by Megan Derr
Of course, Teufel could have let someone through. But why? He had worked so hard to ensure that Schatten had no reason to believe that Zhar Ptitsa would never return.
Even as he asked the question, however, Dym knew the answer. That storm a year ago, the calming of the mermaids. He had not dared to believe it at the time, but with only one Vessel remaining ...
Perhaps that long ago prophesy was coming true, after all.
If so, of course Teufel would be stirring. Dym shivered and tried to sit up again. It was only then he noticed Krasny, fast asleep on the other side of the bed, a book in his lap and a forgotten cup of tea on the bedside table.
Dym smiled faintly and slid out of bed to go get cleaned up. If he had passed out then either the burning ceremony was close, or it had been delayed because of him. Discarding his dressing robe, he scrubbed himself clean, rinsed off, and then slid into the steaming bathing pool.
He sighed softly as the water began to soothe the worst of his aches and help to restore his lost energies. Zholty must have been exceptionally powerful to cast such a spell. It was little wonder he had been able to put the Kiss of the Basilisk on the mercenary.
Where had Zholty gone? Had they been able to capture him? Just how long had he been out? Dym made a face at himself, irritated that one death spell, even a powerful one, had been able to knock him out. He was clearly out of practice with too much of the higher magics. But with the fall of the sorcerers, he had hoped never to need such terrible spells again.
If Teufel was creeping out of Schatten, however, he would need every last bit of power at his disposal. His chest gave a sharp, painful twist when he realized that, when the last Vessel was offered to the Flames, he might not live much longer. Would he be around to help counter the machinations of Teufel?
Thinking of the last Vessel, of Raz, only reminded Dym all over again of that kiss. It had been hard enough hearing the confusion and pain in Raz's voice, of seeing Eminence acting like a lost mortal. He'd expected anger or to be attacked—even to be killed for all that he had done and must do one more time.
He had not expected Raz to comfort him instead. To kiss him and act as though it was what he most wanted to do. Dym curled his fingers into his palms, trying to erase the memory of touching Raz, wishing he had been bold enough to touch more and perhaps have something to remember when he finally died.
Tired, he was so tired. Dym closed his eyes, fighting the weariness and the despair. How much longer would he have to plod on, ultimately alone because no one could possibly know what it was like to be in his position? He was a relic, forgotten and only minimally useful, all his purpose brutally ripped away in a single tragic, bloody night.
All he wanted was to rest, to lie in the grass and listen to a soft, warm voice sing to him. The singing had stopped long ago. It had been the first thing to stop, the first sign that something was really wrong. He still remembered it, the memory all the more precious because it was so faded.
Dym forced it back and returned his thoughts to the present. Climbing out of the pool, he returned to his dressing chamber and selected formal robes for a funeral: deepest red, so dark they were nearly black with an under robe of deep orange. He pulled on his usual belt, and then stepped into black slippers and attached a hood to his robe that was the same deep red on the outside and deep orange within. Leaving the dressing room, he returned to the bed to fetch the keys beneath his pillow. When he rose he saw that Krasny was awake.
"You seem to have recovered," Krasny said gruffly. "Good."
"How are you?" Dym asked softly, noticing that Krasny had been crying.
Krasny shrugged and turned away, shoving back the loose, messy strands of his vibrant hair. "I'm fine. You've only been out a few hours; the ceremony is ready whenever you are."
"I am ready," Dym said quietly. "Would you like to prepare here? I can have your clothes brought."
"Yes, please," Krasny said, looking relieved by the suggestion. He dredged up a wry smile. "I admit I have been hiding in your chambers. Zholty killed two of the guards and of course no one wasted any time whispering about the fact I am the new Tsar." He looked at the ring on his finger and sighed. "The ceremony is going to be unpleasant, completely ignoring the fact that it is a burning ceremony and therefore unpleasant by its nature. I hope you are recovered sufficiently."
Dym smiled back. "Of course. I will support you however you like, Majesty."
"Oh, douse it," Krasny said. "Zholty is missing. I've sent soldiers out to find him and forced the other magic users to their feet to be of some scorching use for once, but Zholty is clearly too powerful for any of them so I hesitate to make them do much more than cast."
