by Raye Wagner
“A huntsman?” Not at all what she’d expected. “Of animals?” As soon as the question escaped, she blushed. What else would he hunt?
But he paused as if considering her question or possibly his answer. His lips pulled up into a half smile, and he wound a stray lock of her hair around his finger, his attention fixed on her golden tresses.
He lifted his gaze to hers and said, “After Zelena fell, I tried to help one of my brothers hunt the beast. But I was useless. I could only leave Cervene for short bursts of time, and my brothers’ curses were beyond my control. So I returned to face what I had to . . . And then, I became your guard.” His half-smile spread into a grin. “Although, this task is the most challenging of all I’ve undertaken.”
She ignored his teasing, her attention fixated instead on one bit of information. “You have brothers? May I meet them?”
He looked away from her, his gaze going distant. “Some families aren’t as loving as yours.”
She touched his arm, feeling the tenseness of the muscles under his sleeve. “As close as mine were, you mean. And my relationship with my mother was far from close. But still, there are days I miss her the most. She smelled like lilac, and sometimes, I swear I smell lilacs in my dreams.”
He said nothing, but he wrapped his hand around hers. His warm skin and calloused fingers brought a strange feeling of comfort to her aching heart. She didn’t want to move, she didn’t want to even breathe, for fear it would break this connection between them.
In the quiet peace of that moment, Adaline’s heart swelled, and she wanted to know everything about her guard, all of his secrets and burdens, all of it, so she could help shoulder the load. But she wouldn’t ask, and she doubted he would ever tell her.
Almost on cue, he dropped her hand and turned toward the entrance of the tent. “We need to return to Burdad, Princess. And we need to get out of this bizin tent.”
She stood still, shocked and saddened, as both Evzan and the tender moment vanished.
17
Adaline lay in the large raised bed in her gigantic pavilion and stared up at the dark canvas, feeling empty and alone. The tent stood twelve feet high and twice as wide. An outside fire cast a hazy orange glow to the left side, outlining the leather flaps in white.
She’d had a productive day, successful even. More than she’d even hoped for, so why did she have such a sour taste in her mouth? Why couldn’t she get the image of Vodnik’s corpse with his poisoned tears to leave her mind? He’d tried to kill her; she shouldn’t feel sorry for him with his tent full of false finery.
But she did.
Adaline slipped out of bed and padded across the carpeted floor toward where Evzan stood guard just outside the tent. He hadn’t said a word to her since they’d returned, nothing since giving her that glimpse of vulnerability in Vodnik’s tent.
Adaline brushed her fingers against the leather edge of the flap.
“Evz—” His name became a gasp as a flash of metal slashed through the air toward her. Adaline dove away from the blade, rolled, and bounced to her feet, turning to face her attacker. Only . . . no one was there. Cold fear crawled down her spine, and she touched her neck where blood beaded at the thin cut. She knew there was someone in the tent with her.
“Evz—” Her cry was cut off again as cold, metallic fingers covered her lips.
The length of a large man’s body pressed against her, and without hesitation, Adaline threw her head back. White sparks burst across her vision, but she’d heard the crunch of bone and a muffled grunt. Warm liquid splattered in her hair and on the back of her tunic, and the grip of the metal hand released her.
“Evzan!” she screamed as she grabbed her captor’s wrist sheathed in metal plates. Adaline stomped her foot, hoping to connect with her attacker’s instep, but when that failed, she turned and kicked every man’s weak spot: between his legs. The man buckled forward, and Adaline turned to run. Something grazed her leg, and fire shot over her skin.
The tent flap swung open, and silhouetted in firelight, Evzan snapped, “Princess? Are you all right?”
The pavilion flooded with firelight, and Adaline peered around to see . . . nothing. Draperies hung over the luxurious and extravagant bed. Assorted, mismatched fineries decorated the space, tapestries, a tea set, trophies, and a golden bust collected from among the officer’s possessions. She stood in the lavish pavilion, alone.
