“Good old Ivan. I wish I’d had an Ivan growing up,” she said with a smile that brought a dimple out in one cheek. “It can be difficult when you don’t have anyone else to show you the way. There had been shadow melders in my family, but it was long ago. There was no one living to offer advice. I had to sort of stumble along and try different things on my own. Of course, my power can’t hurt others as yours can, so I know it’s not quite the same.”
“I’m sure it was hard no matter what,” I said. “Did you ever think . . .” I trailed off, unsure I should ask, unsure she ever felt that way.
“Just ask. You can’t hurt my feelings,” she said.
“Did you ever think, ‘Why me?’”
She nodded. “Many times.” Her gaze flicked to mine. “And you?”
“Every day,” I said, my gaze shifting now to the gray winter sky in the distance. “I wondered why I was born with a power that only made me the object of ridicule, or why I was abandoned so soon after birth by my mother, or even who my father could be. But always, I would remind myself that I was not suffering alone in this world. There are many born with a worse fate, and at least I had Babushka and Dedushka, an izba, and food and clothing.”
Sympathy lit her eyes, but at least it was not pity. “Your village, though, that was part of the problem for you. At least in my tribe, even though we hadn’t had a shadow melder in many generations, they knew of them. You were treated as an outsider by the people you’d been raised with, and perhaps if they’d had ice powers like you, they would have understood.”
I stopped urging Dukh on while I contemplated what she’d said, and he came to a slow stop. “There are others, then? Others like me, with the ability to control ice?” I could find them, convince them to help the prince in my place . . . perhaps even learn more about my ability. I would be free to leave, free to return to Babushka . . .
“No.” The word cut through my fevered thoughts like a hot sword through snow. Overlooking the frozen river, Kharan pulled Daichin to a stop next to Dukh. “At least, not that I’ve ever heard tell of in all my days of gathering information.”
“I suppose that would explain why the prince is so desperate to place all his hope in someone who has no battle training and who has little if any control over her ability.”
Kharan’s expression turned even more serious. “All of us are desperate to stop the evil that the Drevlian and Novgorodian princes are committing.”
“Forgive me, but how do you know this for sure? Is this just what the prince has told you?”
“I gather information for the prince, slipping through the shadows and picking up things here and there until a great tapestry of their plans is created. There are whispers that the strongest earth elementals can control the very land we walk on—changing its shape, forcing rich minerals from its depths, even felling whole forests. They care nothing for their people—for any people besides the nobles. They would subjugate all the people of Kievan Rus’, and beyond, to the steppes—to my own clansmen. They want to amass riches the Byzantine Empire, with its golden palaces, would be envious of.”
I thought of the rumors I’d heard of the prince—rumors that had, so far, appeared to have been exaggerated. “You’ve only heard things, though? Never seen?”
“Yes, I have seen for myself—once, on my journey to Kiev.” She seemed to grow pale as the memories overtook her. “I had the misfortune to come upon a Drevlian man with earth elemental powers one night on the shores of the Volga. His ship was filled with people, and by their chains, I could see they were captives. I slipped into the shadows even though I knew there was nothing I could do to help, but I still . . . I still just couldn’t ride by like I’d seen nothing.”
I could see guilt ripple over her face, and my stomach tightened in sympathy.
“There were others who must have had the same idea—armed men who challenged the captain, who’d come to rescue the captives. The captain met them before they even reached the shores. They’d borne down on him on horseback, swords brandished high, but the captain raised his arms. The ground beneath us trembled violently, and the horses screamed in fear. In the next instant, a great chasm opened, and swallowed the entire battalion of men—horses and all.”
A horrified silence descended. “Was that captain you saw . . . was he the only one with such power?”
She shook her head. “No, the clan of earth elementals that the Drevlians have sought out—they have at least fifty who can use such power. Those men and women would be in addition to the combined armies of the Drevlians and Novgorodians.”
Understanding was dawning in my mind, and with it, a sinking in my stomach. “To avoid a war, it might have been better to accept their demand for tribute.”
Defiance flashed in her eyes. “Never. You think they’d stop at that? The demands would grow larger and larger, until every man, woman, and child was enslaved.”
I’d seen how hunger for power and greed could change someone, could make them forget everything that was good and decent in the world. But what Kharan was describing was so much worse. Men who already had all the power, princes instead of small village elders, free to run rampant over the weak.
“Already, the nobility of this land still loyal to the prince have called upon their druzhina, their cavalry and militia, but the numbers are small. And even with their skill, the earth elementals destroy them easily. Much land has already been lost. The prince has the city militia, numbering in the tens of thousands, but we fear even this will not be enough. Endlessly, he has searched for someone with such power, and I have aided him. But my searches produced nothing. Until you.”
I watched the frozen river instead of her. “What use can my power be?”
I could feel her staring, and I finally turned to meet her intense gaze.
“Not even earth can stand against ice.”
Chapter Nine
AFTER MY RIDE WITH KHARAN, THE rest of the day had progressed slowly. With nowhere else to go, I’d returned to my room, only to have my head so crowded with thoughts that I paced like a caged tiger. I thought of the destructive powers of earth Kharan had described; of the ominous things the bannik had said; of the malicious plans of the princes; of the unfounded hope in my own power.
