Through the White Wood

by Jessica Leake

  Meanwhile, the earth elemental who had encased me in the tree came toward me again, and before he could summon another tree to delay me, I sent the flames of my cold fire racing across the snowy ground, where they greedily spread over his body. He fell frozen to the ground.

  I took a step toward the prince and the others, but I couldn’t let the cold fire rage out of control; I was afraid if I moved closer to the battle, I would burn ally and foe alike. I thought of what Ivan had told me, of imagining my power like a horse that needed to be guided. But trying to wrest control of my power was siphoning even more of my strength.

  The prince fought powerfully with his sword, easily striking down the enemy soldiers. But then he was targeted by one of the earth elementals, a woman with fiery red hair. She lifted her arms to the sky, and the ground beneath us trembled. In the next instant, an enormous oak tree uprooted itself and was lifted into the sky as easily as a child plucks a dandelion. She held the tree—the trunk of which was as wide as two men standing with arms outstretched—aloft and it was clear that she meant to launch it at the prince.

  Fear clutched at me with razor-sharp talons, and I realized with a start I didn’t want him to be killed—couldn’t bear for yet another person I cared about to die—so I ran. My cold fire leaped ahead of me, burning across the snow, and I knew if I could only reach the elemental before she released that tree, then I would rein in my power. I would do it. I had to.

  I ran faster than I’d ever run, fleet of foot from years of hiking through snow and forest underbrush, but still, I was not fast enough. The distance was too great, and the elemental was too far away.

  She launched the tree at the prince.

  In the next instant, though, just as the massive tree began to fall toward the prince, Boris appeared in front of him. With a shout loud enough to be heard clear across the field, he held out his hands. There was a powerful wave of energy from him, and then the tree flew back at the elemental.

  I stopped halfway across the field as the tree sailed over our heads. It crashed on top of the elemental with a horrendous boom. She was crushed beneath it.

  But just as she was defeated, another took her place. This time, enormous vines exploded all around the prince, too numerous for even Boris to defeat with his superior strength.

  Vines didn’t stand a chance under my cold fire, I knew, so I sprinted even faster toward the prince.

  The vines towered above him, twisted and green, barbed and terrible, and swayed like snakes before a strike.

  Ivan and Grigory shouted and moved to stand in front of the prince, swords upraised. With his other hand, Grigory brought forth twisted branches of his own, and they attempted to hold the vines down, but still more and more vines burst forth from the ground. The prince and his men cut many of them down, but more sprang up in their place.

  Before I could reach them, another elemental called forth hands of stone that burst from the ground and held fast to my ankles. With a cry, I sent flames of my cold fire down toward the stone, but they could not make the rock cold enough to shatter. I would have to kill the elemental. I sent flames racing over the ground toward him, but then the prince was knocked down, his sword flung aside.

  I cried out in horror as pain rippled through me, thinking of Ivan, who had been the first to show me kindness and mercy after all I’d been through at the village, who gave me a crimson coat and insisted I wear it, and Boris—Boris, with his friendly manner and his dark past, who loved cooking and grew herbs and had been unfailingly loyal to the prince. The prince’s face was a mask of fury as his flames grew exponentially hotter. He was like a blazing inferno, like being cast in the depths of hell, and his sword was a blur as he matched Stanislav blow for blow.

  By the time I reached the elemental, my cold fire burned and leaped across any who were still alive, reaching the enemy soldiers who hadn’t fallen and any of the prince’s soldiers who were still close enough.

  Grigory and Ivan and Boris pulled the prince to safety, calling frantically for the soldiers to escape before my cold fire consumed them all. The horses screamed and plunged along with the men, but all I could think about was vengeance. For my babushka and for the prince. The fire raged uncontrollably, but then I saw Boris lay the prince gently on the ground, blood spilling out around him, staining the snow red.

