The Shining Falcon

«Maybe we aren't all so clever in carrying clothes in flight!» she snapped before she could stop herself.

After all, it was difficult to be seductive when she was still shivering, and itching, and scratched in a dozen tender places. And when Ljuba tried to take a second step forward, she trod right on a rock that seemed knife-edged, and fell forward with a little shriek.

Finist caught her. Ljuba stole a quick, wary look up at him and saw nothing in his eyes but concern… Maybe this was going to work after all! That cursed rock had hurt her enough to bring tears to her eyes, and now Ljuba let herself go and sobbed.

What man could have resisted? She felt Finist's arms close about her, and buried her face against his chest, very well aware that only one thin layer of silk separated them.

«Here.» Finist's voice was husky. «Let me see if you've cut your foot.»

«No, no, I only bruised it.» Ljuba looked up at him, eyes still bright with tears. «Finist, oh, Finist, I never dreamed, I never dared hope…»

«I… This isn't… We shouldn't…«He made one valiant, gallant attempt to free himself, but Ljuba's arms were about his neck, her lips were meeting his. He turned away, but only to bury his face in the warm mass of her hair, and Ljuba smiled, feeling his control slipping, feeling the disciplined, magical mind drowning beneath the flood of the body's demands. Right now he was helpless, helpless, and with a small, fierce cry, he surrendered and bore her to the ground. Ljuba stared up at the hostile forest with wild, triumphant eyes, thinking defiantly, You see? He's mine!

And then she forgot all about clear thought for a time.

Chapter IV Accused

Foolishness, foolishness, this tradition that insisted he leave his safe palace and come down here to the marketplace with its peasants and riffraff and Heaven knew what else, just to officiate over the closing of market day. But one must, after all, keep in touch with one's people-unpleasant and potentially dangerous though that might be.

Prince Svyatoslav of Stargorod, tall, aging and thin, gathered his voluminous golden robes about himself lest they sweep up the market dust, and proceeded on his regal way, only the darting of his gaze revealing his unease. Oh, they all seemed sincere enough in their welcome, these cheering crowds, but who knew what they were really thinking? A prince must learn from childhood to trust no one—he'd learned that harsh lesson early. He flinched from memories of blood, of terror, of the palace revolt that had left his mother and uncle dead before his eyes. God, and then, when he'd newly come to the throne, little more than a boy, when he'd been fool enough to begin to dare trust again, his cousin, his friend, the one man he'd thought safe, had betrayed him: Prince Rostislav had tried to depose him! Well, Rostislav had gotten himself exiled‑lucky to keep his head—and Svyatoslav would never again make the mistake of giving his trust to anyone.

Least of all in this marketplace!

At least he could keep his royal bodyguard all about him, his loyal, spearbearing achrana.

But what was this? Those guards in the lead had stopped in a tangle of confusion, and Svyatoslav perforce had to stop short too, thinking wildly, Assassins!

It wasn't assassins. It was one man, only one, lying prostrate in the street before him, arms outstretched on the ground in total submission, total supplication, face hidden. Svyatoslav hesitated, uncertain. He hadn't reached this mature age by taking chances. But he could hardly act as though the man wasn't there, and simply step over him. And to have the achrana cut a safe path through the crowd to avoid the man would hardly suit the royal dignity.

«Who are you?» the prince snapped, angry at having his routine disturbed. «What do you want?»

The prostrate figure slowly raised his head, moving with great caution since he was ringed by spears. «Sire. Grant me a boon, I pray you. Grant me speech with you.»

An indignant Svyatoslav had recognized the man. «Alexei Sergeovich, I have nothing to say to you! You have nothing to ask of me!»

«Sire, no. You misunderstand. I—I don't speak for myself. I have news of something you must know. For the safety of the Realm. For your own safety.»

Svyatoslav straightened as sharply as though he'd been slapped. «What news? Get up, man! Tell me! What are you talking about?»

Alexei got carefully to his feet, eyeing the spearbearing guards warily, then turned his attention fully to the impatient prince. «About… Well, I'm afraid we're talking about treason, Sire," he said softly.

Boyar Danilo thought nothing of it when the guards fell in behind him. Some military ritual or other—the palace was full of guards constantly shifting from post to post. Nothing to concern him, surely.