"Desire must not touch you during the course of your journey, or you will fail," he said. He closed his eyes, hummed, and then opened them. The gray was gone. He let out a shaky breath, his face clammy now. She raised her eyebrows. That was all? Even for Zharva, that prophecy had been unusually short and vague. He caught her brooding look and cocked his head to the side. "What?"
"How boring," she said. "You think they would come with more fanfare, those prophecies of yours."
He gave her a flat look, letting go of her hand to stand. "Sorry to disappoint." He shrugged out his cloak, the black fabric whirling like ash and shadow around his feet. "Remember my advice, and good luck on your journey, Katerini."
"Thank you, Zharva. I hope no harm will come to your sisters," she replied. She meant it. She did not envy Zharva the task of taking care of the twins, not when they were in the throes of foresight. He clasped hands with her once more, clapping her on the back too, before moving through the crowd.
Her mind whirled as Zharva departed after his sisters. Desire? Her eyes flicked to Nikolai as the doors to the tavern slammed shut. Nikolai paused as he lifted his drink, his lips parted, whispering against the edge of the tankard. They stared at each other until Katerini looked away. Strange, he was so strange. Those eyes of his, the way they glittered and shimmered like sparkling rocks—she twisted her mouth. How did Zharva expect her to trust him so easily? Nikolai's behavior confused her. He spoke to her with a baffling patience, like he was waiting for her to do something. She had expected him to introduce himself to Zharva, irritatingly jovial and royal. Instead he only watched. Drank, and watched. She had felt his gaze on them the entire time and it made her skin itch.
Desire.
Why desire? Desire for what, of course, was the question—yet she felt it was obvious what kind of desire. For days, weeks, possibly months, she and Nikolai would be together. No one else. Desire. Katerini snorted. Likely she'd smother him before she'd ever feel a drop of desire for him. She'd never felt that way in her life. Not once. The thought of such intimacy revolted her.
Still.
The danger in prophecies was the tendency to underestimate them. They were a break in a vision of the future, a point in time riddled with so many possibilities, all of them hinging on the outcome of a single moment or choice. It was impossible to tell which future would come to fruition. Katerini looked at her hands. Clenched them into fists. She would heed the prophecy. Only fools ignored them.
"Desire," she muttered, then scoffed. Next to her, Vasiliy shifted and placed a hand over hers. Her head snapped up and she spat, "What in the six deaths are you doing?! Get off me!"
He blinked, then—to her utter amazement—smiled.
"Katerini," Porfiry said.
She swiveled her head to look at him, demanding, "What is he doing?!"
"Katerini," he said again, an edge of exasperation in his tone.
"What?" she snapped.
"I have no inclinations."
Katerini blinked. Narrowed her eyes. "What?"
He sighed and she wanted to hit him. "I have no inclinations or desires to bed others, Katerini," he said, much slower this time, as if she wouldn't understand.
Which was good, because she didn't. She scoffed in disbelief. "Excuse me, dear brother? You have two lovers, Vasiliy and Alexey. Not one, but two." She yanked her hand out from under Vasiliy's and held up two fingers to emphasize. Wiggled them in his face.
"Alexey is an exception, as is Vasiliy." He waved her hand away with an irritated look. "Both took time, and convincing." He glanced away, and she saw the tightness in his features. "You insist demons and humans are different, Katerini, but desire is much the same between the both of us. And I lack it. I am more than content to watch, though I participate when asked. It is not unpleasant."
Katerini choked and went red. Scowling, she hissed, "Information I never wanted to know." She shot a glare at Vasiliy for good measure. He blinked.
Porfiry touched her cheek with a sharp finger and she jerked, looking at him in disbelief. "Do you understand? I have heard others speak of your disinterest. You may think you are safe, Katerini, however a prophecy is not a mere trifle to—"
"I know!" she snapped. "Besides, more than one way exists to interpret the vagaries of a prophecy, dear brother. I am not a child—"
"You are an arrogant human!" he hissed, embedding his nails into the table. The black pools of his eyes threatened to drown her. "Every word of a prophecy can be interpreted into a thousand different paths, yet all are binding. For a human, a demon, even a deity—" She hunched down in her seat. "Katerini!"