I’d braved dinner with the others in the dining hall but found the prince and Grigory to be missing from the table. While I filled myself with dark bread and smoked fish, hearty borscht with sour cream and fresh herbs from the greenhouse, and honey cakes for dessert, I found myself surprised by how comfortable I was with the others. Especially when Kharan turned to me and said, “We’ve been told so much about you, but I’m sure you have questions for us. It’s only fair that you should know more about our lives, too.”
I glanced up to find Ivan and Boris watching me with encouraging smiles. “That’s actually . . . very kind of you to offer.” I settled for the most innocuous and polite of questions first. “Have you both been at the palace long?”
Ivan was the first to answer in his gruff voice. “I started here as a squire under the prince’s grandfather, and was able to become a part of the bogatyri after years of training.”
“He’s being modest,” Boris interjected with a swig of his kvas. “It was only two years, and he was the youngest bogatyr at sixteen.”
My eyebrows raised. “That’s impressive. Did you meet Vera here at the palace?”
He shook his head, his gaze taking on a faraway look. “No. She is from a little village to the north, and from the moment I met her, I knew I couldn’t leave her behind. I was in the area by order of the late prince when I was only twenty—he wanted me to hear the needs of the northern boyars. After I met Vera, I stayed at her village until I convinced her father to agree to let me marry her. And I was just lucky enough that she agreed to come with me here, though I’m sure she regrets it now.” He said it in his typical deadpan way, so it was difficult to say if he was being serious or joking.
“Don’t say such things,” Kharan said. �
��It isn’t true, and you know it.”
“Kiev and life in the palace are very different from what Vera was used to,” Ivan explained to me. “She had dreams of a northern farm and many children, but I gave her neither of those things.”
“I’m sure she’s happy to work here in the palace now,” I said, “especially since it’s warm all year-round. I know how cold it can get in the small villages, and I didn’t even live in one of the northernmost ones.”
He smiled and raised his mug of kvas. “You’re right about that.”
“And what about you, Boris?” I asked. “How long have you been a bogatyr?”
He paused to swallow his bite of bread. “I’ve been here two years now, but I’m afraid my story is more sad than impressive.” He glanced up at me, his warm brown eyes meeting mine. “I was like you once: I’d lost control of my powers and was brought before the prince for my crime. He should have executed me, but instead, he gave me my life back and asked me to join him.”
I was so taken aback by this—Boris had always seemed cheerful and friendly and with an easy manner. I couldn’t imagine him committing a crime. “You . . . lost control of your powers?”
His face, for once, looked haunted. “I hit a man from my village so hard, it smashed his head like an egg.” He looked down at his hand, opening and closing it as though he could still see traces of blood. “It was a small offense—he’d made advances on a girl I was courting—something that certainly wasn’t worth the cost of his life.
“I left the village and the girl I loved and I will serve the prince without question for the rest of my life because he had no reason to spare me for what I did. Yet here I am.”
I was struck momentarily silent by the similarities in our stories. A moment of anger that turned deadly. The loss of control over our powers that resulted in the loss of someone else’s life. And the prince’s mercy and pardon. “You didn’t mean to kill him.”
Boris gave me a sad smile. “I didn’t mean to hit him as hard as I did, it’s true, but I knew I was strong. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Since I’ve been here, I’ve learned to control it, to channel it into my swordplay instead.”
“Don’t ever shake his hand, though,” Ivan said with a straight face that again made it difficult to tell if he was teasing or serious.
Kharan laughed. “Or dance with him. He doesn’t know any of the steps, and then he’ll crush your foot under his.”
“I see you will never let me forget that night,” Boris said with an easy grin.
“Never,” she said with a flash of teeth.
“That was when things were not so dire as they are now,” Ivan said. “When the prince still threw the occasional ball.”
“Yes,” Kharan said, “though I’m sure it was Grigory who put a stop to them. He loathes dancing.” She leaned back in her chair, her hand gripping a mug of kvas. “Where is the prince and that minion anyway?”
“Scouts were sent out after a letter arrived warning that the enemy had defeated the druzhina of the two nobles to the east of Kiev,” Ivan said, and Kharan nodded grimly. After everything she’d said on our ride today, even I could recognize the danger. “And then another letter arrived from the Drevlian prince.”
“Is that where Gosudar and Grigory are now?” Kharan asked Ivan, and he nodded. “What did the letter demand this time?”
“It began with more of the same—for the prince to hand over his throne to them or else pay crippling tithes.”
“And by that you mean people,” Kharan said, disgust clear in her tone.
“Eventually, yes,” Ivan said. “But this time, they tried a new tack: to ask the prince to join forces with them.”
Kharan shook her head, sadness pulling the corners of her mouth down. “As if he could do that after what they did to his parents.”
I paused in taking a bite of borscht. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“I suppose the news never traveled to your village,” Ivan said. “The Drevlian and Novgorodian princes conspired together to kill the prince’s parents.”
I sat back in surprise. “I had heard it was the prince himself.”
“A particularly cruel rumor,” Ivan said with a frown.