"He's dangerous," Dym murmured. "Very. Do not let anyone get too close. If they even suspect they have found him, they are to tell me at once and stay well away. I threw all of my power to counter him, and it only barely worked."
Krasny frowned and met his eyes, seeming to examine him. Finally, he just nodded. "So noted. Have my clothes brought then, Dym, and tell someone that the ceremony is to be in two hours. That should be enough time for everyone to gather. The Heart has already been informed. Tomorrow is the coronation, but after that I can put you more firmly on the hunt for Zholty—and the Vessel. I wish I could help more, but I feel the royal chains are firmly around my ankles now."
"It is for the best, however much you hate it," Dym said. "Go, rest in the bathing pool for a bit. I sense it is the last time you will be able to do so." On impulse, Dym stepped close and gripped Krasny's upper arms. "For whatever it is worth, you have done the right thing—for Pozhar, and more importantly, for yourself."
"I know," Krasny said. Freeing one arm, he covered one of Dym's hands with his own. "Thank you, Dym." Not waiting for any reply, he strode off toward the bathing pool.
Dym sighed softly and went to go find a priest or footman.
Chapter Fourteen: Shadow Child
Raz sat beneath the petrified apple tree and tried to figure out what he was supposed to do. Days had passed since that moment in the garden and still he did not have an answer. Why had he kissed the High Priest? Why had he betrayed Pechal that way?
Why did it still feel as if it had been the right thing to do?
Worst of all, he wanted to do it again. To do more.
Raz leaned his head back against the tree and stared up through its branches to the clouds high above. Snow would start falling soon, and it would be a blizzard. He was starting to think it was true when people suggested that Pozhar was slowly freezing to death because of Holy Zhar Ptitsa. Would killing him really solve everything?
He still found it hard to believe he was a piece of a god. How had Pechal felt about it? How had all the others? Raz sighed. How much longer did he have before someone finally found him? He was hoping it would take Ivan, and Shio and Shinju a little while to figure out he had returned here. It was stupid to have come back to where he had been before, but the tree and the ruins of the manor around it felt safe where nothing else did.
There was also the fact that in the middle of the woods, at the base of the Jagged Mountains, his magic would not accidentally hurt and kill people. Fire and ash, how many people had died in the harbor? How many had been hurt in the cathedral?
His power alone was reason enough to surrender himself to the Sacred Fires. Looking back down, Raz drew one leg up and propped his chin on it, wrapping his arms around his leg. He should have felt the cold, he knew, but he didn't. Being a piece of a god had some benefit, though it wasn't enough to make it worthwhile.
What should he do?
Raz closed his eyes and relived that moment in Dym's rooms, the soft, hesitant way Dym had responded. How he'd tasted, and fires he would never be able to think of cinnamon again without recalling that moment.
How terrible a person did it make him to think of Pechal in one moment and of kissing his killer the next? Pechal deserved more than that, but Raz could not stop. Thinking of Dym was just as painful; he just did not kn
ow why.
The distant sound of bells tolling made him open his eyes, dismay rushing through him when he realized the bells were tolling the death of the Tsar. If they were tolling now, the Tsar must have died roughly a day ago.
Would they continue to hunt for him, then, or wait until the mourning period had passed? The mourning period for royalty was six months. Raz couldn't see them waiting that long—but one Vessel very recently killed, the passing of the Tsar … and then they would capture and kill him?
Pozhar was supposed to be a land of rebirth, not a land of death.
A flake of snow landed on Raz's hand, and he looked up and around, realizing that the storm had finally arrived. The snow was only falling lightly, but that wouldn't last. He should probably return to the village. Instead, he remained where he was and began to sing whatever bits and pieces came to mind of the hymns he once sang along with in the Cathedral of Ashes.
As he sang, the tune and the words slowly changed and his voice softened. Raz stretched his legs out again and looked up at the falling snow. He vaguely remembered a day filled with sunshine, the smell of flowers, and someone lying in the grass next to him. Raz fought an urge to reach out and drag the man's head into his lap, stroke his face, his lips, and draw out a reluctant smile. Eminence.
