by Anna Bright
Aleksei nodded. “Her armies were vast early in her reign. She inherited her role as headwoman from her father during a turbulent time. Her people’s admiration united them—admiration for her viciousness during the war.”
“And now that war is over, and times have changed,” Cobie said, following Aleksei’s thought. “But she’s relied on rumor and inertia to maintain control, and people buy the lie.”
Aleksei nodded. “Yes. And Sunset’s armies press ever onward. No one will believe the tsarytsya is faltering as long as she keeps moving. She hopes to recoup her losses from desertion by conquering farther and faster.” He swallowed hard. “I suspect you were meant to aid her in that plan, Selah.”
I squeezed Torden’s hand and he kissed my knuckles. “Alessandra expected the tsarytsya to take me off her hands. The tsarytsya hoped I would give her Potomac.”
Never. I would never.
“Here’s what concerns me.” Anya leaned against the oven, legs drawn up. “The sizes of those armies—they’re entirely unbalanced.”
“Well, we explained that,” I said, confused. “The Shield is in Den Norden; she keeps her largest army there.”
“This doesn’t feel like an attempt to balance his power,” Anya disagreed. “Her armies are desperately small elsewhere. This feels like she’s mounting an attack.” She raised her brows at Aleksei. “Did Midnight give you any inkling about that?”
“Even jealous, Polunoshchna isn’t quite that reckless,” Aleksei said. “But with the element of surprise, the tsarytsya could take Asgard.”
We all stared at one another for a long moment.
“If her plan is to rebuild her armies with captives, she’ll fail,” I blurted. “Alfödr’s drengs and thegns would never join her. She has to know that.”
“Does she?” Cobie asked.
Torden scrubbed a hand through his hair, standing abruptly. “Someone has to tell Pappa. He has the numbers—if only he has the time to summon them from across Norge, rally them to Asgard.”
“Someone needs to tell everyone!” Anya exclaimed. “If people knew the truth—”
“The three of you aren’t telling anyone anything. You’re about as subtle as a parade in the streets.” Aleksei pointed at Cobie. “And I wanted a word with you. You kept that knife.”
Cobie put a hand to her thigh above the hemline of her shift, where I suspected she’d bound it up. “I won’t be defenseless, Aleksei.”
“If Sunset had searched you, you’d have been killed,” he said tightly. “The tsarytsya would not have hesitated to spill blood over breakfast. They already call you kikimora upstairs.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Aleksei gave a dry laugh. “Kikimora is a household spirit, a vicious one. She does ‘women’s work’”—here he drew quotes around his own words—“but in a terrible temper, and always poorly.” Then he rounded on Anya. “You, the soldiers call vila. Nymph. Fae creature.” He cleared his throat. “Be careful, please. All of you.”
I didn’t have to ask what I was called upstairs.
Zolushka. Ash-girl.
I didn’t care. At least the ashes were warm, in this tower of cold stone and colder people.
“I can radio Perrault again,” I said. “I can warn them about the tsarytsya’s impending attack, and see where our reinforcements are.”
“Reinforcements?” Aleksei asked. I explained quickly that Perrault was pleading with Alfödr, seeking contact with the resistance through Gretel. “I told him about Zatemnennya. I said the city would be in chaos. Whatever we do, we’ll do it that night.” Escape—or something more.
“And I expected to be the hero, leading the charge to rescue you,” Torden said, half teasing.
“You’re a formidable army on your own, but I’d rather improve our odds.” I bit my lip and looked up at him. “Do you need to go home, if the tsarytsya is coming?”
“No,” Torden said quietly. “This will not take me away. I will never leave you again.”
I didn’t think. I stretched up to kiss him again, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist.
“Good grief,” Aleksei groaned, passing a hand over his forehead. “You two are back to being absolutely useless now that you’re together.”
I stuck my tongue out at him, and Torden squeezed me tighter.
49
Torden stayed with me long after he should have left. We sat in the quiet of the laundry, burrowed in a pile of sheets, hip to hip, knee to knee, his arm around my shoulders.
