The Shining Falcon

Chapter Vll Ensnared

Finist flew aimlessly through the night, circling over his sleeping city of Kirtesk, nearly invisible in the darkness, unable to sleep. His mind was too foil of thoughts of Ljuba.

Why had she done it? Why, after all these years, suddenly set out to seduce him? Oh, he'd always been aware of her beauty, he would have to have been a clod of earth not to have been aware, but till now it hadn't mattered. Till now his dislike of her had been strong enough to master any sense of true desire. He'd always been careful, so careful—

Enough. What had happened that night in the forest was over. And surely Ljuba saw as clearly as he that they'd been lucky to get out of it with nothing worse than a frenzied coupling that had little joy to it. He'd treat the whole thing as an accident, he'd find some cool, formal way to let his cousin know it would never happen again.

But if only it had been someone other than Ljuba… someone special… The plaintive thought rather embarrassed him. Yet he found himself remembering Marfa and Stefan, the youngsters so madly in love, and surprised himself with a pang of envy. Ah, God, what must it be like, feeling such tenderness for someone, being the object of such tenderness? Love—

Wasn't for royalty. So he'd been taught. And it certainly wasn't possible with Ljuba. It was all too easy to remember her as she'd been, the child‑Ljuba spelling a puppy into immobility, heedless of the little animal's terror: it was only a puppy, after all. And later, the adolescent Ljuba, already beautiful enough to catch men's breath in their throats, working practice magics on her servants, small, harmless spells to be sure, but worked quite against their wills: they were only servants, after all. Well, he had put a stop to that sort of thing as soon as he'd learned about it. But even now Ljuba hadn't changed, not really. For all her loveliness, there was still a certain emptiness at the heart of her. And, he supposed, no wonder—

Dammit, now he was going to start pitying her! That was easy enough to do; he'd realized even as a boy that her father ignored his daughter's existence, her mother all but hated her, though of course, he hadn't realized the reason, not then.

Devil take it! These mental meanderings had brought him right to her window! There Ljuba sat, alone in her bedchamber, brushing and brushing the long fall of golden hair, and Finist paused in spite of himself, perched on the windowsill, caught by the charming picture she made, there in the dim light of the single candle.

He paused too long. Ljuba sensed his presence and looked up. «Why, cousin! Please, enter.»

What else could he do? There wasn't any way to speak to her while in falcon-form, and he certainly couldn't just fly rudely away. What's this? Finist chided himself at his sudden unease. A prince who's dealt with boyars and ambassadors is afraid to simply talk with one virtually magicless woman?

Ljuba was politely holding out a cloak. A bit late for modesty between us, thought Finist, but he accepted it, transforming and wrapping himself in its shelter. Maybe this wasn't the best of times to speak with Ljuba about that night, but there might not be a better time. At least right now they had privacy.

«Ljuba…»

«Wait, let me give us more light.» She moved smoothly from candle to candle, till the room was aglow in soft, flickering gold. «That's better. Finist, I know why you've come.»

«I don't think you do.»

«Oh, yes.» She gave him a slow, sweet smile, eyes veiled behind long lashes. «After that cold, damp night, I knew you would be wondering, as I was, if our pleasure wouldn't have been more… pleasant here.»

Before Finist could find a way to tactfully deny her, a hot little voice in his mind whispered, Why not?

Nonsense. He had more restraint than that.

You don't have to look for love, you don't even have to like the woman, just take what's being offered—

No! Dammit, he wasn't some mindless, rutting stag!

After all, the voice insisted, it's not as though you were close kin. And you both do know the charm to prevent conception. Why not? You weren't her first lover, no more than she was yours; she's no helpless little princess who must be kept as a chaste prize for some other prince. Why not?

He'd almost think Ljuba had managed to feed him one of her sorcerous potions—but that was impossible; she hadn't so much as touched him. No, this ridiculous wave of passion could only be his own fault, and he had better say what he'd come to say and leave and hope the cold night air would restore him to himself.

«Ljuba. That night was a mistake. You know it, and I know it.»