“What’s that on your neck?” Evzan growled as he stalked over to Adaline. He yanked at her collar, and his voice deepened, “You’re cut.”
“No—ouch, no.” Adaline pushed Evzan’s hand away as she tried to get her bearings. “There was a man in here. I broke his nose, but he’s invisible—”
Evzan reached overhead and slid his sword from its sheath. Firelight licked his strong profile. The air around him shimmered, his tunic expanded and ripened to a dark crimson, and scars fissured up his face.
“Again . . .” she whispered in fascination at the hallucination. So many times . . . things morphed and changed around her, and Evzan’s appearance shifted more than anything or anyone. Whatever Dimira had locked away was coming undone, but with magic’s return, Adaline’s visions or delusions were returning as well.
Evzan turned, his eyes scanning the darkness as if the lack of light didn’t matter.
“Evzan,” Adaline whispered as she backed away from her strange, altered protector. Was this real? It seemed so real. Or was it in her mind?
Her thoughts evaporated as her attacker encircled her throat and squeezed. She clawed at his gauntleted hand but couldn’t get her fingers under his. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t—
Evzan raised his sword, lunged, and slashed through the air in a powerful strike. Right at Adaline.
Adaline stilled. As her guard’s blade whistled through the air, her fear disappeared, knowing he would never harm her.
“Adaline!” Evzan bellowed, making her flinch back just as his blade completed its arc inches from her face.
Warm crimson blood sprayed her chest and then splattered around them, and a large flaxen man appeared out of thin air, screaming. Something thudded to the floor, and the man clutched his severed arm. His scream cut off as Evzan sliced through the blond man’s throat, and a sickening gurgle rattled in the air. The man dropped to his knees and then slumped to the side as his life gushed from his severed neck.
Adaline blinked, watching as the dark liquid pooled beneath the assassin, his life fading as his wide eyes turned glassy. For a moment, silence reined in the tent, the only sound heavy breaths as Adaline and Evzan gasped for air. Adaline’s heart pounded, and the rushing of blood muffled her hearing. She swallowed, trying to process her shock, and stuttered, “An a-assassin, h-he . . .”
Something glowing beside the assassin’s limp form caught Adaline’s eye. She blinked, and the man’s severed arm appeared with blue, glowing mist rising from his gauntleted fingers in the low light. She shook her head, and the man’s hand disappeared. Adaline kicked where she thought she’d seen it and connected with his armored extremity. Something was keeping it invisible.
“He had magic, too,” she mumbled as she stared, transfixed by the corpse and the magic mist rising beside him. She inched toward the man, battling the remains of her disbelief. The man had a leather pouch attached at his waist, and its contents had spilled as he fell to the ground. There, beside the magic mist, right by the severed arm, sat a small glass shard of a mirror, just like Vodnik had in his room.
“Too?” Evzan asked, stepping next to the princess.
Adaline glanced up, shocked, not at the steel in his voice but that his wrath was directed at her. The visual hallucination of him was gone, and he looked like her guard, her very angry guard who was holding a bloody sword.
“What?” Adaline asked, grimacing.
“You said ‘He had magic, too.’ What did you mean by that?” Evzan demanded as he stalked toward her.
Bull dust.
“Um . . .” Adaline pa
ced backward as Evzan stepped closer. She waved her hands at him in surrender. “Put down the sword, Evzan. If you’re going to look at me like that, please, put down your weapon.”
Without breaking his stride, he threw his sword to the floor and continued to hunt her. “Who else had magic, Adaline?” His pulse feathered, and he growled, “Was it Vodnik?”
“Maybe.” Her back hit the taut tent’s side, and Adaline halted. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to run, but she wanted to.
“Magic and poison?” Evzan growled as he closed the distance.
“Did you see the mist . . . or his tears?” she asked.
“I don’t see magic like you do.” Evzan stopped inches in front of Adaline, his features hidden in shadow. “Vodnik had magic, and you hid it from me.” It wasn’t a question. “Did you know he was an assassin and just not tell me?” His nostrils flared, and he clenched his teeth. “What is it, Adaline? Were you worried I’d throw you over my shoulder and take you home?”
