“Gift?” Jaga repeats with the faintest hint of anger. “I didn’t ask for it. It’s a mockery, and it’s meant to humiliate me. Here I am, stuck in Nawie, the only one who doesn’t belong here. He mocks me, Wiosna. He’s a lying, treacherous viper.”
I sift through the dresses, looking for the simplest one, and wonder at the way Jaga sees me. I had no idea she thought that.Mockingher is the last thing on my mind.
“Oh, listen to yourself,” Wiosna says with a scoff. “’I didn’t ask for it!’Are you twelve? No one asks to be the gods’ plaything, but unlike you, dear, most mortals get the short end of the stick. He made you immortal! And what,humiliate you? Weren’t you sitting on his throne just now? You must eat, girl. Hunger muddles your brain.”
“He betrayed me!” Jaga hisses viciously. “And you’re defending him! If you’re not on my side, you can go. I don’t need another traitor.”
“Settle down,” Wiosna grumbles, splashing Jaga’s hair with water. “I’m always on your side. He can go and rot for all I care.”
I smile at that, and Jaga sighs out her anger, placated. When Wiosna comes out, she snatches the dress out of my hand with a cold, curious look.
“What are you trying to do with her? And be honest!”
I suppress my impatience, because she knows already, but Wiosna is ever suspicious.
“I already told you. Perun and his gods know Jaga is the prophesied key to winning our war. Whoever gets her will rule over everything: Wyraj, Slawa, Nawie, and the mortal world. Now, they think she’s still buried in the grave Mokosz gave her, which gives us time. Once they know she’s here… Well, my goal is simple. I’m going to protect Jaga with all my might.”
Wiosna shakes her head with a weary sigh. “All your might is not enough, is it? I heard what other souls whisper about. If Perun comes knocking, you’ll fall. Maybe the siege will last a day, maybe a month, maybe a year, but in the end, you’ll fall. She won’t let you claim her.”
I look away, my jaw painfully clenched. Oh, don’t I know it. I crave Jaga’s forgiveness because her indifference bruises myheart, but Ineedit because nothing has changed. She’s still the key to ending this war, and if anyone else claims her…
All will be lost.
“Look, something’s wrong with her,” I say, forcing myself to focus on what’s possible to solve. “You saw her. She’s catatonic most of the time, she won’t speak, eat, or sleep. We had a breakthrough, but then she went right back tothis.Like you said, it’s my job to fix her.”
The old whisperer gives me a mean smile. “You asked for my wisdom, didn’t you? Well, let me tell you this: Jaga doesn’t want to befixed. That’s obvious. And since I don’t know anyone more stubborn than that girl, your chances are dismal.”
She goes back to help Jaga finish her bath, and I get busy arranging food to be brought. Jaga eats under Wiosna’s watchful gaze, using her magic to make herself healthier, and when Wiosna leaves, she pushes away from the table and raises her arms, her face tight with effort.
The simple linen dress reforms into the same outfit she wore before, black and red leather hugging her body. Without sparing me a look, she stomps off to my throne, where she sprawls insouciantly, making it clear Wiosna’s visit changed nothing.
I growl from frustration and go after her, dropping to my knees, not at the foot of the dais, but at the foot of the throne, my hands gripping the ornate armrests. Her legs are swung over one, and the tip of my finger is a whisper away from her leather-clad thigh.
“I’ll take you to see your friend, the one whose death I arranged,” I grit out.
Jaga ignores me pointedly, and I brace myself, currents of dark magic swirling within me until I’m Woland. Even on my knees, I tower over her reclining body. My fingers grow longer, nails turning into claws, and Jaga pulls her leg away when I prick her skin.
My voice is low, tight with anger, but I blast ice through my veins and hold on.
“I will give you back the friend I slaughtered. Remember how her drunk husband smashed her face in with a rock, and I held you back and forced you to watch? She’s in Nawie. You can have her.”
Jaga’s face tightens with anger, her eyes stubbornly turned away.
“I don’t care.”
“Fine,” I snap, fury gathering in my gut. “I’ll give you Chors, then. You wanthim, don’t you? You can have him. I will stand back. I won’t retaliate.”
That,finally, makes her look at me. I bite my tongue until blood fills my mouth, holding back a roar of fury at her scornful look.
“Is he yours to give or take?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes. I am his sire. I can force him to do my bidding, though I don’t think he’ll need convincing. Do you want him?”
Something cold and cruel flashes in her eyes, fury or pain or both, and she turns away.
“So all the possessive bullshit was another lie,” she says in an emotionless voice. “Good to know.”
My hands itch with the need to slap some sense into her head. I push away from the throne and turn, hitting her legs with my tail instead. Oh, how I wish she’d let me speak to her as Weles. It’s physically painful to control myself right now.
