Rhianon-7. Queen of Vinor

Queen of Vinor

«I sense something is not right,» Arnaud looked out to sea. He could hear the voices of the faeries in the sound of the surf. They merged with the melody of his harp and almost overlapped it. But the strings still twitched softly, as if they were the strings of his soul. He no longer had a soul, only a body. And that was almost immortal.

He glanced at Madael, leaning indifferently on his sword. The Angel stared blankly at the bloodied blade, and it was unclear which was more coldly glistening, the polished steel, or his blue eyes. Not long ago they had been blue. At the sight of them, Arnaud sighed involuntarily. His master was changing. And it was not for the better.

«He has become even more soulless than then in the war in heaven,» his conscience whispered to him, as well as his soul deeply buried between the harp strings, but Arnaud brushed the intrusive voices aside. He had long ago grown accustomed to ignore them.

The lord’s eyes, after all, are even more suited to the cold color of steel than the blue of the sky. The blade of his sword, by the way, quickly absorbed the blood he’d spilled and turned as blue as his eyes. He’d spilled a lot of blood today, but the sword needed more. It was forged that way. His blade was eternally hungry for blood, for bloodshed. An ocean of blood could be spilled, and it would not rest. As long as there was a shred of flesh on earth, it would seek it out to slay it. The devil’s weapon is indestructible, and only his strong arm can restrain such a sword. Madael, playing with it, handled it, and another angel would not have been able to. And after that, isn’t he the strongest. Arnaud looked almost with admiration at the winged figure in the purple cloak. For a moment he even forgot that his master was also his rival. Only he didn’t know it himself. He has no idea. He’s too self-assured to see that some insignificant insect has a claim on his property.

Except now someone else was claiming it. Arnaud bit his lips bloody in excitement. He could feel it. And he was panicking. It was as if his heart was being ripped out of him, though there was none left in his chest. The trickle of blood running down his lips suddenly became a living worm, which he swept away and crushed.

Though the harp strings were almost silenced, his conscience still pricked him. He should have been grateful to fate. The lowly degenerate had become a servant of the highest lord there could be. He enjoyed serving Madael. Of course, over the days and especially the nights, he had seen many disgusting scenes. Wars, massacres, attacks, the dismemberment of corpses, and the bloody feasts that followed… It would have turned the stomach of a mortal being inside out by now. But Arnaud felt nothing but stony emptiness inside his body. Perhaps there was nothing left inside him. The ritual he had performed was intended to do just that. Only this time the consequences were unexpected. He was changing, but not the way he should have. The change in him would have startled everyone but Madael. He was, as always, terrifyingly calm and completely unconcerned. He had nothing to be sorry about. He had already lost everything.

Arnaud looked at him, and then squinted painfully. It felt as if he was looking at the melting sun from a short distance away. His eyes were about to melt from the sight, too. But perhaps it would be worth it. His new master was incredibly, indescribably handsome. You could fall in love with him, even knowing who he was. Only Arnaud didn’t have to worry about himself. He could not fear that feeling for the fallen angel would enslave him. It was just that he knew the counterpart… a copy of the devil lived in the mortal world. And unless he was wrong, she was going to marry a mortal king.

«She betrayed,» Arnaud’s own voice seemed foreign and distant. Even the sound of the surf was closer to his throat than those words.

Madael turned toward him, brushed a disobedient strand from his face with his thin fingers. In an instant, more bloody scenes flashed across his eyes than Arnaud had seen in all the nights they’d been together on the battlefields. The angel was marching forward with his sword, leading companies of demons to carnage, while the wretched Harper was crouching behind him, thanking fate that his body was immune to spears and arrows. Otherwise he himself would already be dead and animated by magic to serve the fallen. That was roughly what had happened to him, by the way, but he preferred not to remember much about the ritual. He just remembered that it had hurt. And it was better to forget about the spell cast over the cup after the ritual. Otherwise, the lord would see through his mind and know what was going on. Then there would be no escape for him. Arnaud shuddered, hearing the clear voice of an angel. It cut his ears like the blade of a sword.

«How do you know?»

He felt like a fool. He’s just a lowly follower, and before him is Dennitsa himself. Angel is omniscient. He’s no one to teach him. Still, Arnaud muttered weakly in his defense.