The sound of feet, of someone walking carelessly through the forest, broke Raz from his daydream. His eyes snapped open, and he stared at the shadowy, hooded figure standing at the very edge of the garden and felt a chill. Slowly standing, Raz brushed off the snow that had begun to cover him and let his arms hang loosely at his sides. Something about the man made him almost afraid. He also looked familiar, but Raz could not say why. "Good evening. I wasn't expecting guests."
"You should be, Vessel."
"Who are you?" Raz asked, though it was obvious the man must have been a hunter. Not Krasny or Dym, however, and that was strange. "Where is the High Priest? The Duke?"
The man laughed and drew back his hood, revealing a face that might have been handsome were it not so contorted with contempt and mockery. Fear ran through Raz's blood when he saw that the man's eyes glowed violet. That was the color of Schatten. How could this man be a shadow child? "Krasny? He is too busy pretending to be Tsar. The High Priest … " The man gave a cold, smug laugh. "Why, the High Priest protected the Tsar from a killing curse I threw at him. The last I saw him, he was lying dead on the floor."
"No!" Raz bellowed, a burst of heat flaring around him and spreading out in a circle from him, melting the snow and knocking the man off his feet. Raz barely noticed the snow, eyes only for the man. "What did you do to my priest?" he demanded as he crossed the garden and bent to yank the man to his feet. He shook the man hard and repeated, "What did you do?"
The man smirked again, though the effect was somewhat ruined by his bloody lip and the redness to his face from the heat that Raz had hit him with. "I told you. He died protecting the Tsar—" He broke off screaming and Raz dropped him, watched uncaring as the man curled into a ball on the forest floor, whimpering with pain.
Raz knelt beside him, fisted a hand in his hair, and yanked his head up. "I can inflict pain far greater than what you currently feel. A shadow child is nothing next to my powers. Tell me your name."
"Zholty."
The Minister of Magic, that was why he looked familiar. Except the man before him looked nothing like the pompous lord who had watched idly as men were dragged away to be hanged. "Did you truly kill Dym?" Raz refused to believe it. His priest was too powerful to be felled by someone like this, even if he could wield shadow magic.
"I-I-I don't know! He blocked my curse, even though no one should be able to do that. I've never seen one man with so much power!" He collapsed.
Raz let go and rose. "You had better hope he lives. Even your shadows will not protect you from my wrath should my priest be dead."
Zholty rose clumsily to his knees, still huddled in on himself with pain, and only at the last minute did Raz see the ominous glow of his eyes. He stepped back as Zholty began to speak, threw out his arms and stared wide-eyed when violet light struck the air in front of his hands and burned away in a flash of orange and the scent of fire.
He didn't wait to figure out what had just happened. Vessel he might have been, but he was a street rat foremost. React first, sort it all out later. He punched Zholty in the face, the gut, and slammed his hands down on the back of his head. Zholty finally dropped to lie face down on the snow, blood streaming from his nose and still dripping from his split lip.
Raz panted, suddenly feeling cold. He took a step forward, and dizziness knocked him to his knees. He braced his hand on the ground, feeling ill.
His last thought was of sitting beneath the apple tree with Dym, singing just so his somber priest would smile.
*~*~*
Raz woke feeling devastated, but the reason why slipped away as he opened his eyes. He sat up, shoved away the blankets covering him, and saw he was in the inn where he had last spent time with Pechal. His gut twisted, but he shoved the pain away. He could not afford to be distracted by grief for the moment; time enough for that later.
There was a figure by the window. Ivan. "I wondered who would find me first: You, Shio and Shinju, or the Vessel hunters. You came in a very close second. I'm surprised you beat out Shio and Shinju."
"I made certain they didn't get here first," Ivan said flatly, and then at Raz's expression added, "I've got three of my men slowing them down, though they won't be able to do it for long. I'd just kill them, but somehow I think scorching you that way would not help anything."
