“I’d like some respect, too, as your closest ally,” Nyja says in a low, ominous voice, and the lights die down for a moment, plunging the Hall into darkness.
I realize what I just said to her and grit my teeth. Nyja is right to be angry, so I stand up properly and incline my head in sincere regret.
“I apologize for my crude words. Of course, you are right, and I appreciate your counsel. Could you bring him to Devil’s Cauldron? I want to talk before I let him into Nawie proper.”
She nods and flutters away in a chaos of black wings.
“Jaga?”I ask tentatively.“Strzybog is here and I’m going to question him. Do you want to come?”
She is silent, and I sigh, draining my wine cup in small sips to delay the unpleasant chore of talking to Strzybog. Right before I step into my shadows, Jaga’s clear, calm voice resounds in my head.
“Fine. Where?”
“Devil’s Cauldron. Can you get there on your own?”
“Yes.”
I hesitate. As always with her, I want more, and the longer she denies me, the more I crave. I sit back and pour myself another cup, telling Jaga what she needs to know as my queen and consort, even though she renounces both titles.
“Strzybog has access to Nyja’s rooms since they are lovers, but not anywhere else. He’s been my spy in the loosest sense of the word because of his involvement with her, and he doesn’t know I am Woland. He reports to Nyja.”
I take a sip, closing my eyes as the tart taste of her wine explodes on my tongue. I’ve loved it ever since she denied me its taste on that Kupala Night. I smile at the memory. There I was, the demon who made her eyes bleed, and she had the audacity to tell me I would hate her wine after I explicitly asked for it.
Who knows? Maybe I was already doomed at that point.
“He doesn’t know?”Jaga asks after a long minute of silence.“How come he was with you when you came to claim me?”
“He was in Nyja’s bed when she said the prophecy. Nyja doesn’t control that power—it’s like a trance, or sleepwalking. He heard it all and threatened to tell Perun unless she took him with. Nyja knew I couldn’t go to the mortal world as Weles, because Perun would attack me at once, so she told Strzybog she served Woland and would tell him. Dola was with me when Nyja came, and she seemed to already know what it was about, so I let her hear it. She’s one of the few people I trust.”
“Oh. And Foss?”
“He was in the rebel base to give me his report when I heard your prayer to me, and I included him for added safety. I wiped his memory after. Honestly, poppy girl, I thought you’d be a formidable, exceptional mortal. And you were, only not in the ways I expected.”
“We’re here. Where are you?”
I sigh and get up, walking into darkness. With the next step, I come out on top of Mogila, right by the wide, circular hole in the center of the cirque. It’s an overcast day, and Devil’s Cauldron is brewing with fog. Pines creak around us, a troop of nawkas sitting in the branches.
“Old Weles!” Strzybog exclaims, coming over with his arms stretched wide for a brotherly embrace. “Long time no see!”
I thrust my hand at him, and he laughs, ignoring it, and folds me into a hug. I consider growing spikes like Jaga, but it won’t do to stab one of my most powerful allies.
“Yes, good to see you,” I say tersely once he lets go. “Tell me your most important reason for being here, and don’t you dare lie to me. I’ll know.”
He grins, his lips cherry-red among the golden hair of his beard. “Because you made Swarog puke out water with fish in it. I can hardly stand him, so I say you did a service to the world by putting him in his place. I am here for the entertainment you’ll provide.”
I press my lips together, fighting amusement as I think. This sounds like a completely honest answer, so very like him. Strzybog is like the wind he rules, always seeking new pleasures, always wandering.
I nod slowly, and Jaga stirs, briefly glancing my way.
“If you agree, can you make sure his path won’t cross with Rada’s?”
I frown, unsure why she’d ask that, but then I remember what Strzybog said about Jaga’s friend—that he turned her into a wila specifically to spite his mother.
“Fine.”
I look away, right into Strzybog’s sly, cornflower-blue eyes. “Are you two bonded?” he asks with a wide grin. “You just talked to each other in your thoughts like an old married couple, didn’t you? I never thought I’d see the day! Old Weles shackled to a mortal girl!”
That’s what happens when I underestimate people. I forgot how perceptive Strzybog is. He saw me and Jaga looking at each other without a word, and of course, he came to the right conclusion.
