People had got it into their heads that the redhead was a witch. No one in the town where theyd 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 couldnt see very well. Besides, the two multi-colored eyes were frightening. They say only witches eyes are different colors. And it didnt matter that they were stones. In her sleep, Fiona couldnt move or run away from Claretta. The dead girls 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, dont 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 wasnt a killer, thats for sure. It is not as if she were a bird of prey, capable of tearing a mans 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? Hadnt 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 couldnt 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 shed 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, theres 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 thered 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 Earths King gone? All Fiona could see was a huge griffin with a crown on a birds 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.