«I feel…»

Madael’s quiet chuckle was like a peal of thunder. It was the sound of the echo that startled goblins into their dens, the clang of gold as it swept through dragon caves. The angel himself was suddenly in darkness, covered in golden light. This heartbreak… Arnaud shrank. He suddenly felt unbearably cold in his master’s presence, more than if he had plunged headlong into the icy waves.

«Feelings don’t matter,» the angel turned away from him quickly. «Try to forget everything.»

«But I see her,» Arnaud himself did not know why he was pushing, but there was one vision that kept haunting him. Rhianon is walking on a solemn carpet sprinkled with myrtle beneath the nave of the cathedral where kings are crowned. She must not enter it. She is his master’s chosen one. She would stain herself and him if she did so. He wanted to shout this to her, as if from this distance she could hear him. Only it seemed to him that he was no longer here, but there, sitting on the crossbar under the nave and watching the ceremony from above. He should shout to her, but his tongue would not obey. There is no more blood in his veins and no more ligaments in his throat to speak. For the young queen, he is mute. Who needs a mute minstrel?

«Do you see her? Do you?» Madael suddenly looked at him intently.

Arnaud nodded uneasily. He did see. She was wearing an ermine robe and a golden crown. Her gown was made by mortal tailors, she was led by the hand of a mortal king. Her path is strewn with lilies, and the lilies begin to bleed. He saw everything so clearly, as if he were right there with her. Even more, he became one with her. It was a consequence of the spell. The side effect might well have been. He had counted on this effect and yet now it came as a shock to him. He had failed to bewitch the demon lover and now he would have to look at the world through her eyes forever. It is not he who has rounded her up, but he himself has become part of her being. There, seated on the throne of the new realm, Rhianon had enslaved him without her knowing it, and here on the rocky, cold shore the angel looked at him with a look of such fury that it made the blood run cold.

Arnaud glanced down at the glittering sword. Even after his recent bat, it still demanded blood. Where the master’s hand would guide it now?

«I… I can’t watch her right now,» he murmured apologetically. «Sometimes I feel like I’m dissolving into her. I didn’t mean to, but…»

He took the precautionary step back, but slipped and almost fell.

«So you did it after all,» Madael said, a split second, and he was pinned against the rock. The sword’s thin, cold blade brushed against the back of his exposed neck, its collar and tresses seeming to part on their own to make way for the steel. For all its coldness it burned, sending tingling sparks down his spine from neck to vertebrae.

«I could kill you,» Madael whispered, «you are immortal now, but I could destroy you. With a flick of my hand, your head would be separate from your body, burning eternally in one of my cauldrons below, and I would let the crows peck out your eyes. It was they who seduced you when you first saw a worthy woman’s camp and started chanting charms. You have nothing to offer a woman, only deceptions left. You put a veil over the victim’s eyes and she starts me in you? All spells work the same way. I begin to shine in someone else and seduce on his behalf. That’s when the process of seduction is irreversible. Only with Rhianon this trick won’t work, because she already knows me.»

«I…» Arnaud moved to loosen his grip, but the angel gripped him like a vice.

«Shut up,» Madael pressed his head against the rocky surface with one hand, exposing his neck even more. He pressed the blade slightly, letting the dark blood drain down. Blood poisoned by the ritual. It made the stunted grass beneath it rot more, and even the rocky surface grew moldy, its insects with hellish faces swarming over the surface.

«You’re not dead, but you’re not alive either, just a creature that has no place in life or death anymore. You wanted to be that. It was better to remain an outcast in both worlds than one who exists forever, who does not live. It’s a torment, isn’t it, Arnaud, to exist like that? And what if now you have to exist without eyes? Or without the right hand you used to strike at the ritual? Would you be able to play with one left hand or blindly?»

There was no mocking tone in his beautiful, smooth voice. He was terrifyingly calm. Arnaud sobbed and the strings of his harp echoed softly, as if they felt no danger.

Madael loosened his grip and squinted at the instrument. «You know, they say the voices of the celestials are born in the music that comes from the war, and they no longer exist. But I recognize their singing sometimes. If I spare you, it is for your skill, but not for your own.»

«Yes… my lord,» he felt his grip loosen, and was relieved to sing a hymn to Satan. My lord, my lord, my sovereign… He had so many flattering appellations, and with them all one unchangeable Mastema. But all these meanings coalesced in him.

Arnaud had barely had time to sigh when his strong fingers closed around his wrists, sniping and burning the skin. That’s what the game of cat and mouse was all about. Now he would forever feel pinned against the wall, even when they let him go for a moment.

