Babushka shook her head but didn’t argue anymore. For her, that was as good as giving her blessing.
Thinking of them made me homesick, though I’d been gone only a few hours. Our village was small, only a derevnya with no church or even a place to buy supplies, but it was built around a lumber mill, and there was no shortage of work to be done. Dedushka had been a hunter as well as a logger, and Babushka was a weaver as well as an herbalist. I pictured her now: her hands moving quickly over the loom that sat in the very center of our izba. Many times had I woken from my small cot by the window to find her already awake and weaving, her gnarled hands still agile enough to work the loom. It was the herbalism, though, that she’d passed on to me. We’d spent countless hours in the forest beyond our village, searching for everything from pine needles, which could bring down swelling in the body when brewed and drunk as a tea, to violets, which could be used to help relieve congestion in the chest. After gathering the herbs, we’d return home and spend hours categorizing. I didn’t have much skill in drawing, but I learned to draw and write well enough to keep a journal of medicinal herbs and their uses. Yet another thing that had been left behind when I’d been exiled.
I thought of our izba now. It was small, and nothing compared to this celestial tent, but it was beautiful in its own way. The eaves and window frames were carved with woodland scenes: deer and leaves, squirrels and nuts and berries. The elegant lines of a horse head watched over the many people coming and going from the ridgepole of the roof. Dedushka always said he’d carved it for good luck.
It hadn’t brought him luck in the end.
Elation made a little whistling sound, and I went to her side. She closed her eyes and leaned her head into me, and I did the same.
“The accommodations here are very fine,” I whispered to her, “but I’m afraid it may all be a gilded cage.”
Chapter Two
LONG AFTER THE SUN HAD SET and the candles had burned down nearly halfway, Kharan returned with water. I’d spent the entire time wondering about my fate and trying unsuccessfully to understand why I’d been thus far treated like I was a guest and not a captive, thoughts that left me anxious.
“My apologies for taking so long,” she said, setting the pitcher down on the small washing table. “I was coerced into helping prepare supper.”
She poured water into a copper cup and handed it to me. “Thank you,” I said, immediately taking a drink.
“Supper is ready if you’re hungry,” she said. “It’s only hare stew, but Boris takes his stews very seriously.”
This seemed yet another example of being treated decently, which only served to put me further on edge. Though Kharan had told Grigory I wasn’t a prisoner, I couldn’t help but still feel like one. Did I have the freedom to leave if I chose? Ivan certainly made it clear that I didn’t. But then again, I knew a normal captive wouldn’t have a tent like this one. “Supper would be lovely,” I said, “only, I’d like to ask you something first.”
She tilted her head. “Of course.”
“Why am I being treated this way? Can I expect the same treatment from the prince when we arrive in Kiev?”
She blinked at my questions as though surprised, but I didn’t regret my bluntness. I’d rather know my fate than wait for it to play out before my eyes. “The prince isn’t cruel like he is rumored to be,” Kharan said after a moment. “You have committed a grave crime, but yours is a rare ability.” She leaned closer as if imparting a secret. “I would use that to your advantage.”
“It’s a monstrous ability that I want nothing to do with.” My words seemed to fill the space around us, echoing like a declaration.
Silence followed, and then Kharan said gently, “Then we will speak no more of it tonight. Will you still eat?”
I hesitated, running my hand over my frigid arm. The hunger within my stomach roared to life, reminding me that it had been at least a day since I’d last eaten.
I nodded.
She walked over to the tent flap and held it aside. “Come, then. I can’t promise the company will be what you’re used to, but the food will be good.”
The moment I stepped outside, I took a deep, cleansing breath. The vastness of the sky above, dotted with countless bright stars, relaxed muscles I hadn’t even realized were tense. It was the same sky I’d seen from my izba, and from the forest beyond our village. As long as I can see the stars, I told myself, I won’t feel so far from home.
Kharan led me toward a blazing fire, toward the rich smell of food, toward the low sounds of men talking.
