“Praying to the Saints?” The voice was familiar, laced with the same scorn that had filled it the last time they’d spoken—in a hallway outside of Katerina’s chambers, the day of the Trials. “It’s a bit too late for that, I’m afraid.”
Opening her eyes, Katerina pushed to her feet. Sure enough, Dimi Zakharova stood on the other side of the iron bars, careful not to disturb the line of salt. Her dark eyes glittered with malice, and her jaw was set tight with distaste. Beside her stood the man who must be her Shadow, clad in scarlet, a blessed blade bare in his hand. Katerina supposed it made sense; if her own magic could not penetrate the cell, neither could another Dimi’s. A blade, on the other hand, could fly between the bars, magical barriers be damned.
Katerina straightened, meeting the other woman’s eyes. “I’d say it’s nice to see you again, but we both know I’d be lying,” she said, drawing her confidence around her like a shield. Right now, her words were the only weapon she possessed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“So arrogant, even now.” Dimi Zakharova looked Katerina up and down, taking in her bedraggled hair, shackled hands, and torn clothes with vicious contempt. “As the Kniaz’s consort, I was granted the honor of confronting the traitor responsible for his demise.”
“I wasn’t—” Katerina began, for what felt like the thousandth time, but the woman paid her no heed.
“And as for pleasure,” she barreled onward, “spending the last hour in the dungeons, waiting for you to regain consciousness, has been the furthest thing from enjoyable I can imagine…though it did give me time to reinforce our defenses.” She gave the skeins of thread and bowls of burning herbs a pointed glance.
If they had shackled Katerina, not to mention added all of these protections against her, what had they done to Niko? She steeled her spine, determined not to let her fear show. Any hint of vulnerability was a crack in her armor, something that could be used against her…and her Shadow.
“With all that,” she said, lifting her bound wrists, “why chain me? In hand-to-hand combat against such a glorious warrior as your Shadow”—she winked at the man, impersonating her usual self-assured attitude—“I’m unlikely to emerge victorious.”
The Shadow growled at her, gripping his blade tighter, but Dimi Zakharova lifted a quelling hand. “One can never be too careful,” she said. “If His Grace had embraced that philosophy, perhaps he would still be alive.”
“Or,” Katerina suggested, lowering her hands once more, “you truly fear me. Do I intimidate you so much, even behind bars?”
The woman stalked closer, edging toward the thick line of salt, and Katerina suppressed a spark of satisfaction. This was what she needed: to find her captors’ weak points, in order to exploit them to her own advantage. How else would she ever escape?
“You speak of fear,” Dimi Zakharova hissed, her cheeks reddening. “Yet you are the one who fled Rivki with your Shadow’s tail between his legs, like a pair of cowards.”
Yes—this was it. The woman’s pride was her weak point; Katerina would remember that. Her pride, and her lust for power, wanting to bear the Kniaz’s son and cement her place at his side…and perhaps eventually, her ascension to becoming the voice behind the throne.
“Perhaps,” Katerina suggested, her tone light, “I simply grew weary of your company, and could not bear the thought of spending another moment listening to your foolish accusations.” She dug deep for courage, approaching the bars as closely as she dared. “Tell me. Where is my Shadow?”
Dimi Zakharova’s lips drew back from her teeth, in an expression that could in no way be described as a smile. “Somewhere far away from you. I warned you, did I not, that your unholy feelings for him would be the death of us all? And now here we are, with Iriska in ruins and our beloved nobleman dead because of your reckless, thoughtless actions.”
Beloved nobleman? That was a joke, if Katerina had ever heard one. To whom had the Kniaz been beloved? Certainly not the citizens of the Seven Villages, who scraped the bottom of their coffers each month to provide Rivki with potatoes and salt, wheat and buckthorn oil. He’d repulsed Katerina. After the Trials, when she’d realized the man coveted her, she’d told Niko that if His Grace dared to act on his lust, she’d break his fingers and sell his rings to feed their village. As for Niko, he would’ve killed the man before letting him touch her.
