Magic of Fire and Shadows (Curse of the Ctyri Book 1)

by Raye Wagner

  “Where did you get that?” Vasi asked.

  But Brida only smiled and pushed her young mistress toward the door. “You’d best hurry. I hear the carriage outside. I’m sure Nikolai will be happy to see you again.”

  The whinny of a horse from outside the window confirmed Brida’s declaration, and Vasi’s heart raced as she ran downstairs to join her papa.

  Vasi was the last to enter the carriage, and the space was already full but not just with its occupants. The family’s tension crowded the entire area of the carriage, and the silence weighed heavy with apprehension. Vasi sat next to her father on one side, and Marika and Roza sat on the other. There was room for one more on each bench seat, but it was as if the adults had drawn opposite sides in battle, and their children followed.

  Vasi ran her hand over the crushed velvet cushions, wishing the windows opened so she could get rid of Marika’s overpowering perfume. Vasi pushed the fibers first one way and then the other until her papa slid his hand under hers and held it. She turned to smile but winced as he gave her hand a squeeze.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked as his brow furrowed. His blue eyes examined her expression and then moved down to where he held her hand.

  Her automatic instinct was to hide the still-healing wounds, but her father hadn’t relinquished her hand. Instead, he turned it over in his palm, his fingertips just skimming over the four lesions on her wrist and the yellow finger-like bruises.

  The palpable, almost electric tension that filled the carriage iced over as Casimir turned to look at his wife. He said nothing, but he kept Vasilisa’s hand in his, careful now to avoid the open lesions and tender bruises.

  Vasi’s eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them away, not wanting to show any further weakness to the hated Marika.

  “Why are you crying?” asked Roza in a voice filled with disbelief. “Mama, what’s wrong with Vasi?” Roza wore a thick layer of makeup over her stunning features, so thick it could almost be a mask, and as Marika faced her daughter, it was clear that the cosmetic paint on the two matched.

  Casimir patted Vasi’s hand then released it but only to wrap his arm around his daughter.

  His solidarity filled her with reassurance of his love, but her heart ached for what could have been. If only Marika didn’t hate so much . . . A hopeless wish even the djinn weren’t powerful enough to grant. Vasi wanted to say something nice, but her voice lodged in the back of her throat.

  The carriage continued its bumpy ride on the way to the castle. Roza huffed a few more questions toward her mother, but Marika remained silent, and eventually, her daughter quieted.

  As they rumbled into the heart of Rizy, Vasi couldn’t help but notice that the facades of many of the buildings stood in disrepair, some needing only a fresh coat of lacquer, but more often, the crumbling buildings needed plaster, mortar, bricks, or stone. Divots marred the road, holes that were once filled nightly to encourage travel. Over the last several years since Zelena walled itself off with impenetrable vines, the drop of imports into Beloch had taken a toll on the capital city, Rizy. Vasi remembered Brida complaining and Cook telling stories of the tsar spending his money elsewhere. Clearly, he was.

  Vasi turned to her father. “Even without the monopoly, Temavy will still trade with us, right?”

  “Yes, but securing trade with Temavy wasn’t all I was there for. Tsar Baine cut off commerce with Cervene over two months ago when the Cervenish Regent declared war.” Casimir blew out a long breath. “The passageway to Temavy is rocky and dangerous over the Vecny mountain range. A single rider on a quick-footed horse can make it through in a week in the summer, but a fortnight is more likely. The long caravans of traders take months to make the journey. Tsar Baine hoped a monopoly with Temavy would force Cervene to agree to peace.”

  “And you failed,” Marika bit out before looking pointedly away again.

  Her father’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

  “What if they traveled through the Ctyri forest instead?” Vasi asked as she touched the cool window pane with her finger. “It borders all four kingdoms. Maybe Temavy would reconsider if there’s an easier route.”

  “I don’t see them ever considering that route. Not everyone is as brave as you, little dove,” her father said.

  Vasi looked beyond the houses and walled palace to the thick, almost impassable, Ctyri forest. Despite the Belochians professed disbelief in magic, they avoided the wood, and no trade caravans or even horsemen chose to travel through its shadowy paths.