«Remember,» Madael leaned so low over him that Arnaud could feel his fiery breath. One golden curl snaked down his cheek, Madael’s hair was soft, softer than silk, but it almost scratched him now. Not even a cat’s claws or a hot wire could bring his skin to such irritation. The angel’s whisper was also fiery.

«Just one step toward Rhianon, and even my troops wouldn’t envy your fate. Do you understand?»

«Yes, my lord.»

Madael released him, but Arnaud could still feel his grip on his wrists. Even in shackles or on the rack he would feel more comfortable. His soul was gloomy, and his harp began to play something cheerful as if out of spite. Arnaud thought that Madael would stop it with one look for disrespecting the sovereign of all the damned and his fury, but he merely stepped aside, not even looking at the twitching strings.

Rhianon tried on the diamond jewelry. Which would go better with the dress?

«It looked like tears…»

The voice of the spirit might not have told her that. She saw for herself, so she merely nodded. Her interlocutor, after a moment, was himself disappointedly silent. And it was good. She didn’t feel like talking to him today.

She rummaged through the contents of the boxes herself, without the help of her ladies. She had good taste, and the trinkets the court jewelers had made especially for her were not bad either, but today she noticed that the glittering diamonds looked like tears. Were they tears of fairies? Rhianon had heard somewhere that they could turn into diamonds. She couldn’t remember exactly. She had only recently begun to think that Madael’s tears should not be transparent, but bloody. And his spilled blood could only turn into a ruby.

«Then you must have hundreds of shards of rubies inside you by now,» the spirit gently reminded me.

«That’s not what I meant…» Why should she have to justify her own thoughts to him? Yes, she remembered the taste of angel’s blood on her lips and the incredible sensation of warmth and power flooding her body afterward. It was even more pleasurable than love. A drop of his blood… Rhianon tried not to think about the way she touched the ground and turned into rubies. Madael is invulnerable, after all. He could not be killed or hurt. And he is immortal.

«Perhaps I will die, and he will still kill his enemies on the battlefield… and if only his own enemies, not the enemies of the Almighty…»

«Don’t go into mourning. Not yet. We have a wedding to celebrate before then,» the spirit reminded her. «Then it will be the coronation.»

She nodded again, indifferently. There was a knock at the door. She must go now.

«Couldn’t you…» she turned to the spirit, and then stopped short. No, she wouldn’t do that. No, she wouldn’t send anyone to him now, notify him of her intentions. Otherwise he would come here and ruin everything. She won’t have Loretta or Vinor or hope for the future. She didn’t want that.

«If it weren’t for God,» she’d thought of it so often. «He could avenge for her, return her Loretta and never lost her himself.»

«If there was a god, there would be a devil,» the spirit finished for her. «And if there were no devil, the world would be just. You’re dreaming for nothing, child, the world was already created that way.»

«You see everything in black,» she teased him.

«I can see deeper than mortals like you can,» he said nonchalantly.

He had a point, and yet Rhianon protested:

«I’m not like other mortals anymore.»

«You’re better off if no one else knows about it but me. People don’t like those who are too different from them. Remember, one false step and your recent success in the throne room could backfire on you. If the queen ends up causing displeasure, she too may be burned as a witch. The occasion is already there. Everyone remembers how death worshipped you. Do you think she fell in love with you?»

– He, not she,» corrected Rhianon sharply.

«It is he, not she,» corrected Rhianon sharply.

«What difference does it make? It has not made any difference to you.»

«And you have been watching me the whole time, how could you have known?»

«You look like an angel, my dear, and angels are sexless.» He easily found excuses and turned everything into sophistry. «That’s why it’s easier for angels to choose their lovers. Nothing matters to them but a beauty like yours.»

Someone touched her cheek lightly. Rhianon felt the touch, though she did not see the speaker. It was exciting and unsettling at the same time. He seemed to be leaning over her right now. And there was already a knock at the door.

«Come, they’re waiting for you,» he announced, as if she didn’t know it yet.

Rhianon took one last look in the mirror. She was too pale. The white gown embroidered with pearls and the white myrtle in her hair accentuated the deadly whiteness of her skin. And her golden eyebrows and eyelashes look like painted ones against her. Is this what an angel should look like? More like a marble statue. Rhianon reached for the jars of blush, but someone seemed to have intercepted her spirit. She had barely touched it, and the blush had scattered all over the lace tablecloths in a sea of glitter.