I never wanted to stop touching him. I ran a finger down his forehead, over his nose, across his cupid’s bow, over his lips.
“I feel like I’m dreaming,” I whispered. “I’ve been dreaming so much since I’ve been here, I can’t believe any of this is real.”
“Are any of your dreams this good?” Torden laughed softly.
“No. Most of them are—” I swallowed, cutting myself off before I said nightmares.
Most nights I dreamed of my father, of his body shriveling up until it was nothing but bones. Some nights I dreamed of Potomac’s fields aflame, of Arbor Hall’s trees turned to pillars of ash.
Only once or twice had I dreamed of Torden, our bodies weightless in the lake above the Lysefjord, his hands hot on my waist despite the cool of the water.
“How did you even get here so quickly?” I asked quietly.
Torden studied our joined hands. “Huginn and Muninn got wind of your arrest within about two weeks of your being taken.” His throat bobbed. “And I was on my way within hours.”
“You just left?” I breathed.
“I should never have let you go in the first place.” Torden’s voice was low, frustrated. “I should have stood up to my father. Treason,” he scoffed.
“Well.” I cleared my throat. “It turns out Lang and the crew were ferrying arms from the zŏngtŏng to the resistance here in the Imperiya. They hadn’t told me about it, but . . . I don’t think they were wrong to do it.”
Torden went very still. “Your ship was bearing weapons, and you didn’t know about it?”
I shook my head, grimacing.
“Your captain—Lang—he brought contraband aboard, at the commission of a foreign power, and put you at risk without informing you or your family?” He started to rise, but I pulled him down, only just stifling a weary laugh.
“Torden, he’s hundreds of miles away. What are you going to do? And—besides, I’ve already dealt with this. And I’d do it all again.” Despite my protests, his eyes still burned with anger.
I expected him to pull away—to shift sideways, to need space to cool off. But Torden couldn’t seem to get close enough to me. He gathered my legs across his lap and wrapped his arms around me, touching his forehead to mine. “If anything had happened to you because of him—” His jaw clenched. “Selah, I couldn’t bear it. I would’ve never forgiven him.”
“Shh.” I took his hands in mine. “I’m fine. I’m all right.”
“You are serving Baba Yaga at her very table,” Torden said. Remorse was in every line of his face. “You are not all right. Aren’t you afraid?”
I ran my fingers over his arms, breathing him in, thinking.
I’d told Torden once I was afraid of being made foolish. I’d run from England, from Bear and his family, who’d humiliated me. I’d run from Norge, too, from Konge Alfödr and his wrath.
Neither king worried me anymore. I had seen and suffered too much. And love had grown stronger than my fear of either.
“I was afraid I might never see you again,” I whispered. “And here you are. My prayers answered. The hint of a happy ending already.” I ran my palm over his cropped hair, smiling wanly. “What did you do while I was gone? What—what happened after I left?”
Torden sighed and settled me in closer to him. “I was running faster than ever. Beating Bragi and Hermódr in hand-to-hand, outshooting Fredrik. I worked with my hammer, Mjolnir, nearly every day—fought with him on the practice field and worked with hi
m in the forge, in the Flørli outpost. That was the other change,” Torden added. “Per the valkjrya’s recommendations to fortify a place downriver from Asgard, we sent men there to work, to watch, and to monitor messages from the radio tower. I worked there with the dvergar, learning to forge weapons.”
I gnawed on my lip. “It sounds like you did pretty well on your own.” My voice was thin.
It was ridiculous. I hadn’t wanted him to suffer. I shook off my pettiness.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Pappa drove Anya out because she loved someone else, and Aleksei had gone to the devil to spite my father, and you were destined to be bride to some other man. My family had crumbled before my eyes. And I could do nothing about it.” His eyes shifted to mine. “So I tried to work, and tried to forget.”
I wet my lips. “And did you?”
I was almost afraid of his answer. Because—what if he had? What if he was here only out of duty, out of guilt over what his father had done?
