Katerini became more unsettled and annoyed as Ilya continued: Bravka's behavior had been peculiar around the time he left, which Ilya had attributed to nerves. Less than a week after he departed, his reports had ceased without explanation and Ilya had watched through the orb as Bravka veered off his promised course to travel dangerously north. He'd gone deep into the Queen of Cold's Wastelands, reaching the Svarinard mountain range. There his glowing marker on the translucent orb disappeared. Ilya was sure he was headed to the Top of the World, though he couldn't fathom why.
Katerini tapped a thin finger on her bottom lip. "You want me to track him."
"Yes," Ilya replied. "You are the foremost of the wandering Darkrow."
Katerini knew this. She spent most of the year in solitude, roving vast tracts of land. Blizzards, ice-storms, floods, avalanches—she braved them all alone. Sometimes she went weeks without speaking a word, traversing regions otherwise untouched by humans. She knew how to interact with wolves, deer, foxes. She read the stars like a map, the clouds like a fortune, and the land spread before her like a book. Nature was her first language. It was always jarring to find some poor fool lost in the snow, worse to find the bodies of frozen travelers. Yet it was why she wandered the land, guarding silently as all Darkrow must.
"Nikolai has graciously volunteered to assist with this assignment, Katerini. His knowledge of eastern Zhakieve rivals yours of the west, and he has been to the edges of the Svarinard," Ilya said. She blinked in surprise and looked at Nikolai. Nikolai's eyes glittered beneath his thick bangs, his smile all teeth. It was unspoken, of course, that he had not climbed the Svarinard. No one had. The idea was insane. The mountain range was a deathtrap. Another reason why Bravka's behavior was baffling.
Katerini scrunched her mouth together, ignoring Nikolai—who chuckled—in favor of Ilya. He did not seem to be beyond worry yet, which was good. Nikolai, however, she couldn't know. She had no guess to his thoughts. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, noting his calm demeanor. Katerini thought the mess reeked of deception. If they wouldn't be suspicious, well, Katerini would. Enough for all of them.
Ilya tapped a stack of letters. Katerini reached out and took them, turning them over in her hands. "These are from Darkrow Bravka and his kin. Nikolai and I have read them, but we cannot guess what made him behave so—so—"
"Absurdly?" she muttered. She rolled her eyes at Ilya's reproving glare and dropped the letters onto the dais with a disgusted look. "Certainly if you both could not find a clue, then I cannot."
"Read them anyway," Ilya insisted. Katerini grunted, then winced. Her hand unconsciously reached for her stomach, and she caught herself a moment too late, Ilya's eyes widening. "Your injuries—"
"Are healed," she said, clenching her fist. "The pain is phantom."
"Still, it does present a problem, hmm?" Nikolai leaned forward to stare at Katerini's midriff. She snarled at him, hunching into her cloak as he laughed. "You failed to mention her beauty, Ilya, or how pretty her voice is when she shouts. Will she bite me? I wouldn't mind."
Ilya frowned. "No teasing, Kolya." Nikolai laughed again and twirled the spindle. "Kol—"
"Yes, yes, I am properly scolded, Your Magnificently Spoiled Majesty," Nikolai replied. He bowed smartly to Katerini. "Forgive me. I have spent much of my youth giving my loved ones headaches. My tendency to mischief has not left me completely, I'm afraid, though Ilya has tried. I truly believe he thought I would settle when he made me Blue Prince." He snorted.
Katerini raised her chin as Ilya reddened and huffed. So Nikolai liked to tease, and she did not like being teased in the least. A rough journey ahead indeed. He was the Blue Prince, though, which meant she could not beat him if he irritated her too much. Bah. When she realized Nikolai was waiting on a response to his speech, she grunted. He smiled sweetly at her, like she had given him a thoughtful gift, and she frowned. He turned back to Ilya, who was red in the face despite his pallor.
"See? All is well, Your Gloriously Rosy-Hued Iridescence," Nikolai said as Ilya held out a hand. "Are you still making people address you by ridiculous titles, cousin mine, or has this whim of yours passed? I've been hard at work thinking up new ones..." He helped Ilya off the dais. His smile never wavered, though the glimmer in his eyes softened as Ilya leaned heavily on him.
