"Katerini."
"Yes, Porfiry."
"You asked Vasiliy why I was sad at the Palace of Pale Stars." She closed her eyes, cursing her delirium, cheeks flushing pink. "Katerini, answer me."
"Yes, I did, what of it?" she snapped. "I was dying! It doesn't—"
"Katerini, I do not want to fight with you," Porfiry replied. He left the cloth in the bowl and came to stand in front of her. At almost the same time, they folded their arms. Blinked. Scowled. "You think I enjoyed our quarrel?"
She pursed her lips.
"You assume too much about a demon's nature," Porfiry chided. "I—"
"No, Porfiry, I do not. Demons are strange and selfish and ruthless, and they withhold important information like shards of demon tears in people's eyes, thinking it's of little consequence," she growled. Porfiry raised an eyebrow. They had fought about that earlier. Matching his expression, she said, "I was bitter and angry. It wasn't your fault, I understand this now. Nikolai—he—" Bah. She waved a hand. "You were right about my rage blinding me. I do not think I can forgive you for my father, but I do not think I can forgive my father either. I do not hate you, either of you, nor Alexey. I was wrong, and I'm sorry."
Porfiry regarded her for a moment, long enough for her to growl. Then he walked towards her and hugged her, damn him! She pushed on his chest and he relented.
"I expected this from Vasiliy, not you."
His lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. He kissed the top of her head wordlessly, then helped her into a shirt so she could practice walking around the Palace.
She had still not forgiven Nikolai for yanking the hair from her head. She had also not forgiven him for dragging her up three mountains whilst lying to her and then dying, leaving her to drag his useless corpse back from the Top of the World all the way to the other side of Zhakieve to beg her demon brothers and their warlock for help. Bah. She couldn't bring herself to say as much. He looked too happy.
And impatient.
He wanted to return to Zhakieva, to the Palace of Pale Stars and Ilya. The mirror weighed heavy on his mind. She could see his restlessness, his quick smiles coupled with distracted eyes. He laughed too loudly or fell silent for too long. He didn't dare voice his anxiety, not with Katerini bedridden and Porfiry and Vasiliy watching. They did not take well to the rushing of her recovery. The one time he even implied it, they had leveled him with a glare so fierce even Alexey yelped. The weight of their power had bent Nikolai double. Katerini had shouted at them to leave him be, bah! And the matter was dropped. As New Spring wormed its way forward, even she was exasperated by their insistence on a slow and steady recovery. Ridiculous. She argued with Porfiry often about it, saying she was fine over and over. Except she did not feel fine, not if she was honest. She felt a little hollow, empty with a soul-deep exhaustion. It was at those times she slept and ignored Nikolai's fidgeting.
At the height of New Spring, she threw back the covers of her bed-prison and trundled around the room, snarling at Porfiry and Vasiliy when they protested, and snarling at Nikolai when he grabbed her by the waist to steady her. He helped her, unafraid of the growling. She let him. She couldn't take another day of lying in bed, she decided, and even if eating made her feel unbearably sick, she could walk. She would walk. And several weeks later, after another glass-shattering argument with Porfiry, she was deemed fit enough to travel back to Zhakieva.
"Will you come back? Please? To teach me more thread-magic?" Alexey asked Nikolai as they walked down the steps of the Palace Dyed in Red. Katerini walked on Nikolai's other side. Even if she had thanked him, Alexey was still wary of her. Just as well. She was still grappling with her not-hatred of Porfiry and Vasiliy.
Nikolai blinked and laughed. "Well, yes. Katerini is going to be your instructor whenever Porfiry and Vasiliy are away, though that has likely been postponed. Don't look so frightened! She is not so bad." Alexey didn't say anything, his face pale and drawn. Katerini snorted and Nikolai smiled. "You are not, my lovely one. You are the foremost among the Darkrow! Anyone would be lucky to have you as a teacher!"
She hummed as they approached Vasiliy and Porfiry, completely disagreeing with Nikolai but unwilling to argue about it. She narrowed her eyes at Porfiry and Vasiliy, who stood in the middle of the golden square past the Palace's steps, their creamy hair brushing as they bent towards each other murmuring. She overheard Porfiry saying as she approached, "… hundred years as a human child, Vasiliy. As punishment for acting like one. I am sick of the young ones running about with their passions and wreaking havoc on humans without consequ—" He stopped when he caught sight of them.