Torden’s hands stole, possessive, around my waist. He shook his head, dark eyes sparking. “I felt you gone like a hunger,” he said. “You were the first thought I had when I woke. The last when I went to sleep. I was trying to sweat you out.”
My breath grew jagged. His eyelashes were rose gold in the light of the fire, bare inches away. Unbidden, my hand reached for his cheekbone, skating over the freckles on his pale skin and the copper stubble of his beard.
Torden bent, his nose brushing my jawline, and pressed a kiss soft as a breath against my neck. “I will never want anyone the way I want you.” He kissed me once more, lingering over my fevered pulse as his fingers slipped into the hair at the nape of my neck. He worked at the snarled knots until he slid my ring free. “Ask me again. Ask me if I forgot you.”
His kiss was like a burn. I wanted to let it scorch me alive.
But the feel of his lips on my skin made me think of the last person who had kissed me.
Sour guilt replaced the heat burning beneath my skin.
I swallowed. “I have to tell you something. I— For the sake of honesty.”
Torden frowned. “You sound worried.”
He was still concerned for me. Did I even deserve it? Had I betrayed him?
I gathered my courage. “After I left Norge, in the Shvartsval’d, something happened with Lang. It’s—hard to define exactly what was going on, but I think there was always something there. Between us.” I trained my gaze on my hands, afraid to look at Torden. “He kissed me before I left to come here.”
I resisted the urge to justify, or explain, or apologize.
“Are you angry?” I lifted my eyes to his, preparing myself. “Does this change things?”
“His interest in you was always clear,” said Torden. He toyed with my ring, his chest rising and falling, his mouth growing sulky. “Or it was to me, anyway.”
“I haven’t spoken to him since I left.” Then an odd idea struck me. “Are you jealous?” I asked in a whisper. “I thought you’d be angry at me.”
“I’m angry at him. I’d like to fight him with my bare hands and see if he tries to put his on you again,” Torden said immediately. He paused. “So, yes, I think this is jealous.”
Torden. Jealous. It gave me a wicked thrill.
His throat bobbed, and he began to braid the ring back into my hair, his fingers tender against my neck, sending bolts of heat and chills over my skin.
When he was finished, I gripped his hand. Our threaded fingers dug into the sheets piled around us as I leaned close and pressed a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth.
We were in danger every moment we stayed together. But I was a maiden in a tower and the dragon was watching every moment and he, my prince, had come to put a sword in my hand.
And I could not help but feel powerful at the way he wanted me.
50
We served the tsarytsya and her generals in the formal dining room the next morning, eyes down, arms full. General Midnight made acid comments, and Aleksei was snide, and as we went up and down the stairs Ivan eyed Anya with a desperation that embarrassed me on his behalf.
I didn’t care. Once we had assured ourselves the generals weren’t going anywhere, Cobie, Anya, and I made for the tsarytsya’s room. We had decided to give ourselves eight minutes. Any more than that, and the guard outside would begin to suspect.
Anya tore the sheets off the bed, working triple-time by herself as Cobie counted and watched the door. I went straight for the radio.
I noted the frequency it sat on first, then, painstakingly, I turned the radio dial, stumbling across chatter here and there on my way to 3.44.
My heart was in my throat. I needed to know if Perrault had pleaded our case to Asgard, and I had to warn Asgard that an attack was coming.
But when I reached my frequency, I found it empty.
The sound was the skate of runners over cobblestones, the merciless roar of a river. My stomach sank. Perrault wasn’t there.
It cost us so much to come in here, every time. And today, it was for nothing.
“Nothing.” I turned to Anya. “He’s not manning the radio.”
“Or they’ve left Asgard,” Cobie said. “They could be beyond range of the tower.”
“No,” I breathed, horrified. “I don’t know what frequency to use to contact Flørli. I didn’t think to ask Torden. How will I warn them the tsarytsya is planning an attack?”
The hole in my logic gaped at me: I’d hoped the Beholder was on its way to me. What assurance had I had that there was a tower close to them?
