Amid the Winter Snow

by Grace Draven

  “We’ll pass them on the way back,” Max said. He grabbed Renata’s hand and knit their fingers together. “Are you ready?”

  “No,” Renata said. “But I can lead them back to the library. They can shelter there until the weather clears. Then I want them gone.”

  It probably took an hour to get back to the library, twisting and turning through the maze of passages and caverns. Only Evin, the little Grigori girl, and Renata seemed to know the way. Max helped the Grigori, who introduced himself as Zana, and Thawra, his mate, carry the satchels with their clothes and food stores.

  “How long have you been in the caverns?” Max asked Zana.

  “About two years. We had made a small house in the mountains behind the big house we saw in the meadow. But when the snow came, we started to look for more solid shelter. We worry about Evin most of all. Contact with Thawra keeps her steady, but there’s nothing I can do for Evin. If she’s around people, she can’t block it out. Her hearing is too acute.”

  Max saw Evin following Renata, staring up at the Irina warrior with wide, awestruck eyes.

  “She doesn’t know anything,” Zana said. “Evin is an innocent. She knows nothing of our world. She didn’t even realize she wasn’t human when we lived in Damascus. She thought everyone heard the whispers. That’s what she called them. ‘The whispers.’ We lived a quiet, peaceful life for years, but the war reached us when she was five. There was so much horror. The voices of the dying and the grieving. She and Thawra both started to shut down. Then our own home was destroyed. We had to leave. We made it here, but we’ll always be in hiding.”

  “Are you Turkish?” Max said.

  “My mother was Kurdish.”

  Max glanced at Thawra. “And she’s Yazidi?”

  “Our human blood means nothing to us, but we could be killed anywhere we went if the humans knew where we came from. We couldn’t stay in Syria. Turkey is complicated too. Europe seemed like the only option.”

  “Why Italy?”

  “Thawra was studying Italian before the war. She wanted to read Dante in the original language. I can speak nearly anything if I see it written. It seemed like the best place, and it’s easy to get lost in the mountains here.”

  Max asked, “Does she speak?” He watched the thin woman walking behind Renata, her hand clutching her daughter’s hand.

  “She can. She usually doesn’t. She never has as long as I’ve known her.” Sorrow and devotion were written clearly on the man’s face. “Sometimes in her sleep she’ll talk.”

  “Was Melek abusive?”

  “He’s insane.” Zana’s voice turned hard. “Not abusive. Not exactly. Unlike most of the Fallen, he thinks his daughters are his most precious children. In the past, he would sell them to various tribes as prophets and seers. He doesn’t understand that the world doesn’t work that way anymore. Most people don’t believe in prophets and seers. When he sold his children to modern humans…”

  Heaven above. They’d put Melek’s daughters in asylums. Burn them as witches. Or worse. Zana had mentioned Thawra being sold, but Max didn’t want to pry.

  “We’ll get you help,” Max said. “I don’t know how, but we’ll figure something out.”

  As far as Max knew, no other Irin had encountered what Thawra, Zana, and Evin were: a true Grigori family. Thawra and Zana were mated, though it was doubtful any kind of ceremony had taken place. Evin was born from their union. A child of half-human and half-angelic blood, the same as the Irin. She was a second-generation Grigori child. Her powers would be formidable and possibly different from anything they’d known. Closer to the odd powers Ava and Malachi’s children were exhibiting than anything they’d encountered before.

  Whatever they were, Max wanted to help them. He recognized someone who was searching for a home.

  ~ 9 ~

  Renata lay on the bed, listening to the bustle of activity below. Max was being charming with the child, making her laugh and playing the guitar for her. He’d fed the family and found more blankets and sleeping bags for them, building a comfortable resting place in the library where her people had been slaughtered.

  What are you doing to me, Maxim?

  Renata felt like a monster, but she couldn’t be near them. Even the voice of the male made her ill. The smell of sandalwood in her house drove her mad. As soon as the small family left, she’d have to open all the windows to rid the house of the scent or risk going crazy.

