Nyja shakes her head, her white mane flying around her face. “You don’t get it! The prophecy is just a possibility that you keep alive through your choices. As long as she lives, she decides the outcome of this war. And you’re letting her! A woman with no loyalty, no spine. You turned her into a goddess, and she makes you dance around her like a fool!”
We both turn to Jaga as I consider Nyja’s words. There’s a pocket of resentment in my chest that swells, feeding on her judgment.
“Do you honestly believe he’ll be a better ruler than Perun?” Jaga asks quietly, not sounding cowed at all. “Let’s hear it, Nyja. What do you think will happen if Weles wins?”
It takes my friend a moment to collect herself, forcing a deep breath down her throat. I stare at the table, where Chors’ hand rests on top of Jaga’s. When I give him a sharp look, he meets my gaze head on, defiant and angry.
I won’t let you kill her.
My shoulders drop under the weight of sudden weariness. I sit down, looking at Chors steadily to communicate my promise.
I won’t.
Unless I have no other choice. I keep this thought private, because Jaga hates me enough as it is.
“Why haven’t you askedhim?” Nyja glares at Jaga with open hostility. “Weren’t you curious before?”
Jaga snorts. Unlike Nyja, she seems utterly relaxed. “I did. He lied and danced around the topic, making sure not to tell me anything important. So I’m asking you. Give me one good reason, and I’ll consider it.”
I freeze, clenching my fists in my lap. She will consider it—if she thinks I’m fit to rule? Is it that simple? Or is she torturing me again—giving me false hope to watch me squirm?
“Can’t you see the reasons on your own? He’s Weles. I know you had some ups and downs with Woland, but he’s different. Weles created most of this world. He’s the only one who deserves to rule it.”
“Weles is broken,” Jaga says dismissively. “I see you’re blinded by the past, but I’m not. I only know him as he is now, and he’s a pathetic, lying coward who hides behind a mortal woman because he doesn’t believe he’ll ever win on his own.”
A heavy silence swathes the table, marred only by the crackling of fire in the nearest crystal cauldron. I look at Jaga. Her hair is like a red inferno, bathed in the firelight. She watches me with a mocking smirk, challenging me to defy her.
Chors avoids my eyes, and Nyja stares daggers at Jaga, but she doesn’t defend me.
“You’re right, of course.” I break the silence with a shrug. I can’t lie to her, anyway. “Nyja believes I’ll regain my former spirit if Perun is gone. She misses the old Weles. Don’t you, Bird Lady?”
Her breath catches in her throat. I haven’t used her nickname in centuries, but this is what I called her when we chased each other through the woods, played with creation, or fucked in moonlit meadows, knowing Chors was watching.
“You just need a win, that’s all,” she says stiffly, swallowing whatever emotion I so unthinkingly caused.
“Oh, I need to win, but it won’t fix me. Woland is here to stay, for one. I’ll never be the same man I was back then.”
I turn to Jaga, who’s no longer smirking. When she asked about my goals before, months ago in the rebel base, I was angry and disappointed after the failed attack. I went into that fight convinced that either Jaga would cave seeing her friends on thebattlefield, or Nienad’s plan would finally work. It was a double disappointment.
Today, I am ready to be honest.
“I know what I want to achieve. I’ll bring mortals to their former glory, remove ancestral souls, let the bieses in Slawa live freely without the tolls. I’ll set their souls free, too, letting them roam the world at will to be reborn when they choose or not at all. Perun binds them to the Great Oak, only allowing a soul to leave after it’s served him long years.”
Jaga watches me sharply, tapping her nails on the tabletop. By my side, Nyja sits ramrod straight, her jaw clenched. Chors still holds Jaga’s hand, his eyes bright and alert, reflecting the fire.
My poppy girl heaves a long sigh, looking unconvinced, even pitying.
“I see. These are noble goals and I’d support them, but I don’t believe you will achieve even one. I’ve watched you fail over and over for the past year. You failed with me, with your rebellion, and even your rot project was a failure. I’ll be blunt. Here is what I want for myself: to live and be free. You can’t give me that, whether as Weles or Woland. You haven’t given freedom even to yourself.”
I should be angry with her. Woland would be. But I can’t help but rejoice that she’s finally back, and so much more formidable than before. It’s one thing to possess magical power, but Jaga claims and accepts it, acting accordingly. Like a goddess. Better, because she’s not jaded by centuries of existence.
“I am so fucking proud of you.” The truth slips out, so easy when my tongue is lubricated with her spells.
Her eyes widen, and she looks away, furious and flustered.
“Why are you still here if you don’t believe in him?” Nyja asks.
Jaga laughs, the sound abrupt and humorless. “I don’t want to be buried alive.”