Katerini watched them. Ilya clearly adored him, and Nikolai was doting. She sighed through her nose, letting their chatter fade to noise. Neither of them looked overtly at Ilya's shaking legs. The sight made a hard knot in her stomach, one more painful than her injury. She wondered how Nikolai felt when he saw his beloved cousin so very ill, knowing he could do nothing even with the fearsome powers of a Darkrow roiling inside. Her mouth tasted bitter when she thought of it, when she felt the masses of power at her fingertips and knew Ilya would die anyway.
A flash of silvery white caught her eye and she turned. Nikolai had produced a delicately wrought cane made of glass and stone, apparently hidden somewhere on the dais. Pearls and diamonds flashed along its surface, the glass shaped like coiling smoke and tinted a foggy white.
"You still have it," Katerini said, a note of pride slipping into her voice. "My Winter Solstice gift."
"Yes," Ilya said with a smile, taking the cane and shifting his weight off Nikolai, who turned to look at Katerini with polite interest. "Your glasswork is impeccable, Katerini. Why wouldn't I use it? It's so beautiful." She smiled as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. "I am sorry to send you away so soon," he whispered.
"Do not be. I am a Darkrow," she replied. "You are a Blue Emperor." The corners of her lips twitched. "Yet I know it is because we are friends you have asked this of me."
Ilya's skin went waxy and he opened his mouth to speak just as Nikolai grabbed his arm. "Cousin. Dearest, most wonderful cousin mine. You look as if you are about to drop. Shall I escort you back to your rooms? Or call a servant?"
"My servant lingers in the private passages of the Palace," Ilya replied. He kissed Nikolai's cheek and limped past them both, the cane clacking like a chime with every step. "I leave you two to discuss how you plan to go about the mission. Inform me as soon as you have decided your strategy, and do not forget to say goodbye to me. Especially you, Kolya."
Nikolai grinned. Katerini watched as Ilya ambled through the white pillars towards a hidden door. It hurt to see him so weak. Katerini waited until the door shut with a click, Ilya safely out of hearing, before turning to Nikolai. He looked at her expectantly.
"Something is amiss," she said.
"Yes," he replied. The corners of his lips turned up. He lifted his distaff to loose more fleece, carefully checking the strength of the connecting fibers. "So you are a glassmaker. You have glass magic then, yes? I have taken an interest in glass. I think it's rather lucky we've been paired, yes?"
Katerini frowned. "Yes, Prince Irini. I am a glassmaker during Lonely Winter. I do not see what that has to do with the mission."
"Read the letters," he responded. "And I prefer Darkrow Nikolai."
"You already read the damn letters!" she snapped.
He chuckled. "Yes, I did." He smiled at her. "You will too." Still smiling, he bowed and strode towards the silver doors, his black cloak whirling with each step. He paused as the doors swung open, then turned his shining eyes on her. "What a pretty temper you have. You glow when you shout." Then he was gone, his laughter echoing in the great chamber.
Katerini scowled. She did not trust him.
Chapter Two
Katerini huddled into the cushioned seat, drawing her hood tighter around her face. On either side of her sat Porfiry and Vasiliy, Porfiry's hands neatly folded on the table, Vasiliy leaning forward like a crescent moon. She slid down in her seat. Why had she agreed to this? Sitting in a cramped tavern with her demon-siblings, the three of them eliciting the usual surreptitious stares, wishing she could melt like hot glass. She was going to strangle Nikolai, Blue Prince or not. She flinched when raucous laughter rang out in the tiny tavern, name
d the Wandering Wolf—she gritted her teeth, so idiotic—and cursed under her breath. Vasiliy glanced reprovingly at her and she sneered at him. He could stick his head in the snow for all she cared. Why Nikolai thought this was a good idea—another burst of laughter pounded on her ears.
"What an atrocious laugh," Porfiry murmured.
She wholeheartedly agreed. The entire tavern was an atrocity. The flickering orange flames from the creaking lamps were too dim, reminding her of a damp cave, and she had chosen seats farthest from the fireplace. The reddish color of the fire hurt her eyes. It was also unbearably hot in the cramped tavern, which Nikolai claimed was a popular spot for many Darkrow. He wasn't wrong—easily a dozen Darkrow crowded the bar or lounged around the fire, eating and drinking. More than she had ever seen in one place besides the Palace of Pale Stars. She only knew one or two in passing. Nikolai, however, seemed to know quite a few of them. She watched him chat, wishing he had explained why he wanted them to meet here, of all places. The most she had gotten out of him was he was waiting for someone important. She felt completely out of place.
