«So. There are a good many things that must be done, to undo what — " He stopped short, reluctant to mention Ljuba's name. Ah, it was going to take a long time for healing. «What was done," Finist finished firmly.
«Akh, yes.» Maria understood. «The first thing to do, I would think, is to restore poor boyar Semyon to his proper place.»
«Indeed! And then get word to Stargorod and your father that you're alive and quite safe.»
«Yes, thank you!»
«Mm, and perhaps I can find a way to coax the man to Kirtesk. I can always use someone of his integrity at my court. Even if he does insist that I'm a child of the Devil!''
«And Vasilissa… ?»
«I'd like to see her again, too. Love, I just might be able to help her. Strengthen her mind, I mean, with healing magic.»
Maria's eyes shone with startled joy. «I never thought— Finist, could you?»
«I can at least try. Akh, but we're leaving out the most important task of all!»
She blinked. «What's that?»
«My dear Maria, my poor people have been living in desperate anticipation of a royal wedding for a good long time!» His breath caught in his throat. «We can hardly disappoint them, can we?»
To his relief and delight, she didn't pull away, but moved comfortably into the crook of his arm, fitting there as neatly as though she'd always belonged there. «Indeed we cannot," Maria said, and smiled.
EPILOGUE
Two months, thought Finist. Has it really been only two months?
The time till he and Maria could be wed had seemed like an eternity:
Two months of slow boredom, as his worn body gradually regained its strength.
Two months of frenzied preparations, with all the city in such a whirl of busy confusion that the psychic overflow of excitement had left his mind spinning.
Two months of sheer torment, longing for Maria, yet not, thanks to the stern rules of royal propriety, being allowed to so much as touch her.
But now, at last, the time of waiting was over!
The day of his wedding passed for Finist in one shining, dizzying blur of light and music and joy, with only one constant: Maria. Maria, there by his side in the royal chapel, Maria aglow in robes and veiled headdress so splendid with gold, so stiff with pearls and priceless gems she'd needed the handmaids to help her kneel beside him. Lost in the radiance in her eyes, he hardly knew whether or not he was making the proper responses, his voice that of some hoarse stranger. When the time came for the exchange of rings, Finist, mortified, found his hands shaking so wildly he had a horrible image of the ring flying right out of his grip and rolling all the way down the length of the chapel. But somehow he managed to slip the ring on
Maria's finger, feeling her hand warm and dry and trembling only slightly in his own. When he must kiss her, there before all the assembled boyars and the crush of commons behind them—God, he didn't want to ever let her go.
The day sped on. Before Finist could credit his stunned senses, he and Maria were royal newlyweds sitting at their wedding feast. The great banquet hall was ablaze with torches, their light reflecting dazzlingly from the bright, ornately painted walls, striking many‑colored sparks from the rubies and emeralds worn by the boyars, transmuting the strings of harps and gusli to gold as minstrels vied with each other to sing finer and ever more intricate songs of royal glory, struggling to be heard over the chatterings and laughter of the crowd. The air was heavy with the scents of savory meats and pastries, with perfume and slightly overwarm humanity.
Finist looked down at the food before him, and realized he couldn't eat a bite to save him. Maria, he saw with a shy sideways glance, wasn't eating either, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the room, her lashes lowered. But she must have felt his gaze on her, because a small hand slipped unobtrusively into his own.
Akh, he mustn't forget his honored guest! Finist turned to the man at his left, to Danilo Yaroslavovich. Danilo looked very much like a man in a complete state of shock. After all, thought Finist in a flash of sharp humor, he'd just seen the fearsome, damned sorcerer not only enter a holy chapel, but complete a holy service without once vanishing in a cloud of smoke.
«Enjoying yourself?» Finist asked the man softly.
«As it pleases you, Prince Finist.»
«Oh, come now, man, unbend a bit! You are my father‑in-law.»
Danilo's glance was cool. «Again, as it pleases you.»
«What, still so hostile? Yet you and Vasilissa came.»
The cold facade shattered. «How could I not come? When you sent me that message…»
«You didn't object to its being a magical one, eh?»
«I… Anything that could get to me so swiftly, that could let me know my dear one was alive, and safe, and happy—How could I object? I love my daughter!»
«As do I," said Finist.
His heart was in the simple words. And, just for a moment, the two men were in complete accord, just for a moment the prince felt the wall between them start to crack.
A beginning, he thought, and smiled.
Outside, night darkened Kirtesk. Within the banquet hall, merriment still reigned. Though now, since all but Finist, who, as ever, dared not risk too much drink, and Maria, who was too wary to drink, had been liberally helping themselves to the sweet, dangerous mead and the rare wines from the East, the conviviality was taking a bawdy turn. Vasilissa, much to her father's shock and Finist's amusement, actually seemed to be enjoying herself, eyes bright with delight. She really did love her sister, the prince realized, really did wish her joy. But Maria, though she continued to smile valiantly, was beginning to droop.
Poor thing, Finist thought, weighed down by her robes and probably ready to faint from exhaustion.
He bent to her, whispering, «Want to get out of here?»
She shot him a grateful look, whispering back, «But how? They'll all want to see us to—to our bed and…»
Finist heard the quaver in her voice, and said firmly, «They'll just have to be disappointed. Watch.»
Delicately, feeling the force of Power bubbling up within him as though he'd drunk too much of that heady wine, the prince built up a haze of illusion about them. It wasn't the neatest spell he'd ever worked; Finist was tired from the long day, too. In fact, it probably wouldn't have fooled a sober soul for a moment. But by this point, none of the guests‑including Danilo, who was trying with ever fading coherency to explain his views on magic to an owl-eyed, beaming Semyon—were even remotely sober. Finist grinned. The haze should be just enough to confuse drink-befuddled sight even more! He caught Maria's hand and peeled her carefully away from the delicate illusion, leaving behind two smoky, almost solid images of themselves.
«Beautiful!» giggled Maria in his ear.
«Shh! Mustn't let them realize where we're going.»
Fighting down laughter, Finist and Maria tiptoed off, hand in hand, for all the world like two errant children, stealing up stairways and down corridors till at last they were safely behind the doors of Finist's private chambers.
«There, now! Home at last," the prince managed to get out, and then he and Maria were bursting into gusts of helpless laughter.
«They—they'll never forgive us!» gasped Maria.
«I suppose not!»
But as he looked at her, at his wife, Finist felt his laughter fade. Maria turned to him, eyes wide, and for a moment, dazed and wondering, they stared, quite speechless, at each other.
Overwhelmed by a sudden hot rush of love and desire, Finist murmured, «Akh, Maria, come. No one will disturb us now.»