by Megan Derr
"No, but the High Priest and Lord Krasny did," Ivan said. "I still don't see what these fish have to do with the matter."
"Forgiveness," Shinju said quietly. "We are earning forgiveness by protecting Zhar Ptitsa."
Ivan lifted one brow at that. "You're protecting Holy Zhar Ptitsa by ensuring he dies?"
Shio laughed mockingly and looked at all of them with contempt. "I am amazed at the stupidity of this country. Do you really think that throwing the pieces of a god of fire and rebirth into his own holy flames is going to kill him?"
It was the second time they'd said that, and as much as he hated it, Ivan had a hard time refuting their logic. "You think the High Priest is the original Priest of Ashes and that he is trying to bring Holy Zhar Ptitsa back to life."
"We don't think it, we know it," Shinju said. "But someone else is trying to prevent the sacrifices, and that would be a tragedy. We came to ensure that all goes as it should."
"This matter is entirely too hot for us to handle," Ivan said and signaled to his men. "We're not priests, we're not nobles, and we don't get involved with the affairs of gods. Give me one good reason I shouldn't slit your throats right now and leave you for your sisters to find and enjoy as a snack."
Shio met his gaze and said, "Raz would never forgive you if you killed us."
"You killed Pechal after tricking him into thinking you were helping. That is what baffles me the most. Why did you not turn them both over back in the Heart when the hunters were right there?"
The mermaids both flinched and looked away—looked guilty. "We—faltered," Shio admitted after the silence had stretched on. Looking up, she glared at him, eyes bright with what Ivan almost thought were real tears. "Whatever you think, we don't enjoy what we must do. We love Raz, and we loved Pechal. But we had to do it, because Holy Zhar Ptitsa matters more than us."
Ivan made a face and stepped back. "Well, stay away from RAz from here on. Whatever is going to happen, the choice belongs to Raz. If you try to hurt him, I will slit your throats."
He turned sharply on his heel and strode out, his men following him. "Luka, tell Mina to send someone to cut them loose in a few hours. Pay her."
"You got it, boss," Luka said as they reached the main floor, slipping away to speak with her.
Outside, back on the street, Ivan folded his arms across his chest and regarded his men. "Has anyone been able to find Raz or heard anything about him?"
"Some guards said they saw someone fitting his description leaving the city just after the gates opened this morning. Horseback, so probably traveling a good distance. Maybe back through the woods?"
"He could be trying for a different city along the coast," Isidor said thoughtfully, idly scratching one scruffy cheek. "Any ship still floating is heading up or down the coast, depending on size of the ship and room available. I'd put my money on the sea."
Ivan made a face. "We'll split up. Maksim, Gleb, you go south. Isidor, Ferapont, north. Someone tell Luka to remain here as our center. I'll go through the woods."
"I'll come with you," Ailill said.
"Shouldn't you be going home?" Ivan asked, surprised but more pleased than he wanted to admit even to himself.
Ailill shrugged. "I'm curious now as to what is really going on here, and I have time enough to get home. Shall we journey through the woods then?"
"We shall," Ivan said and turned back to his men. "Fire warm and guide you. We meet back here in three days. Contact Luka if you'll be longer."
"Fire warm and guide, boss," Gleb replied before they parted ways and went in search of Raz.
Chapter Thirteen: Death
"Holiness! Holiness!"
"What?" Dym said as he sat up in bed, woken by the sound of the main door to his chamber slamming open. "What is wrong?"
"Princess Sonya says you must come at once."
Dym did not bother to ask why. Princess Sonya would not have told the priest why, but nobody needed to ask why she would summon him in the dead of night.
Heavy-hearted, Dym climbed out of bed and pulled on his black dressing rob, belting it shut and sliding the keys he'd tucked beneath his pillow into one pocket. "Wait in the sanctuary," he told the priest. "Or go back to bed, if you prefer. I will return in due course."
Not waiting for a reply, he shoved his feet into slippers and made his way quickly out of the cathedral and through the palace to the royal chambers. When he entered, Sonya was sitting on the sofa in the sitting room, sobbing. Krasny stood by the window nearby with his back to the room.
