The Crown's Fate
Page 40
But now, by some miracle, they did. And as the air above them clouded red-gray, the nymphs laughed and drank blue honeysuckle wine and felt giddy with the knowledge that one day—hopefully soon—they would be strong enough to make the volcanoes erupt, to chase away the humans who dared to build villages and encroach on what was the nymphs’ land.
In the southern part of the empire, along the Volga River, a peasant boy trudged out of his family’s cottage to fetch water. He shivered in the winter chill, and it was difficult to see, because the moon barely shone through the cloud cover. But the boy pushed onward. His mother had been ill for days, and she desperately needed more to drink. The pitchers in the cottage were empty. This task could not wait until daylight.
The boy set down his bucket on the riverbank and began to chip at the ice with a pickax.
It should have taken him a long while to get through the river’s surface. And yet, three swings in, the ice cracked and parted. Water gushed upward, as if it had been waiting for the boy to free it. He hurriedly pressed the lip of his bucket into the water before it froze over again.
When the bucket was full, the boy hauled it out of the river. He turned away. He lifted a snowy boot in the direction of his home.
There was a sudden loud crack behind him. But there had been no one else out on the river. As the boy spun around to see what had happened, a giant catfish burst out of the Volga. Its head alone was larger than the boy. Bedraggled strands of what appeared to be algae hung and glistened from the monster’s head. It glared at the boy’s bucket.
The boy dropped the bucket and ran as fast as he could through the snow. He didn’t stop until he’d reached home and barricaded the door.
Because he remembered the fables his grandfather had told him—when the moon is in the sky, the river belongs to Vodyanoy, the catfish king. And Vodyanoy did not look kindly upon those who tried to steal from his kingdom.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
At two in the morning, there was a quiet knock at the door of the shack behind the Black Moth. “Nikolai? It’s me.”
He rolled over slowly in bed, where he’d been half-asleep, nursing a splitting headache.
“Renata?”
“Yes. Can I come in?”
He glanced over at the other bed (he’d eventually managed to conjure the second mattress he needed). It would be uncomfortable to have Renata here with Aizhana in the room.
But his mother wasn’t there. Nikolai wasn’t surprised. She was a creature of the night, and she often roamed the streets when it was dark.
Nikolai climbed out of bed and started to comb his hair into place, but he stopped abruptly when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the washbasin. It didn’t matter if his hair was neat or messy, because the shape of it was the same anyway—a splotchy blur.
And his face . . . he could practically see through it, for it was light gray now rather than charcoal black. Mon dieu! How had he faded so much? He was even weaker than last night after the fete.
Nikolai slumped. He took a hat off the nearby rack and set it atop his head. The hat, too, was gray, but at least it had a defined shape.
He flicked his wrist and the lock on the door unlatched with a click.
Renata rushed in, all braids and smiles. She threw her arms around him. He held her, and she melted into his chest. Or rather, Nikolai melted into hers, damn it, because his edges weren’t solid.
But as soon as she touched him, he felt a bit better. And he warmed as he realized it was rather intimate, being so close. Nikolai flushed, which probably showed as the tips of his ears shading a touch darker, and pulled away.
“I went looking for you,” he said. “But Galina—the harpy—had fired you. Where did you go? Are you all right?”
Renata nodded, still smiling and holding lightly on to Nikolai’s arms. “I’m fine. I have a job at Madame Boulangère. I just finished up for the night. And I’m sleeping on the floor in one of the girls’ quarters.”
“You’re sleeping on the floor?” Nikolai flung his hands in the air, inadvertently tossing Renata’s off.
“It’s all right. I have plenty of blankets, and a place next to the fire to keep me warm. Really, it’s better than I could have hoped. But you . . .” She reached out to touch his arm again. “Nikolai, you’re still a shadow.”
He sighed.
“You need more energy.”
He shook his head and scrubbed at the back of his neck. Did she know he was behind the party and all the illness that followed? That that was why he was so weak?
But Renata didn’t say anything, and Nikolai decided not to, either. She was the only person he cared about that he had left. As destructive as he’d felt of late, he needed someone right now (besides Aizhana) to still be on his side.
“It’s not just that I’m a shadow,” Nikolai said. “I’m fading. Literally. I don’t know what to do.”
“You can take energy from me.” Renata nodded to encourage him.
“What? No.”
“I’ll give you all you need.”
Nikolai retreated to the other side of the room. “I can’t. I won’t. . . . Vika’s mentor died because he channeled all his energy to her. And I nearly died at the end of the Game, trying to save Vika, even though I thought I knew what I was doing. I won’t accidentally kill you; I wouldn’t be able to live with myself afterward.”
Renata marched over to him, cornering Nikolai by the washbasin. She grabbed his hand and placed his fingers on her neck. She leaned into him. “Please. I want to do this for you.” Then she met his gaze and held it steady, steadier than he’d ever seen her dare to hold it before. “And I want to do this for me.”
Nikolai flushed again as his body blurred into hers where they touched. He was a conundrum—ethereal enough that their edges blended, yet corporeal enough that she did not pass straight through him.
“Renata . . .”
She placed a finger over his lips. “Nikolai. I love you. Let me do this.”
He held his breath. He should say no again, but he wanted to say yes, too. He could already sense her energy beneath her skin, pulsing and yearning. And he was so empty.
