by Karah Sutton
It was then that Zima remembered where she’d seen the image on the gate. It was on the side of the fancy cart she’d seen in the village. The woman she had seen in the cart must have been Katerina on her way to the castle.
The guard led her through the grounds toward the largest of the buildings, the one with blue rooftops that stretched into the sky. A wooden door on the side of the building creaked as the guard swung it open.
Darkness hung in the corridor like fog. It was almost impossible to see where the hall turned, but the guard kept a tight grip on her elbow. Zima leaned heavily on her cane. Once or twice she tripped in the darkness, but both guard and cane kept her from tumbling to the ground. Their footsteps echoed in the narrow hall.
He led her through another door and then down a few steps. Somehow this corridor was even darker than the first. It was strange how the walls could shine such a bright white on the outside while the inside was dark as a cave.
A damp passage led to a set of stairs. The guard waited on the bottom step, his ragged breathing filling the small space. He motioned for her to follow, and together they climbed, Zima’s joints aching as she pushed herself up step after step.
Each time voices sounded ahead, the guard led Zima away from them, down another passage. Twice they doubled back the way they had come. After an age of twisting down narrow corridors, he opened a door and they entered a plain room with a long wooden table and a dozen chairs tucked under each side. The plain white walls and polished tabletop glistened like the surface of a frozen lake.
At last, the man relaxed. He stumbled to a chair at the end of the table and sank into it, his feet hovering a little off the floor. Sweat beaded at his temples where his black hair stuck to his golden skin. A chair stood empty opposite him, and Zima sat down.
He stared at Zima through the glass pieces perched on his nose, with narrowed eyes as though trying to track some elusive prey.
“They said you would come,” he said. “I was supposed to bring anyone matching your description directly to the tsar. But I have not. I think I know why you’re here, and I want to help you.” His dark eyes brimmed with nervous anticipation. His round face was hopeful. “My name is Izel.”
Zima tried to bury her surprise. She was expected. But before she could think of what to say, Izel continued. “They say that when the tsar’s great-grandfather took power many years ago, he declared that no one should dare defy him, because he had the powers of Baba Yaga on his side.” His pudgy lips formed a frown. “A select few of us believe his story was a lie. That he took over the castle in defiance of you, not with your help. We hoped that you would come to curse him for using your name. After so many years, most lost hope.” His frown shifted into a smile as he whispered conspiratorially, “And now, you are here.”
Her confusion must have shown on her face because his brows knitted, and he leaned forward to say, “Is this why you have come? Are you here to curse the tsar?”
If she had been in her wolf body, her fur would have stood on end. No, that wasn’t why she was here at all. She needed to be taken to Katerina.
She opened her mouth to correct Izel but shut it again. She couldn’t appear nervous. He had to believe that her search for Katerina was all part of a plan to curse the tsar. Then he might help her.
“Why do you wish me to curse the tsar?” she asked, trying to use the same prodding voice that Baba Yaga had once used with Zima.
Izel looked around the room, as though he expected the tsar to be perched on the wall like a spider to listen to their conversation. “The tsar is a monster.”
The words unbalanced Zima. She knew the tsar was a threat because he planned the hunt and the fire. But she hadn’t expected the humans to think him horrible too.
“Ever since he inherited the throne,” Izel continued, “he has threatened violence to those serving him. My wife—” He stopped, his breath catching in his throat. “She wakes up in the middle of the night, screaming from dreams where I am thrown into the dungeons or beaten. I would do anything to make her fears go away, even if it means disobeying orders.”
Anxiety trickled down the back of Zima’s neck but she couldn’t let it show. Izel needed to believe in her. She hunched her shoulders and tried to arrange her face into a most frightening scowl. “I need to speak with Katerina,” she said. “It is all part of my plan.”
Confusion flashed across Izel’s face, but he recovered quickly. “Of course,” he said. “But with the tsar and other guards looking for you, we must be careful. I am afraid Katerina has been very ill. Only those close to her have been allowed to see her, and guards are stationed at her door.” He added, “Though I suppose your magic could take care of them.”