"I am listening!" she retorted. She folded her arms. "And I know. Why does no one understand that I know? Prophecies are spiteful things. What you least expect them to be, they become."
Porfiry leaned back to appraise her. "Vasiliy and Alexey are special," he said quietly. "I desire them, only them, though not quite in the same way they desire me. Sometimes this desire exhausts me," he admitted. "However, when I look at others I feel nothing. You are the same as me. You feel nothing."
Katerini sighed. "Perhaps I am more demon than human."
Porfiry smiled, his sharp teeth gleaming in the firelight. "Is it so terrible? Demons do what they will to make themselves happy." Vasiliy nodded in agreement.
She sneered. "You said you heard the others speak of me—then you know what they say." She hunched her shoulders. "I have never thought it was wrong, or alienating, or even odd. Yet my unwillingness has garnered me scorn on more than one occasion."
"Human pettiness. You are Katerini Gorchev, the most ferocious of the Darkrow. Your father gave his life for Zhakieve, your brothers are demons, the Blue Emperor himself calls you friend, and the other Darkrow look to you as an example of greatness." Porfiry smirked. "Those who scorn you look at you like a prize, and when you refuse to act like one, they run away spitting insults like tears."
Vasiliy chuckled beside her, whispering, "Pathetic."
Porfiry reached out to touch her cheek again. Katerini held still as he traced down to her jawline. "You are not heartless. You may experience what I have, or you may never." She heard the doors of the tavern open. "You know love, Katerini. You are loved and you love. Your father loved you. Darkrow Zharva loves you, His Illustrious Majesty too, even we—" He looked up, his hand receding into the folds of his cloak.
"Darkrow Porfiry, Vasiliy," a familiar voice greeted. Katerini turned to see Aleksandra, her hood dusted with snow crystals. "I have received orders. I am to accompany you back to Kalinstad. Darkrow Alexey will swear his oath under me. The Blue Emperor bids we may leave now."
Katerini saw the fury in their eyes. Even she was surprised. This was a blatant display of distrust on Ilya's part. She recalled the hesitant look on his face, a moment before demanding reports from them, as if he had wanted to say more. Well, wasn't he sly. Bah. She had to admit it was a wise move on Ilya's part to send a Darkrow to ensure the oath was properly taken. Even wiser to send Aleksandra, who shared an odd connection with Vasiliy, and whom Porfiry and Vasiliy would not refuse. Katerini glanced at her siblings. Porfiry was too angry to speak and Vasiliy's jaw ticked. She smirked. A very wise move. Aleksandra noticed their displeasure, her gloomy expression turning severe.
"I do not like it any more than you, Darkrow, as I have never traveled in Lonely Winter," she said. "Nor am I a demon—or a Gorchev. You are to escort me to Liygena afterwards. Then you may do as you please until New Spring, when you will receive your first assignments as wandering Darkrow."
Porfiry managed to unclench his jaw long enough to say, "Who is to teach him in New Spring then? Training a Darkrow takes years."
Aleksandra slid her eyes to Katerini.
Cursing, Katerini kicked the table so hard it skittered backwards, toppling over with a bang. "Bah! Does he know what I did to—"
"He knows quite well, and he'll thank you to accept your punishment gracefully," Aleksandra interjected. Katerini scowled. "Shall we depart, Da
rkrow Porfiry, Vasiliy?" She didn't wait for their answers. She turned and left the tavern, snowflakes bursting through the open doors to scatter across the floor. They glistened like wet glass as they melted.
"I shall have words with Ilya," Katerini said after a moment of silence. She didn't look at Porfiry and Vasiliy, though she felt their eyes on her. "I do not see how Alexey will be at ease as my student."
She heard a quiet sigh and looked at them. Porfiry wore the same pained expression he had during their quarrel earlier, and Katerini shifted uncomfortably. Again with that stupid face. If he had something to say, he should just say it instead of wearing such a ridiculous expression. Bah! The both of them, in fact, because Vasiliy looked mournful around the edges. Damn mute. She was about to shout at them to leave already when they abruptly stood, their faces settling down into the usual vagueness. Katerini stiffened when Porfiry leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Safe journey, Katerini. Remember my words. Be vigilant."
"Safe journey," Vasiliy whispered, kissing her cheek as well.