“Do you have proof of what happened? Why have they never been apprehended?”
Ivan laughed, but the sound wasn’t very cheerful. “They’ve never been apprehended because they hired a Varangian—a Northman—to do it. But Kharan . . .” He glanced over at her.
“I got close enough to one of the earth elemental’s camps—at least before one of their vines found me,” she added with a shudder. “They spoke of how two years ago, the Drevlian and Novgorodian princes united to have the prince and princess assassinated because they were hoping it would leave the young prince weak and unable to rule.”
“But the prince has never been weak,” Ivan added.
“The princess had ties to Constantinople,” Kharan continued, “so they didn’t want her calling upon her allies to stop them as they slowly took over Kievan Rus’. They even made it seem like the young prince had become impatient for the throne and hired an assassin, allowing it to be traced back that a noble—possibly a royal—from Kievan Rus’ had hired him. And with rumors circling like the one you heard, of course Constantinople won’t help the prince if they think he killed his mother.”
“In answer to your question,” Ivan said, “they’ve never been apprehended for the same reason the prince never has: no one can prove it.”
I glanced around at their serious expressions. There was more to this brewing war with the other princes. This was about vengeance as much as it was about defending Kiev.
That night, as I lay in my plush bed of down covered with fur blankets, I felt like I was a fly who’d flown straight into a spider’s web.
I didn’t see the prince until the next morning. Sleep had been slow to come for me the night before, crowded as my head was with thoughts. The dark rumor that the prince had killed his own parents had been the last thing holding me back, making it difficult to trust that he was as kind as he appeared. And yet . . . I couldn’t bring myself to willingly join his army. What did I know of war? Despite what Ivan and Kharan had said of the earth elementals and their princes, it seemed so far away, so removed from my everyday life. The thought of entering a battlefield with the intent to kill as many people as I could terrified me.
Perhaps if I spoke to Kharan about it—if I could get her on my side—then she could help me explain my case to the prince. I’d never had someone I could call my friend before, but I thought Kharan was becoming such a person.
And if she wouldn’t agree to help me, then I would have to escape on my own.
I awoke and dressed again in my rubhaka and skirt, which I found to have been cleaned while I slept, thanks to Vera. As lovely as the brocade rubhaka had been, I was grateful to be able to wear my familiar clothing. When I pulled open the door to my room, I prepared myself to ask Ivan where I might find Kharan, but instead, I found an empty hallway. I wasn’t sure where to find her, but my stomach made the suggestion that the kitchens might be as good a place as any to start my search, and I agreed.
The enormous oven beckoned me from the hallway, the smell of bread and pies making my stomach growl. Its blazing heat chased away some of the cold from my skin, so for a moment, all I did was bask in the warmth of the hallway.
A servant girl came through the doorway, and when she saw me, bobbed her head in greeting. “Can I get you something to eat?”
“Maybe a bit of bread?”
The girl grinned, showing a dimple on her right cheek. “I can do better than that. Just a moment.”
She disappeared back into the kitchen, and when she returned, she had a steaming-hot pie, small enough to fit in my hand, but by the delicious smell wafting from it, filled with meat and vegetables. It was wrapped in linen, and I closed my eyes with a brief jolt of joy when she handed it to me, the heat briefly warming my cold hands.
“This
looks delicious—thank you,” I said.
“They’re the prince’s favorite,” she said with a wink before going back into the kitchen.
After taking a bite, I could see why. It was a delicious blend of herbs and savory meat and vegetables, warming and filling my stomach simultaneously. With my piroshk leaving a trail of steam, I walked down the hall until I reached the door to the dvor.
A quick scan once outside revealed Kharan to be nowhere in sight, so I made my way toward the stables to see if she might be with Daichin. Before I got there, however, a flash of light—like flames—caught my eye. I turned toward the winter garden, where the prince had me demonstrate my power for him, and again, a flash of flame and smoke danced in the air.
Though the dvor was busy with the comings and goings of servants and guardsmen, no one seemed to notice or concern themselves with the strange fire. I couldn’t look away, so I found myself walking toward the garden.
I’d fully been expecting to find servants burning sticks, or leaves, or some other refuse, but I stood stock-still the moment I realized where the flames were coming from.
The prince stood under an old oak tree, its bare branches spread wide above our heads, glittering with ice. His profile was to me, strong and almost harsh were it not for the softness of his lips. His arm was outstretched, and in his hand he held tongues of flames that wavered and danced almost cheerfully.
The earth will only fall to fire and ice, the bannik had said, and I shuddered. Here now was fire.
“You lied to me,” I said before I’d even thought to choose my words carefully. The prince whipped his head around to look at me. “You said you didn’t have power of your own, but you clearly have the gift of fire.”
“Yes, but it isn’t strong enough to light anything bigger than a pile of dry wood,” he said, and he made a terse, frustrated movement with his hand, extinguishing the fire. “The uselessness of my ability is why I’ve had to seek out others with power.”
“Do any of the others know?” I asked, unable to keep my gaze from his hand. How I wished I could summon a flame to chase away the perpetual cold inside me.
Through the White Wood Page 10