“Cold fire, they called it,” one of the men was saying just loud enough for me to hear. I stopped. He leaned toward the others and lowered his voice. “It was so cold it shattered anything it touched.”
Before he could say more, though, he caught sight of us and paled under his scruffy brown beard.
“I thought it would be best to have Katya enjoy her supper out here with us,” Kharan said, interrupting the heavy silence that had overtaken the camp. “Don’t make me regret my decision.”
Ivan stood and offered me his seat closest to the fire. “Sit. Join us.”
Not wishing to offend him, though the spot was in far too conspicuous a location, I took the proffered seat with a small smile. “Thank you.”
Kharan brought me a steaming bowl of the stew, a hunk of dark bread, and a mug of kvas. A bite of the stew revealed it to be just as flavorful as its smell suggested, with herbs and vegetables that made it both savory and aromatic. “This is delicious,” I said, and the man who was speaking when we first arrived smiled.
“I did the best I could with limited ingredients,” he said.
“Boris is just trying to impress you,” Ivan said beside me. “He brought an entire bag full of food for just this simple meal.”
I smiled and took a drink of my kvas, which was as good as the stew: both tangy and mildly sweet. “I’m impressed either way.”
The others turned back to their meals, and I quietly ate mine. Slowly, they grew used to my presence among them, and conversations cropped up around me. They talked of ordinary things, work and family and hunting, and mentioned nothing of fire—cold or otherwise. And I was able to relax and enjoy my meal, the feel of a full stomach, the lingering taste of the kvas on my tongue.
“Finish up,” Ivan said after the men’s bowls remained empty and no further trips to the kettle were made. “We leave at dawn.”
“How much farther to Kiev?” I asked.
“An easy day’s ride.”
Not much longer, then, to enjoy my relative freedom. What would the palace be like? And the prince? I glanced up again at the stars above me.
As though reading my mind, Grigory said, “Soon enough you’ll meet the prince.” It was the first he had said to me since the moment Kharan had interrupted his attempt to intimidate me. “Let’s hope he finds you worthy.”
The guard with the scruffy beard and love for cooking scoffed, “How could he not? Did you not hear my tale?”
I winced at this as the others shifted uncomfortably. In just those few words, the relative camaraderie I’d been enjoying around the campfire was shattered.
“I did hear it, and we’ve heard many tall tales like that before,” Grigory said, and again, the ice began to spread over my skin.
“Grigory, not again.” The warning came from Kharan, who shook her head in an attempt to silence him.
Grigory held up his hand in peace. “I have only an innocent question. If you’re so powerful, then why didn’t you save yourself when the villagers captured you?”
I stayed silent. Why answer? What was the point? I knew Grigory’s type: they trod on anyone they considered weaker than them just to inflate their own egos.
“Is that a tear I see shining in your eye? Did I touch on a sore spot, dearie?” Grigory continued with a laugh.
I lifted my gaze to meet his cruel smile, and for just a moment, I fantasized about releasing my power on him—just to see the expres
sion wiped from his face. After what had happened in the village, though, these thoughts so disturbed me that I came suddenly to my feet.
“By all the saints, that’s enough, Grigory,” Kharan snapped.
Eager to escape, I thrust my bowl at the cook and mumbled my thanks. My hands shook as the ice in my veins grew stronger, colder.
I turned on my heel and hurried back to my tent. As my mind produced image after image of the many ways I could take revenge on Grigory, deep down I knew the answer to his question:
Just because I had power didn’t mean I had to use it.
Elation turned her head toward me as I burst through the flap of the tent. She made a sound that could have been one of greeting or surprise—or both. I was too agitated to decode it. The cold had hardened my skin again, dropping the temperature of the air around me, and making the flames of the candles dim as I passed by. The ice only appeared when I was upset in some way, and I was definitely upset now. My heart was pounding in my ears. I wanted to escape—could see myself turning around and fleeing the way I’d come, Elation by my side. But I wasn’t so foolish as to think that just because I had been given luxurious accommodations and good food, I wasn’t being watched. The moment I set foot outside, they would track my every step.
