Magic of Fire and Shadows

by Raye Wagner

  Scanning the room, she wondered what Lord Baine thought he would find? Her father’s study held very little of monetary value now, mostly just piles of musty papers of past negotiations, maps of the surrounding kingdoms, and shelves of old books. The paintings were gone as were the sculptures and carvings. The porcelain cats disappeared last month. There wasn’t much left, certainly not enough to fund Marika’s next gala.

  The duke set down the stone he’d been inspecting and picked up a carved bookend. Without glancing up, he snapped his fingers and said, “Fetch me a quill and ink.”

  She wanted to scoot out of the room, but there was no way to refuse him without drawing his undivided attention again.

  “Yes, sir,” she muttered under her breath. She would get him what he wanted and then sneak past him and out the door.

  She opened the drawer to her father’s bureau, and something heavy rattled at the back. She reached into the recesses of the drawer, her fingers brushing against an uneven metal . . . handle. She pulled the object forward, freezing when the light hit the precious dagger. Emeralds and sapphires twinkled up at her, and she brushed her fingers over the gem-encrusted hilt. She recognized the ceremonial knife awarded to Casimir by the king of Zelena after a trade negotiation, and his adopted daughter, Danica, had presented the weapon to Casimir. Vasi loved the story of her parent’s first meeting and stared at the precious heirloom. She’d thought the blade gone, and her heart pounded with excitement.

  “Vasilisa,” Lord Baine growled.

  Vasi started and glanced up to meet the duke’s narrowed, cold gaze across the room.

  “Ink and quill,” he demanded, holding out his hand. “Or do you want me to come and get it?”

  Vasi nodded and snatched several of her father’s quills from the drawer and a small bottle of ink from the desk. Glancing up once more, Vasi saw Lord Baine had again turned his attention to the bookshelf. Holding her breath, she pulled the knife from the drawer and slipped the blade into her apron pocket with the doll. Rounding the desk, she held out the ink and quills. “Here you are, sir.”

  Clutching a carved cube in one hand, he tapped the shelf next to him and said, “Put them here.”

  Vasi moved toward him, wary and slow, anxiety rising the closer she drew. When she could reach the shelf, she set the quills and ink pot down, curtsied shallowly, and then turned toward the door with relief.

  Just before she crossed the threshold, Lord Baine grabbed Vasi, his cold, clammy hand encircling her wrist. “Vasilisa.”

  The blood drained from her face. Had he seen her grab the knife? She gritted her teeth and struggled to pull free, but his grip tightened.

  “Let go,” she snapped, finally deigning to look at him. She recoiled from his lecherous attention and raised her voice. “Now.”

  He made a tsking sound. After another possessive squeeze, he released her arm. “I’m your future, Vasilisa. You should be more courteous to me.”

  Vasi stepped away, inching through the doorway as she picked her words carefully. “I have no idea why you would think that.”

  She didn’t wait for his dismissal but turned and ran, scurrying all the way down the stone-paved hall and into the great room, her chest heaving. She caught her breath and grinned. She’d not only escaped the Duke of Strasny but also rescued her family’s most valuable possession, right from under his nose. Now Marika wouldn’t be able to sell the knife. Vasi would sew it into her mattress and keep it there until her father returned. She stifled a laugh of triumph and then sobered as she thought of her stepmother putting her in the path of Lord Baine. The duke’s persistent advances were beyond troubling, and Vasi would need to devise a way to be far away whenever he called in the future.

  As Vasi approached the kitchen, the yeasty smell of baking bread and savory scent of roasted goose wafted out to greet her. Vasi’s mouth watered, and she ignored the knock on the front door. But a moment later, her mouth dried when she heard Roza squeal, “Give it here, right now.”

  Vasi blew out an exasperated breath and changed directions. Perhaps she could smooth over whatever was causing Roza to throw a fit. Hopefully. Because if Vasi didn’t, Roza’s unhappiness would be one more thing for Marika to be upset about.

  “Roza?” Vasi called, striding into the foyer. “What are you yelling . . .”

  Vasi stepped into the small entranceway in time to see her stepsister tear the sealed envelope from Brida’s hand. With a cackle of glee, the stunning brunette broke the seal. Her eyelids widened as she read the missive, and then she gasped.

