The Shining Falcon

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—