She watched them leave. The other Darkrow scurried out of their way, black cloaks billowing and whirling like smoke and ash. Nikolai emerged from those shadows, gloved hands wrapped tightly around two pretty glass cups. He flicked a finger, and the kicked table sprang up and scuttled back to its original position. Vasiliy's chair spun in circles until it was on the other side of the table, Nikolai seating himself across from her and placing the cups down. They were delicate, fissures like stars blown into the glass, expertly crafted. The dark liquid only enhanced the effect. Katerini stared at them, admiring the little details. What in the six deaths were two such gorgeous glasses doing in a tavern like this? Completely out of place. Like her.
"Black tea," he said. He pushed a glass towards her. Even after he let go, the cup inched forward until she snatched it off the table. She felt the snags of his magic on her fingers like cobwebs and sneered, disgust in the curve of her mouth. Nikolai sipped his tea and watched her.
"Why do you do that?" she demanded.
He tipped his head to the side. "What do you think I do?"
Think? She nearly upended the tea on his head. Think. Bah! Two glasses. He had never meant to bring Porfiry and Vasiliy a drink. She almost kicked the table, just to see his reaction. Because she knew when she was being observed, and Nikolai was doing exactly that.
"You are friendly until you are not." She rested a foot on the edge of the table, her knee bent practically to her nose. Slowly, the table scooted into Nikolai's stomach. He grinned at her. "I'm not stupid."
"No, you are not," he replied. Then he was sitting next to her in Porfiry's seat, the table knocking the empty chair to the ground with a clatter. She stiffened as he leaned against her, her hair tugged by the movement. "You are vicious, and smart. I see I chose the right partner for this mission. Shall we discuss the details while we wait?"
She frowned. Chose? Ilya assigned her to this mission.
He turned away from her, setting his glass down on the table, and fetched something from the folds of his cloak. A spindle, the same pen-like one from yesterday. It was much bulkier with newly spun thread. Did he do it all the time? She supposed this was his other role, like hers was glass master. Hmph. She watched him work for a moment. She hadn't realized how long the spindle was in Ilya's great chamber. It was easily the length of her forearm, the thread shimmering a faint ice-blue. He produced a small bundle of fleece and set it on the table, balancing the fat end of the spindle on its point. He was fast, joining the fleece and thread together, and twisting his fingers in motions so obviously familiar it was second nature. Much better than Alexey, who—
She breathed in sharply, the guilt making her stomach hurt. Searching for something to distract herself, she said, "Zharva gave me a prophecy. About the mission."
"Oh?" Nikolai stopped and pushed down the thread. Once he was satisfied, he began twisting the spindle again. She waited. Was he not curious? She huffed when he still did and said nothing beyond his spinning. He glanced at her and grinned. "Yes, Darkrow Katerini?"
Her eye twitched. She stomped her foot back onto the ground, the table shaking from the force. He is royalty, she reminded herself. A measure of respect had to be shown. Taking a deep breath, she said in clipped tones, "You are sly, Darkrow Nikolai, and I do not like cunning. I do not understand it."
"Ah," Nikolai replied. He reached out a hand and grabbed her chin, turning her face towards him. "You will not like me very much then." She narrowed her eyes in outrage. He let go of her chin with a chuckle and turned back to spinning. "You read the letters."
"Yes," she grunted. "Boring." And pitiful. She had stayed awake late into the night to skim through the letters, reserving an empty parlor room expressly for the task and falling asleep on the white divan when she finished. She had left the letters scattered on the floor, the paper crunching underneath her boots as she departed. She didn't think much of them.
The letters to Bravka reeked of desperation. Pathetic. They dated quite a while back, nearly a decade, and the relatives had insisted Bravka hear out their request. Well, one relative in particular. A young man—Katerini didn't bother with names—and despairing when the letters began. Bravka was unwilling. He did not want to meet with his lost kin, felt there was no merit. Not uncommon. Many Darkrow lost contact with their kin. Zharva was a very rare exception.
An odd breach in time existed within the letters, several years in length. When they resumed, they were different. It seemed Bravka had been accosted by the young man directly at some point and, though his reluctance stayed, he had agreed to arrange a meeting with the rest of the family. The letters had continued with detailed plans and descriptions of every family member right up until Bravka's departure.