  The wild horse of power that galloped inside me stumbled at the sight, and I took control. I bridled it; pulling it to a halt so fast that the weakness nearly made me fall. I ran to the prince’s side, barely noticing that everything around me was frozen: the ground, the trees and bushes, but most of all, men and women—both enemy and ally. They’d shattered when they froze, and their broken bodies lay scattered about in bloodless piles. I closed my eyes to the sight of it. I couldn’t think of it now.

  Grigory tried to keep me away, but I ignored him and knelt at the prince’s side. Fear clawed at my insides: Had the vine punctured something vital? As I examined him, I saw that it had pierced his chest just below his right shoulder. I nearly cried with relief. Too high to hit the lungs and the wrong side for the heart. Still, the pain had to be unbearable. He was conscious, though, his silver eyes meeting mine.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked me, and I snorted a laugh.

  “How could you ask me that?” I said, my voice, to my embarrassment, wavering like I might shed tears. Inwardly, I thought of how Babushka would react in this situation. Her calm, pragmatic attitude that would immediately force everyone around her to obey her without question. As far as I knew, there was no one else here who could treat the prince for this injury, else he would have stepped forward. There was only me.

  I turned to Ivan, who hovered nearby. “Did the vine pierce through his back?” Everything I ever learned from Babushka crowded in my mind. If there was no exit wound, punctures were prone to infection.

  “No,” Ivan said with a worried grunt. “Do you have knowledge of the healing arts?”

  I nodded tersely. “My babushka was a master healer.” I pointed to the prince’s beautiful black fur coat. “We need to remove this so I can see how extensive the wound is.” I turned toward Boris. “I will need you to tear off a good portion of the linen from your tunic.”

  He nodded and immediately started stripping his clothing off, while Ivan and Grigory assisted the prince with removing his coat. Sweat beaded the prince’s brow, and his teeth were tightly clenched, but he never cried out.

  Finally, the coat was off, and after asking Boris to use his strength to tear the prince’s beautifully embroidered kaftan, too, I was able to see the wound.

  It was terrible. Deep and at least the width of two of my fingers, blood poured from it. I’d seen injuries like this one before in my village, but never on someone like the prince. Someone I cared about. And as ice bit into my stomach at the thought of him dying, I knew I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t let him die. I held my hand out for Boris’s linen tunic, and he gave it over to me quickly. “Ivan, keep constant pressure on the wound to staunch the bleeding.” I turned to Boris again. “Is there any water? I need to clean the wound.”

  He nodded and raced back to where the other soldiers on horseback kept their distance from me.

  “We need to get the prince back to the palace,” Grigory said, his tone dripping with more venom than usual, “where a real healer can care for him.”

  I turned to him, ice in my voice and in my gaze. “If we don’t get the bleeding under control now, he won’t make it to the palace.”

  “All because of you,” Grigory snarled back. “Because you left, and the prince followed.”

  “Don’t blame Katya,” the prince said weakly, and I shushed him immediately.

  “I left to try to save my village—something you should have been doing,” I said to Grigory. “But you never arrived.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Your village was never a priority. The boyars were.”

  I knew I shouldn’t let his comment hurt me, but it still pierced my heart to think that sa
ving Babushka and any of the other villagers wasn’t a priority. What hurt more than that, though, was the little question that suddenly rang in my mind: Had the prince been the one to make that decision?

  Boris returned with a waterskin before I could demand further explanation, and I was forced to focus on the task at hand. I instructed Boris to support the prince so he was tilted slightly on his injured side. The prince winced and grew even paler. I tried to work as quickly as I could. “Ivan, you can stop applying pressure now,” I said, and we all watched nervously as he pulled the linen away. The blood continued to flow, but it was a trickle compared to the gush of before. I poured the water over the wound, until only watered-down blood gushed forth, praying I’d done enough to stave off infection. There was no telling what the vines had brought into his body. They could have even been poisoned.