Katerini raised an eyebrow at him. He raised one back.
"We leave for Zhakieva!" Nikolai crowed. He tangled his fingers together with Katerini's while Porfiry, Vasiliy, and Alexey pressed together. Vasiliy's hands rested on Alexey's shoulders. "Thank you," Nikolai said sincerely as he bowed his head. "For everything. I could not have lived without you."
Porfiry sniffed. "Yes. Do not attempt such lunacy again, Blue Prince. You were unusually lucky. And to put Katerini through such an ordeal as to drain her to the brink of death—it is the height of selfishness. You understand you would have failed miserably without her strength, yes?"
Nikolai winced. "Yes, I understand."
"And never pluck Katerini's hair again," Vasiliy whispered. He leveled Nikolai with a piercing stare. "Ever."
"You told them about the hair?" Nikolai asked. He was smiling widely, on the verge of laughing. "Was it really so terrible?"
"Yes," Porfiry, Vasiliy, and Katerini said in unison. They blinked, and Katerini scowled.
"I will be back soon for my punishment," Katerini said. Porfiry gave her a flat look. She sneered at him. She hated teaching, and she had a feeling Alexey was a nightmare of a student. It was indeed still a punishment. "Goo—"
Then Porfiry and Vasiliy stepped forward, wrapping their arms around her tightly. Katerini stiffened. Quietly, Porfiry murmured, "In the tavern, I said you were loved, Katerini. We are among those who love you, even as demons." Vasiliy kissed her cheek and they both pulled away.
Katerini scowled, red in the face. "Hmph. Goodbye, Porfiry, Vasiliy. And thank you, Alexey." She hesitated, wanting to bite her tongue off, and ground out, "I'm sorry. For your eyes."
Alexey blinked.
Nikolai laughed and collapsed into shadow, tugging Katerini along with him. She appreciated the gesture because to stay and wait for a response was too much to handle in her current state. She shattered into boiling smoke.
They streaked out of the city, Vasiliy and Porfiry's magic sliding out of her on the way. Her magic was so flimsy even after all this time that she panicked, fumbling to grip it and not fall out of the sky. Then Nikolai slipped in to bolster her. He bore the brunt of their bursting, coiling shadows as they traveled. He would likely have to escort her back to Kalinstad too. Since he had converted most of his magic to fleece, it had remained untouched and unused in its thread form. The majority of it had been returned to him alongside his life when Porfiry and Vasiliy draped him in the tapestry. Another reason for his quick recovery. His vitality annoyed Katerini, until she recalled he had been dead, and that the mirror had killed a small part of him. He didn't talk much about it, and she didn't want to know. The image of his lifeless corpse was one she didn't care to remember.
Katerini sighed and sunk into a half-sleep as they shot past the horizon, Nikolai's coils wrapping around her gently. They made excellent time, flying past the Kalinen and cutting a line through the Svarinen. Nikolai perhaps went a little faster than advised, but, with no Porfiry and Vasiliy to threaten them into compliance, they were free to do as they wished. They woke up on the outskirts of Zhakieva within a few weeks. Only a light dusting of snow covered the hillsides around the capital city.
Katerini shifted under the weight of Nikolai's arms, rubbing her face. Nikolai smiled at her and opened his mouth. She pushed his jaw up. "I don't have mint this time, so don't breathe."
He laughed as she sat up. She felt weak all over. She was sick of it. How did Ilya live like this? Well, he would not for much longer, hopefully. Nikolai had related his cunning speech to her. She thought it was stupid. Porfiry and Vasiliy had thought it was idiotic too. Nikolai replied, rather cheekily, their disapproval meant it was perfect.
When Nikolai offered her a hand, she sighed and took it. He hauled her up and kept their hands intertwined. They turned to look at Zhakieva, and she was unsurprised to see several Darkrow heading their way. She knew Porfiry and Vasiliy had sent word to Ilya when they had first arrived in Kalinstad, enough to let him know they were alive. They had carefully fielded any responses, keeping Nikolai and Katerini in the dark on any and all correspondence even when they had begged for it. Something about not wanting to worry Katerini. Bah! Another reason she and Nikolai were so anxious to return. She had no idea how Ilya fared, though she suspected it was not well.
Squinting her eyes, she grinned when she saw Zharva barreling up the hill, and he slammed into her with a hug that knocked the breath from her lungs.