At the thought of her Shadow, pain shot through her afresh, but she lifted her chin. “Beloved to you, perhaps,” she said, “for how will you ever bear his precious son and heir now? What worth do you have, if not as his broodmare?”
It was a mistake; she knew that as soon as the words left her lips. The other woman’s eyes narrowed, her cheeks reddening. “It’s that sort of arrogance that put you behind those bars,” she spat. “I took your measure the moment you competed in the Trials. Secrets upon secrets, lies upon lies. You believe you are better than all of us, that the rules that apply to everyone else do not apply to you. I cannot think of another Dimi who has ever disgraced her vows so flagrantly.”
In another time, another place, those words would’ve been cause for battle. Now, however, Katerina let them pass her by, acknowledging them no more than she would a swarm of irritating gnats. “I ask you again,” she said, fighting to keep her voice calm, “what have you done with my Shadow?”
The other woman laughed, a cold, vicious trill. “If you’re asking whether we’ve killed him, the answer is no. Death would be too good for the likes of him.”
Relief shot through Katerina, followed by a chill that clawed its way down her spine. After what Niko had been through at Elena and Sammael’s hands, she feared that more torture at the hands of the Druzhina would shatter him completely.
“He is innocent,” she said, the same protest she’d made first to Baba and the Elders, and then to the Druzhina on the forest path outside of Kalach. “Why will no one listen to us? Why will no one give us a chance to explain?”
That cold laugh came again, this time edged with incredulity. “Every word that’s stemmed from your mouth since you set foot in Rivki months ago has been naught but lies. Why would we believe you now? As for your cursed Shadow, what remains of Kalach as well as forty Druzhina warriors saw him act as an agent of the Dark. If he is not thoroughly corrupted now, he will be soon. He is not capable of salvation.”
Despair spiraled through Katerina, spreading as inevitably as a drop of ink in a scrying bowl. Even before this, they’d had so many obstacles stacked against them: the spreading Darkness, the ticking clock of Niko’s return to the Underworld, Gadreel’s determination to capture Katerina and use her power for his own ends, Niko’s strange affinity with the Darkness and its implications for his soul… She had pinned her hopes on getting to the Magiya and finding answers that could drive back the Darkness and free Niko from his curse. But what if their quest had ended before it had even begun? If they didn’t manage to somehow escape from Rivki’s dungeon, nothing else mattered. She had no friends in the capital, no one to vouch for her or aid in her escape. She and Niko were truly alone.
“What do you plan to do with us, then?” She forced herself to meet the other Dimi’s eyes, which were as flat and cold and filled with animosity as they had been in the hallway outside of Katerina’s chamber all those months ago.
“You?” The woman gave a careless flick of her hand. “If it were up to me, you would both be executed for your crimes. But alas, it is not my decision. You will stand trial before all of Rivki, and the prince regent will decide your fate.”
The prince regent? Katerina hadn’t given a thought to who was next in line to rule Iriska if the Kniaz died, nor could she picture who this might be. She racked her brain, trying to remember everyone she’d met in the days leading up to the Trials, and the others who’d sat in the Kniaz’s box during the competition itself. But it was no good; all she could recall was her paralyzing fear that her dual secrets would be discovered: Baba Petrova’s failed attempt to bind her powers and her own, illicit feelings for her Shadow.
“Then again, perhaps I’m not as helpless as all that. Prince Mikhail is young,” Dimi Zakharova said, one sharp-nailed finger tapping against the bars, “and easily influenced. I cannot imagine he will want to be responsible for Iriska’s downfall. A well-placed word here and there, and…” Teeth bared, she drew the same finger across her throat.
Katerina fought back the terror that threatened to devour her whole. She reached again for her magic, and again encountered the same unyielding obstacle. Her gifts hadn’t been stolen from her, but they were blocked, and no matter how hard she pressed against the wall that divided them from her, she couldn’t break through.
“Let me see my Shadow,” she said, doing her best to sound as if she were negotiating rather than pleading. “Assure me of his well-being, and I will comply with your demands, whatever they may be.”