  She heard someone on the stairs and sat bolt upright in bed. Luckily, after a few seconds she recognized Max’s step.

  He poked his head in the doorway. “How are you?”

  She shook her head and motioned him in. “Close the door, please.”

  Max did, then came to the bed, crawling next to her and wrapping her in his arms.

  “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling,” he said. “So I’m not going to say I understand. But thank you for letting them stay.”

  “I’m not going to send a child into a storm,” she said. “Not going to send a helpless woman out there either.”

  “But the man?”

  “If he were alone, he’d already be dead.”

  Max squeezed her tighter. “You realize he’s Ava’s uncle. In a sense.”

  “She doesn’t know him. She’d never feel the loss.”

  “Does that make it right?”

  “For the women he killed in the past? Yes. For the humans he preyed on before he found a conscience? Yes, killing him seems right.”

  Max didn’t say anything. “Part of me knows you’re right. Part of me knows that murder is murder. And we can’t forget that.”

  “And the other part of you?”

  “The other part of me remembers Kostas. Sees this man, Zana. Recognizes the struggles free Grigori have willingly taken on to fight against their own nature when they have fathers who encourage them to plunder this world.”

  “To plunder us,” she whispered.

  “Zana was not alive during the Rending. Few Grigori who are living now were.”

  Renata’s throat was tight. Tears stung her eyes. “I tell myself that over and over, Max. But every time I smell their scent, I’m right back in the library, grasping at hollow clothes and empty blankets where the babies were. They killed our mothers. Killed babies in their cradles. Killed more than warriors. They killed the innocent.”

  “I know.”

  “They killed those who were running. Killed my parents who only wanted to create beautiful things and sing songs and debate arcane academic points with other scholars. They killed Balien, who was only trying to protect others.” She turned around to face him. “They killed your mother. Your aunt. Your father. They might as well have killed your uncle and your grandfather too. Our people were cut in half. Thrown into chaos.”

  Max smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “I know. But not by him. Not by Zana.”

  “By others like him.”

  “And many of the same people hunt him now. Hunt his mate and child.” Max squeezed his eyes shut. “There are no easy answers, Renata. When do we forgive the children of our murderers? When do we let go?”

  She felt the hot tears slip down her cheek. “I don’t know if I can.”

  He said nothing, but he didn’t turn away in disgust or disappointment. He held her closer and kissed her forehead. He kissed the tears from her cheeks and rocked her back and forth as she cried silently.

  “You’re a better person than me,” she said.

  “No. I just don’t remember my loss as keenly as you do. I was a child.”

  Renata said nothing, but she didn’t agree. Max was a better person than her. He’d lost his mother and his father before he could even remember them. He’d been raised in a world devoid of art and beauty and fine things. He’d grown up in a world were kindness was a luxury and gentleness a weakness.

  And yet he didn’t turn away from the most vulnerable. He chose to use his strength and the harsh reality of his own past to create a safe place for those wh
o needed it, even if they were the blood of his enemies.

  Renata took a deep breath and lifted her head from his chest. “Did you need something from me?”

  “I only wanted to check on you.” He played with her hair. “I can bring some food up if you don’t want to come downstairs.”

  “I’m not a coward,” she said. “I just… I don’t want to let that girl see how I react to her father. It’s not her fault, and she loves him.”

  “She’s a darling child,” Max said. “She’s safe and secure. Obviously loved. She’s bright and funny. You can tell she feels very safe here.”

  Renata smiled a little. “Her home was in the caverns, so she snuck into the library. My home was in the library, so I snuck into the caverns.”

  “Both of you little rule-breakers. Probably driving your poor mothers crazy.”

  Mothers.

  “Thawra,” Renata said. “The kareshta woman.”

  “What about her?” Max asked.

  “She has no shields.”

