“I haven’t granted them forgiveness yet.”
He laughed to himself. “No, I suppose you have not.”
Dark clouds gathered at the bay’s mouth, far in the distance. Another blizzard on its way to shore. And with it, the Hessarians came again, no doubt hungering for retribution. But there was time still to prepare. Not nearly enough, but it would have to suffice.
Temenok Prison perched on its lonely hunk of rock, red and black stone crisp against the choppy gray sea. Katza fixed her gaze on its steep walls and tried to calm the thousand frantic thoughts churning through her mind.
I am tsarika. I am Russalka’s guardian and savior. I will do whatever it takes to keep my people free. To spare them from some foreign monster’s terror, and to spare them from my own. She hoisted her head high. I will not be a tyrant. I will not be a vengeful god. But I will be as any good ruler ought—defending my people to the last.
With a whisper and a chop of ice against the ship’s bow, another vision descended over her.
She stood in a clearing. Fear reached for her, fear that she was back in her old vision—that nothing had changed. But it had. The wolf was gone. She raised her hands and found them unbloodied. She searched around her, and found nothing to fear.
The last gasp of daylight sank behind heavy clouds as snow fell all around. Katza took a step forward into the snow, then another; it made scarcely a noise as she moved. Only the forest surrounded her.
And then she heard the peasants’ song.
Voices, distant voices, yet they echoed as if in a chapel. A sacred song swirled around her as the snow continued to fall.
For the earth and the sea, they sang. For the earth and the sea and the Russalka that was.
Katza took a step forward, then froze. Hairs rose on the back of her neck, a silent warning. She was being watched.
She spun and peered through the trees. Was that a glimmer of yellow? A pair of eyes? It was gone as quick as it had come. She took another step, searching, searching. The eyes darted in and out of her sight once more.
The wolf. It was stalking her.
But better to be stalked by it now than to be its death.
For the earth and the sea. The words filled Katza and poured through her veins. Raw. Unfiltered. Hungering. For the earth and sea of Russalka.
For the blood they spilled between them.
Katza halted. The wolf’s eyes drew nearer; the hairs on the back of her neck raised.
All her life, she had fought not to be a predator. But now, she had the distinct impression she had become prey.
For the blood they spilled between them.
And the blood they’ll spill again.
End Book One
Saints of Russalka, Book 2 will be available for preorder soon.
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This book wouldn’t have been possible without an amazing team of professionals, friends, and cheerleaders.
Emily Duncan, Sarah Taylor Woods, Ellen Goodlett, and Sarah Mattimiro, thank you for your incredible insights and silent screaming that helped shape that messy first draft. Ammi-Joan Paquette, for your critique and eternal championing.
Steph Kroll, for your tireless and brilliant editorial guidance and copy editing. Everyone should have an editor like you.
Merilliza Chan, for the utterly gorgeous artwork. I couldn’t ask for a better cover for Katza.
The whole NWY Anthology crew, and Maichan in particular, for kicking my ass in the best possible way to help me level up my book layout and formatting skills.
Dahlia Adler, Katie Locke, and Meghan Harker, for believing in me even (especially) when I didn’t. You are amazing, and I’m so grateful to know you.
Jason Shamblin, for your patience and unwavering confidence. (And also for convincing me to let someone else handle the shipping process this time around.)
And for all the angry girls. You deserve fairy tales, too.
Web of Frost (Saints of Russalka Book 1) Page 30