“I can’t do—” Zima stopped herself and swallowed. Coming to the castle was like prodding her nose into a hornet’s nest. She couldn’t keep threatening curses if a curse was what they wanted. “No, I should not. No one can know I am here.”
Izel pressed a finger on his chin, thinking. “We can hide you here in the castle until I can find a way to take you to Katerina without anyone seeing.” He thought for another moment before smiling. “I have an idea. The kitchens. We can pretend you’re a new servant here to help with preparations for the wedding.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “You’d be as concealed as I can keep you from the tsar. He never enters the kitchens.” Standing from his own chair, Izel reached out an arm to assist Zima to her feet. “The cook Lubov frightens him.”
He led her down a short, plain corridor. Through an open door came strong smells of roasted meat. Two women were visible, one brandishing a large silver knife. She was tall, with deep lines creasing her pink forehead and skin hanging from her jaw like a rooster’s waddle. Her face contorted in fury and she held the knife above her head, looking ready to hurl it at the girl facing her. This must be Lubov.
Zima looked back at Izel and saw him waiting for her answer. How could she possibly pretend to be human for so many hours among so many people? She had no idea what humans did in a kitchen. She’d be of no use and then the angry woman would threaten her with the knife.
But she stood a better chance of convincing people she was human than she did of performing magic. Zima gritted her teeth. “Okay,” she said, “I’ll do it.”
Izel’s eyes sparkled. “She’ll be glad for your assistance, so long as she doesn’t find out who you are. But you look no different from any other old woman, though perhaps a bit older than most.” He eyed the many wrinkles that gave her hands the look of tree bark. “What shall we call you?” he asked.
Call her? The only human names she knew were Nadya and Katerina.
“How about Galina?” Izel suggested.
Zima practiced saying the name. Galina. Galina. Yes, she could answer to that name.
Blasts of hot air and smoke blew through the kitchen door. The cook Lubov was still shouting. Zima winced at the sharp words. But an angry cook was nothing if it meant Zima could stop the hunt. And she’d only have to keep up the act until she found Katerina.
Just before they went through the door, Izel gripped her shoulder and said with an expression of utmost seriousness, “If you don’t wish to be caught, you must stay in the kitchens until my signal. If you go wandering about, Tsar Aleksander will certainly find you.”
Katerina woke with a gasp, gulping in air. She threw her arms in front of her face as though shielding herself.
Nadya nearly fell out of her soft chair by the window. She hadn’t realized she’d been half-asleep, but her hand tingled where she’d been leaning on it.
Grabbing a cloth, Nadya rushed to Katerina’s side and began dabbing at the sweat trickling down her forehead and cheeks. “It’s okay,” she said, trying to mimic the warm voice she’d heard Mrs. Orlova use when caring for the younger girls. Nadya herself had been feverish a few winters ago, and Mrs. Orlova and Katerina had stayed by her side, offering her spoonfuls of broth, warm and tart, washing her face as Nadya was doing now. Nadya couldn’t manage th
e soothing tones like they could, but she tried. “You’re awake now, in the castle.”
“She’s going to take me!” Katerina whimpered, not yet opening her eyes.
“No one will take you. I’m here,” said Nadya.
Katerina’s wide eyes fluttered open and she blinked, glancing about as though not believing where she was.
Taking Katerina’s wrists, Nadya gently lowered her arms so that they were no longer clutching at her face. “You’re in the castle,” she repeated.
“I was in the forest,” Katerina said, her breath quickening again. “Baba Yaga wanted to take me. And…and Mrs. Orlova stopped her.”
At the mention of Baba Yaga, Nadya’s stomach heaved, as though its contents had curdled. Not because she believed in Katerina’s dream, but because she’d been at the castle a whole day without fulfilling her promise to the witch. Yet now didn’t seem like a good time to speak of Baba Yaga, not while Katerina was so distressed.
