancient, terrible Power, the forest that hated her, had always hated her! It was mocking her with a bitter, deadly wit, calling:
Traitor! You would have slain your kin! You would have murdered your prince!
Aie, this was Maria's fault. If only she could find the girl, kill her, this torture would stop, and she'd be in control again and all would be well—
But the forest's cry was continuing savagely, Traitor, you've lost! It's over and you've lost—
—and she couldn't think, she couldn't act, she could only scream out:
«No, no, you don't understand! I — "
But still it continued, shouting at her, taunting her in her own voice:
Traitor—hopeless, loveless, soulless traitor!
«No! Please!»
Traitor! her own voice screamed. Traitor!
Semyon was before her, echoing, Traitor! the entire court was watching her, echoing, Traitor! and most terribly Erema, who'd died for her, was with them, the nameless man in the forest who'd died for her was with them, all of them crying, Traitor! and there was no escape from them, no escape—
What inner horror could Ljuba be seeing? Maria had sparked it‑in all innocence, Finist was sure. Overwhelmed by the Power she didn't know how to control, she had turned Ljuba's vision inward, though Finist knew from Maria's very plain bewilderment that she hadn't the faintest idea what she had done.
As Ljuba shrank back into herself, wild-eyed, Finist felt a sudden, wonderful surge of returning strength. His cousin had just lost her last, tenuous psychic hold over him.
Finist knew what he must do.
Grimly shutting his mind to pity, Finist steeled himself to strip away Ljuba's Power and return her to the real world, and a traitor's fate. Arm protectively about Maria, the prince focused all his restored will and called himself, his love, and his cousin back to the room they'd left. The blue-grey fog agreeably parted and faded…
It wasn't as easy as it should have been. For an instant that seemed to drag into forever, there was nothing about them, and he couldn't seem to find the right path, or any path at all.
Then the familiar lines of his bed‑chamber were reforming about them, and Finist gave an unashamed sigh of relief. Abruptly returned to mortal solidity and a body that was still weak from illness, the prince staggered, only the residue of the other plane's magic keeping him upright. He felt Maria, who, poor love, must be nearly as dizzy as he, make a valiant attempt to steady him. For a moment, linked in that afterglow of the magical plane's Power, their minds touched, warm, loving…
Yes, but Ljuba—
Desperate with terror, Ljuba huddled against a wall, staring at him as though he were her death. Drawing the magical residue about himself, enhancing his own depleted strength as best he could, Finist gently pulled free from Maria, physically, psychically, and reached out for his cousin. What must be, must be.
But before Finist could even touch Ljuba, she screamed: the sound of it rang with the anguish of a lost, lost soul.
They were back, they were back, and Finist was coming towards her, shouting without words, Traitor! Traitor! Didn't Maria hear him? Didn't anyone hear him? Traitor! Traitor! Oh, God, and it was true—all her plans, all her hopes and schemes, had come down to this. When Finist reached her, when he touched her, her fate would be sealed, she would be lost, forever lost—
Ljuba screamed and, screaming, tried to flee. But Finist blocked her path, shouting in his silent rage, Traitor, traitor! She couldn't let him touch her, she had to escape, but there was no escape! No escape save one—
«Ljuba!»
Just as he touched her, just as his hand closed about her arm, she changed. There was a dizzying blurring of shape, a wild stirring of feathers and a rush of wings, and all at once there was no Ljuba, nothing but a crow flapping frantically away, nothing but an empty caftan falling to the floor.
Somewhere deep in the forest, strange beings stirred. Somewhere deep in the forest, the leshy laughed softly to himself and whispered, «Meet your fate, oh forest-foe!»
«Finist… ?»
The prince came back to himself with a start, realizing belatedly that he had tried to follow the crow. He stood at the window, staring after her. Swallowing convulsively, he glanced down at his hands, trembling with shock there on the sill, and clenched them about the smooth stone to try to stop their shaking.
«Finist? Please, Finist, what is it? What happened?»
Slowly and painfully as an old man, the prince turned from the window. «Ljuba's gone.»
«Well, yes, I saw her fly. But — "
«You don't understand, love. She's gone forever.» For a moment he couldn't continue. «Ljuba… broke. She took her guilt upon her before she could be formally accused. And she—she not only took her avian shape, she sealed herself into it. Maria, I felt it happen!»
«I don't — "
He couldn't hide his shuddering. «It‑it's the fate of the royal traitor, to be bird forever, body and—and mind.» Finist saw the dawning of comprehending horror on Maria's face, and gasped, «You understand! Oh, Maria, she will never, never return!»
She said nothing, only watched him, her face pale as death. And Finist broke, and flung his arms about her, and clung to her as though he'd never let her go again.
At last the shock wore off. Finist pulled free enough to look down at Maria and smile, a touch uneasily.
«Forgive me. I didn't mean to…»
«You—you don't hate me?»
«Hate you!» He drew back even more, staring. «Dear God, Maria, no! Why should I — "
«Ljuba… It was my doing. Her‑collapse, I mean.»
«Nonsense.»
«It was! I—I don't know what happened, I don't even know what I did!»
«You showed her the truth, that's all," said Finist, very gently. «You simply showed her the truth. You… did what I would have had to do.»
«But — "
«Maria, love, believe me, you did nothing wrong! What happened to my cousin was inevitable.» For all his attempts at calm, Finist couldn't keep a faint tremor out of his voice. «You see, love, if she hadn't d-doomed herself, it would have fallen to me as prince and magician to—to destroy her.»
«Oh, Finist, no!» Maria looked up at him with anguished eyes. «And you loved her, didn't you?»
«No. I… No," said Finist after a moment, truthfully. «No, I never really did.» He shook his head impatiently. «It's you I love, Maria, never doubt that. It's you I love.»
What if she didn't believe that? What if he had frightened her away? Suddenly terrified, Finist stared into her eyes. But what he saw there was warmth—wonderful, reassuring warmth. And the prince let out his breath in a long, happy sigh.