Kitabı oku: «Gryphon dynasty», sayfa 2
Fiona shuddered involuntarily. The same thing could have been done to her, after all.
No doubt the griffins had killed everyone in the carriage, and the bodies all bore the marks of birds’ claws. The bodies had been ripped to shreds. One man’s body was crucified at the milepost. Feathers had been thrust into the deep wounds. Fiona walked over and touched them with her fingertips. There was no golden feather among them. But the corpse bore a striking resemblance to the body of Lady Eveline de Joel, smashed against the castle walls. That was the name of the noblewoman who had jumped from the castle roof. Fiona already doubted that she had jumped by herself, not without the help of birds.
Her touch made the body on the pole twitch. The dead man’s eyes fluttered open. They were rotten, but not torn out.
«You are the redheaded spirit!» The dead lips whispered.
«So you are not dead?»
«How could you tell?» The empty eyes, without pupils, were dead for sure.
She wondered if the corpse had come back to life and spoke to her. More like another dream.
«What happened to you all?» She asked. It was foolish to speak to a dead man. She wondered what kind of trouble it would lead to. That it would drag her back to the other world. But she was used to getting into trouble.
«The birds have flown in!» whispered the crucified corpse, whose hands and feet were pinned to the pole with what looked like shards of claws. «They were crowned birds! Run from them! And no, it’s too late to run! You have a mark on your forehead! They’ll find you anyway!»
Fiona touched her forehead. There was blood running down it. The bird’s claw had left a deep wound there. It was strange that the wound had opened now.
«Get the witch!» There was a shrill cry from behind her.
She turned around excitedly, and this time she didn’t think so. A group of men, including uniformed guardsmen and inquisitorial robes, were rushing toward the carriage. She was in trouble.
«Tell them that I am not a witch, but that you yourself have come back to life to denounce the culprits!» She turned to the dead man, but once again he was nothing but a silent corpse. No matter how much she shook him, he wouldn’t make a sound.
And if he had, it might not have saved her. There is a belief in the Inquisition that at the sight of the culprit the corpse may come to life and reveal the name of the murderer. Stop! It was at the sight of the culprit. He did come to life at the sight of her. Of course, she is by no means the culprit of his death, but his gesture can be interpreted in two ways. Suddenly the witnesses did. At their head was a lady in a splendid gown and ermine robe, which only royalty have the right to wear. It was this very lady that Fiona had recently met in a cave high in the mountains and had almost fallen prey to her.
«Seize her like a witch!» Ornella commanded, pointing a finger in a gleaming ring at Fiona. «It is her handiwork.»
Does she believe it herself, or is she still expressing her displeasure that all her brothers have a crush on the village girl. Fiona heard something about not messing with powerful people or they’ll find a way to get even with you. You’ve annoyed them in a trifle you can’t punish, so they’ll accuse you of something serious later, and everyone will be on their side and not yours.
Ornella was clearly proving how true these warnings were. If you can’t feed Fiona to the griffins, you must accuse her of witchcraft.
«I’m not a witch!» Fiona screamed, but her shouts were as useful as the squeak of a caught sparrow. The guardsmen grabbed her tightly.
«Only a witch could have done such a thing,» Ornella nodded eloquently at the disemboweled corpses in the carriage. «We are fortunate that we caught her at the scene of the crime. The entire Marquis de Palette’ family will be avenged, including their unfortunate young apprentice. Look what she’s done to Claretta! She doesn’t even have eyes left.
Ornella unceremoniously tugged at the cassock of one of the inquisitors, obviously the head inquisitor.
«But she has no claws on her hands,» remarked the youngest of the inquisitors judiciously. «Let me examine her. She does not look like a witch. Not unless she’s a heretic.»
«Or a harlot,» added the black-clad companion in disgust. «Look how red her hair is. It is a sign of vice! It is the mark of the devil.»
«Lady Claretta had red hair too,» the young inquisitor intervened again. «That is not yet proof.»
He clearly wanted to help the unfortunate woman who was caught like a rabbit in a trap. Maybe someone close to him had also been the victim of an unjust massacre, which made him sympathetic to others now. But finding sand and earth residue under Fiona’s fingernails, even he suspected something was amiss. And then there was the sickle pendant that sparkled around her neck, catching their attention at just the wrong time.
It is the sign of Satan,» the Inquisitors murmured like a flock of black crows.
«Perhaps she herself has been bewitched,» the young inquisitor tried once more to shield her. Apparently he had a crush on Fiona, though he was ashamed of it. «Look how badly she herself has been cut.»
