Porfiry wasted no breath. "As you ordered, we traveled north to the Queen of Cold's Wastelands, past the Solinen, to where the village of Damoi resides."
Damoi was a village far north of the Solinen territory. A little over a century ago, the area had become shrouded in distortion, a fog which clouded magic and shunned physical visitation. Ilya had sent Porfiry and Vasiliy precisely because they were demons and terrifyingly powerful, even compared to the best of the Darkrow. They were the only ones he deemed capable of solving the mystery, besides Katerini herself and one or two others. Ilya had wanted them to destroy the source of distortion. It was vital to his plans for Zhakieve. But communication had been lost after they entered the Wastelands. Ilya—and Katerini, grudgingly—had waited and waited, until Katerini was at last sent to see what could be done, if anything. She scowled, remembering the awful journey and all she had learned.
"Damoi still stands?" Ilya asked, folding his fingers under his chin. "Its Darkrow disappeared over a century ago, as well as the marker for the village." He gestured to the orb on his desk, glowing a pale white, silver dots sprinkled unevenly over the surface. How Ilya knew which dot was who, or where they were, was a secret he had never shared.
"Darkrow Levna of Damoi is confirmed dead, though the village is thriving," Porfiry replied. Ilya opened his mouth and Porfiry held up a hand. "Patience, Blue Emperor. Our report is hardly done." Ilya subsided obediently, his mouth tight. "As you said, something strange had occurred in the area, something which left part of your vision of Zhakieve blind. When we came to the edge of the Solinen, we encountered a barrier, a tangle of threads which encompassed an enormous part of the Wastelands. We were redirected, multiple times, back to the edge of the Solinen. If we had been of lesser strength, our minds would have been redirected as well—to forget what we had seen, for what we searched."
They had broken through the barrier with brute force once they determined its scope, Porfiry explained, and ventured past the tangle while following long lines of golden thread. They had eschewed Damoi completely. The thread had hummed with magic and, after two weeks, they had found its end—a snowy city which rivaled Zhakieva in both size and magnificence. The city of Kalinstad, built from the wintry mountain rock of the Kalinard mountain range, in the territory now known as the Kalinen.
Ilya stared at them in disbelief. "There is no such place."
"Kalinstad exists," Porfiry replied. His gaze flicked to Vasiliy. "We met its Under-King, a large man named Glastok, and a warlock named Alexey." His mouth closed, lips pressing tight, and he did not speak further. He did not seem to be able to. His expression was pained, and Ilya stared at him, waiting. When Porfiry still did not speak, Ilya's expression became incredulous.
Confused, he looked at Katerini for some explanation. "Warlock? I do not quite remember what a warlock is supposed to mean. Is it significant?"
Katerini gritted her teeth. "You swore," she hissed to Porfiry. "You swore with magic, in Alexey's name. To me," she growled, and the words bubbled and popped like molten glass. "And you know quite well what I'm capable of doing to him. Speak."
Ilya's lips parted in surprise as Porfiry snarled at her, grinding out, "The warlock Alexey comes from far across the oceans." He glanced at Ilya. "He looks much like you—flat almond eyes which slit when he smiles, thick black hair, pale skin. And as for his nature…" Porfiry tilted his head to the side slowly, considering his words. "A warlock is a human who has sacrificed their humanity for power. Power akin to a demon," Porfiry explained.
"Sacrificed their humanity?" Ilya blanched as Vasiliy nodded the answer. "How did you dispose of him?"
Porfiry and Vasiliy swiveled their heads like vultures to stare at Ilya. The hatred in their gazes was clear. Katerini tensed as Ilya drew his head back in astonishment. She could not protect him. The injury on her abdomen had only just healed. They were demons. Even at her best, she could not protect him. However, Porfiry and Vasiliy only continued to stare.
"We will not harm Alexey," Porfiry said finally, his voice low. His eyes rippled. "He is harmless. We—"
"He is not harmless!" Katerini shouted, seeing red. "Filthy liars! When I walked into that disgusting city, you fell over yourselves trying to cover up the truth! You made him a Darkrow, and he isn't even human—"
"You what?" Ilya gasped.
"—all because you thought he was pretty! On a damned whim, you did the unthinkable! He should have been destroyed!"
"He is harmless! Your rage blinds you!" Porfiry shouted back. They stood across from each other, Porfiry and Vasiliy on one side and Katerini on the other. Porfiry's eyes boiled to inky black and Vasiliy's glowed lighter. "He was afraid of the hunters who chased him across the ocean to kill him! How dare you accuse us of frivolousness! How dare you threaten him again with your misplaced hatred!"