“Yes. No.” Adaline straightened, forcing herself to meet him glare for glare. “I didn’t know Vodnik was an assassin. I thought perhaps the ring was a magical heirloom or maybe a gift.” But now, seeing two similar shards of mirror . . . Adaline acknowledged the truth. She was the princess. Men came with priceless, magical weapons to kill royalty, not a squire over aching pride.
“But you knew he’d tried to kill you with magic,” he said.
She couldn’t lie, so she bit her lip and said nothing.
“We’re leaving for Cervene tomorrow,” Evzan said, his face inches from hers.
Adaline huffed, refusing to allow him to bully her. “No, we’re staying through the siege. I need to see this through. If I leave now, everything will go back to the way it was. Women will be raped. The Malas will kill everyone in this fiefdom.”
“And you will die in Beloch,” Evzan said.
She shook her head. “No. No, I won’t.”
He examined her, his gaze boring into hers as if he could find the future in her eyes. “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”
“No.” But as soon as she denied it, she amended, “Yes. See there,” she said, pointing to the shard of glass. “Both of them had one, a small piece of a mirror.”
Evzan froze, and the expression and emotion fell suddenly from his face. One moment he was alight with earnest intensity; the next, his face held no expression whatsoever. He turned from her, crossing over to the front of the tent.
“Do you know what that means?” she called after him. She surged forward and grabbed his sleeve. “Does the mirror mean something to you?”
Evzan paused, holding the flap up as he stood in the entrance of the tent. He turned his head slightly and said, “It means nothing to me. Go to bed, Princess. The attack on the fortress will happen soon. We’ll stay through the battle. Please remain here, and I’ll fetch a page to clean up the mess.”
He walked out of the tent, leaving her alone with the corpse.
Adaline returned to the back of the tent, walking the length of the pavilion slowly as she tried to fit the pieces together. Evzan had confirmed one thing for her: just like at the wall of Beloch, others did not see magic the way she could. But there was another theory Adaline wanted to test. In the magic lessons with her aunt, just as in the experiences when Adaline was a child, when she touched magical objects, the mist that wreathed them vanished.
Adaline knelt by the assassin’s sword, right by where the blue mist rose in the air. The magic, from what she’d seen, had made the assassin invisible, which meant he had to have something in or on his hand. Adaline reached out, and the mist parted to either side of her fingers, curling up between them. The moment her finger touched the dead man’s hand, the magic dissipated. When she pulled off the gauntlet and felt a ring on his finger, his hand appeared. She flung the severed limb away, wiping her hands on her dress. Then she turned up her palms and stared down. Did her touch destroy magic?
“A true null,” a deep, musical voice said from the doorway.
Adaline jumped to her feet, sagging with relief when she met Tredak’s gaze.
The waning moon barely lit his features, and with the firelight behind him, his face appeared masked in darkness. He had deep hollows where his eyes should be. Adaline had the errant thought that the knight looked deader than the corpse at her feet, but she pushed the unkind notion away. Tredak’s words caught up to her, and she asked, “What did you call me?”
“A null. One who nullifies magic.” He gestured to the severed arm, but his gaze remained fixed on her. “No wonder Evzan looks at you the way he does. He’s always been captivated by that which is the most dangerous.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Adaline whispered. She shook her head. “About any of it.”
“Perhaps not, little one.” Sir Tredak nodded. “But I fear you’ll understand soon enough.”
“Will I?” she breathed. Fatigue muddled her thoughts, and she blurted, “What Evzan did today in the tent . . . He changed, and his eyes glowed. Is he—is he human?”
Sir Tredak smiled, his intelligent eyes brimming with humor. “Your magic is growing, you’re having visions, and you want to know if Evzan is human? Can’t humans have magic? Are you human?”
Adaline blinked as she thought about Tredak’s questions, but nothing he said made sense. She wished she could take back her previous words. With a grimace, as much for her as it was for him, she asked, “What does that mean? What are you saying?”