«Witches often wound themselves to perform a ritual,» Ornella protested bluntly.
«I’ve never heard of such a thing. I have questioned many witches.»
«My servant girl saw her doing witchcraft in the mountains,» Ornella insisted, that is, she lied shamelessly.
«Is it the slave girl?» Someone of the inquisitors raised a doubtful eyebrow.
«Charisi knows all about witch cults.»
«And how did she conjure?» The young inquisitor asked.
«She is dancing in a circle of fire.»
«It is very doubtful.»
«I am in charge here, not you!» Ornella was tired of playing, and she said her final word. After that, she was defied in a moment. The inquisitors were whispering excitedly. Obviously, they were discussing what to do next. Remembering Ornella’s status, they did not want to argue with her. And what was her status? She was definitely royalty, judging by the ermine robe and the jagged crown with rubies, almost lost in the intricate hair of lush auburn curls. Moreover, Ornella reeked of arrogance. Only people from the very top of society behaved like that. The rest of us have to fawn and grovel before them.
She wondered where her brothers were, and would they stand up for Fiona if they knew she was in trouble? Or would they and Ornella have conspired? Then it’s strange why they didn’t come with their sister. Maybe they would have felt sorry for their new girlfriend. But there was no time to ponder. The clear-cut verdict that she was a witch was more jarring to her ears than the claws of a gryphon.
Witch for griffins
«You’ve made a mistake!» Fiona tried to break free, and the gold in her pockets spilled out onto the road.
«How could a simple peasant girl have so much gold?» Ornella triumphed. «She conjured it up. Everyone knows that witches can turn the blood of their victims, tortured under the moon, into gold or silver.»
«She could have just stolen it,» remarked someone sensible. He was so close!
«I found it. It is treasure,» protested Fiona, and Ornella suddenly looked at her with great interest.
«She is a treasure-hunter!» She murmured in amazement. She would have pouted a little more, but the verdict could not be reversed. Fiona was dragged away.
She could have sworn that Ornella smelled something in her to her advantage. Probably thought she would find her another treasure, since she had already found one. There were probably a lot of them in the ruins. But Fiona’s secret would die with her. She will not lead her executioners to enrich themselves. Though thanks to her awkwardness they have already had handfuls of gold and stones picked up right off the dusty road.
Ornella was the only one who didn’t pick them up. She must be from a rich family, after all. She’s got treasure enough. She’s got a crown to match! If robbers from the highways seize such a captive, she alone would be equal to the treasure found. That is probably why there are so many guards with her. And yet in the mountains Fiona had seen her with no escort at all. While her brothers were in the cave, Ornella was absent. And only then did she come. Alone! She hardly climbed the mountains like a simple villager. Maybe she flew in on a griffin. The birds certainly obeyed her. Take, for example, the game of snooker. Fiona was hurt by the birds, but Ornella was not, though they were both in a cave full of birds. Now the guards turned out to be more molesting than the birds. Fiona did not like their insistence on dragging her somewhere.
«Ornella! Stop them!» She didn’t want to ask, but what else to do. Given her acquaintance in the mountains, Ornella was almost like a friend to her. Well, with a stretch of the imagination, of course. But you could say that. She was in touch, so she was a friend. Only Ornella did not respond to her cries, and those around her considered her crazy, or confirmed their speculation that she is a witch who is now trying to bewitch a noble lady.
It’s a moment like this that makes you want to curse all the people in the world. But Fiona was no witch. Her curse was unlikely to work. Besides, she was never allowed to speak again. The guards shoved her roughly into a cramped, barred van. Why not string her up or burn her on the spot in front of the cheering villagers? We had to jolt along the bumpy road for hours. Was she really going to be taken to a dungeon and tortured? Fiona became frightened. If an evil spirit had spoken to her and offered to trade her soul for her escape, she would have said yes without hesitation.
People had got it into their heads that the redhead was a witch. No one in the town where they’d brought her was shrieking with delight and pointing their fingers at her, screaming «witch». The crowd was far more aristocratic. She was either turned away or looked at with devastatingly arrogant stares. She must have been brought to the capital. There is fabulous luxury everywhere, but Fiona was led not to the palace, but to a dungeon.
The witch who had been captured was confined to a small cell. There was no room to expand. There was not enough space. The dirt floor, lined with a thin layer of straw, was the only place to take a nap.