«And yet you’re perfect,» the same spirit whispered in her ear. «The world has never seen a prettier queen. I mean both your world and ours. Don’t take a harpy with you to the ceremony, she’ll ruin it.»

«I’ll do as I please,» she was suddenly angry.

«Of course, darling,» he answered in a venomous tone, and yet the touch on her fingers was immediately insensible. So he let go of her hand. Rhianon fixed the curls in her forehead. Combined with the white flowers, they looked like pure gold. Indeed, she was beautiful. The whole town would notice it tonight.

She just didn’t want the pesky spirit to distract her from the ceremony. She already felt awkward enough before the wedding and coronation. She would be entering the Temple. The thought of it made her sick to her stomach. She felt as if she was betraying someone by entering a consecrated place. Here we go, she was already afraid to even call him by his name. What if he flew in? And then what would happen? He will crush Vinor faster than the epidemic, or just throw accusations in the face of the newfound queen. She is a traitor. And she knows it herself. He can show up here and call her that in front of everyone. Without his cloak he is but an angel with wings, no one can see the devil’s grief in his eyes. And who would be right, he or she?

Rhianon bit her lips nervously. How easily he could have ruined her. Even without sorcery, he could ruin her plans with his mere appearance. If he was jealous of her, he would do so. And if he loved her, he wouldn’t. She had little faith in love. Far more important is desire, especially for the devil. Once satisfied, he can forget forever. Besides, if there is no beautiful body, there is no love. She herself could not fall in love with one of the burnt monsters in his army. So what if they used to be the most beautiful angels, but now they are disgusting. Neither would Ferdinand have offered her to be his queen had he not found her the most beautiful girl in the world. Now of course she could have tinted her face with talcum powder and rouge and lined her lips with carmine, but she decided to leave it as it was. The angelic pallor suited her better.

She had already had an elegant wreath made of gold, adorned with large pearls and sapphires. The cooler shades suited her very well. In the past she would have been glad of ice-colored stones and white brocade woven with flowers, but now she longed for something scarlet. What a pity her new crown lacked rubies.

A drop of blood appeared on her lips, but it was not the usual scarlet color, just the warmth of it. Rhianon tried to brush it away, but only smeared it on her lower lip.

«That’s good,» the spirit whispered approvingly. «At least your lips look a little pink.»

«Yes, now, shut up,» she demanded.

«For how long is it?» His voice was mocking as usual.

«Till tonight.»

He snorted disapprovingly, but obeyed the order. She wondered how long his patience would last.

Rhianon unfurled the puffy ruffles around her shoulders. Made of lace, they still looked like a cloud of eiderdown, a setting worthy of a queen. Gold lace ran along the embroidered sleeves, the tight corset was embroidered with a floral pattern, and the long belt was embellished with filigree. There was no hint that she was pregnant. The very thought of it seemed strange to her. She didn’t feel anything foreign brewing inside her. On the contrary, the fire inside was only a part of her being. Perhaps it wasn’t a child, but just a sheaf of her own flame. She would breathe it out burning the castle and there would be nothing left inside either. They were futile dreams. Rhianon knew that the seed of the fallen angel would not simply be disposed of. It was already forming into a living and omnipotent being, but her waist was still thin. Otherwise Ferdinand would hardly have decided to marry her. Who would want a pregnant bride? And Madael? Would he fly here to claim her and the child if he knew the child was his? Oh, by the way, did he know that? Rhianon had no one to ask. Well, when you look at it from all angles, how could he not know? He’s omniscient. Could such a small but significant detail have escaped his perception? And if he knew, why didn’t he insist on his rights until now? Surely he wants this child, doesn’t he? Does he want it? Or hadn’t he even considered the possibility of having one?

He complained that he was lonely. Rhianon remembered. He had said that he had always been lonely, even there in paradise, when he had been considered a favorite of God. Was his loneliness here on earth even more palpable? He also said that he had missed love long ago before the beginning of time. How strange and cruel, everyone knew him as the favorite of the Almighty, and he felt no one needed him. When there is no love, you are alone even in the noisiest society. Now Rhianon felt it for herself. Enthusiastic crowds had gathered around her, and the nobles were also preparing to rejoice. Everyone was greeting her, throwing the same unfailing flowers at her feet, surrounding her with attention, and she felt so lonely. She was miserable.