"No, it really wouldn't," Raz said. "Did they really—"
"Yes," Ivan said, finally turning away from the window and folding his arms across his chest as he stared at Raz. "We spoke to them again back in the Heart. They say they are here to ensure the Vessels all go to the Flames. They said other things, strange things, that I still do not entirely believe."
"Such as?"
Ivan shrugged. "Such as the High Priest is nine hundred years old and is the same Priest who was there when Holy Zhar Ptitsa was killed."
Raz remembered that moment when he had first seen Dym, the way his gut had wrenched, the pain, how pale Dym had gone. "I believe it," he said softly.
"Fire and ash," Ivan said, making a face. "All this god stuff is beyond me. I don't want to have anything to do with it, so why am I mired in it?"
"Because you're the Wolf," Raz said softly, gaze going distant. "In every life you protect Pozhar."
"You're being creepy."
Raz shook himself and held a hand to his forehead. "Sorry. I seem to be doing that sort of thing more and more often. It's like I'm two different people and it's driving me out of my mind. How long have I been out?"
"No idea, really," Ivan replied, leaning against the wall and eyeing him warily. "Since I found you a day and a half has passed. But you were out there in the woods for quite some time. There was nothing for several paces in a perfect circle around you and Zholty, but beyond that the snow was up to my knees." He jerked his head toward the window. "Nearly up to my nipples now."
Snorting, Raz finally climbed out of bed. He fumbled around for his boots and yanked them on. Striding to the window, he looked out at the piles and piles of snow. Nobody was going anywhere, not right then. "Where is Zholty?"
"Secured and being watched," Ivan replied. "Not sure what to do with him, what with his being nobility and all. I'd turn him in, but that gets a bit tricky seeing as there's a new, very generous price on our heads." He cast Raz a reproving look.
"I'm sorry you got dragged into all of this with me," Raz said. "You're certainly allowed to walk away whenever you want."
Ivan shrugged. "Not like we could get much work in this weather. Doing something is better than doing nothing, even if I don't understand what I'm doing or why." He pushed off the wall and motioned. "Come on, I'm sure you're hungry. You looked one step away from death when we found you."
"How did you find me?"<
br />
"We looked everywhere else, and then for some reason that weird stone tree came to mind. Sure enough, there you were."
Raz smiled ruefully. "I knew I wouldn't be able to hide for long." He picked up his jacket, hanging from the end of the bed and shrugged into it while following Ivan from the room and down the stairs.
In the main hall, Ailill sat at a table roughly in the middle of the room, close enough to the enormous fire to be warm without overheating. He lifted a hand in greeting when he saw them. "So should we be calling you Holy Raz, these days?"
"Douse it," Raz said as he sat on the bench opposite. "Why are you still here?"
"Intrigued, and I am a White Beast of Verde. I am granted that status in order to help the gods, even those beyond Verde."
"The gods long ago made a pact not to interfere with one another's affairs unless asked," Raz said.
Ailill lifted a brow. "Yet you have two mermaids running around ensuring the Vessels are sacrificed. I think it safe to say that pact has been broken. I will help however I may unless you tell me otherwise."
Raz shrugged, uncomfortable with the deference. Ailill was a duke, one of the most powerful men in Verde. He did not owe Raz, a stupid street rat, any sort of deference.
A woman came up with a tray of food and beer, and Raz happily dug into the distraction, his stomach growling. "Where is the rest of your pack?" he asked Ivan.
"Luka, Maksim, and Isidor are delaying the mermaids. Gleb and Ferapont are watching Zholty upstairs in another room."
Raz finished his beer, and then shoved all the empty dishes away. "He's dangerous. His eyes glowed violet."
"Violet?" Ailill said sharply. "That isn't possible."
"Apparently it is because he is very adept—a shadow sorcerer, I would hazard to say. But I don't know how he could have learned it. No one who goes up the Jagged Mountains lives to tell the tale, and I doubt that anyone who makes it into Schatten ever comes back."
"No one goes into Schatten. Holy Licht sealed Schatten off over nine hundred years ago shortly before the gods were Lost," Ailill said. "No one goes in or out; it's impossible."