“You haven’t been in the forest in many years, Katerina,” she said calmly. “And besides, you’re grown now. She only eats naughty children.” Though no one had seemed less likely to eat a child than the Baba Yaga who Nadya had encountered. Nadya pressed flat the smile that threatened to curl her mouth.
Katerina shook her head and swallowed. “No, no, this was different. Not like when I saw—” She swallowed again, then continued, “In the dream I was much smaller. Maybe even a baby.”
“Well, that’s how you know it was only a dream,” Nadya said. “You’re here now. And Baba Yaga has no reason to come here.” It wasn’t all the way true, not yet, but Nadya would make it so.
Lubov looked Zima up and down, her eyes lingering on Zima’s shaking hands. “You want a position in my kitchens?” She didn’t even attempt to hide her skepticism. Her eyes were bright and alert, surrounded by loose skin. She seemed to see everything going on in the busy kitchens at once, though she never took her gaze off Zima.
“You need the help,” said Izel. “I’ve brought her to help you.” His jaw jutted out and he put his hands on his hips.
Lubov looked like she was ready to argue, but instead, she huffed and shoved a broom into Zima’s free hand, ordering her to sweep the floors before they got to work on supper.
Zima’s stomach relaxed, if only a little. At least she knew what a broom was, and what it was for, thanks to the raven. She brushed it against the floor. The sound reminded her of the winter wind rustling leafless twigs and branches on the trees. She hoped the raven wasn’t too worried when he returned to find her gone. If she could talk to Katerina soon, maybe she could even be back at the hut before he returned.
She dragged the broom around the kitchen, brushing up whatever she could find on the floor—dust, ashes, vegetable and fruit peels. The kitchen workers clanged metal cooking instruments and thrust wooden spoons into large pots, too busy to pay her any notice. The air was thick with steam and smoke from the fires. Droplets of sweat trickled down Zima’s forehead.
She couldn’t help but notice that she hadn’t heard the chatter of the forest voices as much since arriving at the castle. It was strange. The magical whispers were a constant flow after she switched bodies with Baba Yaga, but now they were hardly more than a dribble.
Though it was possible she simply couldn’t hear the voices over the noise of the kitchens. With Lubov’s constant shouting it was hard to focus on anything other than the duties to be done. Besides that night’s supper, every cook was busy with preparations for the wedding feast, which they were constantly reminded was only three days away. As soon as Zima swept up the pumpkin skins and onion layers, more appeared. And Lubov hurled insults across the room as often as she gave commands, punctuating them with the thwack of her spoon against the counter. Even the clang of pans and chopping of knives couldn’t drown out her orders.
Everyone was talking about the wedding. It was to be a large gathering, with many visitors from far-off places. And they were all expected to give the tsar gifts. Beyond that, Zima didn’t know much. Humans had so many odd names for very specific things, it was hard to keep track.
The day was long, and it was exhausting work. Everyone in the kitchen seemed overwhelmed with the number of tasks to be done. There were six people in all besides Zima and Lubov, and each seemed to have their own special assignment. The foods were more complex than Zima could ever have imagined. She watched in wonder as they combined vegetables, meats, and herbs in a pot to form stew, or when powders and milk were placed into an oven and then emerged as a solid loaf.
The smells were so enticing they made Zima’s knees weak. She hadn’t had anything in days other than the raw roots in Baba Yaga’s hut. But when she tried to eat some of the food being made, Lubov slapped her hand and ordered her to continue sweeping.
At last, it was the end of the day, and Lubov declared that they could sit down to their own meal. Zima’s chair groaned as she sank into it. Her joints throbbed. The others around the table looked tired but not nearly as exhausted as Zima felt. They chattered happily among themselves as Lubov circled the table, dishing a bright-red soup into the bowl placed before each person.
A gurgle erupted from Zima’s stomach. The steam drifted past her nose, bringing with it the scent of roots and wild onions.
