by Anna Bright
“Lies,” the Rusalka woman hissed.
The women’s whispers grew louder. My pulse spiked.
“He is the prins of Norge and she is the prinsessa of Varsinais-Suomi, and we are prisoners!” I gestured wildly at my friends, my voice rising with my panic. “We hate this place! Please, please let us help you!”
“What?” The woman scowled. The mothers were confused, their brows furrowing.
I had tried to explain too much. I was losing them. My heart dropped.
And slowly, slowly, so did their weapons.
The women were distracted, exchanging baffled glances and whispered words, and Torden and Aleksei knew one another—knew how to speak without speaking, knew what the other would do in a match before he did it.
In a single burst, the boys broke away from the Rusalki and rushed to Anya and Cobie and me. “Please let us help you,” I said to the women once more.
Safe at my side, Torden lifted his gun again, grimacing, but I doubted he would use it on these women, even to defend himself.
I knew he was wishing for Mjolnir tonight.
If I have to break another’s body, I deserve at least to feel his suffering in my own arm, he had said. I think the powerful would love less the fruits of violence if they had to deal it out by hand.
Besides, these women were not the powerful. They were the broken. The suffering. They had lost too much already.
“We will never accept help from you. We will hate you forever,” their spokeswoman raged, tears in her eyes. She nodded at Aleksei; a thin red cut ran across his neck, and blood dripped down his cheek from a row of jagged scratches. “Look at your scars and remember that.”
Torden fired a shot at the stones well above their heads, and when the women ducked and scattered, we ran.
My heart was sick. I hated to leave the Rusalki behind in this city of death.
And yet—I’d tried and failed. What else could I do? Who was I to think I could aid them in this war they’d waged so fiercely for who knew how long? What place was it of mine to think I could help them find justice for all they’d lost?
On and on I ran after the others, my heart and my breathing growing ragged, until we came to a house near the edge of town. We raced inside and slammed the door behind us.
All was dark within, the only sounds our footsteps on stone and our breathing.
“Anya!” Fredrik broke from the shadows, his voice cracking, and caught his sister in his arms. I hugged them both, Torden and Aleksei and Cobie with us. We bound ourselves to their shaking embrace, a cluster of limbs and torsos and cheeks traced with tears.
As I clung to my friends, I tried not to think of how I had nearly lost each of them tonight.
I tried not to think about the gun at my hip and the way it had felt in my hands.
We listened to the howls and the screams for hours, waiting for dawn. Anya would not let go of Fredrik’s hand, even when she fell asleep slumped against the wall. Cobie and I kept watch at a window at the back of the house with a few of Torden’s drengs.
I tried not to let visions of the night play in my mind.
The cruelty and selfish lust on Ivan’s face. The tears in the Rusalka’s eyes. I knew they would haunt me in dark moments for years to come.
Fires burned long into the night. The city quieted as the sky lightened, but only a little. When the shattering of glass and the report of bullets had slowed, Torden gathered us all in the front room and told his drengs how to proceed.
I reached beneath my cap and touched the ring hidden in my hair for luck. Soon, we could wear our secrets openly, and not fear they’d put us in danger.
“Walk like a soldier,” Torden whispered to me, pressing his palms into my shoulders, anchoring me to the earth. “Don’t speak to anyone.”
He kissed me and let out a long, shaking breath as we drew apart. Then I followed him out the front door.
Ahead of us, the drengs carried away the house’s treasures under their arms, crowing in Yotne like feasting wolves, like sated vultures. The skulls atop the nearby gates were every color of bone. Their eyes watched me, empty and lifeless.
A dilapidated little fortress blinded the last bend in the road. A dog was chained just outside its door, fur chafed away beneath its iron collar. The skinny mutt snapped at us as we passed. I paused, wishing I could unchain it.
“Come on, Selah.” Aleksei tugged at my hand, pulling me forward. But the drengs had stopped short ahead of us. Confusion, and then horror, swept over me.
Dawn glowed on the horizon. But Midnight waited at the gates.