Fiona dreamt of the red-haired noblewoman in the carriage. She was alive in the dream, though the gray stains of decay and wounds remained on her body. Her eyes were still missing, but in their place there were gems of emerald and ruby that had been inserted into her eye sockets. They were the same stones Fiona had dropped on the road when she had been captured.
The dead woman, whose name seemed to be Claretta, was reaching for her hands. Not hands, but rotting meat in lace cuffs. She couldn’t see very well. Besides, the two multi-colored eyes were frightening. They say only witches’ eyes are different colors. And it didn’t matter that they were stones. In her sleep, Fiona couldn’t move or run away from Claretta. The dead girl’s hands fumbled for her.
«They are looking for one special girl. Not me! It is the other redhead. Run away from them!»
Good advice! Run! But where could she run? There are bars and locks everywhere. The smell of deadness was lingering in the cell after her sleep, as if Claretta had really been here.
Could the conversation with the crucified dead man on the pole have been just a dream, too? After all, corpses, as everyone knows, don’t come back to life. Or did they? What if the inquisitors’ omen is true, and dead bodies briefly come back to life if their murderer happens to be around to point a finger at the criminal.
If that were indeed the case, then criminals would be very easy to catch. With one «but» – the murderer must be near the corpse to be convicted in this way. Such a trial is easy to conduct only if all the suspects can be brought to the corpse at once. But what to do if the criminal has already fled and it is not known who he is? Then the method is ineffective.
Fiona could not have killed all these people, or even one of them. Or could she, since the corpses came back to life in her presence? They say the dead know everything, unlike the living. Those who have stepped over the brink of death discover the secrets of the netherworld. But this time, the dead have messed up, or someone has deliberately confused them. She wasn’t a killer, that’s for sure. It is not as if she were a bird of prey, capable of tearing a man’s flesh apart with her claws.
She was slandered. Ornella had arranged the whole thing cleverly. Such timing! Except how did Ornella know that Fiona would stumble upon a carriage load of corpses on the way back? Hadn’t she organized the murder herself, and then led the whole regiment to catch the witch. It was all subtly calculated. The only way to believe a frail girl could tear apart several tall men with her bare hands was if she was a witch.
Unfortunately, Fiona couldn’t do witchcraft, or she would have evaporated with the black wind or the smoke. Or what else could witches turn into?
Slander was a terrible thing. It could make an ordinary weak girl the stuff of fear for the big city. Fiona determined that she’d been dragged to the capital. A mob will soon be raging outside the prison windows, demanding an emergency execution for the witch. What a mess! If she had known it would end like this, she would never have gone to the mountains for a dozen golden eagles.
What was she going to do now? First, Fiona decided to look around. Was there any way to escape from here? The place was as bright as a campfire.
A spider web of fire stretched along the walls. A fire fairy the size of a cat crawled across it. Fiona carelessly touched it with her finger. The fire stung a larger bumblebee. The fairy grinned with her hot mouth and braided a flaming web around the already barred window. Yes, there’s no escaping from here! It is the local rulers who are witches, not she. Who but witches have flaming orange fairies as watchmen?
«Scram!» Fiona scolded the insolent firewoman. She may have been very pretty, but she was terrifying to be around. Touch such a beauty and there’d be no cure for the burns.
Apparently, when she realized she was being insulted, the fairy hissed in displeasure, spitting out sparks, and crawled up the wall in an offended manner.
It was calmer without her. Fiona listened to the silence. Not even the footsteps of the sentries could be heard. No prisoner would escape from a fairy. She could burn him alive if he escaped.
The sea was splashing beneath the dungeon window. She wished the fire fairy would fall there!
«You are unhappy, but there is nothing you can do,» came a mesmerizing voice from the sea.
«I am the king of Sultanit. I can do anything,» a hoarse, unpleasant bass protested.
«And I am the king of the sea. Which of us has a better chance of controlling the other?»
Is she dreaming of those voices? The meaning of the conversation was somehow fantastic, unless the talkers were joking. Fiona stood up and tried to look out the window. It was high enough above the floor, but she could see the edge of the surf. Fiona could see the helmets of the warriors, with their puffy cockades. An entire regiment had been brought ashore. Were they all really going to catch the Sea King? Or was it the nickname of some pirate?
Fiona peered around, but all she saw were belligerent men. Someone she could not see, however, was speaking to them from the side of the waves of the surf. His voice was hypnotizing, depriving her of will and reason. The sounds made her dizzy.