  “No.” He cleared his throat. “I actually thought about that, but since she refuses to talk—Zana says she’s never spoken willingly as long as he’s known her, and that’s over fifteen years—I don’t think shields would be effective. She has to use her voice to make magic, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  Max shook his head. “I don’t think she would.”

  “Would she for her child?”

  Max frowned.

  “There are spells,” Renata said. “Spells to protect your daughter from the voices.”

  “But Evin is old enough to learn her own shielding.”

  “And if her mother refuses to shield her, I’ll teach her those spells. But if Thawra thinks that the only way she can protect her daughter is with her voice, then I’m betting she’ll use it. And if she uses it for her daughter, she can use it for herself too. And if she uses it for herself, then she’ll know that she has power.”

  For some reason, giving Thawra power felt important. That was something her mother would be proud of. That was something Renata could do. She couldn’t bring back her family, but she could help this mother and her child.

  She could at least do that.

  Max kept Zana out in the yard, chopping firewood with him while Renata went to the library. As she entered, she heard Evin giggle. Thawra was building a fort from the blankets and the furniture left in the library, using odds and ends to hold the blankets in place as Evin rolled under them in the red sleeping bag Max had given them.

  “Are you and Baba going to sleep down here with me?”

  Thawra signed, and Renata was surprised and pleased that the woman used British Sign Language, the same as her sister Mala used.

  We’ll sleep in our own bed, little bug.

  “But why? There’s room here,” Evin whined. “I want us to be all together.”

  We are always together. Maybe Baba wants a rest from your kicks at night, huh? Thawra smiled.

  “I do not kick Baba!”

  You do. You kick me too.

  “Are you going to tell the nice man about the new baby?”

  Renata must have made sound of surprise, because Thawra and Evin both turned toward her.

  “You’re pregnant?” Renata asked.

  Thawra looked frightened, and Evin quickly scrambled out of the blanket fort and over to Renata.

  “I was just pretending,” the little girl said. “I was just—”

  Thawra clapped and brought Evin to attention.

  Don’t lie, she signed. Especially to those offering shelter to us. Let me and Baba deal with this.

  “Mama, I’m sorry.”

  Thawra’s whole face softened. Little bug, don’t be sorry. I’m happy you’re excited about the baby.

  “Babies are exciting things,” Renata said quietly. “I’m sure you’ll be an excellent big sister.”

  No wonder the Grigori had fought so fiercely. He wasn’t only protecting his child, he was also protecting a pregnant mate. Irin men were known to be more than a bit wild and overprotective when their mates were pregnant.

  Apparently Grigori men were the same.

  You understand sign, Thawra asked.

  “I have a sister who lost her voice during the Rending,” Renata said. “She uses the same sign language you use.”

  Zana taught me when we were first together, Thawra said. Before that, I had no speech, though I could read and write a little.

  “And Mama and Baba taught me!” Evin, sensing she wasn’t in trouble, had climbed on the back of a sofa. “That was my first language, wasn’t it Mama?”

  Yes, little bug.

  “But now I speak sign and Arabic, and English, and I’m learning Italian.”

  Renata walked over as Thawra tried to get Evin down off the furniture. “You must be very smart.”

  “I am. My Baba says I am a clever, clever girl.”

  Thawra’s eyes were wary and worried as Renata drew closer.

  “I’m not going to harm you or your family,” she said.

  Zana says that we must leave after the storm passes. We have nowhere else to go.

  Renata sighed. “If you think that’s actually going to happen, you clearly don’t understand Max at all.”

  Evin bounced over and sat by Renata. “I like Max.”

  “I do too.” She tucked Evin’s hair behind her ear. “You remind me very much of myself when I was your age. Do you know I lived here when I was a girl?”

  “You did?” Evin grinned. “Did you sleep in the caves like me?”

  Renata felt the pang of guilt, but since the child clearly felt like sleeping in the library was an adventure, she tried not to feel too guilty.