55
There was no fight to be fought. No battle to be won. Midnight’s secret police descended upon us like thieves in the night, wrapped iron around our wrists and ankles.
We had been so close to the edge of town. So close to freedom.
Polunoshchna dragged us back to the city’s center, Anya and Cobie to my right, Fredrik to my left. Torden was behind us, with more of his men. I had lost sight of Aleksei.
Midnight singled me out, drawing close to hiss in my ear. “Did you think nasha tsarytsya’s radio was the only one in the house?”
I had. I had rejoiced in my own luck and cleverness. But I had failed to credit Polunoshchna’s experience. I had forgotten that the tsarytsya’s eyes were always watching.
“You made yourself so easy to track,” Midnight whispered to me, feeding darkness into my ears. “Yourself, and that ship of yours. The Beholder.”
I tripped over my own feet, staggered by a fresh wave of terror. “No.”
“Yes,” Midnight said, cruelly sweet. “What’s his name? Perrault? Yes, he told me all you’ve been up to.”
Perrault, whom I had trusted. Perrault, who had never lied to me.
Perrault, whose priority had always been saving his own skin.
The Beholder had come to help me, and Polunoshchna had captured it, and Perrault had behaved the way I should have known he would.
“Sweet Zolushka.” Midnight chucked me under the chin hard enough that I bit my tongue. I tasted blood. “Will you still believe I lack focus when I set to questioning you later?”
I didn’t answer. Baba Yaga’s house drew ever closer.
The Wolves howled around us, derision in their eyes.
The tsarytsya awaited us atop her tower, as she always did. She sat back on her throne, eyes alight with curiosity, Vechirnya at her side.
“Come you here of your own accord, or are you compelled?” she asked.
The question was a mockery of our shackles. Cobie spat at her feet. One of Midnight’s soldiers hit her in the temple with the butt of his gun, and she crumpled.
“Get away from her,” Anya snarled, lunging forward. Another of Midnight’s men seized her by the arm and jerked her cruelly back. Anya’s arm was already bruised where Ivan had gripped her; now there was blood on her lip and in the gold of her hair.
Aleksei wasn’t among us. My stomach dropped another few feet.
“Last night was Wolf Night,” I said, trying to stop the shake in my voice. I lifted my chin. “I attempted to steal my freedom. What of it?”
It was a gamble.
I prayed only that this one would not end as my misstep in Shvartsval’d had. Baba Yaga said nothing for a long moment.
Then, as she had the night before, she began to laugh.
“Oh, Selah. What a delight you are. So many boring people around me, and you never cease to amuse.” She laughed and laughed, and when she stopped, she waved a hand at the guards. “Take off their chains.”
“What?” Polunoshchna screamed.
“They took flight last night. What did you take, Polunoshchna?” the tsarytsya snapped.
Midnight said nothing. She was shaking with anger. Slow and uncertain, the guards began to unshackle us.
“So endlessly dull,” Baba Yaga muttered, palming her forehead. “So predictable.”
Torden flexed his wrists, drawing a little closer to my side.
Baba Yaga
looked up in surprise at the movement. “Oh no,” she said, shaking her head. “Not the men. Take the chains off the girls, send them back downstairs. Kill the men at once.”
I bit back a cry. Midnight smiled broadly.
She trained her rifle on Torden’s skull. I nearly blurted his name, but Anya seized my arm, her short nails leaving red half-moons in my skin.
It wouldn’t have mattered.
“Now, which one,” Sunset asked, speaking for the first time, “is he here to rescue?”
Anya drew in a sharp breath, and Vechirnya laughed, planting her lean-muscled arms on her hips. “As if we could fail to recognize the son of the Shield. It has not been so long since I’ve seen him, myself. We journeyed to Norge to pay our respects at the death of the Shield’s youngest.”
Baldr’s funeral. Of course. The Imperiya had been represented.
Torden had endangered himself for us, and now he would pay the price.
My stomach clenched.
“Certainly, one of these two,” Polunoshchna said, stepping over Cobie’s prone form and wrapping her hands around my throat and around Anya’s. She dug her thumb sharply into my windpipe. I tried not to give even a flicker of a response, tried to hold back anything that might put Torden in more danger, but I began to wheeze in her grip.