"Misplaced?! Misplaced! If my rage blinds me, then your lust does the same!" she bawled. Ilya covered his mouth. "You were so busy trying to bed him—the both of you—you ignored everything else! You forgot your duty! You let blood-soaked filth like him run rampant—"
"He is not filth!" Porfiry roared.
She barked a laugh, then sneered. "Would you rather I call him a demon's—"
"Katerini," Vasiliy boomed, and they all jumped, even Porfiry. "Enough." His eyes were luminous. He approached Porfiry and gently pressed against him. Porfiry subsided, a frown set deeply into his mouth. Once again, he looked pained, though this time the expression was directed at her, and Katerini was irritated. Why was he staring at her with such a stupid face? Bah!
"Well. This has been interesting," Ilya murmured. Katerini jerked and looked at him. She had almost forgotten he was in the room. He lowered his hands into his lap, waiting until they all shifted to face him again. "I take it this is why you are injured, Katerini. You have a tendency towards violence." She scowled. "Oh? You think I did not notice? You look like a starving bird when you're in pain." Katerini hunched into herself as he eyed Porfiry and Vasiliy cautiously. "To think I would be graced with the sight of you arguing like siblings. Particularly dangerous siblings, perhaps, but siblings nonetheless."
Katerini sniffed, glancing at Porfiry and Vasiliy just as they glanced at her. The three of them blinked in unison when their eyes met. Katerini swung her head back to Ilya, annoyed.
He sighed, addressing Porfiry. "You made this Alexey a Darkrow?" Porfiry nodded. "He has not taken oath, or he would have shown on the orb." Ilya tapped the object in question. This time Vasiliy nodded. "Is there anything else I should know?"
Porfiry and Vasiliy wrapped their arms around each other. "He is ours. We will return to him after we are done here."
"Yours?" Ilya asked softly. A note of uncertainty rang in his voice. They said nothing and Ilya looked at Katerini. "Yours?" he repeated. Katerini very slowly raised her eyebrows. Ilya flushed and mouthed, 'Both?!' at her. She scowled, making a face, and his cheeks flushed red. "Oh. This is—" He rubbed his face, flustered. "Darkrow Porfiry, Darkrow Vasiliy, I gave you a task, did I not?"
They pursed their lips. Ilya shook his head, gathering himself. He was the picture of irritated, inconvenienced royalty. Katerini had seen him wear that persona a thousand times, throwing it on and off like a crinkled hat. She glanced at Porfiry and Vasiliy, unsurprised to see them looking just as irritated. Bah! She folded her arms, pressing her mouth shut tightly.
"I gave you a task, Darkrow Porfiry, Darkrow Vasiliy, and you not only have failed to eradicate the source of this—this pollution in Zhakieve, you declare it a Darkrow and—" Ilya faltered, "—and adopt it?"
Katerini heard a snort and glanced at Porfiry and Vasiliy. Their faces were colder than mountain rock.
"You have given me a slew of problems as I plan to reopen our borders!" Ilya complained. "Zhakieve has been closed to the world for centuries! How did this warlock get across? Who are these hunters? What in the six deaths have you been doing these past months?! First a Darkrow missing, now this—and apparently you will leave. As
if it is your right. Darkrow Porfiry, Darkrow Vasiliy, have you forgotten your oath?"
They didn't respond, their silence steely.
"I am your Blue Emperor. I am Zhakieve," Ilya said. His fingers trembled as he gripped the edges of his robe. Katerini's hands tightened on her arms. Ilya knew his hold on Porfiry and Vasiliy was flimsy at best. His decision to make them Darkrow was meant as a trump card, the one thing he could call upon if opening the borders invited danger or if they decided to revolt against him. That assurance was quickly falling away. The borders had been breached, without anyone the wiser, and powerful foreigners had all but fought a battle right under his nose. His two last resorts had sided with one of those foreigners, and even if Alexey was a Darkrow, Ilya did not know him. "You are not leaving here until I give you leave, and this Alexey—he is no Darkrow until I say. Bring him here—"
Katerini threw herself between them just as Porfiry and Vasiliy started forward, the intent in their eyes clear. "Stop," she ordered, her hands brushing the front of their cloaks. They stared at her. This would not end well unless she intervened, which meant she would have to speak on behalf of Alexey. Her mouth twisted in distaste. She would be forced to swallow her grudge, misplaced or otherwise. She wouldn't risk Porfiry and Vasiliy's violence, which was a thousand-fold compared to her brute strength. She turned to Ilya.