While the Darkrow were small in number, they weren't too familiar with each other outside of name. Quite frankly, they were too spread out to be close. Zhakieve was enormous, and thus the two types existed: stationary, or those who were assigned to watch over a single city, and wandering. Wandering Darkrow rarely encountered each other, though some traveled in pairs, and stationary never left their assigned area. Neither was there an institution for them, no school or academy. The very idea was ridiculous. Not enough Darkrow existed to merit such a thing. Darkrow were trained to sense their own kind, or those who had the potential to join them. Whomever they found, they taught the necessary skills and then sent them off to Zhakieva. Once there, they were tested by other Darkrow and, if they passed, took oath. It was more likely a Darkrow made their friends elsewhere, in their profession perhaps, or among the village they served.
The squealing laughter erupted again and she groaned. Nikolai was taking his time. Was tea so difficult to procure? She glanced at the cluster of Darkrow and saw him smiling at her. He winked. Enraged, she sat up only to have Vasiliy grab her arm.
"He is goading you," Porfiry said, tapping the smooth wood of the table with a tapered finger.
She scowled and shook off Vasiliy's hand. Took a quick peek at Nikolai, who smirked and turned away, mingling with the crowd. Disgruntled, she slid down her chair, burrowing into her cloak. Porfiry sighed and left a deep scratch in the table. He and Vasiliy weren't pleased about the mission. Katerini didn't know whether to be surprised or irritated. No choice of secrecy existed with them, and Ilya had allowed for this, at least, by granting Katerini the ability to tell only those she must—and Porfiry was insufferably fussy. Bah. Perhaps she could've kept it from Vasiliy, but Porfiry sank his claws into everything. Both she and Ilya knew this, and knew it was useless to fight it. Darkrow or not, they were always demons, scorching stars with searing, secret wills of their own.
But she had not expected their reactions.
When she had told them, their lips had become thin lines and their faces so stony she wondered if they hadn't transformed into statues. And, of course, they had refrained from telling her exactly why they were displeased, which meant she had to guess. She hated guessing. Bah. She was going, statues or not.
The doors of the tavern burst open, blasting blessed cold, and in strode five heavily cloaked figures. One of them, the largest, was a Darkrow. The other four were not, cloaked in varying shades of blue. Katerini straightened in her seat, surprised. The figures did not even pause upon entering the tavern, bustling straight to where Katerini sat. The level of noise in the tavern briefly wavered, the five figures subjected to curious glances. Katerini saw Nikolai's glimmering eyes, watching from a blank face, but her attention had focused on the newcomers. She knew exactly who they were. Her face had, wholly against her will, broken out into a wolfish smile.
"Zharva," she growled as the Darkrow threw back his hood. Darkrow Zharva Grinyov was one of the few Katerini called friend, and, even more rare, partner. He was her usual companion on assignments requiring two Darkrow. Most likely he had come to find out why she was partnered with that grinning idiot, Nikolai.
"Katerini," he boomed. He always boomed. Even his whispers shook glass. Zharva was a master craftsman who spent most of his time bellowing at frightened apprentices over the hammering and sawing of wood. His skin was dark, dark brown and his eyes were nearly as black as Porfiry's. He was bald, most of his head covered in nasty scars from an accident during their childhood, and his lips were pulled into their usual wry smile. "We've come to say hello—and goodbye."
The four figures sitting around him slipped off their hoods with dainty hands. The Grinyov sisters. Matrona, Maryana, Melorya, and Marina. Matrona was oldest, Marina the youngest, and Maryana and Melorya were twins. They all had the same springy black hair which bloomed around their faces and the same dark skin as their brother. Strictly speaking, Zharva was the eldest of them, but he deferred to Matrona's decisions. Formidable clairvoyants, all of them. Even Zharva. Katerini personally thought the sisters should've been Darkrow too, but their talents lay solely in foresight—a magic which could not be controlled.