  The carriage lurched, and Vasi bumped into her father.

  “Sorry, Papa,” she said instinctively, looking up.

  Casimir’s vibrant eyes were fixed on her with a look of sadness. He kissed her forehead and then said, “Not at all.”

  The carriage slowed, and the road smoothed out as they approached the castle.

  Casimir took a deep breath and turned his attention to the two other women in the carriage. “I hope you will reconsider your position, Marika. I think it’d be best for both Vasi and Roza if things were resolved, but I need a commitment if you are to stay.”

  Marika fixed him with a glare. “You have pushed too far, husband.”

  Somehow, the term of endearment sounded profane, and Vasi flinched. She looked up to her father, hoping to find some understanding, but his features, the furrow of his brow and turn of his lips, indicated sad resignation.

  The carriage rolled to a stop, and a guard opened the door.

  The fresh air rushed in, and Vasilisa took a deep breath.

  “Marika, Roza,” Tsar Baine exclaimed as Marika exited the carriage. “I’m so glad you’ve all come.”

  “As if I had a choice,” Casimir muttered next to Vasi so low it didn’t register to Vasi for a full moment after he’d said it.

  By the time Vasilisa climbed out of the carriage, Marika and Roza had too-wide smiles plastered on their faces as they stared at Tsar Baine and the princes. Vasi pursed her lips, a heavy portent settling next to her heart. Each time she’d seen Henryk and Nikolai of late, her life had taken a decided turn for the worse. She frowned and looked at the rest of the tsar’s party.

  Another man stood on the other side of the tsar, his ostentatious clothing labeling him a courtier, and a dozen guards stood behind him. Vasi looked over the soldiers and noticed that these men were lean, clean-shaven, and all wore matching fierce expressions. Their alertness and ready stances set them apart from the Peacock Guard, and Vasi wondered if there were more soldiers like them. Surely if Beloch had legions of these men, they could win a war against Cervene.

  Casimir was the last to exit the carriage, and he extended his arm to Vasi. She startled with the deference and its meaning but quickly accepted her father’s arm. If the tsar or his sons thought it odd that Casimir had slighted his wife, neither showed it, and the party followed their liege into the palace.

  Polished marble stretched out all around them, and lit sconces blazed with light, flickering off the walls. The rich smell of frankincense tickled Vasi’s senses when the party entered the castle, but different than Marika’s perfume, the smell dissipated within a few minutes.

  As they walked, Vasi peeked over at the crown prince. He wore another starched uniform, excessively decorated as before. Unlike the last time she’d seen him, though, his face did not hold a trace of mirth. Likely feeling her examination, Nikolai flicked his gaze over to her. Less than a fraction of a second later, his gaze returned forward. A muscle in his jaw moved as if he was clenching his teeth.

  Beside the crown prince, Henryk leaned back toward Vasi and raised an eyebrow, and then he mouthed the words, “You’re staring at my brother.”

  “So what?” she mouthed back, but a blush crept up her neck, and she fixed her gaze forward. Henryk was a scoundrel. But something was bothering Nikolai. Something big if she remembered his expressions right.

  Vasi wondered if Nikolai remembered all the time they’d spent together as kids. Did he have memories o
f them storming through the woods as they tried to escape imaginary soldiers? If he did have memories of her, his expression said he didn’t want to anymore. More likely, he was too grown up with princely thoughts. She was a fool to think Nikolai would treat her with the same attention in front of his father as he had when they were alone and with the cover of night.

  The princes spent time with innumerable ladies every day, women of stature, title, and beauty. The Baine princes were probably both over whatever interest they’d had in Vasi after their dinner engagement at Casimir’s. More likely still, it was just one in a long line of forced social engagements, and Vasi meant nothing.

  No matter.

  She’d gotten over Nikolai before, and Vasi was doubly glad she hadn’t let him back in. Besides, her life was going to take a turn for good today; after the last few months, she deserved it.

  “I’m so glad you brought your family with you, Casimir,” said Tsar Baine over his shoulder. “Your carriage will be sufficient transport for your new assets, so it saves me from having to send someone to deliver them, and it’s always a pleasure to see your girls.”