His color was fading fast. He would be ill for the rest of the day, confined to his bed. Katerini knelt and took his hand, squeezing it. "I have met Alexey. I will vouch for his character, Ilya. He is an idiot, a complete fool with stars in his eyes. Even if you do not trust my demon siblings, trust me."
Ilya frowned. "You called him filth, Katerini. You only do that for what you despise."
"I am ill-tempered and you know it," she growled. "This Alexey wants nothing more than solitude, my demon siblings, and to serve Zhakieve. I understand it is terrifying—there is nothing we can say or do to coerce them, no threats, bribes, or punishments. They are simply too powerful—except they are bound to one another. It is difficult to explain, but Alexey will not leave the Kalinen. Porfiry and Vasiliy are as steadfast as they will ever be. Perhaps more so, because as long as Alexey is tied to this land they will protect it." Leaning close, she whispered, "They want what he wants. I beg you to understand this is out of our depth—as humans. Drop the matter."
Ilya squeezed her hand. "Very well." Katerini moved aside, keeping their hands intertwined as he said, "You will continue to serve me?"
Porfiry inclined his head. "We swore a formidable oath. Even as demons, it would be unwise to break it. We have not forgotten." He settled back into Vasiliy's arms, half-lidded eyes watching them. "However, Alexey awaits us."
"Alexey needs us," Vasiliy whispered.
Ilya opened his mouth, then closed it quickly. He was speechless. He could not order them casually on this matter, needed to be careful of his next words. He considered them for a moment, then sighed in resignation. "You will be wandering Darkrow when you have finished teaching him."
Porfiry and Vasiliy inclined their heads.
"However, he will take the oath now," Ilya added. His knuckles were white, nails digging into Katerini's black gloves. Porfiry and Vasiliy shifted, ruffled. "I will have him under oath, serving me, and I will watch his movements on the orb." He waited until both Vasiliy and Porfiry nodded. He hesitated, as if he wanted to add something. Even glanced at Katerini. Then he leaned on the desk and sighed, shaking his head. "Tomorrow you may depart when I give you leave. I want a full, written report on every detail. I want to know everything about these hunters. Everything. And I will establish correspondence with Kalinstad."
"Very well. Alexey has been anxious to speak with you," Porfiry said, a sour note in his voice. Ilya's shoulders sagged in relief when Porfiry and Vasiliy bowed. "Good day, Your Most Wondrous Majesty." They departed, not waiting for Ilya's dismissal. Their patience had ended, and Ilya watched them go ruefully.
"Did I make enemies out of them, I wonder?" he murmured.
"No. You would be dead if you had," Katerini replied. "Never make a threat against the warlock, ever." She rubbed her stomach unconsciously and Ilya glanced down.
"Of course you did," he said lightly as he let go of her hand. "Are all fights to the death?"
She grunted. She didn't want to talk about it and Ilya was silly if he thought he could goad her into it. He sighed through his nose, overloud and obnoxious, and said, "You could have intervened, Kolya. Are you not a Darkrow too?"
Instantly Katerini knew someone else was in the room. The blue light in the corner of her eye, the one she had mistaken for flames in the fireplace—she swiveled her head to stare at it now. It blended effortlessly with the flickering blue fireplace, easy to dismiss, and Katerini cursed her carelessness. Her injuries had taken more of a toll than she'd calculated. The snort she had heard earlier—of course it hadn't been Porfiry or Vasiliy. They would never make such an undignified sound. She scowled. Porfiry and Vasiliy had probably known the moment they had stepped through the door someone else was hidden in the room. How gracious of them to overlook it.
A Darkrow walked out from between the white pillars. He was roughly the same height as her, perhaps a finger length shorter if she ceased her perpetual hunching, and looked remarkably like Ilya. Thick, unkempt blue-black hair swirled down his head like ink and obscured his glimmering eyes, too dark for Katerini to tell their color. They were flat, almond-shaped, though perhaps a bit more foxlike than Ilya's eyes. His pale skin lacked a sickly hue, his grinning lips were a wicked pink, and he was handsome where Ilya was beautiful. He also wore the heavy gear of a wandering Darkrow.
She raised her eyebrows. The relation was undeniable. Since Ilya had no siblings, this Darkrow must be a cousin or distant kin. Something told her she had met him once before, long ago when she and Ilya were children.