Over her shoulder, I saw Aleksei skid into the throne room. His gray uniform and white bands were spotless, as clean as the bandages at his throat and on his cheek. He took in the scene we made in one keen, curious glance.
“Polunoshchna. Enough,” Baba Yaga barked. “If you cannot discern the truth at a distance of two feet, it will not be any clearer with your hands wrapped around their throats. Kill the men and be done with it.”
Midnight dropped her hands, and I clutched my throat, coughing.
Again, she raised her rifle.
“Wait!” I choked. The word was out of my mouth before I could think what I would say next.
The tsarytsya met my eyes, one silver brow arched in question. My thoughts had never run so quickly.
My Odysseus had come back to me, and he was still going to die if I couldn’t change the game.
If you’re one step ahead of them, they still haven’t caught you.
If Torden was to live, I would have to wound him.
“Well played, moya tsarytsya,” I rasped. It hurt to speak.
She cocked her head. “And what game are we playing now, little Zolushka?”
“The same one we were always playing.” I coughed, tried to feign surprise. “The game for Potomac. I concede, moya tsarytsya, to a worthy victor. You shall grasp the phoenix by its feathers and soon take the whole bird.”
My hands were shaking. I expected her to wave me off at any moment, for gunshots to sound and blood to spatter and for my gambit to fail. For my love to be lost forever.
She did wave a hand. It said, Continue, please.
Torden’s jaw worked, his brown eyes fixed worriedly on my face. His concern for me—always for me, never himself—ached.
I focused on the tsarytsya. I couldn’t watch Torden’s face while I drove a knife into his heart. And it was only my knife that would save him from her claws.
“I will marry a courtier of your choosing,” I said. “I will deliver Potomac into your hands, in exchange for easier terms for my people when you reach our shores, and for the lives of my men. These drengs, and the Beholder crew you’ve captured,” I added.
“Selah!” Anya gasped.
Elskede. Beloved. That was what Torden had called me, and now I was betraying him.
So many lives to weigh and measure. So great a chance I would be found wanting.
The tsarytsya frowned. “Why should I give you easier terms?” she asked. “Why should I spare the lives of these men? I have them, already, in my hands.”
Think. Think. Think.
“Because you understand the game.” I smiled, trying to keep my voice loose and confident, though my throat still felt bruised from Midnight’s grip. “You understand it’s easier to reap your winnings when you don’t overturn the board merely to spite the rest of the players.” I cast a significant glance at Midnight, whose gun was still sighted between Torden’s eyes. The raw hurt in them was palpable. I swallowed painfully and forced myself to look away. “I can give you Potomac cleanly, and lose you none of its pieces. You’re not so petty that you’d cast away a useful resource.”
I was mixing metaphors and madly insulting Polunoshchna and I was desperately afraid I was about to piss myself with fear. But I schooled my face.
Behind the tsarytsya, Aleksei gave me a single sharp nod.
“I’ve seen how absolute your power is, moya tsarytsya.” I took one, two steps through the cluster of guards, not watching Torden or Midnight but keeping that gun—the gun—in my periphery, watching it lower second by second in tandem with Polunoshchna’s jaw. “I know you will eventually reach Arbor Hall, and I want to make sure those dear to me are safe.”
I put a hand on Torden’s shoulder. “All those dear to me.”
“Ah.” Victory lit the tsarytsya’s eyes.
“He’s a romantic. Even when his father ordered him to stay, he came anyway,” I said quietly. “It was a grand but foolish gesture.”
Torden bit his lip. The agony and betrayal on his face was enough to tear me apart.
This was the only way to protect him.
Think. Think.
I tried to recapture the feeling I’d carried the night I’d treated with Gretel, the stars above and a cadre of reckless, determined princesses at my back.
The uniform of the Imperiya was a far cry from the dress of black armor I’d worn, the cap slipping off my hair a long way from a tiara. Instead of kohl on my eyes, I had burns on my fingers and ashes on my face.
