The fight ended in a major victory. I’d like to celebrate, and we all deserve it, but the only two people who are at full power are Jutrzenka and Jaga, the first because she didn’t fight, the latter—because I fed her my breath.
I try to follow Jaga after we come back underground, but she growls at me and locks herself in the torture chamber with her pus-dripping subjects. I spend a good minute pacing in front of the door and swearing, letting her know the full range of my disappointment and confusion.
“You can’t kiss me like that and then ignore me, you fucking tease. Come back out. Let’s talk.”
Nothing. I kick the door and pound on it to no avail. My magic can’t open it. Has she added this spell to the vial of my blood? The possibility makes me livid.
“Come on. I felt everything you did, and you loved every second. Stop denying it!”
Something pours out through the crack between the door and the floor. I jump back, fearing it’s pus, but it’s metallic and red. Blood.
“Fuck, Jaga, you’re taking it out on them again. Why don’t you makemebleed? Come on. Please. Tortureme!”
When she doesn’t reply, I consider forcing my way into her mind and looking out through her eyes to see what’s happening in there. But I sense deeply Jaga would find it violating at this moment, so I resist the temptation. I want her not to mind this bond, or she will try to destroy it. It would be such a waste since it’s so strong already.
Mindful of annoying her too much, I leave with a scoff and busy myself eating my weight in poppyseed cake in her honor. I need to be at full power in case we are attacked again. It’s morose and lonely, and the cake tastes like sand in my mouth as I think over the battle we’ve just fought.
Defeating Swarog was the largest feat for sure, since he’s one of the most powerful gods right after Perun. But if I am completely honest with myself, a lot of my victory came down to the element of surprise.
I’ve fought Swarog many times before, and our duels used to have a certain cadence, elegant and expected. We would greet each other and exchange blows, and it was all respectful, a fight between enemies who used to be good friends once upon a time and still remembered all the good drinks they had shared.
I broke that tradition today, and it was enough to land a few strong hits, but next time, it won’t work. Swarog will expect dirty moves and probably use a few himself. I’ll be defeated.
Fuck.The familiar fear squeezes my insides, and I abandon my pile of cake to pace, wishing for a distraction—for Jaga. She can make me bleed or make me come, I’m not picky at this point. I just need her with me, tangible and warm, so I’ll know victory is possible.
If only I prove myself enough and don’t lose the next time we’re attacked. It could be any moment, as soon as Dadzbog and Swarog regain their strength. I curse and go back to the cake, shoveling it down my throat without chewing. I break it down with magic so it feeds me faster, helping me replenish my strength.
But when a Wyraj god arrives in Nawie the next day, it is not to fight but to join our ranks.
“Strzybog is in my rooms,” Nyja says, materializing in the Hall of Fires, where I now sit, watching memories of Jaga and me on a large obsidian wall. “What’s this? Oh, Weles.”
The scene freezes, Jaga in my arms at the rebel base right after I caught her. I am so beastly here, sucking her blood with abandon as she clings to me with the full force of her fear and longing. I miss that Jaga. She was so pliant, so vulnerable, even though she seemed so hard to me at the time.
Yet it was nothing,nothing, compared to how she is now.
“Don’t judge me,” I say with a sigh. “She won’t fuck me, and I’m pining.”
Nyja folds her arms. “You should be celebrating. You single-handedly defeated Swarog, and we’ve had a major victory. A dozen of mine are dead, but we’ve given them a proper burial.”
She looks aside with a tight expression. I sympathize. This is the downside of using nawkas as soldiers—when they die on the battlefield, they die for good. Yet every soul that joins her army is aware of the risk.
Nyja always suffers after her beloved souls perish, even though she’s become adept at hiding it over the years.
“You said Strzybog is here. Why should I care? He comes to your bed all the time.”
“He’s not here to fuck. He wants to join you.”
I leap to my feet with a laugh. “Really? Oh, let me guess: he saw Swarog ripped to shreds and decided we are the stronger bet, after all?”
Nyja sighs. “Don’t mock him too much. You know he looks up to you, don’t you? You’re like a father to him, one who actually saw him when he needed to be seen. Ever since your captivity, you’ve abandoned him, too. It’s your chance to be on good terms again.”
I stare at her, taken aback, then roar with laughter. “Like a father?Nyja, there comes a certain point in a man’s life, say after the first century, whennot having had a decent fatherstops being a good excuse. Strzybog is a little shit, and we all know it. But—he’s powerful. So yes, I’ll treat him withsomerespect.”
Her nostrils flare, and she shakes her head with a frustrated huff. “There’s more to him than you see.”
“And you’re the only one who knows him as he truly is because he’s rearranged your guts in ways that made you see stars?” I mock her, because now I’m thinking about fucking and how I won’t get any.
This never used to be a problem before my poppy girl. I swear, once Jaga comes around, I’ll make her pay. Maybe. After I kiss her feet in gratitude and let her break my tail into a pretty bow again.