There is one way I could escape, I thought, but then I shuddered violently and pushed such malevolent thoughts aside.
I couldn’t do that. Not even to save myself.
“Katya?” a voice called from the other side of the flap. It was Kharan. “May I enter?”
I answered by pulling aside the flap for her.
She held up two mugs of kvas and a piece of fine cloth. “Pryaniki?” she offered as she opened the cloth to reveal four glazed cookies. The sweet smell of honey and spices wafted up.
They were my favorite; I could practically taste the sweet gingerbread now. At home, they were a special treat that I only ever got to eat at Christmastime.
“This is kind of you,” I said, and stepped aside so she could enter.
Kharan came in and sat on one of the many furs carpeting the ground, folding her legs under her. I joined her, and she handed me one of the mugs.
She placed the cloth with the cookies closest to me, and I took one and bit into it.
“I didn’t want you to miss out on the pryaniki,” she said, taking a bite of one herself. “I thought it would be too cruel of a punishment.”
“They’re very good,” I said with a small smile.
She watched me take a sip of the kvas. “Grigory can be a miserable little snake, but I hope you won’t judge us all by his actions.”
It wasn’t Grigory I was concerned about. Not when I thought about the person such a man was guardsman for. “Grigory is no different from many I’ve met before. But the prince . . . how would you describe him?”
She looked at me pointedly. “You are asking, I’m sure, if the rumors about him are true.”
“Yes.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “It depends on the rumor. Is he searching for those of us with abilities? Yes. Is he drinking our blood? Not that I know of.”
I looked at her in surprise. “You, too, have an ability like mine?”
“Not as strong as yours, but yes.”
It was rather shocking to find out that not only Ivan had power, but Kharan, too.
“What is your ability?” I asked as she took a sip of kvas.
“I’d have to give you a demonstration,” she said with a glitter in her eye. “Not here, though. Perhaps when we return to the palace.”
I was almost afraid to find out. I didn’t wish my own ability on anyone else. Once, it had only made me the object of derision, but then it had manifested in such horrible destruction that the villagers had no choice but to turn me out. To me, abilities had always been something to be feared. It was odd to hear Kharan speaking of her own ability so lightly.
“One thing I will say about the prince,” she said, “he is driven to protect his people. Some find him aloof, even cold, but that’s because he is always focused on his goal.”
“And what is his goal for me?”
Her eyes danced a bit, but not in a mean way. “We’ll have to wait and see.” She brushed off crumbs from her skirt as she finished the last bite of her gingerbread. “Have you ever been to Kiev?”
I shook my head. “I’ve barely been farther than the woods surrounding my village.”
“It’s one of the greatest cities in the world,” she said fondly. “Traders come from all over, bringing cloth and food and furs. Almost anything you could want to buy is right there in the marketplace. The palace serves meals like every day is a feast day, and the fires and braziers burn brightly all day and night.”
“It does sound exciting.”
She nodded. “You’ll be safe there.”
Safe from what? I wanted to ask, but at that moment, Elation flapped her wings. I turned to look at her and could tell she wanted to fly. “She wants to hunt,” I told Kharan, coming to my feet.
She looked at me curiously. “An eagle that hunts at night?”
I pulled aside the flap for her and she flew through gracefully. “I’m not sure what she does, honestly. She always returns, though, which is all I care about.”
She stood, too. “I should let you rest. Ivan will be barking orders for us to pack up before the sun has even made it past the horizon.”
“Thank you for the pryaniki.”
“I hope it allowed me to make amends for supper,” Kharan said with a smile.
I let myself smile back. “That wasn’t your fault, but I’m glad you came anyway.”
