The Shining Falcon

But such an outrageous situation wouldn't—couldn't— last for long. And Ljuba would be ready to… console him.

Chapter XXII

Appearances

Did you really think everything would go back to normal, just like that? Maria asked herself. Already, after little more than a month, the ordeal of exile and that long, painful winter seemed more like a dream than reality, but it was going to take a long time for memories of that dream to fade. Of course everyone was wildly pretending, of course she and her sister had been invited to more social gatherings than ever before. Gatherings at which we're the prize exhibits, like heifers on market day. Everyone's so eager to see the daughters of the reinstated boyar.

And Lissa? Lissa was fever-bright and fever-gay. Maria doubted her sister realized the reason for their sudden popularity, which was almost certainly due to the novelty of seeing someone actually returned to royal favor, a novelty spiced with an intriguing touch of danger—after all, one never knew when they might be banished again, or worse— but the young woman did seem to be holding up fairly well. At least she was keeping up a convincing facade. And if she wasn't quite as rational as Maria had hoped, if her spirits did seem too relentlessly high, presaging a fall into depression once more, at least she was far better than she'd been in the forest. For Lissa, for the moment, the nightmares were fading. And she'd surprised Maria by summoning enough inner strength to face down Afron when that shallow young man, prodded by his father, had begged for her forgiveness and asked that their betrothal be renewed.

Of course: suddenly it was a politely advantageous match once more. Maria gave a thin, humorless smile. Bless Lissa.' The Lord knew she had wanted to spit in Afron's face, but all Vasilissa had done was refuse him, quite politely and calmly. That she'd then gone home to a storm of weeping was very understandable.

As for Danilo… Maria sighed. Things weren't quite so simple for her father. Try as he would, he couldn't quite hide the shadow of mistrust and tension still within him. And she couldn't fault him for that, because she felt much the same unease herself. A prince so easily swayed just might change his mind again, and then—

No, she wouldn't even consider that! But faced with the falseness, the artificiality, of everyone at court, there were times when she could almost wish they'd never returned to Stargorod.

Maria glanced down at hands still red and work-roughened, and gave a dry little laugh. Not that she wanted to spend the rest of her life fanning, and growing old before her time from overwork, either! It was just…

Finn?

Oh, what nonsense! Who knew but that the man, given the chance, might not have proven just as false as Afron?

But right now… Maria sighed, leaning moodily on her bedroom window's sill, blindly looking out over her father's estate. And for once she was quite unable to mock herself, for once unable to stop herself from wishing for what she knew she could never have, dreaming of what could never be.

Noble self-sacrifice might, Finist mused, be all well and good in its proper place, but it certainly wasn't helping him function as head of state. For all that he was back in his own land, back in his royal palace, the prince found his mind still wandering to the forest, found himself brooding and pining for Maria, and snapping at courtiers till he was disgusted with himself. And in the middle of reading some document, it dawned on Finist that he hadn't the vaguest memory of what he'd just read, and he threw down the parchment with a cry of: «This is ridiculous!»

Semyon's startled eyes met his, so full of sheer astonishment that the prince had to laugh in spite of himself. «No, Semyon, I didn't mean this report. It's only‑I just realized what a fool I'm being!»

They were alone in the small chamber. Semyon moved to Finist's side and asked softly, «Who is she, my Prince?»

«What do you mean?»

«Oh, come now! I may be older than you, my Prince, but I'm hardly old enough to have forgotten what love is like!»

Finist glanced sharply at him, ready to explode at the first sign of condescension, but saw on Semyon's face only a warm and genuine concern that made the young man redden. «No," he muttered, «of course not. It's only… she can never be mine.»

«Is she… married, my Prince?»

«No.»

«A woman of some holy order?»

«No!»

«Ah.» Semyon considered for a moment. «My Prince, if the problem is that she's not of sufficient rank, remember that you do have the power to ennoble anyone who — "

«No, no, it's nothing like that. Semyon, I— Never mind.»