Zholty was nowhere to be seen, which meant he was probably still on his way. Dym left Sonya and Krasny alone for the moment and crossed the sitting room to slip into the bedroom. Inside, the room was dark save for a lamp on the bedside table, but that little light was all he needed to confirm what he had already known.
Crossing to the bed, Dym lightly touched the Tsar's face, his cheeks, his eyes, and then bent and kissed his forehead. "From fire born and to fire given to be born again. Fire warm your soul and guide it to the next life, Zarya."
Nodding to the guards set to watch over the Tsar's body, Dym returned to the sitting room and sat beside Sonya, holding her tightly when she fell into his arms and cried. Across the room, sitting at a table where Dym had once shared many meals with Sonya and the Tsar, the witnesses to the marriage quietly cried. One of them caught Dym's eye, mouth taking on a grim set, and Dym only nodded. They all knew the trouble that was about to arrive.
As though realizing Dym's thoughts, the door opened and Zholty stepped in. Dym could not help but note that where the rest of them were dressed casually—even Sonya wore only a heavy, modest dressing robe over her sleeping gown and Krasny was in little more than breeches, stockings, and shirt—Zholty was completely dressed. He looked almost as though he were about to go to dinner.
For someone whose ambitions had carried him to the threshold of Tsar, Zholty was remarkably stupid. He strode toward the sofa. "So it's true?" he asked Dym. Dym just stared at him coldly.
At the window, Krasny turned, and Dym wondered what it cost him to maintain that cold demeanor when he must have been in even more agony than Sonya. "Zholty. Good of you to show up already dressed for the funeral. Have you had that attire set out, just waiting for this moment?"
"Do not be absurd."
"I promise you I am not," Krasny replied, voice the most frigid Dym had ever heard it. "Could you not even extend your scorching condolences before you said or did anything else? Could you not have at least had the decency to show up within seconds of being summoned?"
"Stop it!" Sonya said, pushing away from Dym. "My brother is dead and you're both fighting? Stop it, or I will throw you both out."
Krasny turned away to face the window again. Zholty knelt in front of Sonya and took her hands. "I am sorry, my dear. Of course I extend my condolences. I am sorry you must go through this."
Sonya nodded and indicated Zholty should sit next to her. Dym surrendered his seat, not wanting to overcrowd them, and joined Krasny at the window. Krasny glanced at him, gave the barest nod of thanks, and then resumed staring out at the night.
"We will not announce it to the kingdom until morning," Sonya eventually said into the heavy silence. "Kolya, did you want to do it, or shall I? We will hold the crowning ceremony the day after, unless you think we should do it sooner."
Zholty frowned. "I think there is no point in a crowning until after the wedding, don't you think? It would be in extremely poor taste to marry before the mourning period had ended."
"She doesn't mean you," Krasny said, turning around and moving to stand in front of the sofa. He held out his right hand, which had not been visible until that moment. Lamplight glinted off the dark rubi ring on his second finger: the ring of the Tsar. As Zarya's cousin, there was royal blood in his veins which meant that Krasny was fit to become Tsar rather than merely consort.
Dym joined him, keeping spells at the edge of his mind, ready to use them in a moment should Zholty try someth
ing stupid. "What in the scorching Fires!" Zholty demanded, surging to his feet. "What are you doing with the Tsar's ring?"
"He gave it to me when he married me," Krasny said, and if anyone noticed the way his voice broke slightly when he spoke, no one remarked upon it
"Married you," Zholty said scathingly. "What game are you playing at Krasny? Everyone in this country knows you despise him. You would not even speak to him."
"I was with him when he died!" Krasny snarled, voice breaking again. "He married me three days ago. The High Priest performed the ceremony; Sonya and those three there stood as witness. The paperwork is filed and binding. Sit down, Zholty, you're upsetting Sonya."
"You scheming bastard," Zholty hissed.
"That is an interesting accusation coming from you," Krasny said coldly. "Sit down or I will be more than happy to strip you of everything you own, Minister."