Kharan might have been loyal to the prince, but I found myself thinking of her as someone I could talk to. I’d never had someone I could confide in, not really, and especially no one close to my own age. There was something about her that put me at ease—not enough that I could confide everything; I didn’t think I’d ever feel that close to anyone—but at least enough that I wouldn’t fear for my life tonight.
But tomorrow . . . tomorrow I would face the prince.
Chapter Three
I AWOKE BEFORE DAWN, AND FOR one blissful moment, I thought I was back in the izba with Babushka and Dedushka. But then I remembered.
And once the memories began to flow, they were so painful that I pressed my eyelids closed with my fingers. Desperate to distract myself, I threw aside my bedding and fumbled around for the candle in its little golden holder. I’d left one candle burning, which was possibly foolish considering I was sleeping in a flammable tent, but I couldn’t bear to sleep in total darkness among men I didn’t trust. Besides, I knew Elation wouldn’t let me burn to death. She’d flown in again sometime after I’d gone to bed and perched on the back of the chair. Even now I could just make out the shimmer of her eyes in the gloom.
I carried the smaller candle by my bedside over to the one on the table and lit it. As I cast my gaze around the tent, the clothes chest seemed to call out to me again. I walked over and stared at the beautifully embossed lid before finally opening it. The fine clothing waited there, even more lovely in the soft light. I glanced down at my rubhaka, now hopelessly wrinkled. Still, as I looked at the gowns, with all their many colors, I wondered which would be appropriate for travel. Would the gown look ridiculous over my boots? Should I wear a veil and the jewelry? What about the belt?
With a sound of disgust, I slammed the lid closed. I had been raised a peasant. What did I know of fine clothing? Kharan said I was being summoned, but it was clear that I was a captive—at least until I stood before the prince. To dress as a princess seemed ridiculous at worst and presumptuous at best—no matter that the prince himself had sent the garments. Perhaps it was merely to play a cruel trick on me, to have me arrive dressed in such finery only to be laughed and mocked.
A rustle came at the entrance of my tent then, followed by a soft voice calling my name. Elation ruffled her feathers and turned her gaze toward the entrance. I walked over and held aside the fl
ap.
There, Kharan waited in the early morning light, dressed for travel in a beautiful long coat, tied at the waist with a golden sash and trimmed in fur. It was as midnight black as her hair, with golden threads embroidered throughout. She wore boots like mine of rough leather.
“The others are already striking the tents. Would you like to eat with me while they take yours down?”
I nodded. “Let me just get my coat.”
After I’d retrieved it and returned to her, I nodded toward her beautiful clothing. “Your coat is lovely.”
She held out part of the wool fabric. “Thank you. This is a deel. I have two that I was able to bring with me from my village—this one, made of wool, and another, made of satin.” She held out a hand and touched the rough fabric of my red skirt. “Yours is beautiful, too.” She leaned close. “I think it’s a better choice for travel than anything the prince sent.”
I gave her a relieved smile. “Thank you. This is one of the only outfits I brought with me from home, but it’s my favorite.”
“Did you do the embroidery yourself?”
“Yes, only I had the help of Babushka . . .” I trailed off as pain shot through my chest. I remembered her last words to me, and it made me desperate to go back, to speak to her again . . . to ask for the forgiveness I hadn’t received.
“There were many people I loved who I left behind, too,” Kharan said, and I knew my expression revealed how distraught I was. She reached out and touched my arm. “Would you like hot tea and kasha? It won’t make the pain go away, but it will at least fill your belly.”
Not trusting my voice with my throat closing on unshed tears, I nodded and managed a small smile.
She led me to the campfire that hadn’t been stamped out yet, and as I ate and drank, I watched the men pack up the tents and various supplies on a wagon pulled by wide, shaggy ponies. My enormous tent was rolled and stored, the bed broken down, the chest hefted onto the wagon. Elation disliked the newly chaotic environment and took flight, perhaps to seek out something to eat, or to simply escape because she could.
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