“You have no idea how close,” he responded.
Oh, he must have read her mind. Rhianon whistled softly. If his voice echoed dryly, like ashes, hers was a musical whistle. She wondered if there was ever music within these walls. Perhaps if ghostly musicians dropped by, though their efforts here were of no use to anyone. Here, silence was more welcome, the echoes of hell and the cries of those unfortunates being mowed down beyond the infected valley by a terrible epidemic. Rhianon was somehow certain that if you listened hard enough, you would realize that the cries and moans and pleas of all the unfortunates suffering all over the world reached out to the power. In part they caress the ears of the local inhabitants, in part they only make them laugh and feed the black sorrow. For the inhabitants of this place are convinced that no one will be stronger than they are.
“Everything is proportionate to guilt, isn’t it?”
She perked up again when she heard his dry but heartfelt voice.
“I don’t think you’re to blame? Isn’t it a crime to stand up for your own independence?”
“We did it for him.”
“Everyone wants to be independent.”
“Would we have been like that for him?”
“What do you think? After all, it was you who followed him, not me. Only you can tell how and why you did it.”
“Why did you do it?”
“I don’t count. I was unhappy, deprived, pursued by enemies. It’s impossible not to follow someone who promises you deliverance and at the same time captivates you just by looking at him. To love such a creature is freedom. Chains are its absence.”
“Do you think we have not felt the same?”
“I…” Rhiannon looked away. She couldn’t understand why they felt so unhappy and deprived, but perhaps there was a reason. She was also surprised that there were those who had managed not to succumb to Madael’s seduction. After all, there were those who had become his adversaries. Could it be jealousy or envy? It could have been anything.
“When someone who looks like the golden dawn calls you, you can’t help but follow him,” she said out loud the phrase the ifrit would probably have wanted to say to her as well.
He was still perched proudly on the mantel, looking at her with a stern, impenetrable gaze. So handsome before, and so ugly now. Rhianon sighed as she looked at him.
“Don’t be sorry, Princess.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t be sorry about us. We chose our own way.”
“And me? Am I being tempted? Did fate leave me a choice?”
“You want to be burned, too.”
“My burn is inside me,” Rhianon answered angrily, referring to the fire in her blood. It could make her feel like she was on fire. Just a moment and something could flare up, but not just next to you, but in your body and then it would hurt.”
“You have no idea how right you are,” the ifrit said thoughtfully.
Rhianon said nothing. She was tired of idle speculation. She was just trying to pass the time while she waited for Madael, so she got into a dialogue with the infernal creature. She should have gone and searched the tower for some magical wonders instead of talking to demons. No good would come of it. He had already managed to upset her, and he wasn’t going to stop. Rhianon never thought she would ever stoop to talking to such a creature. However, everything in her life changed abruptly and the most unexpected things happened. Now she was beginning to feel sympathy for all the creepy creatures that were nesting here. And it was only because they were the black army of her golden choice. Dawn is followed by darkness, and so a dark army crowded behind the shoulders of the radiant warrior. Rhianon could almost see such unimaginative creatures swooping on the bodies of fallen knights, tearing at the dead flesh and preparing to engage themselves on occasion. The mere sight of such creatures would frighten legions away, and yet Madael took his time leading them into the fray. He simply didn’t need to. He alone was stronger than them all, and he alone remained light. Maybe there was an injustice here, but this construction of things involuntarily fascinated Rhianon. She imagined the scorching burning sun and the immense darkness behind it. Oh, yes, that was exactly what a coherently plausible picture was. A scorching sun capable of burning everything around it and the surrounding clots of darkness. Rhianon had chosen the sun, but in the obligatory addition of it, she had also received the twilight. And now the beings who appeared from the darkness warned her that she could burn in the arms of her chosen one just as they had burned. Rhianon even thought of encouraging him, of asking some provocative question so that he would finally speak up about why he had turned to her.
The minutes passed, and she still pondered. Before she could make up her mind, the ifrit spoke suddenly, flatteringly and ingratiatingly.
“He’s like us,” he said, his voice sounding convincing for the first time. No name was needed to be given. Rhianon knew who he was talking about.
“No,” she said sharply. “You are not as beautiful as he is.”
“But inside…” Her interlocutor said thoughtfully. “Why should he be beautiful if he’s like us?”
“Perhaps he is more worthy,” Rhianon said, bravely defending her lover even though he did not need it. If he had heard that from any of his subjects he would have been a handful of ashes, but no one would have dared say that to his face. She is another matter, she can be tempted and tried to deceive, but Rhianon has tried to show that she does not succumb to lies.
“Is he?” the ifrit flicked his claws over the carving of the mantelpiece. He could have damaged it, but somehow there were no scratches, as if all the things here were enchanted, or if these dark claws could do no real harm, only frighten.
“And more honestly, at least he’d said from the beginning that staying with him would ruin us both,” Rhianon blurted out, only to remember moments later that Madael had never said such words. He had never threatened or implied tragedy, but there was a sudden sense of unseen, crushing doom. Rhianon looked around anxiously. She heard the words as clearly and distinctly as if they had really been spoken by her lover.
Suddenly Rhianon was angry with the ifrit. It was as if he had spoken to her deliberately and as if he meant to do her harm. She wanted no more quarrels with him. Let him fly out of the tower and have his philosophical debates with one of the victims of the witch plague. If he was so eager to bicker, he might as well do it with the people who would soon take his secrets with them to the grave. Perhaps, as an ex-angel, he is more attracted to the princess than to the commoners, but she no longer cares. Rhianon deliberately pretended to focus on something else. She noticed a small harp with shiny strings behind the mantelpiece and reached for it.
“Now go away,” she said to the ifrit. “I have nothing more to say to you.”
He understood her at once, but he was too sensible to express his anger and resentment in any way. One second his claws were nervously tearing at the decorations on the mantelpiece, and the next it was empty. Something huge and unwieldy rushed upward under the gaze of the dark dome above the hall. Rhianon knew that even if she raised her eyes high she could not see the inaccessible ceiling. It went so far up that a whole flock of such creatures could still nest beneath it. She didn’t care anymore, even if their glittering yellow eyes were watching her from the celestial darkness. She decided to do something to distract her from the unearthly philosophy of these creatures and their creeping