Why the fuck have I surrounded myself with astute women? I should have gone for someone shallow and unobservant, like Mokosz.
“A very powerful storm,” Nyja confirms. “There are tolls going through the forest every hour. It will be a miracle if the King of Bees survives this.”
I’m about to reply when I’m distracted. There’s a soft pop and a loud splash, and Igor screams through the gag of his lips, thrashing in his chair that’s nailed to the floor. Jaga goes over briskly, crouching in front of him to assess the damage, and I exchange an uneasy look with Nyja.
“It seems the rot progresses the fastest in those who have the most power,” Jaga says briskly, poking the mess between the dragon’s legs with her long nail.
“The King of Bees will survive.” I look carefully at Nyja, doing my best not to let my gaze stray toward Jaga, no matter how fascinating the gruesome sight is.
I’m unhappy to realize I’m queasy. Maybe Woland could handle it better, though I think I’d be uncomfortable in his skin, as well.
There is something viscerallywrongabout dicks that swell with pus to the point of popping open, like a strange kind of overripe fruit. I shudder. No, even Woland wouldn’t come up with this kind of torture. Even for Perun.
Nyja seems to think the same thing. “She’s worse than you. You made a monster.”
“A goddess,” I correct her. “Let me know once the storm ends. I’ll send Chors to negotiate our alliance. And once we have the King of Bees, you can get Strzybog to talk to Jutrzenka. I’ll get Rod and Dola. It should be easy to convince them all when the King joins us.”
Nyja bares all her blindingly white teeth in a wide, happy grin. “Welcome back, Weles. My god.”
She gives me a shallow bow, something she hasn’t done in decades, and retreats. I glance at Jaga, who pours pus into crystal vials with utmost concentration, and decide to let her work in peace.
“Come find me once you’re done here,” I tell her from the door. “I brought you a gift from the city.”
Chapter twenty-four
Alliance
It’s already night when Jaga finds me in the Hall of Fires, where I’m pondering a glowing map stretched like a phantom miniature of the world on the floor. It shows Nawie, Slawa, and Wyraj, the land dotted with minuscule trees and glittering rivers. Tiny explosions of lightning zap the forest west of the mountain with the city of Slawa. The storm rages still.
My gaze snaps to her hands when she approaches, and I can’t help but wonder if she washed them after playing with the rot for hours. They look clean, nothing lodged under her nails, and I relax. There is something uncanny about the unflinching way she faces the most disgusting aspects of bodies, but if she washes her hands after, I can live with it.
“You said you brought me a gift.”
“Ah, yes.” I straighten, giving her a small bow. “I’m afraid half of your gift is already asleep, but the other half should be awake. She was knitting when I left her. Do you want to see her now?”
“Who?”
“Your friend Rada.”
Jaga folds her arms, looking anything but happy. Her eyes narrow in suspicion, and her nostrils flare, sending pleasant tingles down my spine. I consider for the first time that maybe my kink for pain and humiliation is more powerful than I thought. Maybe I’ve made her hate me because I enjoy it.
Oh, the complexities of men. I’ve been alive for thousands of years and still don’t understand everything about myself.
“Why have you brought her here?” Jaga demands in a sharp voice that tightens my balls with pleasure. “Tell me the truth.”
I smile and bow again, which enrages her further. Yes. I definitely like it. Which is so peculiar, because if I were Woland, I would plot how to subjugate this feisty woman and get her underneath me. We are so different—yet so symmetrical, me and him. Light and shadow, submissive and dominant, polished and rough.
Jaga waits for my answer, and I do my best to focus, wondering how to phrase it best.
“I wasn’t completely certain Perun wouldn’t unload his fury on Slawa after my stunt. Therefore, I grabbed the two people you love the most and brought them here to keep them safe. My intentions were completely hon… Completely… Dammit.”
She blinks, and her lips stretch in a sharp, predatory grin. “You were about to lie.‘Completely… honorable’, you tried to say. What’s dishonorable about your intentions, Weles?”
I sigh and look up at the black, glittering ceiling. “If your friends are in Nawie, you’ll want to stay here. You’ll fight harder to save us. You might give me your soul—to keep them safe.”
She inhales sharply, then her hand is on my throat, squeezing. My blood flows south in such a rush, I wobble on my feet. Her angry, mismatched eyes are an inch away from mine, and she hisses furiously, her breath smelling like wine and honey.
“Are you going to threaten them if I don’t? Will you use Dar to blackmail me? Tell me!”
