The Shining Falcon

After all, though Finist was a gentle enough man, if he should learn that she meant to master him, he, the prince… There were certain rumors in the royal family of past members who'd erred in some unpardonable ways, and who, instead of facing the axe, had endured instead a binding into the avian form—a permanent binding. In such a case, the human thoughts would slowly fade, the memory of being human fading with them. Soon self would be lost, and only bird remain.

Ljuba bit her lip, clenching her fists to stop their trembling. The thought of such a fate, of such a total, total loss! It had been enough to waken the child‑Ljuba screaming many a night. And now, grown though she was, the fear remained, softening her, blocking her from doing what she must—

No! Ljuba smacked a hand down angrily on the windowsill. I will not be afraid!

And, after a time, she almost managed to believe it.

All right, then. Maybe she couldn't control Finist by mind alone. Maybe she didn't have the strength for great magic. But Ljuba had no intention of giving up her chance at the throne.

I would be so good for this land!

Better than Finist, surely. Finist spent so much time on commoners, insisting that a realm could only run smoothly if peasants and merchants and crafters were content. He wasted his magic on such creatures, and refused to see the wider picture! She had told him again and again that if only he channeled his magic, he could become a truly mighty prince. Kirtesk could go from being a simple little city-state, wealthy only in trade and happy peasants, to a realm of true power, one to be feared by other lands. But each time he'd merely laughed and told her he had no intention of becoming a tyrant. A tyrant! Was it tyranny to want the best for your land?

For a moment, Ljuba toyed with the image of herself on the throne of Kirtesk, ambassadors from many lands bowing to her in fear and awe…

Nonsense. Daydreams were all well and good, but they accomplished nothing. There was still that potion, though, the potion to sap the will…

Eh, but to be convincing, any changes in Finist were going to have to be slow, subtle. She would have to be close to him for a long time—as his mistress, perhaps… or his wife.

Ljuba had never had any difficulties in seducing men. Finist, magician or no, would be no exception, particularly after he'd had a taste of her potion to encourage him!

Yes, fine, that was the first step. And since they were only distant cousins, there would be no legal bar to their marriage. His boyars were always after him to wed. A few well-placed suggestions to them—oh, she probably wouldn't need any magical force behind the words at all, not if she used proper tact. And with a prince already besotted with her… All she had to do was act, feign love for as long as it took, till she quickened with Finist's child.

Ljuba stared thoughtfully out the window, a cool, predatory glint in her eyes. That much of the plan would work, she was sure. But then would come the dangerous part… After they'd been peacefully wed for a respectable time, she would have to increase the dosage of her potions, but with delicate care. If Finist came to suspect, she was doomed! But if only she were wary enough, Finist wouldn't have a chance of suspecting. He'd begin to fade, slowly, with never a sign of traditional poisons or bespelling. Everyone knew that the royal magic had been known to turn on its wielders: Finist's own grandfather, Prince Vseslav, had actually died of a miscast spell. And even should someone, by wild mischance, guess at the truth, it wouldn't matter. With Finist helpless, mindless, and his wife bearing his only heir…

The boyars will accept me on the throne. They won't have a choice!

A discreet cough made Ljuba whirl. «Anya. What is it?»

The maidservant's curtsey was a quick, respectful, nervous thing. «Mistress, the—the boyar Erema would speak with you. If it pleases you.»

«It doesn't!» Ljuba snapped. Akh, would she never be rid of the man? She could sense him standing just outside the room, feel the turbulence of his longings‑curse him! He'd been her lover once, the bland, dull courtier; he'd been one of her first magical experiments. No longer! But the released power of her spell aimed at Finist had had to go somewhere, and with Erema Mikhailovich still aching for her, he'd drawn it to him like a lodestone. «Bah, tell him to— No, wait.»

Ljuba straightened slowly, thinking, What if… ? Erema was her tool now, and it was surely never wise to cast away a tool.

«Very well. Bid him enter.»

«Shall I… stay, mistress?»

«No, fool!» Ljuba caught and held the servant's gaze, controlling Anya's more submissive personality with her will. «And no one shall know of this visit. Is that understood?»

Anya's face was dull. «No one shall know, mistress.»