The Shining Falcon

All right. She wouldn't be able to learn any more. But if the lake‑demons slew a grown man, mad or sane, a mere girl couldn't have escaped them. No, Maria was dead, she must be dead. And now Ljuba could turn her full attention to Finist.

She gave him a quick, almost guilty glance and froze, hocked to realize how alarmingly prominent those high cheekbones were becoming in that increasingly gaunt face.

Was he truly going to die… ?

No, no maudlin weaknesses now! Worry only about whether he's going to live long enough to make you Ms wife!

Surely the boyars would be taking up the delicate mental suggestions she'd been planting on just that subject, and coming to see their prince any moment now?

Finist moaned and stirred. His eyes opened, and for a moment they were aware, and staring directly at her, the angry fire in them enough to make her flinch. Almost enough. Right now, his anger was as futile as a child's little rages because, hate her though he might, Ljuba was well aware he just didn't have the strength to threaten her or her plans.

«Give in, cousin," she whispered. «You are under my will now. The potion holds you. You are under my will.»

But: Am I? those raging eyes seemed to say. Oh, my treacherous cousin, am I indeed?

Wavering between sanity and delirium, Finist was dimly aware of Ljuba's plottings.

Ljuba… traitor… I was a fool, a fool! Never should have trusted you, never allowed you so much freedom…

But what good to rage now? Whenever he tried to speak, whenever he tried to resist her, psychic bonds held him fast, body and mind.

She hasn't the magical strength for this, not alone. The potion! Her damnable potion!

It must have been in every sip of water or wine she'd given him. Finist groaned, feeling the fever burning at him, searing every bone. No matter how he tried to resist, the fever-thirst would win in the end, and he'd have to drink… Eventually, it would kill him. But by that point, it would be too late for Kirtesk, because he knew, grimly, that if she ordered him to announce to the boyars that he would wed her, even from his sickbed, for the sake of the succession, the potion's strength would force him to obey.

The soothing, maddening escape of delirium was pulling at him, urging him to simply give in, but Finist fought it with whatever scraps of will he could find. He'd not leave Kirtesk in the hands of a tyrant! And if he couldn't overcome the potion's power over him, perhaps he could, at least, find a way to confuse the issue…

His memories were painfully cloudy, but he recalled something about when he had landed, when Ljuba had called him back into being human… something about a caftan… She had clothed him in one, he was almost sure of it. And it would have been stained by his blood.

Would Ljuba have kept the thing? Probably. After all, she knew as well as he that blood, the very stuff of life, held Power, and the spilled blood of a magician more Power than most.

Of course she's kept it! Ljuba, I do believe you've made a mistake. One that's truly going to amaze you!

With that, the exhausted Finist let himself slide back into unconsciousness once more, his last waking image the so satisfyingly alarmed look on his cousin's face as she stared at his faint but decidedly sardonic smile.

«Boyars. " Ljuba dipped her head to them, politely acknowledging their bows.

«Lady.» Semyon was evidentally acting as their spokesman. «You know why we've come?»

«I do.»

«And… the prince? Is he‑lucid?»

«He knows what's happening, yes.»

They bowed again, and solemnly filed into the bedchamber. Like so many crows at a funeral! thought Finist in dark humor, struggling desperately against fever and the potion's grip. No, boyars, there isn't going to be a funeral! Not yet!

But he couldn't manage to say any of that aloud, and now Semyon was bending over him, eyes sorrowful, to ask:

«My Prince, do you know why we've come?»

Finist vainly fought the psychic bonds holding him, gasping out involuntarily, «For… a wedding.»

«Ah. You do understand the—the need?»

«Succession… Matter of succession…» Damn, he hadn't wanted to say that! But the potion was binding his mind, Ljuba's will was pulling and pulling at him… No, Finist thought savagely. I will not—be your puppet!

«Lady!» Semyon was stepping aside in dismay. «What is it? What's wrong?»