  “I’ll need more cloth,” I said to Boris, “something I can pad the wound with, and also strips.” He immediately ripped more from his tunic. With the last bit of water, I wet the linen and pressed it into the wound, wishing I had access to Babushka’s herbs, before covering it with another dry piece of linen. I used the strips to secure it to his body, tying them under his arm and over his shoulder blade. He was more muscular than I’d anticipated, and the cloth strips only just fit.

  “We must get Gosudar to the palace,” Grigory said.

  I glanced up at him. “How far is the journey?”

  “A day’s ride,” Ivan said, his concern pulling his mouth down into his beard. “We didn’t bring a sleigh.”

  “I can ride,” the prince said, wincing as he sat up. “Bring me my horse.”

  Ivan and Boris looked at me, while Grigory hurried to do as the prince asked. “Will it be too much for his injury?” Ivan asked.

  “How else will I get back to the palace?” the prince demanded as he came unsteadily to his feet, waving Boris’s attempt to help him away.

  He had a point, though I watched him closely for fear he’d be too weak from loss of blood. The snow was saturated where he’d lain, and it was amazing that he could stand much less ride.

  The beautiful bay horse was brought to the prince, and Boris helped him mount. The prince gathered the reins in one hand; the other he kept crossed over his heart, and I knew it was because it pained him to let his arm hang down.

  “Are you sure you’re all right to ride?” I asked, shielding my eyes as I looked up at him against the winter sun.

  “Thanks to you.”

  Ivan came with a horse for me, and I recognized Dukh, the one I’d ridden only a few days ago with Kharan.

  It felt like a lifetime.

  The others mounted their horses, and then we started back for Kiev. Though we had won the battle, the men were silent, everyone’s gaze frequently landing on the prince before darting away again. He stayed mounted, though the farther we got, the more tired he appeared, his tall stature drooping and his head lolling.

  I’d done all I could on the battlefield, but the real danger was infection.

  I wouldn’t let death have him. Not after losing Babushka.

  Chapter Thirteen

  WE RODE THROUGH THE NIGHT, PUSHING the horses and refusing to stop so we could get the prince back to the palace as soon as possible. Despite reining in my power, I was still fatigued to the point that I fell asleep riding. At one point, I would have slipped off my horse’s back had it not been for a well-timed cry of warning from Elation. She had flown with us, taking turns soaring above us and riding on my arm. I wouldn’t leave her behind this time, especially after the prince said she wouldn’t have to stay in the mews. By the time the moon had risen high above us, we’d returned.

  When we rode into the dvor, Elation flew to the very highest tower and surveyed the city as though she were its new master. It brought a small smile to my face, but as the prince rode past and I could see how pale he was, the smile quickly faded. He hadn’t complained once about his shoulder on the way back, but the long ride had taken its toll.

  Vera, who had come to meet us on the steps of the palace like she had the day I arrived, gasped when she caught sight of him. “Merciful heavens! I knew this was a terrible idea. How badly is he injured?”

  She bustled over to him as Ivan and Boris helped him off his horse. I dismounted, too, already thinking of the herbs I’d need now that we’d arrived at the palace. Babushka’s journal might have more insight, and I patted my coat pocket to be sure it was still there.

  The prince was barely able to hold himself up. “I made it here, didn’t I?” he said with a grim smile.

  But in the next instant, he collapsed to the ground, blood weeping again from his wound. I let out a cry of surprise, my throat tight as I momentarily panicked that he would die here on the cold ground. I waited for anyone else to take control of the situation, to tell the others what must be done to help him, but then I realized they were waiting for me.

  “Boris, carry him to his room,” I said urgently. “Vera, if I give you a list of herbs I need, can you find them for me?”

  She nodded. “Yes, they should be in the greenhouse.”

  “Then I will need comfrey, yarrow, and white willow.”

  “I’m familiar with yarrow and white willow, and I can ask the gardener about comfrey.”

  “I’ll need clean linen and water, too,” I said, and she put her hand comfortingly on my shoulder.

  “I’ll get everything you need.”