As soon as the soup sloshed into Zima’s bowl, she plunged into it with her mouth. Scarlet drops flecked her face as she lashed at the soup with her tongue. The tip of her nose burned from the heat of the liquid, but she ignored it. She licked until there wasn’t a drop left in the bowl.
Suddenly the silence of the room pressed in on her ears. Zima raised her head. Each person at the table was staring at her, some with their mouths hanging open, some with barely contained grins that caused their chins to tremble.
The girl sitting next to Zima let out a small cough, and Zima looked up. She recognized her as the girl in charge of all the baking. She had golden hair, the color of honey or a bread’s crust, and her cheeks were always smudged with flour. The girl held up a spoon with a pointed look at Zima, dipped it into her soup, and took a sip from it.
Zima’s stomach dropped. She’d already done something wrong. The humans around the table all drank their soup in the same way, by dipping the utensil in the liquid and sipping. She fought the urge to stand from the table and rush out the door. They could probably all guess that she wasn’t human.
The others continued to stare at Zima as soup dripped from around her lips. The girl took a few more mouthfuls of her own soup before she snapped, “What are you all staring at? Haven’t you ever been hungry after a hard day?”
The others looked among themselves, eyebrows raised, shoulders shrugging, then one by one they returned to eating their meal.
Zima watched them all through her eyelashes. Her head was bowed. She wanted to dive under the table.
The girl nudged Zima’s arm with her elbow. “You’ll learn,” she said in a low voice, before swallowing again.
* * *
—
After supper everyone filed out of the kitchen into a dark corridor. Zima had one foot in the passage when the broom handle poked in front of her, barring her way.
She looked up into the stern scowl of Lubov, who held the broom and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at the enormous stacks of dirty dishes piled on the tables and counters.
“Your job,” Lubov said. “Get to it.”
With that, Lubov shoved her way past, nearly knocking Zima into the wall.
Zima stared at the mess. What was she supposed to do?
“You’ll need to get some water first,” said a voice.
Her whole body ached, and Zima could only turn very slowly to see who spoke. It was the girl with the golden hair who’d sat next to her at dinner. She passed Zima and made her way toward the door that led outside, picking up a bucket from a shelf. With a tilt of her head, she said, “Come, I’ll show you. It’ll be too much for one person…much easier with help.”
Much easier with help…like a wolf p
ack. It surprised Zima that sometimes humans realized this too. It had been strange being so alone in Baba Yaga’s hut.
The girl showed Zima how to pump water from a spout outside, then how to heat it over the fire. Lastly, they filled a tub with the dirty dishes, heated water, and soap, then with a rough brush scrubbed the pans clean.
“You do this every night?” Zima said, wiping away the damp strands of hair that clung to her forehead.
“It’s better if you clean as you go,” the girl said. “That way you don’t have to do them all at the end of the day.”
Zima bit back the urge to say that it seemed like a lot of mess that could be avoided if humans would eat their food as a wolf did. Then again, wolves didn’t get to enjoy fresh bread or heated soups. Maybe some things were worth the extra effort.
After a while, the girl began to hum as she scrubbed each dish clean. The humming was surprisingly pleasant. It filled the silence and somehow made the work feel less tedious.
“What is that?” Zima asked.
“What?” the girl said, a crease appearing between her brows.
“That sound.”
“Oh,” the girl said, understanding. “Does it bother you? It’s a song my grandmother used to sing.”
Zima shook her head. “No, it’s nice. Can you do it again?”
The girl’s lips parted and instead of speaking, her voice made a beautiful sound, like the call of birds at sunrise. Zima didn’t know human voices could do that. The sound rose and fell, twisted and flowed with all the smoothness of a stream. And the words themselves told a story of someone unable to sleep, looking to the moon on a clear night and waiting at the window for a loved one. The meaning made Zima’s insides soft, like her bones had turned to slush. It was how she felt when she looked at the moon sometimes, wishing her parents were still at her side, wishing that Grom hadn’t changed so much, wishing that her family could feel safe from the dangers of the forest and the humans and Baba Yaga.
