For a moment, she ignores me, and I clench my teeth, afraid we’re back to this horrible standoff when Jaga pretends I don’t exist and I do my best not to throw things in rage.
Thankfully, it’s not that. After chewing and swallowing a piece, she looks up, her eyes cold, face impassive.
“I know. It tastes familiar.”
I drum my fingers on the black wood of the table. Frustration and impatience ride me today. Jaga’s answers are short and uninviting.
“How many times should I apologize?” I ask, keeping my voice even. I am Weles today, and pretending to be calm is fairly easy. “I am sorry for everything I did, Jaga. I am doing my best to protect you and help you heal while waging a war. Please, help me out a little. What do you need to forgive me?”
She smiles, a private, cutting smile, and doesn’t look up from her plate.
“Oh, I forgive you, if that’s what you want. I forgive you for everything.”
I wait, but she keeps eating, perfectly content with or without my input. Nothing changes between us.
“Will you tell me what’s wrong with you?” I ask carefully when she puts her fork away to drink a cup of sweetened elderberry wine.
Jaga shrugs, that smile again playing on her lips. “Nothing’s wrong. I am better than ever. This is delicious.”
I tamp down the urge to slam both fists on the table. So that’s her game now. She’s speaking to me, yes, but she’s as indifferent as before. I think it’s an act—Ihopeit is, but Jaga could never pretend to be dispassionate in the past. She’s a fiery creature, and the only time she was broken and numb was after I got her chased out of her village.
Back then, all it took to break through were a few hard truths.
“You spent a month refusing food,” I say with exaggerated patience, as if talking to a slow child. “You don’t take care of your body, which has degenerated to an alarming degree. You are not fine, poppy girl. You’re a husk of a person.”
Jaga shrugs in disinterest. “I suppose.”
“I almost raped you yesterday,” I grit out. “As Woland.”
She doesn’t look up. Her voice is dismissive. “I know.”
“What, don’t you feel anything? Aren’t you angry? Afraid? Don’t you want revenge or protection against me?”
She snorts and spears a piece of succulent beef onto her fork. “It’s just a body. I don’t care much what happens to it, so feel free to use it as you want.”
I stare at her, outraged and baffled. Only yesterday, she sobbed and crawled away when I pursued her—a normal human reaction. What is this new devilry?
“Free to use it?Really? You don’t care? Should I just walk over there and put my cock inside you?”
I’d be lying if I said the idea didn’t have appeal. My loins fill with warmth, but not enough to get me hard yet. Something is profoundly wrong.
Jaga glances up with a shrug, her eyes as cold as the heart of winter.
“If you want to. As I said, I don’t care.”
“Is this because of what Mokosz did to you?” I push back my chair with a scrape and pace to release some of my tension. “Did you get disconnected from your body while you were buried? Have you lost sensation? Hunger cues? Is that why you didn’t eat?”
She heaves a long-suffering sigh, rolling her eyes as if she finds my questions trivial.
“If you want to know so much, why don’t you lie in a grave for a few months and see for yourself?” she asks, cool and sharp like a knife. “Don’t worry, no one will miss you.”
Anger burns my throat, but I hold it back. If I were Woland, I’d rape her right now just to make her lose that cool, haughty air.
“I was buried in the roots of the Great Oak for a few centuries,” I say, my voice dropping low with fury. “Believe me, I knowexactly what it’s like, which is why I’m baffled, Jaga. I check up on you every night when you’re sleeping, sifting through the tiniest fibers of your physical body. I found nothing wrong. You are perfectly well.”
She raises her fork and waves it a little with a cool, triumphant smirk. “See? There you have it. I amperfectly well.”
“I can’t fucking do this.”