Zholty sat, hate pouring off of him in waves. Beside him, Sonya was crying again, but quietly, which somehow seemed worse than her loud sobs from earlier. Dym did not relax, keeping his eyes on Zholty even when the door opened, and he heard the royal healer's voice. "My apologies for being late," he murmured. Dym did not hear the rest of his explanation, only noted that Krasny did not seem upset about it.
Krasny withdrew to join the healer while he examined the Tsar's body.
"Did he really marry the Tsar?" Zholty demanded. "They hated each other."
"No, they loved each other," Dym said softly. "Sometimes, however, that just isn't enough." Raising his voice, he looked to Sonya and asked, "Princess, shall I call for tea for you?"
Sonya looked at him gratefully. "Yes, please. I certainly shall not be sleeping tonight."
Dym nodded and summoned one of the guards standing by the main door. "Rouse a servant and see that tea and refreshment is brought for everyone in the room. Do not gossip."
"Yes, Holiness," the guard said, and he bowed low before slipping from the room. Silence fell again, and Dym moved to stand by the window, knowing that if he continued to loom Zholty would only grow increasingly hostile. He glanced out the window, noting that the sky had turned the barest hazy gray around the edges. Dawn was approaching far too swiftly.
The door to the bed chamber opened, and they all turned. Krasny looked at Sonya, looked at Dym, and gestured ever so faintly with his head, ordering them into the room. Dym obediently went, giving Sonya his arm. She took it gratefully, offering him a wobbly smile.
Krasny closed the bedroom door behind them, and then locked it. "Come look at this," he said quietly and led the way to the bed. The lamp had been turned up, and the other three in the room had been turned on as well. Dym immediately saw the problem: the healer had made a small cut to draw blood to do a final test for poison. It was standard practice when a Tsar died.
No test would be needed, however, because the Tsar's blood was black—completely, unmistakably black. "It was not black a few days ago," the healer said. "I drew blood to test yet again because I thought eventually something must show. But this—I have never heard of this!" He was pale, hand trembling, and it was not hard for Dym to quietly move him out of the way and take his place. He touched his finger to the black blood, rubbed finger and thumb together, and smelled it.
"I do not suppose you know something?" Krasny asked.
"No," Dym replied quietly. "I have seen a great deal and read or heard about still more, but I know nothing about blood turning black in death. Definitely poison, however. I do not think any illness would do this."
Sonya sobbed, and then choked it off. "My brother was murdered, after all. We always suspected, but we could never find a trace! What sort of horrible poison gave him a slow death and did that to him in the end? What did—" She cut herself off, recalling the healer.
Krasny dismissed him, unlocking the door and locking it again when he had gone. Leaning against it, he folded his arms over his chest. "We need to do something about Zholty."
"We still have no evidence, not even the mercenary," Dym replied.
"I am still annoyed they escaped," Krasny groused, reaching up to rub his forehead with one hand. "I put a very powerful spell on those cells; no one but you or I had the ability and knowledge to break it. So who did it? Zholty? That makes no sense; he would have simply killed them."
Dym shook his head, though he knew very well who had let them out: Raz was the only one who could have done it.
Raz ...
His gut twisted just thinking about it. Raz had kissed him. Eminence had kissed him. Dym fought back the emotions that tried to well up again, the ones that had made it impossible to go back to sleep that night.
Why had Eminence kissed him? Dym had yearned for such attentions from Eminence far more times than he could count, had watched and wished and ultimately returned to his duties. Why would Holy Zhar Ptitsa ever regard his Priest of Ashes in such fashion? No, Eminence had always disapproved of the way his brothers and sisters took mortal lovers; whether it was for a night or for an age, Eminence had thought it trouble waiting to happen.
Eminence never would have kissed him, so why had Raz? Clearly he was confused about something, but that wasn't uncommon when someone recalled his past life memories. But it hurt, cut so deep he could barely breathe, to admit that Eminence did not really want him. Eventually, he would remember why looking at Dym caused him pain and that reason would not lead to kisses.
"So what do you suggest, Dym?"
He looked up, drawn from his thoughts and ashamed he had indulged in them when there were far more important matters. "I do not think there is much we can do until Zholty finally steps into the light of the flames."
