“Not the right one? You don’t have much faith in me.”
“I need the right one to jerk off in case I’m wrong since you won’t fuck me, Your Poppiness.”
“I said no endearments.”
“Fine. Slimy entrail girl.”
Jaga’s lips quirk, and she suppresses a smile, her gaze briefly locking with mine. Then she looks away, her expression haughty.
“I am happy you have joined us, King of Bees,” she says with a small nod. “Not that I have much say in the matter. I am simply an interested bystander.”
“You’re my queen,” I say tightly. “And you will say whatever you please, now and during every war council we hold.”
She shoots me a frustrated look.“Please, stop. We’re supposed to be allies, no more.”
“Fuck allies. Be my wife.”
“Goodbye.”
She excuses herself and leaves, her hips sinuous with confidence. I curse myself viciously in the privacy of my mind, because I’ve evidently fucked up again. I told Jaga the truth before. It’s much easier to be smart and in control when trying to manipulate a woman I donotcare about.
With her, I’m always rushing. The King of Bees made me jealous, his interest in her instantly pushing me to make my claim. If I were a werewolf, I’d piss on her publicly so everyone would know she’s mine.
I might piss on her yet, I’m that desperate.
“Don’t you dare,”Jaga hisses, and I realize she must have picked up that idea from my mind. The bond’s growing stronger, and fast.
I’ll be able to see her dreams soon.
“Nyja!” I call, and she comes, welcoming the King of Bees with much more warmth than me and Jaga combined. I leave them to it and go to the mortal world to find Dola.
There are many villages, towns, and settlements strewn between the mountain ranges in the south and the seas in the north, some hidden deep in the taiga, others nestled in sunlit valleys. Many children are born in these lands, more than four hundred a day, and one of the rodzanicas is present at every newborn’s crib. I send my shadows far and wide, finding a large town with a few women in labor.
I look in on every one of them, my shadows skulking in while I remain hidden. One of the women is almost done, a sweaty, trembling girl no older than eighteen. Her equally young husband paces outside the house, swigging large gulps of vodka straight from the bottle.
It’s a small but neat dwelling, and I hover above the roof, looking out for one of the rodzanicas while listening to the labor’s progress.
This woman giving birth is similar to Jaga, with red hair that looks darker when dampened with sweat, and long, scrawny limbs. She’s younger, though, and unremarkable. There is no magic in her, no hunger for power and the unknown.
A loud scream of horrible pain comes from the birthing room. The sound of a meaty slap follows, and I rush in to see what happened.
“Stop whining!”
The crying redhead quietens with a pitiful sob as her cheek reddens from impact, her enormous belly hard and taut withanother contraction. A large, ham-fisted woman with a ruddy complexion stands by her bedside with her hands on her hips.
“You young ones are always so loud. Gives me a headache. See if you have the strength to scream when you’ve pushed out ten babes like I did! No, don’t give her a drink. It will only make it last longer.”
There’s another redheaded woman in the room, not much older than the new mother. She hangs her head meekly at the older woman’s chiding words. I settle in to watch, mildly intrigued by the violence.
When my eyes stray to the bed, though, and I see the redhead’s eyes are green, I cannot help but think of Jaga.
Shewould have never hit a birthing woman or told her to be quiet. If she were here, I suspect she would have given the slapping midwife a lesson. Maybe I could do that, too, and win her approval.
I would have never stepped in just for myself, since it’s neither amusing nor significant. These mortals are all broken, Perun’s souls twittering in their chests.
But Jaga cares.
I sneak my shadows closer, almost wrapping them around the legs of the red-faced matron. I consider what to do. If she drops dead, it won’t help anyone. But there is a poison, one of my inventions, that makes people agreeable and obedient for a few hours before they pass on.
