by Raye Wagner
“I believe Queen Dimira has already done so, Highness.”
A muscle in Evzan’s jaw ticked, and his stony expression conveyed his disapproval of Dimira’s underhanded control.
“I’m going to see what happened.”
Evzan fell into step beside her. Both remained silent as they approached the throne room, but when Adaline veered toward the stables, Evzan grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt.
“Where are you going?” he whispered.
She smacked his hand. “I’m going to the stables. A peddler brought the bodies. I just want to see them. I want to know what happened.”
Not only did Evzan not release her, his grip tightened. “Don’t do it, Adaline. If you go there, you can’t unsee it. Whatever happened—”
“Stop it!” she snapped. “Stop trying to protect me. Stop trying to tell me I’m too weak to deal with the reality of what happened. You think that if you stop me, that won’t haunt me forever?”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, shaking his head.
His judgement didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore except knowing the truth. She forced her shoulders to relax as if acknowledging his strength.
“Adaline,” Evzan said, his grip loosening as his tone softened.
But she wrenched her arm free and ran.
Evzan was both right and wrong in his warning.
Adaline would have nightmares for the rest of her life. She would never be able to forget the battered and bruised bodies, the evidence of the depravity and cruelty her mother and sister had endured before their deaths. Revulsion burned at the back of her throat, searing the disgust into her memory. She’d never forget the taste of abhorrence as she emptied her stomach onto the straw beside the cart where her mother and sister lay cold, gray, and mutilated.
Adaline wiped her mouth on her sleeve, and hatred’s hot tendrils burned deep in her chest, searing her soul. She was not too young to understand how they’d been abused before their deaths or the degeneracy of the person who’d committed the heinous crimes. They had been starved and beaten, and death had probably been a blessing. When she vowed revenge, there was no room for misunderstanding or mercy.
“Bloody strewth,” Evzan swore before pulling the blanket up over the bodies. “Highness . . .”
Adaline ignored him, fixing her steely gaze on one of the men standing beside the cart, but her voice trembled when she asked, “Who brought them in? Do we know who did this to them?”
The young stablehand’s mustache twitched, and his blue eyes filled with tears, but he did not answer her.
Adaline had no idea if they were tears of pity or mourning, and right now, she didn’t care. She stomped across the straw-strewn floor, screaming, “Do you know who did this?”
Evzan circled her waist with his arm, holding her back from advancing on the young man.
“Sorry, Highness. A soap peddler brought their . . . them. Said they were left in the Ctyri Forest, inside the borders of Beloch. That’s all I know. He said he couldn’t stay, but he was an old man from Temavy; I don’t think he did it.”
Adaline swiveled and screamed as she beat her fists on Evzan’s chest. Tears streamed unchecked, and anger, pain, and revulsion roared in her mind.
Evzan pulled her close, and her anger broke as anguish rushed in. She sobbed, her tears landing where she’d hit him moments before, and she allowed him to lead her from the stables as her heart shattered and bled with pain.
“Do we know who?” she asked over and over like a new mantra. Because once she knew, she would make sure they died a slow death. Anyone with that much evil should not be allowed to live.
7
Vasilisa
He’s coming.
Vasilisa paused with broom in hand, a sense of foreboding settling deep within her soul, making her want to run and hide. She peered over her shoulder, finding the solar empty. Her gaze passed over the familiar room, the settees and fine, albeit worn, furnishings of her family home. No one stood there, but she could have sworn she’d heard a voice.
“Great, now I’m hearing and seeing things,” she whispered before adding, “and talking to myself.”
That was a bad omen.
With a deep breath, she pushed away the strange premonition and focused on her chores. Vasi brushed the mound of dirt and leaves from the stone floor into the dustpan, rushing to finish when she heard the click of Marika’s heels. Vasi dumped the pile into the fireplace and threw splinters of kindling on top just as Marika’s laugh floated into the solar. Anxiety crawled through Vasi as she struck a match and tossed it into the tinder, glancing over her shoulder to make sure it caught fire. She straightened the pillows, turning them so the exposed side was the least threadbare, and then adjusted the throw to cover Roza’s wine stain from last night.
