The charm burned to ash quickly enough. And with its destruction, wolf melted smoothly back into man‑into boy, rather: a lanky, yellow-haired, green-eyed youngster who hastily scrambled into his clothes while Marfa modestly hid her eyes. Then, their prince quite forgotten, the two young lovers rushed into each other's arms, stammering apologies and declarations of undying love. Finist got slowly to his feet, watching with wry humor and, much to his amazement, a touch of rueful envy. What must it be like to be the recipient of such blazing love? What must it be like to feel such love? Princes seldom found out…
Eh, no self-pity. In a short while the two youngsters would be remembering his presence. And the villagers, who must surely be spying through the cracks in the palisade, would get over their awe and come rushing out. Finist decided he just wasn't up to their idea of celebration, which would, he knew, include a good deal of heavy drinking.
Magicians, for obvious reasons, didn't dare risk the loss of control found in drink.
But he wasn't quite finished here. Finist paused, considering. Marfa had plainly gone through enough mental anguish to make any punishment from him mere anticlimax. But stilclass="underline"
«Marfa.» He tried again: «Marfa!»
This time the girl heard him, pulling hastily free of Stefan's embrace and whirling about to face the prince, face reddening anew. «Oh. My‑my Prince?»
«Marfa, do you realize how narrow an escape this was? Had I not arrived when I did, it might have been too late for Stefan. There might not have been a chance to save his human mind. Do you understand what that means?»
To judge from her stricken face, she did. Finist continued relentlessly, «He would have been animal, Marfa, no more than a beast for the rest of his days. Now, my dear, you're not going to experiment with any more of the old tales, are you?»
«N-no, my Prince.» It was a very meek reply.
«And neither you nor any others of the village are going to ever try to play with Powers they really don't understand, are they?»
Both youngsters winced at the coldness in his voice.
«No, my Prince.»
«Good!»
With that, Finist raised his arms to begin the shift to falcon-form, hearing Marfa and Stefan hastily stammering their belated thanks to him as they realized he meant to leave.
But just as he'd gathered his will together, Finist felt the faintest psychic echoes, barely enough to catch his attention, but quite recognizable. Ljuba! Then he had glimpsed her here, spying on him! Anger rippling through him, the prince soared up and out, maneuvering on bright wings through the maze of night-blackened trees, warily, determinedly, following his cousin's trail.
That she fully meant for him to follow her, he hadn't the slightest doubt.
Ljuba stood in shadow, shivering in the night, wishing she had something more than the long veiling of her loose hair to shield her. Damn! She should have thought to carry some sort of clothing with her, as Finist did. But she didn't believe her crow's claws up to the task, and besides, she'd had a lovely, seductive picture of herself in the moonlight, a golden lure to snare her cousin. He'd be tired, and triumphant, and angry at her, a mix of emotions to guarantee his resistance to her would be at its lowest… If she'd been foolish enough to try to snare him right away with one of her potions, he would certainly have detected it. But trap him once with the lure of her body alone, and the next time they met, he'd hardly have potions on his mind.
Yes, but how attractive could gooseflesh be? Or‑dammit‑insect bites? And the forest… just didn't want her here.
It never did.
Whenever she was forced to enter it to gather herbs vital to her potions, she could sense the hostility of the Old Magic, that raw Power that was the forest, frighteningly unpredictable, terrifyingly uncontrollable, to her and the ordered, civilized, scroll-reading magic she represented. Now Ljuba felt its presence all around her, like some great, dangerous beast that knew she feared it. Surrounded by gnarled, ancient trees, vague black shapes heavy with slow age, she had to make a conscious effort not to sag beneath the weight of a night that had grown far darker than a clear, moonlit night had any right to be.
The things I do for Power, she tried to jest, struggling to hold fast to her rapidly diminishing confidence.
It didn't help to recall that Finist seemed to get along perfectly well with the Old Magic. To him, this forest was a friendly place, more full of mischief than malice, and he'd go wandering in it whenever time permitted. Keeping the Pact, he called it. Assuming, Ljuba thought, that the Pact their ancestors were said to have made was anything but myth.
No denying, though, that Finist did have a way with the devils living here that was so comfortable it verged on the pagan. He insisted that they weren't devils at all, merely forest entities of various magical sorts. Ljuba knew better. Her spells didn't work in this barbaric place, their small Power crushed by the force of Old Magic; her mirrors could sooner show her what was happening in faraway Stargorod than here! If ever she came to power, Ljuba told herself bitterly, she'd see all these hostile, pagan trees cut down.
The forest knew it. Overwhelmed by its menace, she'd made a damnably stupid mistake and shouted out that threat the last time she'd come here to gather her herbs…
A bush rustled. Ljuba started, biting back a gasp—
Oh, fool! It was Finist, only Finist, following the trail she'd left him. A glint of silvery feathers, a swirling shape, and he stood before her, eyes angry. Ljuba forced a smile.
«Cousin. I did hope you'd find me.»
He wasn't wasting any time on formality. «Just what game do you think you're playing? What are you doing here?»
«Why, waiting for you!»
«Spying on me, you mean. Why?»
Ljuba hesitated. «I was puzzled," she said after a moment, and just then genuine bewilderment was in her voice. «Finist, why do you bother?»
«Eh?»
«These are only woodsfolk, peasants, nothing! Why do you bother with them?»
He raised a brow. «These are my people, cousin. They trust me. How can I betray that trust?»
«Oh, nonsense! That can't be the whole story!»
A hint of anger flickered in his eyes. «Have you never thought I might have pitied them?»
«Finist, please. I'm not one of your simple peasants.»
«You want a materialistic answer, do you? All right, here: the peasants produce the land's food, its resources. Take care of them, they take care of you, and the land flourishes. Plain enough?»
She still didn't see it. After all, if peasants refused to produce, they were traitors and should be punished. But there was still that anger hot in his eyes, and Ljuba, who knew when to yield a point, only sighed in wonderfully feigned innocence. «Do you know, no one ever bothered explaining things like that to me?» She gave a fetching little shiver. «The night's so chill. And‑dark. I don't see how you can enjoy this forest, even by day! It's so… unfriendly.»
«Not to me. Cousin, enough. Why were you spying on me? And why, in Heaven's name, didn't you help me with that wolf?» He paused, eyeing her speculatively. «Hoping to see me die, cousin?»
«Good God, no!» That was heartfelt enough. «Don't be so suspicious. I could see you weren't in any real danger. Besides…» Ljuba smiled faintly. «I could hardly have displayed myself to the whole village like this, could I?»
She took a smooth step out of shadow, and was gratified to hear Finist's involuntary gasp at his first clear sight of her, those amber eyes widening, drinking in the vision of golden woman veiled in golden hair…
Then his eyes shifted resolutely to her face. «A bit chilly for this, isn't it?» Finist asked dryly.
«Maybe we aren't all so clever in carrying clothes in flight!» she snapped before she could stop herself.