Krasny grunted. "I wish he would do it soon before more people are hurt. I am half tempted to lock him up anyway just on suspicion and because I can."
"Don't cause trouble, Kolya. Don't we have enough right now? Zarya is dead, and we still must find and kill the last Vessel."
Nodding, Krasny stepped close and embraced her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Should I call you cousin or sister now, hmm?"
"Douse it," Sonya said, eliciting smiles from both men with her unusual use of crude language. "Let us go soothe my fiancé's feathers since I am stuck with him until he is hanged or a suitable time has passed. Krasny, are you going to speak at the burning?"
Krasny sighed. "I suppose I must." He lifted his hand, stared at the heavy ring on it, and then let his hand fall.
Sonya reached out and took it, running her hand over the rubi. "You'll be a good, Tsar, Kolya. You always should have been; we all knew that."
"Indeed," Krasny said, slightly bitter, but mostly just sad. He pulled his hand free and unlocked the bedroom door and slipped away. Dym could hear him speaking to everyone else in the room.
He took Sonya's hands and asked, "How are you?"
"Not well at all, but in some small way, it is at last a relief he is no longer suffering. I hope he is happier is his next life than he was in this one. He was never really happy, torn between too many things, not willing to take the one thing he really wanted. It is a shame."
"Yes, it is," Dym said. "But he will go to the fires having found some measure of peace, and so much suffering deserves happiness in rebirth. So fret not, dear princess. One day you will perhaps see a familiar smile and know that he finally found happiness."
Sonya sniffled, and then leaned up to kiss his cheek. "You always know the right thing to say, Dym. Thank you."
"I am happy to do what I can," Dym replied and tucked her arm into his before leading the way back out into the main room.
Only Zholty remained, stiff and angry as he stood all but toe-to-toe with Krasny. "Did you trick him into, Krasny? Force him?"
"He was my best friend," Krasny said coldly. "Just because you slink around like a filthy shadow does not mean all of us do. He loved—" His voice broke, and Krasny stood back, turning away. "Get out, Zholty. My husband is dead, and I have a burning ceremony to prepare. I have neither the time nor the inclination to endure you."
"We aren't finished!" Zholty snarled. "Don't you think people are going to find it mighty suspicious that after years of antagonism you suddenly wind up married to him? No one will believe it and rightly so. Fire and ash, you should not be Tsar!"
Krasny whipped around, eyes flashing as he stepped closer, grabbed Zholty by the front of his jacket, and yanked him so close they were nose to nose. "Shut. Your. Mouth."
Zholty's mouth pinched together, and Krasny let him go, throwing him to the floor. "Get out," Krasny repeated. "Do not show your face until the burning ceremony. If you try anything I will not hesitate to throw you into the fire with Zarya."
He turned away and started to speak to Sonya when Zholty moved—faster than Dym expected, faster than he should have been able to. His eyes glowed—violet.
Dym moved in front of Krasny and threw out his arms, throwing all of his power into a barricade. Zholty's spell struck him just as the barricade took, sucking the air out of Dym's lungs, knocking his feet out from under him, and making the world go hazy and dim at the edges. Dym tried to move, but he could barely even open his eyes, weak from the spell and from the magic he'd used—but his barricade had held. That was all that mattered.
Krasny roared and summoned a spell of his own, but even as he cast it, Zholty was gone, the door gaping wide behind him, and the four guards knocked out cold on the floor. Possibly dead, but Dym couldn't tell.
He tried to move again, heard someone call his name, and then knew nothing more.
*~*~*
Dym woke to darkness, and after a moment, realized he was in his own room. What had happened? He started sit up, but his head began to throb with pain. He lay back down, remembering all that had happened. No wonder his head hurt. Whatever spell Zholty had thrown, it had been meant to kill.
It froze Dym's blood to think what might have happened if he had not been there. Zholty ... was he misremembering, or had Zholty's eyes turned violet? That shouldn't have been possible; the sorcerers of Schatten were long dead or sealed away. How could any of their magic get through the barrier erected by Teufel himself?