  Vasi’s heart jumped when she recognized Beloch’s royal seal. “What is it? Is it about Father? Is he coming home soon?”

  She moved to take away the letter, but Roza clutched it to her breast. With an audible sigh, Roza’s features softened, and she said, “They’re coming to dine with us.”

  Vasi sagged against the wall, her hope dashed. Weeks had passed without a letter from her papa or even news regarding his whereabouts from the tsar. If the letter didn’t have anything to do with her papa, Vasi truly didn’t care about the contents. Swallowing her disappointment, she ran outside after the messenger, desperate for any scrap of news. Perhaps he would know something, anything, more.

  Vasi blinked as her eyes adjusted to the sun. The once smooth stone of their landing was chipped and uneven, but Vasi disregarded the discomfort through her worn slippers as she raced down the stairs. The royal servant had been on horseback, and he’d cleared their lands before Vasi even reached the carriageway.

  Dejected, Vasilisa turned to go back inside, her gaze skimming over the city of Rizy, then the rolling hills of her father’s land, and finally stuck on the old trees of the Ctyri Forest where Vasi’s happiest childhood memories resided. Vasi and Danica had spent days among the trees, her mother weaving the legends of the djinn. Vasi wandered toward them, lost in the stories of her childhood.

  Vasi’s memories felt like yesterday. Danica and Vasi had wandered the overgrown pathways with bare feet, holding hands. As their feet squished into the mud, Vasi’s mother had knelt before her and, brushing back Vasi’s wild red curls, said, “Powerful djinn once lived in these woods, some as powerful as Death himself.” Danica’s hazel eyes shifted, looking deep into the shadows of the forest. “But the djinn didn’t honor the witches—offspring of immortals and humans—and a conflict arose between the races.”

  Vasi had yanked her mother’s hand. “Tell me about the witch. The one who was beautiful and kind.”

  “Ah, always the witch.” Her mother smiled. “The witch swore to protect mankind and unleashed the Phoenix Fire to protect the four kingdoms from fighting with one another. The Phoenix Fire was magic, created to separate enemies. The power ended an one hundred-year war, throwing the enemy armies out of each country. But . . .” She sighed. “Over time, mankind has always grown greedy and selfish, spoiled after being blessed with abundance for too long—”

  “Then The Four Horsemen come,” Vasi interrupted.

  “Exactly so. The Four Horsemen, the most powerful djinn, will always return. They rule Ctyri. They can be cruel or kind; never forget that. And it is only with help that they can save humanity. If you revere the djinn, my darling, they will listen when you call.”

  The echoes of Vasi’s memory faded as she leaned on a tree, soaking up the summer sun. Her mother had told so many stories, and Vasi believed them all.

  Her perspective changed after her father remarried when Marika ridiculed Vasi for her ignorance. Apparently, everyone but Vasi knew that occurrences like Zelena disappearing behind walls of vines was nature’s strange ways, and magic was nothing more than a parlor trick, weaker than science and definitely weaker than money.

  After that, Vasi paid attention, and she quickly learned the people of Beloch believed the woods held no djinn, the Phoenix Fire was a myth, the Horsemen were a yarn to frighten children, and the witch Baba Yaga was nothing more than a tall tale.

  Instead of returning to the house, Vasi skirted th
rough the edge of the woods on the hunt for treasure. As the sun dipped below the horizon, she gathered her basket of herbs and flowers and headed toward the kitchen garden. Sneaking in the back was the safest, especially around meal time.

  Supper would’ve been served already, so Vasilisa was surprised to see Brida hefting the silver soup tureen onto the counter and Cook slicing a glistening roasted pheasant.

  “Ach, where you been, miss? Lady Marika’s fuming ’bout you forgetting luncheon, and the tsar and his sons are wanting to talk with yer da.’ Come ‘ere thinking he’s returned,” Brida said, pushing back a wisp of unruly hair. “Marika has them in the solar, so you best not go in there now, or—”

  Vasi held up her hand. Interrupt her stepmother’s scheming? “Trust me, I know better. I’ll just step out for a bit longer. Do you mind saying I was on an errand for you, Cook?”