"Darkrow Porfiry and Vasiliy," Matrona greeted. Porfiry and Vasiliy inclined their heads, and Matrona's eyes flashed with clouds. "A Darkrow with unruly black hair sits spinning golden thread in a red room. He is happy, though he waits for you." She blinked, then sniffed. "It is good to see you again, Katerini."
Katerini blinked. Porfiry and Vasiliy smiled faintly because Matrona had seen a vision of Alexey. In a red room. Katerini curled a fist against her stomach. Slippery red, slick in between her fingers, dribbling from her mouth—all the muscles in her body knotted. She grasped for something, anything to take her mind away from the memories, and she noticed a bulge in Marina's cloak.
"Are you expecting, Marina?" she asked. She knew Marina was sweet with a young tailor who was smitten with her kindness.
Marina smiled. "Yes. A warrior. On her twenty-sixth name day, she will make her first kill—a corrupter, one who whispers darkness into souls. She'll wear his bones and ascend to glory." She tittered.
Katerini suppressed a shiver. She knew Marina couldn't help it. Oracles were compelled to declare their visions. The Grinyov sisters were unsettling on the best of days. Even Zharva had his moments, though he struggled to keep them at bay. None of the training or control he had learned as a Darkrow ever alleviated the power of the visions.
"Katerini," Zharva said, leaning forward. His grin matched hers. "You've got a pretty prince for a partner, eh? Though at least he's not a skinny twig like you, ready to blow away at the first wind."
"Big talk for someone who sinks like a stone in the mud. Watching you heaving yourself out of every snowdrift never fails to tickle me," Katerini replied. Zharva barked a laugh. They both knew she was incapable of being tickled in the least. "And I didn't pick him. His Most Imperial Majesty did. I would discuss the mission with you—"
"I know," Zharva said. He waved his hand and she raised her chin. He knew, which meant he had seen something. She frowned as he continued, "You're being your usual contrary, difficult self. Apathetic until irritated, as always. Try not to make too many quick judgments, Katerini. I know you are amiable enough to changing your mind—you are fair—but the Blue Prince is an able partner. He is quite accomplished. Instincts can be wrong."
She frowned deeper. "Zharva, you know I do not like being told what to think."
"Yes," he replied dryly. "I do." He leaned back and folded his arms. "I am saying this as your friend and partner. Trust him, if you can. Try, Katerini."
She grunted, unwilling to answer.
"Katerini!" Maryana and Melorya chorused. Katerini's head snapped in their direction. "Weave a tapestry! Pretty and shimmering like quartz, rippling in step with the slow march of Mother Glacier to her child's funeral." Their heads rolled a little.
> "Yes?" Katerini blinked. She didn't know a thing about weaving, though she had been taught to sew and mend clothes. "I will."
She looked at Zharva, who shrugged, and said, "They've been in the future for weeks now, Katerini. No use trying to understand them. Even if the Darkrow Prince had not been assigned to your mission, Matrona bid me stay to help with the twins. They cannot be trusted to know when they are right now."
Porfiry shifted. His black eyes flicked to meet Vasiliy's light blue ones, which glowed even in the dim light of the tavern. A pen-like spindle wrapped with thread the same color flashed in her mind. Yes. Vasiliy's eyes reminded her of the fleece Nikolai had been spinning into thread yesterday. They were brighter than the ice-blue of the thread, but if held to the light—she rolled her eyes. Nonsense.
"The worst of their visions will be over in two weeks' time," Matrona said gravely. Maryana and Melorya giggled, their eyes swiveling back and forth, seeing sights no one else was privy to—for now, at least. "Zharva, say what you must. We cannot stay for long, Katerini, I hope you understand. An episode is forthcoming." Katerini nodded as Matrona stood, Marina, Melorya, and Maryana standing with her. "Good day, and good journey to you, Katerini. Good journey to you as well, Darkrow Porfiry, Vasiliy. Zharva, we will wait outside."
Katerini, Porfiry, and Vasiliy bowed their heads respectfully as the four sisters pulled up their hoods and departed. Zharva reached out and Katerini met him halfway, their hands clasping tightly. She knew the clouded look in his eyes, the lonely gray swirling in the darkness. A prophecy. She braced herself.
Breakfire's Glass Page 3