  Grigory blocked her path. “Now that we’re back at the palace, it’s the healer we should call to tend to the prince, not this girl.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

  “I’ve been trained by the best healer in the country,” I said, “and I know exactly what needs to be done to treat his wound.”

  “She kept her head on the battlefield,” Ivan said, coming to my defense.

  “And it’ll be a sight better than bloodletting and leeches,” Vera added.

  “I agree,” Ivan said. “Go get the things Katya requested, Vera. He turned to Boris. “Could you carry Gosudar to his room?”

  Dismissed and overruled, Grigory watched Boris walk past him with the prince, a frown twisting his face.

  Boris made his way up the stairs as quickly as he could, which turned out to be faster than even I could go, and I wasn’t burdened with an unconscious prince. He turned right at the top of the stairs, the opposite direction from my own room, and I trailed behind. Soon, the rugs became so thick my boots sank into them, and all the windows were made of stained glass. It was a bit overwhelming when combined with the painted ceiling, the fabric upon the walls, and the numerous torches that had now been joined by candelabras.

  Just ahead was a set of double doors, each made of a wood so dark it was nearly black, carved with crowned eagles. I ran ahead to open the door for Boris so he could easily carry the prince in.

  Boris strode over a red-and-gold rug and laid the prince gently atop his enormous bed, drawing back the heavy brocade curtains so we’d have clear view. He didn’t stir.

  Before I could go to the prince’s side, Boris said, “I’ll remove his clothing so he’s more comfortable.”

  He began removing his boots first, but I caught myself staring and inwardly shook myself. “I’ll wait outside.”

  I turned back to the doorway, passing a roaring fire in a fireplace big enough for three men to enter side by side. Back in the hallway, I nearly ran into Kharan, who was rushing toward the prince’s room.

  “Katya,” she said, surprise widening her eyes. There was a moment when I was almost afraid she’d be angry that I’d left without saying goodbye, but then she threw her arms around me. “I didn’t know you’d returned! I’m so glad to see you,” she said breathlessly. She pulled away and took a step back. “What happened to the prince? Ivan said he was wounded?”

  I nodded, glancing back at the doors of his room. “We encountered earth elementals and soldiers—the same who destroyed my village and killed—” I choked on the last word, tears pooling in my eyes.
I’d been so focused on the prince’s wound that I hadn’t let myself think of Babushka dying.

  Kharan touched my arm. “Was it your babushka?”

  I nodded again, tears now running like rivers down my cheeks. I brushed them away impatiently.

  “I’m so sorry, Katya. I knew that’s where you must have gone when they found you missing. Of course you’d try to defend your village—I only wish you’d waited for the prince’s men to help you.”

  “It would have been too late,” I said tightly, remembering Babushka’s badly burned face. “I barely had the chance to say goodbye.”

  She shook her head sadly. “And the soldiers who destroyed your village . . . ?”

  Ice crept over me, freezing my tears. “Dead.”

  “Good,” she said with feeling. “Especially if they managed to injure the prince first.” She glanced back at his room. “Is it serious?”

  “A vine punctured his chest just below his right shoulder. I worry that the vine was tainted.”

  She sucked in her breath. “Will he live?”

  I chewed the inside of my lip while my insides churned. I didn’t know the answer to that—was too afraid to imagine the possibility that he wouldn’t.

  Boris appeared again in the doorway. “Katya? You can see him now.”

  Kharan followed me into the prince’s room. Inside, it was far too warm. The fire in the massive fireplace was gobbling up an enormous pile of wood, but even the smell of burning was not enough to hide the coppery scent of blood that hung thick in the air. On top of it was something else—something I’d smelled before when I helped Babushka with her herbalism and healing. It was the slightly sweet, rotting stench of infection.

  I hurried to the prince’s side.

  His pale form was swallowed by the linens and furs of his bed. I watched his chest for a moment, but his breathing was so shallow the blankets barely moved. I could hear Babushka’s voice in my head, Remove those furs from the bed! Bring cool water.