But I was still that girl.
I was Cobie’s best friend and Anya’s sister and friend to the Shvartsval’d freinnen. I was strong, and I was sharp, and I would do what I had to do for the ones I loved.
“You’ll get no ransom from Alfödr for his return.” I kept my voice as even as I could. “But if you spare his life, I’ll marry someone of your choosing.”
“Selah.” Torden’s voice cracked.
Elskede.
“I was never going to marry for love anyway, Grandmother Wolf,” I told the tsarytsya with a shrug. “I might as well be the one doing the bargaining, instead of my stepmother.”
A crowd was gathering around Baba Yaga, more of her courtiers and soldiers. I met Aleksei’s eyes where he stood behind them.
“Please,” Polunoshchna howled. “Please let me shoot her. Please let me shoot all of them.”
Baba Yaga said nothing. I thought of the Rusalki I’d tried to persuade the night before, how I’d overexplained myself and lost their interest, and my panic spiked. “You need me if you’re to take Potomac cleanly,” I said, fearing even as I spoke that I was losing, had already lost, would lose them all. “You—”
“Don’t hurt her,” Aleksei burst out.
I lifted my eyes, and Baba Yaga turned. But not before I saw the abject delight on her face.
“Don’t hurt her,” Aleksei said again.
“Aleksei,” she crooned. “Moy Rankovyy. What concern is she of yours?”
“None.” But Aleksei stepped toward me, as if unaware he was moving.
Sunset rubbed tiredly at her eyes. “I saw them holding hands the first time she played with us.”
I fought a grim smile. Thank you, Sunset.
Torden’s broad chest heaved. “Aleksei?” One more word, his voice still broken.
Suddenly, despite the tension in the air, Aleksei was easy, relaxed. “Vechirnya is correct, moya tsarytsya.” He took me in a thin, confident embrace, and I softened against him. “I loved Selah at Asgard, and I love her still.”
It was an absurd falsehood. But I would gladly pretend to feel at home in Aleksei’s arms. Because I cared more for Torden’s life than for his feelings. I would sacrifice his heart and mine,
and he would live.
I steeled myself, produced the ring from the knot of my hair. Aleksei slid it onto my right-hand ring finger and kissed my hand. His lips were cold, his black eyes lit with tentative affection, his gestures loose and assured.
“Very well,” the tsarytsya said. She straightened and looked from me to Torden to Aleksei. “Seneschal-elect, the princeling’s life shall be spared.”
I knew I ought to feel relief. Torden and the drengs and the Beholder crew, wherever they were, would live. But all I felt were Aleksei’s cold arms around my waist.
Polunoshchna screamed and threw her fist against the stone wall.
“And you, my Rankovyy, my Bright Dawn.” Baba Yaga took Aleksei’s hand, her eyes greedy. “Now that I know your heart, you shall marry our little ash-girl three days hence.”
And she would own us forever.
56
Blood was everywhere. Blood and jewels and coins and broken stone.
I scrubbed it away with Midnight crowing over me. She went on and on about Perrault in her prisons, Perrault betraying me. She never mentioned any of the others.
Did they still live? Were Torden and his drengs suffering? I would push for their immediate release when it was time to serve the tsarytsya the next day; Baba Yaga was sleeping off her long, bloody night and was not to be disturbed.
Aleksei came to the kitchens that night as Anya and Cobie and I were scrubbing the blood off our hands and knees. “Well done,” he said. I nodded, and sat before the oven.
The tsarytsya had no need to marry me to anyone; I’d known this. I had counted on amusing her by my brashness, and by insulting Midnight. I’d also counted on her believing she’d found a way to manipulate Aleksei.
I had thought carefully, and very, very quickly.
I had had three aims with my plea.
The first had been to tell the tsarytsya that I was ignorant. She would never reach Potomac’s shores; Sunset’s armies were spread impossibly thin as it was. But I’d indicated I didn’t know that and given her an opportunity to preen in front of her people to boot.
The second had been to align myself with her selfishness—to show her I cared only for Potomac, as she cared only for Yotunkheym.