Outside the window something was happening on the water. First she heard the sound of an argument, then the clatter of weapons. Through the grating of the window Fiona could see only a corner of the shore. She had to tiptoe up to get a glimpse of the battle. Some kind of giant with blue skin and golden horns, strongly reminiscent of a watery creature, was battling a huge bird. The torn bodies of the guards were washed by the surf. A moment ago all those men in armor were alive. How could an entire squad be wiped out so quickly? And where had the Earth’s King gone? All Fiona could see was a huge griffin with a crown on a bird’s head.
Was she not dreaming about all this? Fiona rubbed her eyes. Somebody who had come out of the waves and looked little like a man had already beheaded the king and was walking away, clutching the severed head by the hair with his webbed hand. The head in his hands was definitely human and crowned. But where had the gryphon gone? Fiona looked closely at the face of the dead head. There was horror on it. The eyes remained wide open. The wrinkled skin showed traces of claws.
If she was not mistaken, it was King of Sultanit who had just been beheaded, and there was no one even to raise the alarm because everyone was dead. Fiona kept waiting for a gryphon to pounce on the assassin from behind, but the bird was gone. But the victor himself resembled a king, too. He had a blue scaly body, spikes on his back, pearls sprouting in his skin like armor. A crown glittered on his eerie head, too. As he went underwater, a turquoise dragon-like tail wriggled behind him.
He looked at Fiona. It was as if he sensed she was watching him!
«Let me out of here!» She called out to him.
The water monster, however, decided that the poor prisoner was not worth his attention. And in the coastal villages there are still legends that watermen are fond of women’s beauty! Apparently, if he’s no ordinary water-boy, but the king of the sea himself, he wants nothing more or less than a princess.
Though, on reflection, it’s even good that he didn’t like her. After all, the watermen drown their chosen ones. What’s better: drowning or burning? Fiona had an unenviable choice.
The firebrands hissed unhappily at the ceiling. The proximity of the water tsar displeased them. A shout of summoning came from above the castle towers:
«Seal!»
Ornella seemed to be shouting. Fiona was not mistaken in her hearing.
She kept hoping that the water king would come back and smashed the dungeon wall with a single blow of his powerful fist, but he went under the water slowly, as if descending a ladder. The last to disappear in the waves was his pointed crown, like a starfish of gold and coral. She wondered if she was dreaming. There’s no such thing as creatures with blue skin, shell ears, and a crown that grows right out of their heads.
It was easy to see if she was dreaming or not. The decapitated body in the royal robe would have been left on the beach. Except the bars were so narrow you couldn’t look out through them. One could not see the shore. Only the sea and the thin edge of the surf are visible. The water seems to turn scarlet closer to the shore. Or maybe it’s the rays of sunset.
Curiosity leads to a dungeon and a fire
Fiona was awakened by the sound of quiet conversation. The talkers were unaware that she was already awake and watching from beneath half-closed lashes.
Ornella and one of her brothers came into the cell. They seemed like two evil ghosts in the glare of the orange glow cast by the fire fairies actively crawling on the walls and ceiling.
Fiona was used to the regular hiss of fire overhead, but the sound of Ornella’s arrogant voice was disgusting. Who would have thought the sight of that silk-clad lady would make her sick.
«Father’s gone!» Ornella said. «I cannot, as the present Queen, go out and tell the people that the Sultanit does not have the strength to reach down and behead a supernatural murderer. Such a gesture would be seen as helplessness. I will be overthrown! Better to find the culprit, who is already known to the people as a witch. You know you can’t get a sea fortune-teller.»
«But she’s not a witch!»
«How would you know, Orvel! You’ve never been able to read minds. That’s my talent. I agree that each of my brothers has their own special gift, but I’m still the most gifted. That is why I will rule! Remember your place!»
«This you say to the eldest heir of the Sultanit?» Orvel was indignant.
«You gave me your place on the throne.»
«I had no choice,» he scowled.
«Yes, you did. And you have none now. I am the queen!»
«The death of my father at the hands of the water king seems to have been good for you. And everyone knows that the Sea King was your admirer. Maybe they’ll think you’re a witch.»
«Not unreasonably, as you know! But everyone also knows that I rejected the Sea King because of his not standard appearance and lack of gifts worthy of a Sultanit’s princess. Apparently he’s already spent it all on the withered Occylvanian princess Lilothea, who he dragged off to the bottom, so there’s no money left for new courtship.»
«What’s your point?» Orvel’s worried.