"I saw everything in a vision!" he boomed. He rocked her from side to side. "You are truly the fiercest of the Darkrow, Katerini!" He set her down, keeping a firm grip on her shoulder. Sparing a quick glance at Nikolai, he whispered, "You'll have your hands full with him. But you already know that, don't you?"
She pinched his arm and hissed, "And you knew, in the tavern, I would—would—for him, of all people—" She waved a finger under his nose. "You never would have said for me to keep an open mind otherwise."
Zharva smirked.
Nikolai stood at a polite distance. She knew he didn't have a jealous bone in his body, but he peeked uncertainly at them. When they turned to him, he smiled and asked, "Exactly how much trouble are we in?"
"Ilya saw both of your markers disappear," Zharva replied as the other Darkrow came up to them. Nikolai winced and groaned. Katerini's eyebrows snapped together. She must have touched Quiet Death, then. "He has been mostly bedridden since. He is furious with you both. Mostly you," he said to Nikolai, rather severely.
Nikolai sighed. The other Darkrow, the last of the wanderers who had yet to leave the city, accompanied them back to the Palace of Pale Stars. The experience was heady. They chatted and clapped Nikolai on the back, Katerini lagging behind to stay with Zharva. Katerini felt the entire journey was years behind them. Everything looked strange. Even the city streets seemed narrower, especially after seeing the vastness of the Top of the World. She felt downright smothered by the time they reached the Palace, so white and quiet in the middle of the bustling city.
Their black boots clicked on the marble floors, muffled by their black cloaks, and they were led to Ilya's hollow great chamber. Katerini winced when the white doors opened and she caught sight of Ilya's pale face. He looked awful. His lustrous hair was dull and flat against his head, his face drawn and sallow. If possible, he was slimmer than before, his robes swallowing him. He coughed as he cried out their names, tears pouring down his thinned cheeks. He dismissed everyone from the room with a shout as Nikolai and Katerini came to stand before the dais. Nikolai looked guilty in the most innocent way. Katerini wanted to hit him.
"I thought you had died! I thought I had killed you!" Ilya wailed. Katerini held out a black handkerchief and he honked viciously into it. He flapped his hands anxiously at them. Nikolai bent down and swept him into a tight hug, Ilya snorting and sobbing into his shoulder. Katerini waited until it was her turn, and she tamely kissed him on the cheek while he petted her hair and cheeks.
"You—You explain to me right now what in the six deaths you were thinking!" he demanded once he had calmed himself. Nikolai raised his eyebrows at the royalty seeping through Ilya's tone. "Everything! Every single thing! No details left out, and I swear, Kolya, get that idiotic look off your face! You are fooling no one, not again! I know this is your fault! Katerini would never be so—so—stupid!"
Katerini smirked as Nikolai sighed and dropped the guilty facade. Ilya was a little less relieved to see them and much angrier than Nikolai had hoped. She didn't say a word. She would be furious too, if she'd been in Ilya's position. She was, in a fashion, too tired to chime in as Nikolai related their journey from start to finish. She stared at Ilya's voluminous robes, wishing she could simply flop down and sleep. Her bones ached. Her head throbbed. Her knee was irritating her to pieces, itchy and hot with healing. Finally, though, Nikolai reached the part about the mirror and gestured to Katerini. She had offered to carry it, not wanting to risk the mirror killing Nikolai again. She fished it out of her cloak and held it out to Ilya, who took it with a shaking hand. Nikolai finished relating the story, and silence fell.
Ilya looked at the mirror wonderingly. He turned it over in his hands, running his thin fingers over the whorling engravings of Katerini's spit-glass. When he looked at them, his eyes were round and shining. "For me…?" he asked faintly. Katerini swore his voice cracked. Nikolai nodded and Ilya looked at the mirror again. "Such a thing… such a marvelous thing… I don't even—"
"Ilya," Nikolai said, dropping to his knees. Here it comes, Katerini thought. She barely avoided rolling her eyes. Nikolai grabbed Ilya's hands, the mirror dropping onto Ilya's legs. "Ilya, please, for once in your life—be selfish. Utterly and completely selfish. Think of no one else but yourself. Not me, not your Darkrow, not Zhakieve!" Katerini frowned as he began to cry. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he begged, "I cannot make the wish for you. I dare not. The mirror knows what lies in a person's heart—so please, Ilya. Please. Selfish."
Ilya stared at him, stunned. He tore his eyes away from Nikolai to Katerini, who inclined her head.