  Vasi slid the basket of herbs and edible flowers on the counter as a bribe. She pulled back a handful of green to show Cook she’d been lucky enough to find a cluster of truffles.

  Cook raised her eyebrows, and her lips curved into a smile when she spotted the tubers.

  “Did you know that Aksel prefers truffles?” Vasi asked. “Some say they’re one of the most sacred offerings for the dark djinni.”

  “That so?” Cook replied, her smile already melting away. “That something from yer ma?’”

  “Oh, yes, but there are dozens of stories about Aksel. They say he rescues the weak and punishes the wicked. I’ll give him one from all of us.” Vasi pinched the smallest truffle off the cluster and put it in her apron pocket, next to the doll. Vasilisa had hidden her father’s knife in her mattress; she was becoming adept at hiding. For an offering, she’d need to wait until Marika and Roza were asleep or out of the house. If Marika found out, she’d say that truffles were too valuable to waste on stone statues, most likely with a slap. Just the thought made Vasi want to run. “Well, I’ll be off.”

  “Aye,” Cook said, holding up a tray of rolls for Vasi. “But you best watch yerself. It’s dark now, so stay outta the woods, right?”

  Vasilisa nodded as she grabbed two buns and then stuffed one in her mouth so she could grab a third. With a wave of her hand, she walked back into the twilight.

  The warm bread was chewy and dense, filled with dried fruit and nuts. A slice of cheese would’ve added just enough to be the perfect meal, but Vasi didn’t want to risk Marika’s wrath. By morning, Marika would’ve moved on from her anger, finding new reasons to hate Vasi. New reasons hurt less than old ones.

  Vasi crept around the side of the manor, weaving her way through the shrubs and flowers. She hoped to crawl in through her window but paused when she heard mention of her father. Ducking behind the long hedge on the side of the house, Vasi crept toward the window of the solar.

  “Casimir is by far my best negotiator, but Temavy has been greedy before. No doubt they’ve lavished him with abundance, probably given him another princess and mountains of wealth so they could get the best terms. He should’ve been back by now. Long before now,” said the tsar. “But I’m sure you don’t wish to discuss politics, my dearest Marika. Your husband should be home soon, likely within the week. And I know he adores you, which is, I’m sure, what you really care about . . . I mean, how could he not adore you?” Tsar Baine’s voice was deep and confident, and Vasi lifted her head to peek in the window of Marika’s rooms.

  Marika perched on the edge of her chair, dressed in a silky shift and gauzy wrap. Her freshly dyed auburn hair piled atop her head in a mound of curls, and her green eyes sparkled in a way that meant she was plotting. Between Marika and the tsar sat a circular table, perfect for tea but ridiculously small for supper.

  The tsar’s back was to Vasi, so she could only see his oily hair, neatly trimmed, and his broad shoulders covered in his pressed uniform. Vasi grimaced at her sovereign. With her father traveling so frequently at the tsar’s insistence, she harbored a growing grudge against the leader of Beloch.

  “I’m delighted to hear it,” Marika said, batting her eyelashes. “A woman has such need of a man. I know Casimir lives to serve you and Beloch.”

  “Yes. He is indispensable to many, including me. And we certainly have great need of a faithful negotiator in these troubling times.”

  Vasilisa shook her head upon hearing the tsar’s hypocrisy. He’d insulted Casimir’s constancy and integrity, only to compliment it a minute later.

  “Oh! I beg your pardon, Your Majesty.” She touched his gloved hand with one of her own. “I didn’t mean to pry—”

  The tsar waved away her apologies and reached for his wine. “You did nothing of the sort. And I owe you a debt of gratitude for letting us impinge on your evening.” He glanced at Roza and then back to Marika. “And you’re both such beautiful company.”

  Marika giggled.

  Two guards stood at the door and another to the side of the tsar. Roza sat on the settee, frowning while she picked at something in her lap.

  Vasi ducked away from the window, fighting a grin. One phrase from Tsar Baine was her sole focus, and hope that had lain dormant surged from within. Her father was coming home in a week’s time. Excitement bubbled up, and she pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh with happiness.

  Turn around.

