“Will you come down?” Rada asks, her voice sweet and lilting, while the child shouts in that incoherent way of toddlers, pointing up at Jaga with a wide-eyed, alert expression.
Jaga’s shoulders drop and she goes to her wila friend, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “I missed you,” she whispers into Rada’s pale gold hair. “You the most.”
“I missed you, too. I’m so glad you’re alive. We thought you’d be flying with swallows.”
When they pull apart, Jaga crouches in front of the child, her face serious and a bit wary.
“Hello, Dar.”
The gold-haired boy doesn’t shy away. He looks her up and down and sticks his thumb in his mouth, his free hand tipped with tiny claws reaching for Jaga’s hair. She smiles and lets him grasp it, and I have to turn away.
I wasn’t prepared to see her interact with a child. Fuck, oh,fuck.
“How tall you’ve grown!” Jaga exclaims, her voice sounding joyful and easy for the first time in months. “And how nicely you stand! Say, can you run? How fast? Ow, Dar, no. Don’t tug that hard. Auntie was bald once, and I didn’t like it. Oh, no, I did not.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, arranging shadows around me so no one sees my moment of weakness. There she is, the woman who could have my children, whowouldhave them if only I hadn’t fucked up so many times. She is so good at it. A born mother, only—barren.
“He is so fast,” the upir says, his voice fond. “I swear, running after him gets harder and harder. And when he starts to fly, I don’t know how we’ll manage.”
I turn sharply. “Fly? What do you mean?”
Jaga has the boy seated on her hip, a flurry of magical butterflies twirling in the air as they evade his grasping fingers. I ignore that heart-rending sight and focus on Lech.
“He grew wings once,” the upir says, his smile shrinking. “I mean, he might not fly. I know wila children have little magic, no matter who the father is…”
He trails off, and I reach for the boy. Jaga hesitates, giving me a sharp, suspicious look, and I sigh.
“I only want to examine him. A wila child growing wings is unheard of.”
Her mouth purses, and she hands me the boy, the butterflies following him. I smile and sit him in the crook of my elbow, supporting his back with my palm. His legs dangle happily on either side of my arm as we watch each other face to face. Hemakes a gurgling sound of curiosity, the butterflies forgotten as he stares at me with parted lips.
Behind him, Rada steps anxiously from foot to foot, squeezing Lech’s hand in fear. She’s never warmed up to me, suspicious ever since she saw the bruises on Jaga’s throat when we first met.
“I won’t hurt him.”
She nods uncertainly, and I press my free hand to Dar’s chest, diving into his body and soul with my magic. I instantly know he’s special. The boy is so young, and yet, I can tell at a glance he has more magic than Rada and Lech combined.
“Interesting,” I murmur, bringing him closer. “Look into my eyes. There. Good boy.”
I trap him with my gaze until his eyelids can’t close. He fusses, gripping my cheeks with his pudgy fingers, and I look deep into his soul, finally understanding why he’s so powerful.
“He will likely fly and shift, maybe more,” I say, closing my eyes so the spell breaks. I hand the child back to his mother. “He received a powerful, old soul from Wyraj. No wonder his fate was to…”
I break off and shake my head. Jaga bounces on the balls of her feet, watching me with worry. I give her a nod and mouth, “Later.”
Jaga’s guests move toward the food, and I dissolve into shadows, determined to watch without interfering. Jaga speaks warmly with Rada and plays with Dar, though the boy squirms out of her arms to explore the glittering walls. He likes shiny things, a bies after my own heart.
Jaga gives Lutowa the cold shoulder, which the bieda ignores, content stuffing her belly with food. It’s not that surprising. Lutowa is very old, very jaded, and quite cruel. Their friendship struck me as odd back then. Maybe it’s natural they fell out.
Nienad might have been a mistake. He’s obviously bored here, drumming his fingers on the table between sparse sips of wine. Jaga looks at him only once, her eyes cold and vicious.
My motives for bringing her friends might have been relatively pure, yet I still hide well and eavesdrop, hoping Jaga will open her heart to Rada, at least. But my witch doesn’t speak much. Mostly, she listens to the wila and Lech talking about Dar. The conversation is utterly mundane, yet her eyes warm with interest, and she smiles more than she’s done over the course of the last month.
She really cares about the boy, then. Time to gamble again and tell Jaga more secrets.
After a few hours, Lech approaches me respectfully, asking if he and his family can go back to the rebel base. I corral them up to wipe their memories, but Jaga holds me back.
“I’d like a word with Nienad. Alone.”