«That killing our father might be an act of revenge on the part of a spurned suitor. It’s not a pretty story! I suppose someone might accuse me of provoking the wrath of the sea on the Sultanit by my intransigence. We’d better execute one witch and close the case. The people will be glad, and so will I.»
«And all your brothers won’t! She’s perfect for us to close the circle.»
«And I’m not good enough for you?»
«She has a special purpose,» Orvel said. «I just don’t know what it is yet.»
«You must be mistaken!» Ornella barked back at him.
«Then we’re all wrong!»
«That’s why I rule, not you. All my brothers, unlike me, were not smart enough to be in charge of the country. And here I am, the first woman to pull the Sultan’s power. And you still contradict me!»
The firemen hissed angrily, sending up a shower of sparks.
«They report the watermen are watching us. A whole regiment of morgens under the windows,» Orwell translated the fire fairy’s tongue. «Soon they’ll bring the worst of the storm.»
«And it is good! Executing a witch at a time like this will distract everyone. I’ve already ordered a bonfire to be built in the square.»
«Execute such a pretty girl!» Orvel was indignant. «Give her to me!»
«Didn’t you claw the last minion with your claws during love games?»
«I’ve been more careful.»
«I won’t let you do that to this one. I could catch and send some old gypsy fortune-teller instead of her to tonight’s bonfire. But that redheaded girl’s no good for your clawed amusement anyway. You can’t have her!»
Ornella cares about her? There’s something fishy going on here. Fiona had trouble waking up to what was going on and who was running the country since the King’s death. But the word «bonfire» gave her a fright. She shuddered violently.
«She’s waking up!» Orvel determined. «I’ll take her upstairs to my ex-fiancée’s quarters.»
«You swore you wouldn’t take any more harlots.»
«This one’s innocent. I can smell it.»
«She’s a witch,» Orvnella said stubbornly.
«No, she isn’t. There’s something magical about her, but not witchy.»
«But she’ll burn at the stake as a witch!»
«Why don’t you leave her to us?» Orvel was begging. «The room of the Crown Prince’s dead bride is still empty, and apparently it will be empty forever.»
«You don’t want to marry a commoner, do you?»
«Well, no, of course not,» Orwell hesitated. «But she might amuse us.»
Fiona was frightened. For some reason she invariably associated amusement with scratches and claws and savage pain. Oh, why had she gone in the mountains? If she hadn’t gone there, she wouldn’t have ended up in a dungeon.
Ornella leaned over her and ran her fingers through her tangled hair.
«She is a redhead and she has no freckles!» For some reason Ornella was alarmed by this fact.
Yes, Fiona had no freckles. So what is of it? Redheads usually had them, but someone got away with it. You should be happy, not sad! Freckles and pimples were all skin blemishes. Fiona was glad she didn’t have to cover her freckles with homemade flour whitewash, not enough for the market. Ornella, on the other hand, was even angry.
«Remember the prophecies about the redheaded beast who…» She clutched at her brother’s sleeve.
«Ch-ch-ch!» he glanced at Fiona, who couldn’t stand it and opened her eyes.
«After a fire, memories turn to ashes too, so let her listen!» Ornella waved her ringed hand and straightened up stately.
«But it wouldn’t hurt to put the plugs in!» Orvel remarked.
Fiona felt a blockage in her ears, but not for long. She couldn’t hear anything at first. All she could see was Ornella’s pursed lips opening aggressively, and her brother shaking his head negatively. Then fragments of phrase began to be heard again.
«What do you mean, you can’t? You could! You have to learn better!»
«It is Sephora. She is a bad teacher and she is too flaming.»
«She’s the best, that’s why she’s fiery.»
Isn’t that the firebrand they’re talking about? That one hissed in a web of fire, hovering over Ornella’s head. A moment and her redheaded fingers reached for the crown on Ornella’s head, causing the metal to glow. Ornella shuddered, and quickly stepped back into the shadows. Smoke billowed from her strands.
«You are thieves!» She hissed at the fire fairies. «I’ll have you burned at the stake for disrespecting the Queen!»
The fairies merely laughed evilly.
«Then I’ll drown you! Give you to the Morgens as tribute!»
The flaming fairies kept silence, and scurried away. It was dark without them. Only Ornella’s jewels exuded a little golden glow, and the torches of the guards gingerly glowed behind the bars in the distance.
«I will invite Sephora again,» Ornella promised to Orvel.
«But don’t invite her dragons again!» He exclaimed.
«They are like her train. They are always around.»