That would soon pass when she got Loretta back into her possession. How much she had sacrificed for it, though if she looked closely, there was not much to sacrifice.

Now she even missed the annoying spirit. She wished he would have distracted her with some sharp remark.

«You look like you’re going to the scaffold,» he whispered. Rhianon saw the bales of discarded flowers on the carpeted path, though no one had stepped on them. Her invisible companion was there. And he promised to keep quiet until tonight.

«But you wanted to hear me,» he excused himself. «You were the one who called me.»

His voice was much nicer than the hymns and chants in the cathedral. Rhianon wrinkled painfully when she heard them. Her ears felt as if they were about to bleed. The only thing that saved her was Ferdinand’s arm, which she could lean on. He was handsome in his white brocade embroidered with pearls. And yet he was no angel. Not Madael. Rhianon hastily looked away from his chiseled profile. She wasn’t even sure how old he was. He looked eighteen at most. The wreath of myrtle in his short, curly curls accentuated his fresh youth. Only there, in the cathedral, would he wear the formal crown. For Rhianon’s sake he had briefly abandoned the observance of tradition. It turns out he is also flighty. It was hard to believe he already had two children she had yet to meet. Rhianon preferred not to think about it yet.

She also tried not to think about the fact that there was only a man walking down the aisle beside her. This wedding was in every way a breach of tradition. Ferdinand was leading her forward by himself. There were no best men or bridesmaids, only the uniformly dressed blue brocade maidens carrying her train. Bouquets of white lilies adorned the entrance. Why lilies? Their persistent scent and memories made Rhianon so dizzy she almost fainted. Perhaps she thought she saw Asmodeus’ black claws and mocking eyes behind the lush flowers in the shadow of the nave. He is the harbinger of misfortune. Rhianon shuddered. Maybe she just imagined he was here.

«He’s not the only one,» the spirit whispered behind her shoulder. «The cathedral is always full of them.»

«But how…» «That’s not what religion teaches. It wasn’t that at all.

«And how can people know anything,» the companion said instantly.

He did. Rhianon was hurt by the sight of the lilies.

– «You’d better look up on the North Ridge,» the spirit advised her.

She turned swiftly, and saw nothing but a seemingly motionless statue. There was nothing else. It was only the glint of the sun on the metal. Her fear of heights suddenly receded, but with it came another.

«It’s empty,» she whispered disappointedly.

«What do you mean, my dear?» Ferdinand responded in place of the spirit. She had been as oblivious as ever and had spoken the words to the spirit aloud.

«It is nothing,» she hastened to assure him. Rhianon hoped that Ferdinand would not be aware of her disappointment. He might not understand her, or he might have drawn his own conclusions. He knew about her affair with the demon, after all. And she felt as if she knew nothing. And really, what did she expect to see there, the glint of golden curls and the dazzling ray of angel wings? Did she think that he was sitting there on the roof of one of the cathedrals, immortal, invulnerable and angry? That he would rush down, pick her up, and drag her down with him, like he had done long ago… the very first time.

«That’s exactly what he was going to do,» the spirit said.

«Now, really be quiet,» she called to him mentally. «Let me concentrate. You’re asking me to invite the devil to the wedding. Look, we’re already breaking all the rules. Neither Ferdinand nor I have family or friends here. Only strangers are invited. He’s already broken all the rules.»

«And he’s marrying someone else’s wife,» the spirit eagerly reminded her.

Rhianon wanted to turn around and remind him that she had made no vows to Madael, but she was afraid. What if she saw him behind her, or discerned a winged silhouette on one of the rooftops? It was better to look only forward. Like the flowers beneath her feet. She wondered why people are used to present flowers as a sign of love? They quickly wither? Is it as quickly as fame, youth or love? Love! It’s as if she’s been slashed with a sharp blade. Love is far away. It is in the fringes of heaven, in the cold underworld, or in hell, where exactly now the fallen angel was, she did not know. Perhaps he wandered the mortal world, looking for her, or going to wring her neck. Love and desire for power should not be confused. One day he would understand that.

For the hundredth time, Rhianon wondered why she did what she did. She wondered why she could not have won at a lesser cost. She could have used her ingenuity and sorcery instead of yielding. So why did she do it?

«Yes, because you like a handsome young king, even if he was already married, and you’re also attracted to the idea of becoming queen of Vinor,» the disembodied voice was mocking, but as always it hit the mark.