Tredak pursed his lips and beckoned her to join him outside the tent. “Perhaps there is more than one type of magic, and more people have magic than you once believed. Maybe we are all more alike than you used to think.”
“There are lots of people with a magical ability? I mean beyond the Celestial Sisters? What kind of magic can they do besides healing and helping a harvest?” She’d only ever seen Dimira do parlor tricks and heal people, although it never worked on Adaline. She’d never thought there were more beyond the Sisters.
“Just because that is all the Celestial Sisters do, does not mean that is all they can do,” he mused. “Benevolence or malevolence is a choice, not an inherited trait.”
“What are they . . . we . . . me, people like me, called? The Celestial Sisters say the children of immortals aren’t completely human . . .” Adaline narrowed her gaze at her newest friend and asked, “Are you human?”
Sir Tredak laughed, his face glowing with amusement, and he leaned toward her and asked, “Are you?”
“Stop,” she snapped. Her world tilted and spun, and her certainties fell through the crevices between her fingers like grains of sand. This was not a game, and her frustration shortened her already-frayed temper. “Will you please just tell me? I need some answers, not more questions.”
Tredak’s smile faded. “You want answers, but sometimes you ask the wrong questions. Have I ever tried to harm you? Has Evzan?” He shook his head, answering for her. Then he held up a finger and said, “Look at the two men who tried to take your life. What are their similarities? What ties them together? Someone powerful is trying to kill you, Adaline, and that’s where your attention should be.”
Of course, he was right. But when she thought about those questions, her stomach tied in knots, and the sting of betrayal pricked close to her heart.
18
Vasilisa
Vasi watched the Four Horseman pass, her simmering frustration roiling again. If she could only talk with the immortal djinn, maybe one of them would help her, and she could leave the witch’s house and her crazy tasks. Vasi still seethed over cleaning Baba Yaga’s house. Why ask Vasi to do something the mites would do for a spot of jam? And if Baba Yaga knew a few dollops was all it took to make the kurz mites happy, why not share?
After Death and his cart disappeared, the door appeared. The Horsemen were as far out of her reach as if she were back in Beloch. Baba Yaga refused to talk with Vasi about them until she was ready as judged by the witch.
“Good m
orning, Dom, Sef,” Vasi said as she landed in a chair before her usual morning spread. “How is this day treating you? How are the kurz mites?”
She’d discovered, with a bit of help from Sef and Dom, about the mites’ affinity for blackberry jam, and the bugs kept her room spotless. As always, no one answered her, but a glass full of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice slid across the table toward her. “Thank—”
For a moment, Vasi saw a figure standing across the breakfast table from her. The inhumanly tall male was thin, with spindly legs and a willowy frame. He was young, no older than herself, though his features had an animal-like set. He had bulbous, golden eyes set deep in a brown, furry face, and his long, thin nose had a button-like tip. He leaned over the tabletop, his hand lifting away from the cup of juice.
As soon as she saw the strange creature, he vanished, and all that remained was the juice before her.
“Curious,” she mumbled as she lifted the glass to her lips. The tangy taste of grapefruit tickled over her tongue, even more tart because of the jam on her roll.
A moment later, loud, clomping footsteps echoed down the hall, and Vasi spun just in time to find the witch glowering from the doorway.
“Will you give me the Phoenix Fire today, ma’am?” Vasi asked in a rush as she did each morning, knowing it was the only chance she’d get to ask the witch today. “My father has been in Cervene for days now, and they could kill him at any—”
“No. Your father is alive; stop worrying about what you have no control over. You need to work on your magic,” the witch growled. “You’ll be collecting herbs in the woods. Go fetch a basket.”
Vasilisa did as she was told, mollified with the assurance. A moment later, she paused on the path, turning to stare back the way she’d come. Through the trees, she could still see the open meadow, the twisted bone gate, and gigantic chicken legs holding Baba Yaga’s home in the air. The witch again threatened to imprison Vasi in a doorless room for punishment if she failed.