  The tsar chuckled as if he’d told a joke and then led them to a small room. Standing outside, he cleared his throat. “My son Henryk will take your wife and daughter . . .” The tsar’s face lit with interest as his gaze traveled over Marika and Roza and then landed on Vasilisa. “My dear,” he said with a bow, “I don’t believe we had the pleasure of meeting last week.”

  Casimir offered a tight smile and said, “This is my daughter, Vasilisa.”

  “This is little Vasilisa?” Tsar Baine said. “Wow, Casimir, your daughter is all grown up. We missed you at supper when we came to visit.”

  Though the tsar’s words were friendly enough, Vasi’s skin crawled under his stare, making her think of the dreaded Lord Baine. Swallowing her revulsion, she bowed her head and dipped into a curtsey. “I beg your pardon, sire.”

  Beside the tsar, Henryk stood and met her gaze, lifting a brow. Nikolai was also staring, but when Vasi caught him, he quickly glanced forward.

  The tsar waved away her apology. His gaze traveled down her body, turning bored as he took in her outdated, ill-fitting fashion. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, my dear.”

  Tsar Baine’s attention turned back onto her papa before she could form a reply.

  “Perhaps your family would like to wait elsewhere.” The tsar patted Henryk on the shoulder, making the prince scowl, and continued, “My son will escort them to the throne room where there is ample diversion—”

  “My family will stay,” Casimir said firmly. “I’m sure they would love to hear what their tsar would say.”

  Nikolai coughed, but the tsar only shrugged. “If that’s what you prefer; I’m not unreasonable.”

  “Casimir,” Marika hissed as her cheeks pinked. Then she batted her eyes at the tsar. “I would love to wait in the throne room with the prince as I’m sure my Roza would as well.”

  Tsar Baine smiled, his attention fixed on Roza, and his gaze turned hungry. “Of course,” he said, licking his lips. “Henryk, take these three and see that they are well—”

  Something in the tsar’s eyes made Vasi desperate, and when she glanced at Prince Henryk, he pursed his lips, his eyes widening in a look of warning. Risking the tsar’s wrath, she said, “I’ll stay with my papa, please.”

  “Father—” Nikolai said with a shake of his head.

  The tsar held up his hand to stop Prince Nikolai’s protest. “Let her stay,” Tsar Baine said. “I’m not unreasonable.”

  With a rustle of puffed skirts sweeping over the marble, Marika and Roza left with Prince Henryk, who shot Vasi an odd encouraging nod before retreating.

  Tsar Baine ushered them into the room, and two guards followed them in. Several more soldiers remained outside the entrance.

  Vasi had the disconcerting feeling that the guards were securing the door from both the inside and out.

  The tsar pointed at the large table. A dozen high-back chairs surrounded the dark wood slab, and Tsar Baine circled to the head of it. “Please, take a seat, Casimir. And your daughter . . .”

  The tsar waved his hand at Vasi dismissively, and she felt her father tense.

  “Vasilisa,” he said, supplying her name. In that moment, Vasi understood while she was not important to the tsar, Casimir was making it very clear she was important to him.

  “Yes, right. You may sit as well.” Tsar Baine pulled up his chair and turned on his chief negotiator with a frown. “I want you to know I don’t usually indulge such ridiculousness. Women shouldn’t be involved in politics.”

  Casimir said nothing.

  “My lady,” Nikolai said with a tight smile as he pulled out a seat for Vasi. “It’s nice to see you.”

  “You too,” she said, almost as a question, wondering if perhaps his cold reception of her in the hallway was all in her head. Or perhaps he was just delivering the courtesy his rank demanded now. He certainly didn’t seem happy to see her. The butterflies fluttering in her stomach quickly died. She was no lady, and he knew it. Was he mocking her? Vasi narrowed her eyes and started to shake her head, but when she caught the tsar staring at her, she tried to make as if she were stretching her neck. She dropped into a deep curtsy and replied, “Thank you, Highness.”

  Casimir darted a look between the occupants of the room, and his grimace deepened.

  Vasi knew that look. Something was amiss, and Vasi sensed it, too. Something about this meeting felt entirely wrong. But her papa remained silent, and they all waited for the tsar to address them.