  “No, I slept in the house. I had a room there with my parents. There were many families here, and my parents worked here in the library with many people. Clever people like you, who knew lots of languages and stories. I went to school here.”

  Evin’s face fell a little. “I can’t go to school.”

  Renata looked at Thawra. “What if I told you there was magic you could use to help her block out the voices?”

  What kind of magic?

  “Irina magic.”

  Thawra’s eyes went wide. The singers?

  “Have you met any of our kind before?”

  She shook her head. Only stories.

  “You have angel blood. That means you have the same magic we do. Irina mothers use magic to protect their children when they’re young. You could use the same magic to protect Evin from the soul voices—your other child too, if it’s a girl—but you’d have to speak.”

  Thawra eyes were blank.

  “Mama doesn’t talk.” Evin leaned closer to Renata and whispered, “The bad people hurt her heart. That’s what Baba says. That’s why she doesn’t talk except for bad dreams. Baba and me sleep by her at night and hug her lots if she cries.”

  Thawra clapped sharply. Evin, that’s enough.

  The bad people hurt her heart. Renata wondered if Thawra’s natural magic had something to do with empathy. If she were Irina, Renata would say she carried the angel Chamuel’s blood. Those of Chamuel’s blood were unusually empathetic. Some could even heal emotional injuries to others. Conversely, they were some of the most traumatized Irina during the Rending. They lived not only through their own trauma, but also through the trauma of those around them.

  They had to leave Syria, Max had said. Zana said they were shutting down.

  “You’re an empath,” Renata said, trying to catch Thawra’s eye. “You feel what others feel.”

  So does Evin, Thawra signed.

  “I can teach you magic to protect yourself. To protect her. You’d be able to be around humans. You’d be able to live a more normal life.”

  Thawra shook her head. We have no papers. We are nobody. Nothing.

  “Don’t say that, Mama.” Evin hopped off the sofa and went to her mother, wrapping her arms around Thawra’s hips. “Baba says you are his moon. Ya amar, Mama. Ya h
abib alby. And I am his ladybug.”

  Thawra took a deep breath and stroked Evin’s hair back. Go see the Christmas tree, she signed. Let me talk to the lady.

  “Go ahead,” Renata said. “When Max comes in, ask him for a biscuit. There are some in the kitchen. I made them with dried apricots.”

  “I like biscuits!” Evin bounced away through the stone hallway and past the iron door that hung open, leading to the house.

  Renata turned back to Thawra. “You don’t want her to hear you speak, do you?”

  Thawra opened her mouth and breathed deeply for a very long time. Then she put a hand on her belly and pushed out the words. “My voice. Sounds like a child.”

  It did sound childlike. It was high and scratched. Something about it reminded Renata of a cat mewling.

  “How old were you when you stopped speaking?”

  “Younger,” she rasped. Younger than Evin, she signed.

  “Why?”

  “Mad,” she said.

  “You were mad? Angry?”

  Thawra shook her head. “The family… sold—” The family I was sold to, she signed. They told me my voice was driving them mad. Anytime I opened my mouth, they beat me. So I stopped speaking. It was safer that way.

  Renata’s fury was ripe and fresh. “Your voice is a gift. We are daughters of the Creator. Our voices sing the songs of heaven. Those people were ignorant fools who knew nothing of your power. Nothing. Do you hear me? Your voice is power, and I will teach you how to use it. To protect yourself. To protect your children.” Renata took a deep breath. “And to calm and strengthen the mate who protects you.”

  Thawra’s golden eyes met Renata’s. “I have… magic?”

  Renata’s mind drifted back to a cold stone church, lying on the hard marble—empty and grieving—as a woman far more powerful than she’d been held out a hand to her.

  “Can you teach me to be a warrior?”

  “Can you heal my wound?”

  “You have more magic than you know,” Renata said. “And I can teach you to use it. I can teach you how to fight.”

  Thawra’s chin lifted, and Renata no longer saw a frightened victim. She saw a woman who hoped.

  Hope was powerful.