The Shining Falcon

But Finist slept on. And nothing she could do, not pleading with him, not shaking him, not even—wincing as she did this—slapping him, could make him wake.

«Finist…«It was a weary moan. «I've come all this long way for you! I've borne all my trials for you! Won't you waken for me? W-won't you…»

He stirred not the slightest of stirrings. And it was more, suddenly much more, than she could bear. Maria, who prided herself on never weeping, Maria, who hadn't wept during all her journey, at last felt her strength give way. Arms flung about Finist's still body, she sobbed in complete despair.

«How touching," said the coldest, most mocking of voices. «How very touching.»

Dear God, in her haste to get to Finist's side, she hadn't stopped to think there might be other doors into the royal chambers! Maria whirled, choking on her tears—and saw her death before her.

It was Ljuba.

Chapter XLIX Power Play

Trapped, chained, wings pinned closely to his sides, the anguished falcon strained against his bindings, aching for the sky, staring painfully up at that endless, dizzying sweep of blue, at that open freedom he could never reach—

And then, all at once, it happened! Miraculously, the iron chains were falling away from him, and he was free, peel Breathless, bewildered, trembling with joy, the falcon leaped into the air on fiercely outstretched wings, soaring up and up and up.

But something was wrong. The fierce blue sky was turning overcast, grey as grief. And something was striking his upturned face—rain? Warm, salty rain? Confused, he felt his wings begin to falter… And now the sky was fading… and he was—

He was awake, and Finist, man, not falcon, and the warm, salty rain wasn't rain at all, but tears—

Who would be weeping for him? Surely not Ljuba! Finist blinked, trying to clear his hazy vision. As his senses returned, he froze, staring up in sheer, stunned wonder.

Oh kind, merciful, wonderful Heaven, could it be? These were Maria's tears! She was here, his dearest, somehow she was here!

«Maria…» Finist gasped.

But before he could say anything more, before he could see more than the very first, faint dawnings of joy on her face, she was turning wildly from him, staring with horror.

Ljuba stood in the doorway—a fierce-eyed Ljuba gathering Power to her to strike Maria down.

How could she know about— Aie, no time for questions! «Ljuba, stop!» Finist shouted, or tried to shout, struggling to get to his feet and— Oh, damn, damn, he didn't have the strength. He wasn't going to be able to stop Ljuba in time, and Maria was going to be slain right before his helpless eyes.

«No!»

There wasn't time for finesse. Finist abandoned the fragile physical, and desperately threw all the essence of his will at his cousin even as she struck. Power flared dazzlingly—there was a soundless, agonizing rending of reality about them—

And the world of flesh-and-blood was gone. Around them was… nothing.

Nearly nothing. There was no sense of hot or cold here, no clearly defined up or down, there was only a featureless, boundless blue-grey haze—a haze that fairly glowed with Power. And after a second of confusion, the prince realized with a surge of triumph what had happened. This place had nothing to do with any of the Realms of Flesh or Spirit:

We've thrown ourselves onto a plane of pure energy, of pure magic!

Granted, he could still kill himself here; though he had left his physical self somewhere back in reality, he was still linked to it, and there was always the chance he would exhaust that weakened body beyond the point of recovery.

It's worth the risk, thought Finist, drawing Power to him.

This time, he knew with a little shock of horror, it couldn't be a case of merely stopping his cousin. This time there could be no reprieves. After all the years of forgive and forgive, this time only one of them could survive.

Oh, my cousin! It was a cry of silent pain.