The imaginary voice had said he was coming, and Vasilisa couldn’t stop thinking about the warning. Who was coming? What should she do? Not that it mattered; Vasi couldn’t do anything. Not anymore.
Over the last two months, ever since Lord Baine’s ball, Marika no longer took any pains to hide her frustration or displeasure with Vasi. As the abuse worsened, Vasi’s shock became indignation, and the indignation gradually settled into a simmering hatred, but she told herself all would be right when her father returned.
Only, two months later, he still hadn’t.
The strange visions, however, had returned. Like the chains extending from Lord Baine’s fingers, Vasi had seen Roza’s skin stained with bruises that vanished into milky-smooth skin, a man who could change his appearance into any human, and a beautiful woman who could make time stop. Vasi had even seen horses at the forest’s edge, but when she tried to get closer, they vanished into nothing but shadow. She was slowly going mad and hoped her father would return before her sanity completely fled.
“For all that we’ve had to sacrifice this last season, you’d think Casimir would find a way to increase his compensation from the tsar,” Marika said with a sniff, her voice wafting down the hall and into the solar. “When he gets back, there are going to be some changes. Roza is always hounding me for something; her only saving grace is her beauty.”
Vasilisa shook her head, the pity for Roza only lasting a moment. Vasi struggled to feel sorry for her stepsister when she had plenty to eat and when her biggest concern was which dress to wear and which party to attend. Vasi leaned forward to set a pinch of bread from her breakfast on the djinn altar and jerked back, dropping the offering to the floor. Vasi forgot the crumb because on the small dais sat a familiar small wooden doll.
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Vasi whispered as she plucked the doll from the altar and straightened. The painted figurine was the last gift Vasi had received from her mother, Danica, before her death. Vasi had lost the doll over a month ago and assumed Marika had sold it. The small joy of having the djinni talisman made Vasi smile, and she dropped the doll into her apron pocket and patted it.
Marika’s incessant complaining grew louder, and Vasi rushed toward the arched doorway, her heart thudding as she raced to escape before her stepmother came in. But a moment later, Marika and the honorable Marchioness Lady Granth stepped into the private sitting room, and Vasi skidded to a halt, inches from the door and her stepmother’s scowling face.
The Viscountess and Marchioness were both dressed in the latest fashion, the billowing sleeves of their dark dresses extending far past their fingertips, lost in the folds of the voluminous skirts. Lady Granth wore an emerald-green dress, and with her short, rotund stature and ginger hair, she looked like an unripe apple. Marika wore her hair down, her thick brunette curls cascading down her waif-like back. She wore an emerald dragon buried in her dark tresses, which matched the edging of her fitted dress. As soon as Marika saw Vasi, she narrowed her eyes.
Dread tugged low in Vasi’s chest.
“Vasilisa,” Marika said with a grimace, her pink lips puckering as if saying her stepdaughter’s name actu
ally tasted repulsive. “I told you to clean in here.”
“I-I did.” Vasi turned to examine the room and spotted the bit of bread on the floor. She raced over and picked the crust up and then set it on the altar. “It’s an offering for Letni. It must’ve fallen off.”
“Blessed djinn, no,” Marika snapped, waving Vasi back toward the altar. “You’re not to leave rubbish in here. Go clean it up, right now.” The Viscountess turned to her friend and continued, “Her backward-foreigner mother believed in magic, and the girl is constantly stealing to feed the imaginary djinn.”
Vasi let a few crumbs fall on the dias, hoping that would be enough for the djinn to know of her sincerity, and put the piece of bread back in her pocket. She pivoted toward the door and blinked as Marika’s face contorted. Gruesome black streaks trailed through her makeup as bruises appeared on her neck and manacles at her wrists.
Vasi blinked rapidly, and the hallucination dissolved.
He’s here.
“I beg your pardon,” Vasi said, wondering what new chore her stepmother had in store. “Who’s here?”