Yes, she liked Ferdinand, and she wouldn’t mind a kingdom like Vinor, either. In contrast to the flabby body, the empty purse, and the impoverished Duchy of Rothbert, the second offer was too tempting. And she accepted. And now, as in a morass, she walked down the aisle. She feared both revenge and indifference from her former lover. But the main goal of her life, Loretta, was far more important. Let her heart ache. It is supposed to. If it is to be believed that Dennitsa himself laid the foundation for the subsequent betrayals of all lovers on this earth, then they are following a path that has already been beaten. It was meant to be that way. What can you do against fate?

«And yet you could fight it…»

She let the spirit’s words pass her lips. And they didn’t sound any louder than an echo in the dark, airy cathedral. The massiveness of the building overwhelmed her. She felt like a speck of dust lost in outer space. In Madael’s arms she had never felt this way. Though he owned the whole world, it was so warm and cozy with him. The grandiosity of his designs and possessions never pressed her. And the vaults of the cathedral, though stretching to unreachable heights, seemed to close over her head like a tomb. The colored stained-glass windows in the height were beautiful, but they made her eyes sting. Columns of dark marble were lined with white garlands. Rhianon feared that Asmodeus was still hiding behind one of them, but she strode boldly down the nave anyway.

Many people crowded the place, and still the space seemed overwhelmingly large. Mostly the nobility was present. The common people stayed behind the massive doors. Only the most powerful and wealthy people of the kingdom were crowded into the front rows. Rhianon glanced over to see who had caught her talking to the spirit. He was present. He was in even richer robes than before. It was hard to see him in such a crowd. He was squeezed on one side by a number of counselors, and on the other by dressed-up ladies. Still, it was the lily pinned to his buttonhole that caught her eye. He knows, she thought. The flower is a sign to show it to her. Who does he know? She sensed no connection to astrologers or witchcraft.

«Domian, the First Minister,» the same spirit whispered in her ear. «Don’t see that his hair isn’t even gray yet. He’s older than he looks.»

She looked at him briefly, but he caught her gaze and tilted his head in deference. Just like the first time. It was as if he was stalking her and looking for signs of her attention himself, calling out from the crowd, and then happily intercepting her gaze.

She didn’t even have time to be wary. The marriage ceremony had already begun. The coronation would immediately follow. In some distant part of her hearing, she picked up the anxious cries of birds over the cathedral. It was as if they were warning her of something or trying to dissuade her. Such a commotion only came before a storm was coming. Even before an epidemic came to the city the flocks of birds did not seem so anxious.

«No! No! No!» she caught in the birds’ cries outside the windows and the rustle of their wings. There were even a few crows among the disturbed flocks. This seemed strange to her. She had long associated crows with Rothbert’s servants, but these evidently were not. Though who knew them?

She tilted her head so she couldn’t hear them. Still, she thought she could hear more powerful and massive flapping in the fluttering of the tiny bird’s wings. Other wings were flapping over the cathedral, too. They were his wings. Or were they the wings of his servants. She tried not to think about it.

«You’re just an illusion yourself,» Rhianon thought, and turned away. But his dry rustling laughter echoed in her mind. How easily he could have merged with the ringing of bells, the dry rustling of leaves, or the surrounding silence. People at Mass are most often unaware that the silence around them hums not from angelic voices, but from other dark and fearful ones lurking in the darkness. She knew that Asmodeus whispers whatever he wants to clergymen of all ranks, and they obey him. Blinded by their pride, they could not see that they were being led by the devil, or rather, not the devil himself, but his servants. Madael himself would never have condescended to such petty meanness or to such vanity-torn humans. Nor would God himself ever condescend to those who are called his earthly servants. Madael is the former favorite of God, and he imitates him in everything. And likewise, he has his own servants for minor errands. His servants here were just full, right in the darkness of the nave and the stuffy height above the heads of the crowd, while he himself remained unreachable. Quite like a deity. The only thing that distinguished him from a god was the love he had once known. In any case, the capacity to love had once been awakened in him. It was late, but it came to light. And from God, Rhianon only felt something crushing. The cathedral pressed against her. She felt stuffy, and she was glad she’d worn a dress with an open neckline instead of a lace jabot. Otherwise the collar would have begun to choke her. Someone was spreading the veil over her shoulders, but not a man. She felt the subtle touch of her invisible companion. He touched her gently, as if she were a shrine.