The Shining Falcon

It took her most of the day. Twice she had to stop and quickly hide her work when a silent, embarrassed servant brought her food and drink and, blushing fiercely, a chamberpot. But by late afternoon‑Maria guessed the time from the light that filtered into the storeroom—she glanced down at her handiwork and grinned all over again. It had taken some trial and error, but she'd managed to use scraps of wire to bind together the skinny haft of what might once have been a dainty dagger—though the blade was long gone—to a sturdy kitchen hook, ending up with a tool that should see her out of this makeshift prison.

It did. She could slide the thin haft sideways through the crack between door and frame, and use the hook to catch the bolt. With a little care and effort, she would be able to slide the bolt free. And as soon as it was My dark, and everyone in the estate was safely asleep, she would be up and away from here.

Her father came to see her at nightfall.

«Maria. I hope you've had a chance to repent your foolishness.»

He waited, but she, afraid of what she might say or do, kept resolutely still, fiercely pretending to be asleep. After a moment Danilo said sharply: «Come, girl, I know you can hear me! Answer me!»

She kept her eyes shut, willing him to go away. But Danilo persisted, more softly:

«My dear, I don't want to hurt you, surely you know that! I only want you to be happy, and safe. But you can be neither with a—a godless sorcerer as your lover!»

Maria bit her lip but said nothing. At last she heard Danilo sigh in frustration, and dared open her eyes a crack, just in time to see him leave, looking so dejected that she ached to call after him. But he wasn't so dejected that he didn't remember to bolt the door after him, and Maria held to her determined silence.

For a long time she could do nothing but stare after him, thinking, I may never see him again. After today, I may never see him, or Lissa, or home, again.

No: if she let herself start thinking like that, she'd never have the courage to act.

She would have to wait until it was fully dark before slipping away; she might as well use the time in planning. She would need clothes, peasant clothes‑it wouldn't be wise to travel as a boyar's daughter. Sturdy peasant clothes, and good, stout shoes…

Night: Through the darkened house, one small shadow moved quietly to the servants' quarters, where it tucked plain, serviceable clothing into a pack, then to the kitchen, for food that could be easily carried, and for flint and steel. Maria hesitated, then stole back to the family's private quarters. There, barely daring to breathe, she tiptoed past her father's room and into her own chambers. Watch‑ing the door nervously, half expecting to be interrupted at any moment by Danilo or her sister, Maria gathered up several small pieces of jewelry—but nothing so large or so blatantly valuable as to attract attention. She paused, looking desperately around the room. Now that the moment had come, she didn't want to leave.

But… the stars were dimming. If dawn was coming, there was no time to delay. Maria turned to go, then sighed and turned back again. With a small grimace at her sentimentality, she gathered up the fine silver chain, Finist's gift-

—and at the touch, she saw him; just for a moment he was there with her, warm and loving. At least some of the link the silver had created between them must still exist, and her heart ached for want of him—

Then that fantastic moment had passed. Maria stared down at the chain in her hand, now merely a pretty silver necklace, and shook her head. She really must be overwrought if she had started seeing visions! Smiling wryly, the young woman quickly slipped the chain about her neck, hiding it under her blouse.

«So," Maria Danilovna whispered. «Let me be off.»

Chapter XXXll

The Gift

He'd taken to wandering at random through the summer-heavy forest, eating whatever came his way, never bothering with a fire, steeping wherever the night took him. It was simpler that way, simpler than facing fear and the shame of what he'd become, what he once was… Though with each day, the memories of Past seemed to become more and more nebulous… vague images of bright colors and noise and himself as boyar Alexei… No, it hurt to think of that. It was so much simpler not to even try to think, just to wander, never realizing that something was driving him east and east and east…