  “It’s highly unusual, I know, but Nikolai insists tactical meetings remain secret. Even from the court.”

  Vasi looked at the prince. Was he the reason they were in here instead of the throne room?

  Tsar Baine stared at her father. “I asked you yesterday, Casimir, if you would go to Cervene—”

  “And I gave you my answer, sire,” Casimir said, frowning at the tsar. “I thought this meeting was a formality.”

  “Beloch needs you, sir,” Nikolai said. His eyes lit with the intensity of his impassioned declaration. All traces of fun or frivolity were absent from the prince’s face as if he weren’t even acquainted with them. “There is no one better suited to go to Cervene to negotiate peace and stop Beloch from slaughter.”

  Vasi felt as though the rug had been pulled out from underneath her, and she was experiencing the minute sensation of floating just before falling down the stairs. How could Nikolai say that?

  18

  Perhaps Vasi was still in bed, asleep, dreaming, because she couldn’t believe he, Crown Prince Nikolai, was proposing to send her father into an enemy country. She glared at her childhood friend; he’d lied to her, made her believe her father was going to stay home.

  The prince nodded, possibly affirming the horror of which he spoke or confirming his own betrayal.

  Casimir narrowed his eyes. “I’m certain I was clear last night. We agreed that you would send Bertrand. If Bertrand fails, then I’ve agreed to go.” His gaze bounced to the tsar and then back to Nikolai. “You must allow me some time with my family.” Casimir reached out and rested his hand on Vasi’s arm. “Please.”

  Tsar Baine nodded as if he were considering Casimir’s request.

  “Hundreds of thousands of soldiers sit in wait outside our border. The barrier that has kept us safe is failing. Somehow, thousands were able to get through, and they laid waste to our battalions stationed by the border, and that’s with just a fraction of their army,” Nikolai said with a shake of his head.

  Thought fled Vasi’s mind. “They have hundreds of thousands of soldiers?” she whispered. “What can you expect one man to do?”

  She didn’t even realize she’d spoken the words out loud until she glanced up and saw all of the men staring at her.

  “He can stop the war,” Nikolai said. “He can negotiate peace.”

  “No one has gone into Cervene in months and lived,�
�� she snapped.

  “Your father can; he is the best negotiator we’ve ever had. How can you have so little faith in him?”

  Vasi inhaled, her temper flaring, but before she could formulate her response, Casimir wrapped his arm around Vasi’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze, silencing her retort.

  Nikolai gestured to the long map that hung across the room’s wall. The realm of Ctyri was laid out with pins of white and red dotting the border of Cervene and Beloch. There were far more red pins than white. “Your father could change the course of the war. Ten thousand men, perhaps more, are already dead—”

  “Nikolai,” Tsar Baine snapped. “We do not know if those numbers are accurate. The most we’ve lost is peasant soldiers—”

  “Father,” growled Nikolai. “You forget yourself—”

  Tsar Baine slammed his hand down on the table, his previously impassive features twisting into hot rage in an instant as he glared at his son. “No. You forget yourself. I am the tsar.” Tsar Baine turned to Casimir. “I understand you want time to rest from your trip to Temavy, but your tsar needs you. If you want more wealth, fine. More lands? A title? I’ll even throw in marriage to Nikolai for one of your girls; it’s what your wife said you wanted. Blazes, Henryk can marry the other one. Both of your daughters will be royalty.”

  Nikolai’s eyes widened. “Father! I will not marry Roza—”

  Tsar Baine spun and, in one fluid movement, slapped his son across the face.

  A shocked silence fell, blanketing the room. Vasi remembered then how cruel Tsar Baine could be, the stories Nikolai had shared in years past.

  The tsar glared at his son and said, “You are dismissed, Nikolai. I have ruled Beloch for thirty years, ten before you were even born. I do not require your help.”

  Anger, frustration, and shame rolled off Nikolai in waves. A dark print of Tsar Baine’s hand rose to the surface of the prince’s cheek. He gritted his teeth, his pulse feathering rapidly in his neck, and then bowed his head. Without another word, Prince Nikolai left.