«You’re a nifty boy,» said a gruff, mocking voice.
Before Rhiannon realized she had to run, someone had wrapped his arms around her from behind. One or two, someone’s arm held her too tightly.
«I’ve been watching you from Loretta,» the knife-wielding man approached her, the blade pressed against her throat, gleaming in the moonlight. Rhianon shuddered; she was a second away from having her throat slashed. Maybe it was the duke’s men. They didn’t look like his retinue, more like mercenaries. The poorly dressed, tipsy men reeked of booze, sweat and blood. One of them had just cut himself. Rhiannon could smell blood, even when the injured man was a great distance from her. Her nostrils immediately flared and caught the strangely pleasant scent. Her nostrils flared up, picking up a strangely pleasant scent and associating it with the opening of a wound. Rhianon almost smiled, though it was inappropriate now. Where did it all come from in her head, scratches like flowers of fire, a bowl of blood, and someone with wings.
«And don’t tell me fairy tales about the princess disappearing at the mountain pass itself, kid,» the bandit grinned a gap-toothed smile, his accomplices clawing harder at her.
«You’re a hustler, you’re a runaway servant, you clever boy, but now you’ll pay,» the blade sliced harder into her neck, and now her own blood would gush out. That was the smell of her blood, and it wouldn’t smell so good. On the contrary, the smell of her own blood always made Rhianon sick, but the blood of this cut man, though disgusting, smelled so appealing. He didn’t recognize her, or he did, but he was in no hurry to reveal his plans. In any case, she was about to get her throat slashed for her lucky winnings, and something had to be done, but not a thought occurred to her.
Rhianon covered her eyes, trying not to look at the blade pressing closer and closer to her. She sniffed at her enemy’s blood, and it seemed to her that someone else had caught that divine scent in his nostrils, and his nostrils had widened just as much as hers.
A second more and her blood would gush directly onto this knife from her opened jugular vein. Rhianon flinched after the knife had been taken from her throat. Whoever was standing in front of her was already lying on the ground, screaming in pain. She couldn’t see what had happened, and it was dark, but she caught sight of someone’s clawed paw stabbing at her. The writhing body under her feet, writhing in a pool of blood, was nauseating.
The two behind her had already let her go. They had no time for their victim.
«Look!» One of them was pointing to an empty pedestal. There was a third man between the men, but it was not a man. He had a non-human figure. Rhianon definitely saw wings and claws. She watched until the carnage was over. One could have huddled against the wall of the inn and watched others being killed. We need to get out of here before the bodies are discovered was her first thought, but someone or something was already dragging the bodies into the darkness, dragging them along the ground, leaving bloody footprints. The pedestal plunged into darkness, but something was still there. It was foolish to think about avoiding people’s questions about the murders when they might have killed her, too. Someone clawed at her shoulders and pressed her tighter against the inn wall. Someone’s clawed hands either squeezed or hugged her. It looks like love, it flashed through her mind. How strange it was that they wanted to kill her, and these wings rustling in the darkness, these claws and the blood on them seemed to her to be symbols of love incarnate.
«Don’t tell anyone,» whispered a quiet and commanding yet penetrating voice over her ear. Some very tall creature leaned down to examine her features. And then it abruptly let her go, and the girl nearly fell. It was hard to stay on her feet, not only from the suddenness of her release, but also from the intense nervous shock. She herself did not fully understand. She could only look around confusedly, looking for someone who was no longer there. The horse was still snorting fearfully, but the reason for its fear was gone. The surroundings were empty and dark. Maybe just someone was sitting on the roof, waiting to spring into action.
Rhiannon tucked her beret back into place, to cover the long locks of hair. It was cold and frightening. Her feet carried her back to the warmth and comfort of the tavern. Even the rough shouts and noisy laughter of the customers didn’t seem so nasty to her now. She sank heavily into a chair near the empty table, as a swaggering boy should, and gestured to the innkeeper. He had already brought another glass of wine before she ordered. Rhianon had already had a few today, but now she needed another. Of course, it wouldn’t hit her head and erase the memory of what had happened, because she had never been drunk. That was one of her strange innate traits. Wine didn’t get her drunk. And it was one more thing. If she needed to get warm or turn the lives of others into a blazing inferno, that wasn’t a problem for her either. She snapped her slender fingers, cutting a thin spark from beneath her skin. Fire was born of emptiness and air when she needed it. I had to smile guiltily at the astonished innkeeper, who couldn’t understand how a light could have flashed in the boy’s hand if he wasn’t holding a candle.
She could still play and win again. She felt she could. Luck was with her for now and would not leave her until morning, maybe longer. She was devilishly lucky at gambling, and her former partners were calling for her again, but Rhianon shook her head in the negative. It was enough gambling for today. She needed to calm down, finish her wine, and banish the intrusive thoughts of someone watching her from the most unexpected places.
«Do you believe in luck?» A sudden question brought her out of her thoughts. On the other side of the table, in the seat that had been empty a moment ago, someone was already sitting there, and his eyes glared at her feline-like from the half-darkness. How unceremoniously he sat down, and how silently he approached, as if he had materialized out of nowhere. Around him, the darkness seemed to thicken. A white, narrow, extremely long palm floated out of the darkness and tossed a gold coin over the table.
«I can give you luck… along with this gold piece.»
Rhianon was taken aback, not by the strange offer, but by the sight of the stranger. Dressed all in green, with bells dangling from his hat and an unpleasant glint in his eyes, he resembled an evil elf from a fairy tale. Red and yellow patches seemed to slip into his attire, but it was impossible to see exactly, for the whole figure on the other side of the table seemed to be woven of fog. The stranger sat beside him, it was only necessary to reach out a hand to touch him, and at the same time Rhianon did not dare to do so, for she was afraid of feeling of emptiness instead of him. This must be what a creature from the looking-glass must look like, not entirely in this world, but balancing somewhere between here and nowhere else. It would not take much to frighten it away, one gesture, one movement, and it would disappear, but the girl did not dare. She looked at the man who sat down beside her as if he were a curiosity. He looked a wonder, too, in that outfit, with his skin like it was covered with white clay, what a lean, mobile body he had, and what unusually thin long fingers. They caught the tossed coin so deftly that the dime barely had time to flash over the table before it was clenched again in his thin fist.
«I don’t want to play anymore tonight,» Rhianon muttered, not taking her eyes off the red glittering eyes on the other side of the table.
«Winning is good, isn’t it?» The stranger grinned merrily, but not at all kindly. «And will it be so tomorrow?»
«Tomorrow is still to come,» Rhianon thundered down her mug on the table, she had to be swaggering, now that she was a boy, no one should question that.
«Yes, it is extremely difficult to survive in these times, isn’t it?» The stranger winked understandingly and leaned a little closer, the bells on his hat tinkling playfully in time with the movement of his head. It didn’t seem to be ringing really, but laughter. It was the laughter of dozens of little tongues.
Rhianon moved a little farther away so that the skinny hand reaching across the table would not touch her in any