«You don’t own us!»
«Yes, I do!»
She showed her claws. Birds’ claws on woman’s hands! Fiona shuddered.
«Yes, I see, I see!» Her brother brushed her off.
Fiona seemed to have lost her only protector. Orvel gave up. The newfound Queen of Sultanit bent over Fiona again and tugged her hair painfully.
«She is a redhead! All redheads are sorceresses. They must be tortured and burned.»
Fiona did not have time to object, and no one would have listened to her. Ornella had already summoned the guards.
The guards here were empty-headed in the literal sense. It was as if they had been turned into sleepwalkers. They moved like machines.
«Go to the bonfire!» Ornella ordered. «And go quickly!»
«It’s not fair!» Fiona screamed. «I am not a witch! You are the witch!»
Ornella’s face grew icy as she stepped toward the troubled condemned woman. Only her anthracite eyes flashed furiously with anger. Now she’s going to attack!
«My dear!» Ornella lifted her lips to her ear as if to kiss her cheek. «Never confuse witch and werewolf!»
And a bird’s claws slid across her shoulder, marking her like a brand.
Fiona cried out in pain, not outrage. She was dragged up the stairs and down the luxurious corridor of the castle, which appeared to lead through an intricate network of galleries and balconies, all the way to the front door.
On the way she ran into Condor. He was handsome as the dawn and as angry as the devil himself.
«What does it mean!» He shouted in fury.
The guards and Ornella all fell to their knees. They were frightened of him, weren’t they? Are they afraid of him? Fiona held her breath. Maybe he could help her out. He didn’t like her at first sight. But she saw him, and her heart leapt at him like a bird in a cage.
How handsome he was! And how inaccessible! Ornella’s other brothers like her, and she is attracted to someone who doesn’t care about her.
«It is just the execution of the witch who has worn out the king with her black magic!» Ornella commented.
«Is it just one witch?» Condor looked at Ornella as if he expected her to be dragged to the bonfire. «Really, the greatest evil is letting a witch get so bad that she sits on the throne and runs the whole country.»
«Shut up!» Ornella shushed him. «Remember the arrangements!»
Condor weighed his chances of winning the debate and nodded silently. Fiona was dragged along.
The fire fairies were already flying over the square and spitting fire, forming a large bonfire. The executioner stood idle. And in such a witch land they still burn witches! Magic is everywhere.
What on earth possessed her to go up into the mountains and encounter an entire witch royal community? Curiosity is a nasty trait! It was curiosity that had led her to the bonfire, and to unrequited love. She tried to twist herself in the hands of the guards so that she could get another look at Condor. She wished that the last thing she would see before she died was him, not the evil fire fairies.
«Send for Rokuela, or go yourself!» Condor whispered, addressing someone who was hovering outside the gallery windows.
Fiona did not have time to get a closer look. She was tied to a thick pole and literally thrown onto already burning piles of straw. Flames were about to rise to her ankles. The firefighters laughed merrily, a red-headed circle circling the square. For them, the execution was a feast. The flight of fiery bodies was like a dance or a monotone firework display. Sparks flew off in all directions. Someone in the crowd scolded angrily when a shower of sparks hit his family. Everyone came to see the witch’s execution, though it was late, and a storm was brewing on the sea beyond the square. Ornella herself watched from her high balcony. She had no shortage of regal grandeur. The people respected her and took off their hats in front of her. Women curtsied, hoping she would notice them. She really was the local leader.
With a wave of her hand, the firewomen obediently rushed to fan the flames, crawled over piles of straw, and dived for the pole to which the witch was tied.
Fiona felt her feet burn. She was on fire. Tongues of flame licked at her shoes. The flames were biting. The Condor watched indifferently from the tower. At least he would be the very last thing she would ever see. His face is as beautiful as a mural of an angel. Even more beautiful! And he himself is even more soulless than the cold celestial creatures. It is as if he were not looking at an execution, but at an empty square. He could at least put on a look of sorrow as a courtesy.
Ornella wasn’t hiding her feelings. She was ready to applaud the fire fairies. They were so successful in burning one witch that they could ignite the whole square. If such a selfish woman ruled Sultanit, the country would turn to hell. It already was hell. Fiona cringed at the pain in her shoulder. Only a werewolf could have left such deep wounds that were now scarlet on her skin. Ornella had bird claws, after all! What if she really was a werewolf? Then it was a good thing her scratches were contagious. She wished she could turn into a bird and fly away from the fire now!
