“There are many you could bring to our side if you only tried!” Nyja screams, advancing until her finger pokes my chest. “The King of Bees is an excellent choice, but there are others, too! Dola’s sisters need only a nudge to come to your side. Strzybog will turn against his father if offered a good enough incentive. And if you gave Jutrzenka just one little smile, one word of affection, she’d…”
“No.”
We’re face to face, both breathing hard with fury. We might have kissed in a moment like this once upon a time, when the world was still young. We were friends, lovers, rivals, and everything in between.
Nyja breaks away with a frustrated groan, and I look over at Jaga, hoping to catch her eye. I fail, of course. She watches the goddess with a faint smile and says nothing.
Ask her about Jutrzenka, I plead in the privacy of my mind. Be jealous, poppy girl.
But it’s like she said. She doesn’t care.
“What’s Devil’s Cauldron?” Jaga asks, clearly proving that all she’s interested in is the lay of the land.
Nyja puts her arm around Jaga’s shoulders and leads her toward an especially beautiful part of the mosaic with many small, blue flames springing from pools of shadow.
“It’s a cirque on top of Nawie’s tallest mountain, Mogila. It’s perfectly round like a basin, and almost always filled with fog, which looks just like steam from a brewing potion. Therefore—Devil’s Cauldron. A sort of wink to Perun, I might say, one he never got.”
A wink. Yes. Because Perun has no idea I am the devil. It’s my most guarded secret and the only reason I am able to walk freely without being attacked.
“Why is the mountain called Mogila?” Jaga asks, letting Nyja steer her toward an alcove framed by golden amber flames. They sit on a padded bench.
“Because it’s a grave,” Nyja says with a snort. “That’s where Perun’s forces and ours clashed after the kidnapping of Jutrzenka. Old days.”
Again, she mentions the Goddess of Dawn. I shoot Nyja a questioning glance, but she’s not looking at me. Jaga doesn’t ask about Jutrzenka, her silence giving me a sharp taste of satisfaction. It’s deliberate. She holds back on purpose to hurt me, but that means she’s curious. There might be hope.
“The only entrance to Nawie is through Mogila,” I explain. “It’s why the mountain is often a target. Any casualties, Nyja?”
Her sigh is melancholy, and for a moment, my fearless general looks old and weary.
“A few. We weren’t ready for the rarog. It burned six of my soldiers to nothing. Three of them were out for the first time. It was supposed to be an easy mission. The rarog fled before we could catch it, too.”
Jaga turns gingerly to look at Nyja. I can tell from her movements how frail she feels. So stubborn. If only she ate regularly, she’d be back to her full strength by now. If only she drank my blood that I tirelessly offer her every day.
“Is the rarog a flaming bird? Do I remember correctly?”
Nyja nods. “More or less. It’s an emanation of Swarog, just like the moon is an emanation of Chors. Swarog is the god of fire and the forge, so you can imagine what we’re dealing with. Flame hot enough to burn a god, claws and beak as strong as vises. It’s enormous, but since it’s made of fire, it’s also lethally fast. As itstands, we have no way to fight it unless Weles himself comes out there and suffocates the rarog with his shadows.”
Jaga shoots me a sharp glance, then looks away just as fast, her lips pursing. My heart pounds harder, thrilled. She forgot herself. She looked at me.
Nyja huffs under her breath, frustrated. “You know, everything would be so much easier if you two just talked, but I see why that’s impossible. He refuses to wear the skin you fell in love with, you refuse to forgive him, and the millions of souls stuck here and all my beloved nawkas will die as a result of your stupid standoff. It’s fine. I’ve been alive too long, anyway. I welcome the respite of death, or whatever semblance of it I can get.”
Her sarcasm is biting. Jaga stands so abruptly, she stumbles, but when Nyja’s hand wraps around her forearm in a steadying hold, she shakes her off. Saying nothing, she walks away, her shadow dancing on the floor as the flames flicker.
“Before you say anything, know that I begged her on my knees,” I bite out through clenched teeth. “I spent an entire day prostrating on the cold floor while she sat on my throne. I did all I could.”
But Nyja snorts with derision, unimpressed. “You never had trouble kneeling for a woman if it suited your goals, and I bet she knows that. You haven’t done everything, not even a half of it. Think why she hates you. Think long and hard what the core of your conflict is.”
I don’t have to think, because I know why we keep fighting. I want to win above all else. I need Jaga to be the prophesied key to my victory that she’ll never agree to become. Yes, I love her. But I can’t give up the fight.
“She will never trust me,” I say, throat tight with resentment. “But she’s the one who went off and fucked my own godforsaken son, so maybe she should…”
“Please, don’t,” Nyja groans. “I have to deal with childish dramatics every day. I can’t have it from you, too.”
“Childish dramatics?” I raise my brow, more surprised than offended. “I am older than the world itself.”
Nyja turns to me, her eyes furious, mouth twisted in a mocking expression of complaint.
“But she did it, it’s her fault, Mistress Nyja, punish her. I didn’t do anything. It’s all her fault, put her in the corner! She started it! Let her fix it! Blame her!”