"Boring?" Nikolai repeated. His grin fell away. "Yet you read them. Did nothing strike you as odd?"
"Yes!" She threw up her hands. "I did not need those pitiful letters to make me aware, Darkrow Nikolai, that something is wrong. I said so from the beginning. You ignored me. You think I wanted to waste a good night's sleep reading those idiotic letters? Yet I did. You asked me to and I listen to my partners. They were disgraceful. My opinion is unchanged. Bravka was lying through his teeth to the Blue Emperor and anyone paying attention would have noticed."
Nikolai sighed. "Yes. I am properly scolded."
She grunted.
They both knew why no one had noticed the subtle betrayal. No one would think to question Bravka. Old, wise, trusted Bravka. The Darkrow of Zhakieva. Katerini did not care to delve too deeply into his deception. The why of this particular question was beyond her. Her task was to track him down and drag him back to the Palace of Pale Stars. Daunting enough as it was, what with Lonely Winter roaring throughout all of Zhakieve. She glanced at Nikolai. And a partner who was confounding.
"My, my, such a serious expression, Kolya," a raspy voice said beside her. Katerini looked up at a petite man with delicate features, a gloved hand resting on the back of her chair. His Darkrow uniform was sleek black fox fur and in the other hand he held a ledger. He was stunning in a quiet way. His hair was dark and curly, tawny brown eyes round. His dusky skin winked with gold in the dim lighting of the tavern, and his lips were curved in a coy smile. When he met her gaze, he winked. "I am Darkrow Gavrila Chornish-Drost. Chornish, if you please, Darkrow Katerini. I have come to say goodbye to my wandering half."
Katerini blinked.
So this was Nikolai's important person.
A smile bloomed on Nikolai's face. "Gavrila."
Chornish let out a breathy laugh, saying to Katerini, "I am the same as you—Nikolai and I have known each other since we were children, before we were Darkrow." Katerini drew her head back, regarding Chornish as he spoke. "Do not let his sudden silences disturb you, Darkrow Katerini. Kolya picks and chooses when and what he will say. He also has this way of pushing people about—"
"—without them realizing, yes. Ilya does the same thing. Makes a person feel very small. I suspect i
t's a royalty trait," she said. Nikolai grinned, his fingers drawing the fleece thinner before twisting the spindle again. "Do not worry, Darkrow Chornish. I know how to handle myself against overbearing royalty."
Chornish gave another breathy laugh. "Of course, Darkrow Katerini." He walked around the table and Nikolai turned to him immediately, reaching up with both hands to pull Chornish down onto his lap. The spindle wobbled, continuing to turn slowly. Magic, she thought. A waste of it. Unusual for a wandering Darkrow. Nikolai clasped Chornish in an amorous embrace. Katerini looked away, scowling.
She was not the same as Chornish.
"Goodbye, Kolya, and good luck," she heard Chornish whisper. "Return to me." A hand fell on her shoulder and she turned back to them. "Take care of my Kolya, Darkrow Katerini. He is stupid and reckless if you stare hard enough."
Katerini blinked. Nodded.
Chornish focused on Nikolai once again, kissing him deeply. "Try not to be stupid and reckless, Kolya."
"Try not to forget me," Nikolai chuckled in reply. "Last time I left, you ran through bedmates like fleece through a spinning wheel. I came back to a string of broken hearts and impassioned suitors demanding duels."
Chornish laughed. "Try to pretend you were jealous, Kolya, and I'll pretend I was sorry. Now do you love me or will I have to guess?"
"I love you, Gavrila. Thank you for agreeing to see me off. I know it is a hard journey from Vanka," Nikolai replied. Katerini tipped her head to the side, Nikolai catching her questioning look. "Yes, I did not explain very well, did I? I did not want to leave without saying goodbye to Gavrila." She pursed her lips. Did he think she would have denied him such a request? She wasn't heartless—the conversation with Porfiry rang in her head, and she stifled a snarl, pinching her lips together and nodding at Nikolai instead.
She was not such a monster as to belittle him for this. Besides, she had done much the same. Zharva had come to see her off. Personally, Katerini did not like to depart for a mission without seeing Ilya at least once, even as briefly as Nikolai was now seeing Chornish. She understood perfectly his desire to—she swallowed.
Breakfire's Glass Page 4