"No one else knows," she said, and echoed, "Selfish," for good measure. Ilya looked lost as Nikolai sobbed over his hands pitifully. The weeping went on and on and Katerini grew irritated. This was absolutely idiotic. She sighed and grabbed Nikolai's hood, hauling him away. "We'll leave you to it. Stop your wibbling, Nikolai." Ilya's eyes were round as she struggled to drag a weeping Nikolai away.
"Kat—" Ilya started.
"Ugh, move, you big lout!" she yelled. Nikolai jerked and then followed mournfully after her. Ilya watched them go with his mouth open. The doors shut behind them with a note of finality, and she was sure Nikolai had managed one last, "Selfish!" before they did. She rounded on him, hissing, "Tears, Nikolai? You weren't supposed to shame him into it! The decision must be of his own will!"
"Too dramatic?" He sniffed, wiping the false tears away. A grin was plastered on his face. "Ilya's only seen me cry once before, when he visited Vanka and I fell out of a tree."
"Too much!" She threw up her hands. "His eyes were bigger than dinner plates, you fool! What am I supposed to do with you?!"
Nikolai opened his mouth to speak when rapid boot steps sounded in the arcade. Frantic, loud sniffling and huffing echoed off the walls, and Nikolai suddenly looked guilty. Much guiltier than he had with Ilya. Katerini blinked as a slithering power washed over them, like the shuffling of a thousand papers across bare skin. Nikolai flinched, glancing at her. When she raised her eyebrows, he shook his head and gave an apologetic smile.
Then Chornish rounded the corner, his sandy skin ashen and face streaked with tears, and screeched, "Nikolai Irini!"
Katerini hummed as Chornish ran at Nikolai, who threw up his hands to catch him just in time, crashing them both to the floor. Chornish was a mess of grief and fury, yelling and pummeling Nikolai's chest half-heartedly, yanking his hair and cloak. Nikolai didn't say a word. Katerini moved back and leaned against the wall, content to wait. Watching Chornish unleash on Nikolai satisfied a small, spiteful part of her heart.
"Your marker was gone! Gone! Gone, Kolya, gone!" he cried. He buried his face into Nikolai's cloak, muffling his voice. "I was heartbroken, you selfish idiot! You were dead! My best friend was dead!"
Nikolai sighed and placed his hands on Chornish's shoulders, maneuvering him until they were both standing again. K
aterini pushed off the wall and led the way to an empty parlor room. Once there, Nikolai and Chornish sat on a divan. The white walls reflected the piercing daylight, casting a silvery glow over the room. Katerini stood in front of them, silent as Chornish finished weeping and settled into a coughing hiccup.
She pulled out another black handkerchief and offered it to him. He looked up at her, tawny brown eyes shining, and said, "You brought him back to me, didn't you?"
She grunted.
He took the handkerchief and honked into it. "Your marker disappeared too, Darkrow Katerini."
"Gavrila—" Nikolai started.
"I did not say you could speak," Chornish snapped, eyes welling up. Nikolai pouted. "When it vanished, I thought I would never hear your stupid voice again, I thought—" Nikolai leaned forward and kissed Chornish gently. Katerini looked away to give them privacy. A quiet sigh followed, and Chornish said softly, "I did not say you could kiss me either."
"I'm sorry, my radiant Gavrila," Nikolai said. "I hid something from you for a very long time."
Katerini turned back just as Chornish replied bitterly, "I know. I was mourning with Ilya when we received the reports from Darkrow Porfiry and Vasiliy." He wiped his eyes and cheeks, then stared hard at Nikolai. "Did you not trust me?"
Nikolai sighed heavily. Katerini was already moving to leave them when he said to her, "Please give us a moment, Katerini." He hesitated, his arm moving as if to grab her hand. She nodded and moved out of his reach, his arm twitching back into place.
Closing the doors to the parlor with a click, she wandered over to the massive windows and sat on a ledge. Her long legs stretched out in front of her, she leaned back and folded her arms, resting her head on the chilly glass and looking out to the peristyle. Her thoughts, which she did not realize were boiling and popping, cooled into the image of Nikolai and Chornish sitting so closely together on the white divan. Like ink stains, their black heads bent together, the black of their uniforms dripping down onto the marble floors. She pressed her lips together. Nikolai's question to her in Kalinstad, to let him be hers, sat in her stomach like a toad. She had never answered. Her cheeks heated.
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