There was more he should be saying. But… God, it had grown so stifling in here. He couldn't think…

«We mustn't—I won't — "

Damn. That wasn't making any sense at all. How could Ljuba bear the scent of all these candles? Burning wax and fragrance, heavy as perfumed fog… so heavy he felt he could surely brush it aside if he could only manage to raise a hand… Struggling for breath, trying in vain to blink his blurring vision clear, he saw his cousin through the fog, still as a statue in some pagan place, a goddess cold and perfect and merciless, and a new wave of passion staggered him—

No, and no! He would not let his body rule him! Desperate and angry, Finist turned to leave… tried to turn… but something was going very wrong. He could still think, but he couldn't seem to move. Struggle though he would, he just couldn't get his legs to obey him. Somehow he found himself still facing Ljuba, and all at once admitted fiercely, Yes, here in this room, here in this bed! I'll burn this passion from me and be done with it!

The cold statue melted into warm, willing life as he pulled her into his arms.

The forest was dank and close about him, no longer friendly, but hostile, hating, so dark he stumbled blindly through a never-ending maze of trees. There must be a way out, if only the forest would let him go. But now vines were reaching out for him, weaving their silken way about him, tightening no matter how he struggled, gently, firmly tightening as he realized in helpless horror that they were draining the strength from him, the magic, the very soul—

«No!» Finist sat bolt upright, eyes wild. What—

A dream. Only a dream. He was still sheltered and warm in Ljuba's bed, she was still peacefully asleep beside him. And she was lovely, no denying it, relaxed and defenseless in sleep, the yellow candlelight soft on curve of cheek, of shoulder, of breast. Even now he felt a returning stir of desire…

«No," Finist repeated, softly, fiercely. Even in the throes of his lust, he'd tried to be gentle, he'd tried to please them both, he'd tried for at least a semblance of love. But as before, there'd been no joy in their coupling, not even relief, nothing but anger and a vague sense of revulsion, almost as though there were something unnatural about this most natural of acts.

She can't be bespelling me, Id know it! I wasn't fool enough to eat or drink anything from her hand, she wasn't wearing any ointments or sorcerous perfumes… Yet… I—I just can't seem to think…

The candles weren't helping. Their light was beginning to hurt his eyes, while the smell of the scented wax lay so heavy in the air that he found it difficult to breathe. And his head was pounding. Feeling like a man wading through syrup, Finist reached out a heavy arm to pinch out a flame. There. That seemed to relieve the pressure, however slightly. He wasn't sure his legs would hold him, but if he stretched out a bit more, he could reach a second candle and extinguish it, a third… Yes, the air did seem to be clearing faintly, at least to the point where he didn't have to struggle for each breath. Now his muddled mind seemed to be clearing, too…

Clearing, indeed.

«My God.'' Finist sat bolt upright. «What a fool I am!»

As Ljuba stirred, blinking in confusion, Finist struggled to his feet. Head still reeling, he fought his way to the window, casting open the shutters to take deep lungfuls of cold, clean night air, feeling the haze leave his brain. Quickly, holding his breath, he reached for the remaining candles, hurling them out, watching in grim satisfaction as they fell, trailing small tails of fire, till they hit the cobblestones far below.

«Finist… ?» Ljuba's voice was pathetically weak, and her eyes, when he whirled to face her, were wide and fearful.

«Oh yes, cousin," hissed Finist, «fear me!»

«I—I don't understand.»

«Don't you? How clever you were! Your potions were worked into the candlewax itself, weren't they? So simple a trap! If I hadn't been so—so damnably besotted, I'd have realized it from the first.»

«I didn't mean — "

«Don't lie to me! Why did you do it, Ljuba? Answer me!»

Her head dropped. «I… wanted you. But you… just never looked at me, not as a man sees a woman.» She glanced up, face pale. «What are you going to do to me?»

What could he do? Ljuba lied as easily as she drew breath. But what if this once she was telling the truth? He could hardly banish her for that! Seduction of a man old enough to know what he was doing was hardly a treasonable offense! And if he made matters public at all—oh, wouldn't that do wonders for his royal image? Devil take it, Ljuba knew he wouldn't—couldn't—publicly chastise her, not his cousin, not under these circumstances!

It took every bit of regal self‑control to keep his voice level. «This time, you are forgiven. But I promise you this, cousin: try any magics against me again, any magics at all, and I'll find a way to see you declared a traitor to the crown.»

«But, Finist, you don't understand — "

«I understand enough!»

If he stayed there a moment longer, Finist knew he'd do something he would regret. With a swirling of shape, he was falcon, and soaring up out of that stifling room. Behind him, he could hear Ljuba calling frantically, «Finist! I did it because—Finist, wait!»

Then, as he fled away into the night, came one last, despairing wail: «I did it because I love you!»