Both women stared at Vasi askance, and Marika snapped, “What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you just say . . .” Vasi trailed off, realizing she hadn’t seen either woman speak, and the voice she’d heard didn’t sound like either of them. But she definitely had heard a voice say he’s here. Vasi dipped into a curtsey and then took the final steps toward the doorway. “It’s nothing, sorry.”
“Where do you think you’re going, girl?” Marika called. “You haven’t been dismissed.”
Vasilisa turned to see hatred flash in Marika’s eyes. Lady Granth pursed her lips into a simpering sneer, and Vasi brushed her hand over her apron as her chest tightened. Recent experience had taught her that to talk now would lead to a backhanded slap or worse, so Vasi kept her mouth shut and waited.
“Eighteen and not a single marriage offer,” Marika commented to Lady Granth.
“The question, dearest Marika, is how long are you expected to care for her? Is she to reside with you indefinitely?”
“I think Casimir may expect that, Lady Granth,” Marika said with a shake of her head. “But I’ll not have it. She’s far too expensive to keep.”
Vasilisa gritted her teeth.
“What about sending her to the Priory of the Celestial Sisters? If you can’t secure a bride price for her, the abbey would be a better option. Then, at least, you wouldn’t have to pay a dowry.” Lady Granth tapped her closed fan on her hand. “If she can’t bring honor to your family, you need to minimize the damage.”
Marika sniffed with disdain before turning back to Vasi. “Fetch the broom and get out of here, and stop with the disgusting offerings, too. You know I don’t approve of you stealing my food to put by that shrine. Oh, and tell Cook to serve a light luncheon in the hall in an hour. Lady Granth and I are famished.”
Famished. Right.
The fire popped, and Vasilisa jumped. She hated that she was on edge, resented that she felt so insignificant and scared, even in her own home. Well, not her home anymore.
“Yes, Marika,” Vasi said, doing her best to keep her voice even.
“Oh, and one more thing, I have a guest who will be arriving any minute. Show him into your father’s study, and help him with anything he needs,” Marika said with a wave of her hand. “Now you’re dismissed.”
Him. Vasi spun back to Marika, dread roosting deep in her gut. “A guest?”
Lady Granth raised her eyebrows at the breach in manners.
Marika glared, all of her facial features pinching tight, and she growled, “You’re dismissed.”
“Ugh. You can go now, girl,” Lady Granth said, waving her red fingernails.
“Gladly,” Vasi muttered as she left the room.
Marika’s snide comments followed Vasi out, “She’s terrible. I’ve never met a more stubborn and defiant girl. I really don’t know what to do with her anymore, especially because she’s such a leech. I’ll have to talk with her father when he returns, and even if he says he’ll be heartbroken, I’m afraid she must go.”
“Good,” Lady Granth said, followed by a heavy thud. “I’m glad to hear it. She has sucked the light out of you.”
But Vasi’s father wouldn’t believe Marika. Would he? He couldn’t. She was a liar and a thief. But Vasi’s certainty had eroded over the last couple of months. After all, Casimir had married Marika almost three years ago. By choice.
As Vasi stepped into the servant’s passageway, she considered ignoring Marika’s orders. The window at the end of the hall was particularly easy to climb through and led out into the garden. Vasi could escape, and it wouldn’t matter who he was. But Vasi’s hesitation cost her, and the thud of heavy footfalls resounded through the doorway as someone approached. Vasi turned, and trepidation washed over her, purging every single thought from her mind.
Lord Baine stood in the doorway, wearing a sumptuous gentleman’s coat in a rich eggplant color, the collar embroidered with gold thread. His dark, wavy hair hung loose, framing his chiseled face, and he smiled as his gaze raked over her.
“Your Grace.” Vasi pulled her apron away from her body to shield from the duke’s repulsive attention.
“Vasilisa,” he said, his tongue wetting his lower lip. His eyes brightened as he stared at her, and he said, “You’re supposed to show me to the study.”
Vasi lifted her chin and clutched the broom tight as she stepped toward Lord Baine.
“Do you even need me to show you?” she asked, glaring at him. “I would’ve thought you’d taken a full inventory of all the valued possessions by now.”