I hadn’t thought of it. Guilt left me weak. What if we had missed our only chance to warn Asgard?
“We’ll come back. We’ll do it another day.” Cobie took a long breath. “You have six minutes. Do something with them.” She pointed to Anya, who’d paused changing the sheets. “Don’t stop. We only have six minutes.”
I stared, horrified, at the radio.
With six minutes, I could reach out to Godmother Althea—but, no. Her frequency was 3.44, as well, and she wasn’t there. I counted on my fingers; it was probably around two in the morning in Potomac. She and the sisters were asleep or at Matins, the prayer service that broke the night before Lauds at dawn.
I clenched my jaw and began, slowly, to turn the dial—straining after the chatter I caught, hoping I’d hear familiar voices.
And finally, I did.
“She is well,” someone was saying.
“But you won’t tell us where?” answered a boy’s voice. “My sisters are—”
“You know I can’t,” said the first voice, a girl’s—my chest seized.
The voice was Gretel’s.
I cleared my throat. “You really ought to leave well enough alone, Hansel. Leirauh is safer where she is. That is, if Gretel kept her promise.”
There was dead silence.
“Hansel?” I asked the quiet. “Gretel?”
“Selah?” Fritz blurted. “Is that you?”
“It is,” I affirmed. “I’m here. With Cobie and Anya.”
“You’re where?”
I swallowed hard. “Baba Yaga’s house.”
Gretel swore. Fritz was silent.
Five minutes, Cobie mouthed to me, imperious.
“It’s all right,” I said hurriedly. “I—Gretel, did Perrault speak to you?”
“He did not.”
“Fr—Hansel?” I asked.
“Not I,” he said.
I chewed my lip. If Perrault hadn’t been able to contact the fürst or the Waldleute, what else might have gone wrong? Had they left Asgard, after all?
There was no time to fret.
Perrault hadn’t spoken with them. Torden was here—I would be fine. But we still had the chance to help the resistance free the city.
“Regardless,” I said, “I have information for you.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense, princess.” I couldn’t see the leader of the Waldleute, but I could imagine her: eyes narrowed, chin lifted, one brow
quirked.
Quickly I related to them what we had discovered—the depletion of the tsarytsya’s armies in the east, west, and south, and at Stupka-Zamok. “So if you can coordinate an attack with the other arms of the resistance—”
“We could feasibly end her,” Gretel said slowly.
“Yes, and there’s more,” I said. “One night soon, security in Stupka-Zamok is going to be very lax. If I could speak to local divisions of the resistance, we could take advantage of that. We—” I paused, uncertain. “We could take the city.”
“You can’t approach them, but I can,” Gretel said immediately. “I will reach out to the Rusalki and the Leshii and the Vodyanoi. Speak to them on your behalf. They will find you and coordinate an assault.”
“Who are they?” I asked.
“The Leshii are the woodfolk, the Vodyanoi the river dwellers,” Gretel said. “And the Rusalki are the mothers.”
I stopped short at this. “The mothers?”
“Yes.” Gretel’s voice turned bitter. “The mothers of stolen children.”
“I’ve already seen them,” I said slowly. “The night of the full moon, some of the children were forced to fight. The mothers came to watch.”
“Good,” Gretel said. “So you know who to watch for. Now, when is this happening?”
“The night of the lunar eclipse, in about three weeks,” I said. “The phases of the moon are important here. I think it’s a religious ceremony. They call it Zatemnennya.”
A hand flailed in my periphery. Three minutes, Cobie said, holding up three fingers.
I was so distracted by Cobie that I didn’t hear them at first. But Gretel and Fritz were hissing, protesting, horrified. “Zatemnennya?” Gretel demanded. “Is that what you said?”
“Yes,” I answered, uncertain.
“Are you trying to get my people killed?”
“No!” I exclaimed. “What are you talking about? I’m trying to help!”
“I am not sending my people into the Mortar on Zatemnennya,” Gretel said, forceful. “And if you’re smart, you will spend the night behind a barred door.”