  “I’m not mad,” Vasi whispered. Though, she was yet again hearing a voice others couldn’t hear and talking to herself.

  Turn around. A boy is watching you.

  Vasilisa spun away from the window and yelped in surprise when she saw a uniformed guard.

  9

  Vasi slapped her hands over her mouth as she stared up at a young man peeking through the leaves. The thick shrubbery obscured his face, but her heart pounded as she recognized the uniform of the Royal Guard. She crouched low, hoping he hadn’t seen her, and scooted to the end of the hedge.

  He matched her pace then cleared his throat and asked, “Are you an assassin skulking there in the bush?”

  Rats.

  “No,” Vasi responded with a huff, peering through the hedge at the young man. Between the shadows and the shrubbery, she couldn’t see enough to distinguish any telling features, but the moonlight glinted off metallic decorations on his uniform, which could mean only one thing. Great, I’ve been caught by the Peacock Guard.

  The sons of the wealthy enjoyed playing at soldier, even going so far as to act official, usually during a parade or celebration. At least she hadn’t been caught by a real guard.

  Vasi kept her head bowed as she scooted out from behind the hedge. Thinking of this boy as a peacock did wonders to cool the heat in her cheeks as she pulled at her skirt, trying to detach a branch that held her hostage. The bush refused to let go, and Vasi’s image of a peacock dissolved with her frustration.

  Societal customs demanded she acknowledge the young man, so gritting her teeth, she gave up on her freedom and dropped into a perfunctory curtsy. She kept her head ducked and let her long auburn hair fall over her face. Perhaps, if he didn’t see her face, he wouldn’t report her. Her reasoning was pathetic, but she kept her face down all the same. Swallowing what little pride she had left, she said, “Sorry, sir. I’m not skulking—”

  “Are you spying then?” he asked with a note of amusement in his voice.

  “You found a spy?” another man asked in a deeper voice. “Finally, something interesting.”

  As Vasi peeked up at her accusers, she opened her mouth to snap a retort, but her words evaporated. Nikolai and Henryk stood a few feet from her. Vasi’s stomach flipped while humiliation stained her skin, and she dropped her chin to her chest, letting her hair fan forward again.

  “I not be spyin’, sirs,” she said in her best impression of Cook’s mountain accent, keeping her head bowed as she tried to give an impression of meekness typical of a servant. Maybe they hadn’t recognized her yet. “I . . . done dropped somethin’.” She gestured to the bush and cringed. The only way she could’ve dropped something behind the hedge was if sh
e was already behind it. She rushed to amend her statement. “It flew out of me hand, and I thought it must’ve gone back there, but maybe it didn’t.”

  Vasi’s heart skipped a beat as Nikolai crouched down before her and, reaching forward with a knife, cut the branch that still held her hem captive. Vasi hadn’t even realized he held a blade though she hadn’t really been looking either. Shame settled heavy on her shoulders at being found in dingy servant attire by the crown prince, and Vasi wished the earth would swallow her up.

  Still crouching, the crown prince looked up, his light-blue eyes twinkling, and asked, “What did you drop, Vasilisa? Perhaps we can help you find it. And why are you pretending to be a servant?”

  Double rats. She glanced at the other prince, and her stomach plummeted further.

  Henryk sidled up next to his brother.

  “Yes, do tell us . . . what did you drop?” Henryk asked. He quirked a brow, indicating he didn’t believe Vasi had dropped anything. He glanced down and frowned. When he again met her eyes, he was glaring, his features contorted with offense. “Are you pretending to be a gardener to avoid dinner with us?”

  Although Nikolai had been gracious at the ball, and Henryk had saved her from Lord Baine that night, she wasn’t friends with either of them. Months had passed since then too, and their paths hadn’t crossed. Until now. She’d spied on the tsar and lied to both of them—two very serious offenses—in a matter of minutes. Treason? Hopefully not, but if Marika found out, Vasi would definitely pay.

  Vasi studied the young men, her mind spinning. She didn’t see a cruel gleam in Nikolai’s eyes as he stood and tucked his knife into his belt. Quite the opposite, in fact. His handsome face was lit with humor, and the crown prince’s teasing smile was open and friendly although the humor had dimmed with Henryk’s comment.