“Oh Vasilisa,” he said with a predatory gleam. “I particularly asked Marika to have you show me. I’ve missed you the last few times I’ve come for a visit, but if you’d rather I call for her . . .” His smugness oozed into the space between them, an uncomfortable testament that he knew she would be punished if he went to Marika.
Vasi approached, warily. His musky cologne burned her nostrils, and she opened her mouth to breathe, grimacing as she got closer. Keeping the broom between them, she skirted along the wall until she’d passed him. “It’s this way.”
She carried the metal dustpan in one hand and, clutching the pole, dragged the fibrous broom, the bristles scraping against the stone. She did her best to pretend to ignore the man following behind her, but she was hyperaware of both his presence and proximity.
As Vasi paced through the great hall, the broom dragged through the dried flowers, evidence of last week’s celebration of Pruzina, still scattered on the floor. Vasi would undoubtedly need to sweep in here next, but she clenched the broom tighter as she glanced at the empty mantle. Marika had sold Danica’s picture of the Phoenix Fire to Lord Baine two weeks ago to pay for her party. The Zelenian painting, illustrating the flaming djinn protection of Beloch, had become priceless when the kingdom of Zelena disappeared behind a wall of vines.
Not that Marika cared. She needed enough money for the next dress or party, and Lord Baine’s visits likely provided just that.
Stupid parties. Stupid Marika. And stupid, disgusting Lord Baine.
“Here you go, sir, my father’s study. Goodbye,” Vasi said, opening the door. As she turned, Lord Baine closed the distance between them, stepping on the bristle end of Vasi’s broom. The handle yanked from her hand and slapped to the floor of the hallway. The duke moved even closer, and she instinctively backed through the open doorway.
Be very careful.
No one else was around besides Lord Baine, and Vasi knew the voice wasn’t his. She’d heard it three times, and two of those times, she’d been in the presence of others who’d shown no signs of hearing it. Already wary of the duke, Vasi’s heart galloped against her ribs, urging her to flee.
“Excuse me. I dropped my broom,” Vasi said, making to scoot around Lord Baine.
The duke stepped into her path, blocking her. His gaze heated, and he moved forward, forcing V
asi to retreat another step into the study to avoid his touch. A slow smile spread across his lips. “I’m constantly amazed by you, Vasilisa.”
Her skin crawled, and her palms moistened with anxiety. “It is not my intention to amaze you, Lord Baine, I assure you.” He continued to block her way, her only way out. Vasi glanced behind him, wanting to run but afraid he would grab her if she made to leave. She blurted the only thing she could think of saying: “I have a message to deliver to Cook. Sh-she’s expecting me.”
He remained in her path. Crossing his arms over his chest, he scrutinized her, his attention like bugs scuttling down her clothes and skin. The intensity of his unwanted regard made her stomach churn.
“How is it possible?” he asked, his voice low and unnerving. “The worse Marika treats you, the more she mistreats you—the more beautiful you become.” He took another step forward, reaching for her. “You fascinate me; you always have.”
Vasi’s eyes widened with horror as Lord Baine stared down at her.
Fear pulsed from deep within, and she wanted to yell for help, and at the same time, she wanted to strike him or do something to make him go away. Unfortunately for her, any move against him would draw the wrath of her stepmother, and the only help available if Vasi screamed would be Marika or Roza, neither of whom would give aid.
Vasi was trapped.
8
Unable to move forward, Vasi backed into her father’s study, darting her gaze around for something, anything, she could use as a weapon to defend herself. She bumped into the edge of her father’s heavy wooden desk and rounded to the other side so the large piece of furniture was now between them.
Lord Baine raised his eyebrows and then turned his attention to the other objects in the room. He pulled a small notebook from within his brocade coat and began his study of the shelves’ contents just to the right of the door. He picked up several trinkets, one at a time, before setting them back down again, each time with a disgusted sneer on his face. Shaking his head, he moved to a wooden box filled with uncut gems. Marika had taken them to the jeweler’s last week. Most of the stones were only semi-precious, and the few sapphires and rubies were declared worthless due to internal flaws, not that Vasi would tell the duke.
