Nyja comes over and kneels on Perun’s other side, facing Jaga. She takes him in with a vicious, angry expression, then looks pointedly at the bloody knife in my hand.
“I take it that’s the blade I prophesied. You owe me for all those late nights I spent trying to understand what exactly that prophecy meant when you knew all along.”
“Fine, I owe you. Take Nawie,” I say with a laugh. “It’s yours to rule. Now tell me why this knife isn’t working. It’s the one, I’m sure of it. We retrieved it from the past. Jaga was supposed to die from it.”
Nyja listens to my detailed explanation, while Jaga remains silent, watching Perun with a frown. When I’m done telling Nyja everything I know about the knife, Jaga suddenly looks up.
“Dola. Come here.”
I glance at Nyja, who shrugs. Dola drops to her knees by Perun’s head. He’s truly surrounded now, and it’s getting crowded in here, but I perversely love this. That’s how it should be, us plotting his death while he lies under his tree, helpless and surrounded by his enemies, those he tortured, enslaved, or hurt.
It’s only right.
“Do gods have fates on their foreheads?” Jaga asks Dola.
“No.”
Jaga nods. “And on my forehead—what’s the fate written there?”
Dola doesn’t have to look up to see. Her gaze is firmly on the blade in my hand.
“Your fate was to die from this knife. But you evaded it, so it’s void.”
Jaga nods. “It’s not the knife that has magical power, Woland. At least, I don’t think it is. It’s the fate it’s tied to. Dola, can you take that fate off my forehead and put it on Perun’s?”
I exhale in understanding. “That sounds like perfect justice. I love it.”
Dola shakes her head. “I’ve never put a fate on a god’s forehead. I don’t think it’s possible.”
I can’t keep the smile off my face. Oh, everything is possible tonight.
“Jaga, do you believe Dola is powerful enough to do it?” I ask with a wide grin, wording it exactly right.
She frowns, watching me for a moment, then shrugs. “Yes. I believe she can do it.”
Dola’s breath catches in her throat, and she looks at Jaga with wide, shocked eyes. “You believe… And so it shall be.”
She presses the tip of her finger to Jaga’s forehead, and Dola’s lips part in awe. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her be so expressive. She pulls the finger away carefully and presses it right between Perun’s eyebrows.
He grunts, but he’s weak now, his magic eaten away by my poisons. He doesn’t even struggle anymore. Dola snatches her hand away, gasping.
“Can I… Can I show my sisters? Before you kill him?”
I nod benevolently, and she motions the other rodzanicas closer. They stare at Jaga and Perun in turns, wide eyed and disbelieving.
“Is she truly a goddess now?” I ask, looking at Jaga. “One not bound by any fate?”
“She has no fate on her forehead,” Dola confirms.
“Good.”
I plunge the knife into Perun’s heart. He wheezes in a breath, then spasms once, a full body tremor from his dying heart. I leave the knife in this time, this flimsy vehicle for fate.
Perun gives his last breath and stills, his glassy eyes turned up, the evening sky reflecting in them, purple and gray, and navy blue. I breathe deeply, my chest full, expanding wider, freedom taking root in my heart and body.
“All right.”
I stand up and offer my hand to Jaga. She hesitates, then takes it, rising to her feet with a wary expression. I wrap her in soft,cozy darkness, and whisk her away to the home I prepared for us so long ago.
