The Shining Falcon

But by now, courtiers and guards were racing out to see what had happened, and before Finish could say anything aloud, Ljuba, aware suddenly of her nakedness, swiftly returned to crow form and flew quickly away. Finist bent over Erema's body, trying to keep himself from shaking with reaction as he sought desperately to find any lingering sign of life at all.

«I, uh, I'm afraid he's dead, my Prince.» It was a subdued Semyon, the old counselor, solicitously wrapping a hastily borrowed cloak about Finist. «We'll never know why he tried to do what he — "

«No!» The sharpness was more in response to Erema's violent death and Ljuba's callowness than anything logical. Trembling, Finist said harshly, «He's not gone, not yet, not so far away that I can't recall him!»

«My Prince!»

«Dammit, Semyon, the man tried to assassinate me! I want to know why, I want to know who was behind‑Move aside, boyar, and let me work!»

He'd never tried anything like this. Deep within himself, Finist knew this was perilous ground, very close to verging on the forbidden, the Dark Arts, but caught in a net of his own passion, he refused to give way. He knew the proper spell, in theory at least, and so, shrouded in his cloak, crouching over the body like a true necromancer, Finist called up the fire of Power within him and began to force out the strange, painfully twisting syllables. They burned at his mind till he could have screamed, sending the blood surging through him so fiercely he thought he must faint, or die. But he couldn't stop, not now. He could feel the spell beginning to work. He could feel Erema, Erema's spirit, being drawn back to him, though it fought him… but now Erema was slipping away again, and Finist couldn't stop him. The pain, akh, the pain! This was wrong, he knew it was wrong, his innate magic was all of Light, of Nature, and this dark spell was tearing at him, tearing at his very essence—

And suddenly Erema was gone, and the unspent force of the spell was recoiling savagely on Finist. With a groan, the prince came back to himself, fallen helplessly into Semyon's arms, his heart pounding so fiercely that he knew he'd escaped killing himself by only the barest of margins. Drained, Finist lay in his counselor's fatherly support, and knew nothing more for a long while…

Alone in her chambers, Ljuba huddled in silent shock, trying to control her breathing, trying to curb her racing thoughts. That had been such a frighteningly narrow escape! Erema had nearly ended everything then and there, Finist's life, all her hopes— His death was for the best, though she'd be a long time in forgetting the sight of his face as he fell… But at least this way there'd be no awkward questions. And she still had the potion, though it certainly wouldn't be wise to try to use it again right away. Not with Erema's death so fresh in Finist's mind. No, thought Ljuba with a shudder, far better to do nothing at all suspicious for a time, apparently as innocent of plots as some little nun, so that Finist would have no reason to suspect—

The knife! She'd forgotten about the knife! If it still somehow bore traces of her potion on the blade, if Finist chanced to find it or some well‑meaning idiot brought it to him—Oh God, he'd know it had come from her hand; how could he not? She'd be giving him the perfect chance to be rid of her. All he had to do was accuse her of Erema's murder, and…

«No," Ljuba vowed softly, «that won't happen.»

Wearily she got to her feet, stretching muscles already stiff from the unaccustomed flight and attack. Wearily she dressed herself. Then, not daring to consider that she might fail, Ljuba went in search of that dangerous knife.

It couldn't have fallen that far from the palace wall… Somewhere about here…

«Ah!»

Ljuba hastily stifled her sigh of relief, looking warily about. A guard walked by, giving her a rather uncertain glance, but bowing politely enough. Two courtiers fol‑lowed so deep in conversation they didn't even notice her Go on! she urged them silently. Go away!

There, now, she was alone for the moment. Ljuba bent as though merely adjusting the lace of one elegant leather shoe and quietly slipped the knife into her sleeve.

Lady?» asked a sudden voice, and she whirled, heart racing, to see the guard, returned. «Is something wrong?»

Nothing," Ljuba assured him, feeling the knife nestled safely in her sleeve. «Nothing at all.» And, nearly giddy with relief, she gave the man a dazzling smile

Chapter X Peasants