Instead of saying yes or no, Nikolai said nothing at all.
Renata lifted her chin and brought his head down to meet hers. Nikolai’s heartbeat quickened.
In the southern part of the empire, along the Volga River, a peasant boy trudged out of his family’s cottage to fetch water. He shivered in the winter chill, and it was difficult to see, because the moon barely shone through the cloud cover. But the boy pushed onward. His mother had been ill for days, and she desperately needed more to drink. The pitchers in the cottage were empty. This task could not wait until daylight.
The boy set down his bucket on the riverbank and began to chip at the ice with a pickax.
It should have taken him a long while to get through the river’s surface. And yet, three swings in, the ice cracked and parted. Water gushed upward, as if it had been waiting for the boy to free it. He hurriedly pressed the lip of his bucket into the water before it froze over again.
When the bucket was full, the boy hauled it out of the river. He turned away. He lifted a snowy boot in the direction of his home.
There was a sudden loud crack behind him. But there had been no one else out on the river. As the boy spun around to see what had happened, a giant catfish burst out of the Volga. Its head alone was larger than the boy. Bedraggled strands of what appeared to be algae hung and glistened from the monster’s head. It glared at the boy’s bucket.
The boy dropped the bucket and ran as fast as he could through the snow. He didn’t stop until he’d reached home and barricaded the door.
Because he remembered the fables his grandfather had told him—when the moon is in the sky, the river belongs to Vodyanoy, the catfish king. And Vodyanoy did not look kindly upon those who tried to steal from his kingdom.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
At two in the morning, there was a quiet knock at the door of the shack behind the Black Moth. “Nikolai? It’s me.”
He rolled over slowly in bed, where he’d been half-asleep, nursing a splitting headache.
“Renata?”
“Yes. Can I come in?”
He glanced over at the other bed (he’d eventually managed to conjure the second mattress he needed). It would be uncomfortable to have Renata here with Aizhana in the room.
But his mother wasn’t there. Nikolai wasn’t surprised. She was a creature of the night, and she often roamed the streets when it was dark.
Nikolai climbed out of bed and started to comb his hair into place, but he stopped abruptly when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the washbasin. It didn’t matter if his hair was neat or messy, because the shape of it was the same anyway—a splotchy blur.
And his face . . . he could practically see through it, for it was light gray now rather than charcoal black. Mon dieu! How had he faded so much? He was even weaker than last night after the fete.
Nikolai slumped. He took a hat off the nearby rack and set it atop his head. The hat, too, was gray, but at least it had a defined shape.
He flicked his wrist and the lock on the door unlatched with a click.
Renata rushed in, all braids and smiles. She threw her arms around him. He held her, and she melted into his chest. Or rather, Nikolai melted into hers, damn it, because his edges weren’t solid.
But as soon as she touched him, he felt a bit better. And he warmed as he realized it was rather intimate, being so close. Nikolai flushed, which probably showed as the tips of his ears shading a touch darker, and pulled away.
“I went looking for you,” he said. “But Galina—the harpy—had fired you. Where did you go? Are you all right?”
Renata nodded, still smiling and holding lightly on to Nikolai’s arms. “I’m fine. I have a job at Madame Boulangère. I just finished up for the night. And I’m sleeping on the floor in one of the girls’ quarters.”
“You’re sleeping on the floor?” Nikolai flung his hands in the air, inadvertently tossing Renata’s off.
“It’s all right. I have plenty of blankets, and a place next to the fire to keep me warm. Really, it’s better than I could have hoped. But you . . .” She reached out to touch his arm again. “Nikolai, you’re still a shadow.”
He sighed.
“You need more energy.”
He shook his head and scrubbed at the back of his neck. Did she know he was behind the party and all the illness that followed? That that was why he was so weak?
But Renata didn’t say anything, and Nikolai decided not to, either. She was the only person he cared about that he had left. As destructive as he’d felt of late, he needed someone right now (besides Aizhana) to still be on his side.
“It’s not just that I’m a shadow,” Nikolai said. “I’m fading. Literally. I don’t know what to do.”
“You can take energy from me.” Renata nodded to encourage him.
“What? No.”
“I’ll give you all you need.”
Nikolai retreated to the other side of the room. “I can’t. I won’t. . . . Vika’s mentor died because he channeled all his energy to her. And I nearly died at the end of the Game, trying to save Vika, even though I thought I knew what I was doing. I won’t accidentally kill you; I wouldn’t be able to live with myself afterward.”
Renata marched over to him, cornering Nikolai by the washbasin. She grabbed his hand and placed his fingers on her neck. She leaned into him. “Please. I want to do this for you.” Then she met his gaze and held it steady, steadier than he’d ever seen her dare to hold it before. “And I want to do this for me.”
Nikolai flushed again as his body blurred into hers where they touched. He was a conundrum—ethereal enough that their edges blended, yet corporeal enough that she did not pass straight through him.
“Renata . . .”
She placed a finger over his lips. “Nikolai. I love you. Let me do this.”
He held his breath. He should say no again, but he wanted to say yes, too. He could already sense her energy beneath her skin, pulsing and yearning. And he was so empty.
Instead of saying yes or no, Nikolai said nothing at all.
Renata lifted her chin and brought his head down to meet hers. Nikolai’s heartbeat quickened.