She shifted her attention to the contraption he held in his hands, a long stick with a bundle of ice-blue fluff wrapped tightly at the end. Katerini blinked. It was a distaff, and the fluff was unspun fleece held together by a ribbon. In his other hand, an ice-blue string was wound around a pen-like spindle.
"What an interesting family dynamic. That was quite a row. Half the Palace must've heard," he said lightly. His cloak swirled like smoke on the floor as he approached the dais. He continued to grin at Katerini, his eyes strange and shining. "It is an honor to meet the lovely Darkrow Katerini Gorchev."
Katerini blinked, then scowled. She didn't like him. Something about him was unsettling.
"This is my cousin and heir, the Blue Prince of Zhakieve Nikolai Irini, once the Darkrow of Vanka," Ilya introduced. "You may have met when we were children, I suppose, though I cannot recall—when I named Nikolai my heir—"
"Heir apparent," Nikolai interjected, wagging the spindle. "Which means I can't wiggle out of it."
Ilya sent him an exasperated look. "—it was deemed unwise for us to be close in proximity. You rarely venture to the Vankanen in the east, Katerini, and Nikolai rarely moves past the Svarinen."
Katerini pursed her lips. "True. I wander the western wilderness. The eastern parts are unknown to me." Darkrow weren't omniscient, even though that was the popular belief. She knew the map of her Empire by heart, yes, but Zhakieve was enormous. She had yet to traverse its entirety.
Nikolai twisted the spindle, the ice-blue fleece tightening into a fine string. "I have been stuck in the east since my training as Darkrow began, I'm afraid, long before Aunt and Uncle died and Ilya named me his heir. We all thought he would snuff it." Katerini gritted her teeth and Nikolai flashed a rakish smirk, his fingers slowly turning the spindle in a circle. "Oh, it seems I've offended the lovely Darkrow Katerini."
Katerini scowled as Ilya flapped his hand, saying, "No teasing her, Kolya, she hasn't a sense of humor."
"I am properly scolded," Nikolai said, inclining his head with an impish smile. "Though it may make the coming months rather difficult." He winked. "Is it true you have glass magic?"
Katerini growled, ignoring his question and rounding on a flustered Ilya with a glare hot enough to sear flesh. 'Coming months?' she mouthed, baring her teeth. Ilya cowered. He ducked away from her and waved a finger at Nikolai, cheeks red. "You must take this seriously, Kolya!"
"Fake solemnity?" Nikolai arranged his face into a stern expression. "Like this?"
Ilya buried his face in his hands, ears red with embarrassment. "Oh, Kolya." Nikolai broke his mask to smirk, glancing at Katerini to wink. She made a face. Bah. Ilya regained himself, though his cheeks were dusted pink, and said, "This matter is most troubling. Nikolai knows of it already. It must be kept secret until it is resolved. Tell only those you must." Katerini raised her eyebrows. How unusual. She waited for the rest, Ilya taking a deep breath as if to brace himself. His skin was paling rapidly, strained under the weight of what he was about to say. "A Darkrow is missing."
She blinked. "Hah?"
The Darkrow of Zhakieva had vanished.
Katerini kept her features stony as she listened, noting the solemnity on Nikolai's face was now genuine.
Darkrow Bravka was gruff, with a thick black beard, iron-streaked hair, and—rather unfortunately—no eyebrows. The effect was striking when combined with the hawkish color of his eyes and skin. Katerini had met him during her stays at the Palace, their exchanges never more than several grunts or sharp nods. To her knowledge, he hadn't left Zhakieva since becoming its Darkrow nearly a century before, when Ilya's ancestors had assigned him the post. His magic had been the most formidable in Zhakieve at the time, and certainly Katerini remembered its constant presence when she was younger, chasing Ilya around the Palace. Bright, liquid, and sticky like paint. Bravka had always been there, watching, guarding.
Lately, however, he had become distracted. Distant kin barraged him with appeals, determined to reestablish weakened bonds. Bravka had relented and requested leave during Lonely Winter, as the number of Darkrow flooding the city was more than enough to compensate for his absence. Ilya hadn't been bothered by the request, endorsing it fervently when Bravka showed doubt. Ilya knew the toll of duty—he had never had a choice in his own position as heir apparent, had to assume the throne despite his young age. He regretted often the manner in which Darkrow were trained, and tried hard to keep them close to their original kith and kin.
Breakfire's Glass Page 2