NIKO
“Again,” Niko muttered to the Darkness inside him.
It didn’t like being commanded; he’d learned that much during their time together in this barren, filthy cell. Well, that made two of them. Much like his black dog, the shades coveted freedom—to hunt, to claim what they believed should be theirs. Unlike his black dog, however, they were conscienceless. They sought not to guard the defenseless, but to prey upon them. Unfortunately for both Niko and the shades, they were stuck with each other. They needed each other if they were going to free Katerina and escape.
It was a strange thing, to ally himself with the Darkness. Horrifying, but increasingly…familiar.
He shut his eyes, reaching deep into that vein of ore that he’d first visualized during the battle in Kalach, and envisioned himself closing his fists around the roiling Darkness. It was ice-cold, as always, worse than plunging his hands into the Trolitza River during winter, but he’d gotten better at ignoring the pain. Gritting his teeth, he tugged, separating the strands in his fists from the seething mass of Darkness. Inch by painful inch, he dragged them free. They clung like roots to the earth, not wanting to let go, but he pulled harder, and at last they obeyed.
Niko opened his eyes, his chest heaving, and allowed himself a triumphant smile. This hurt; the last time Berezin had interrogated him, the man had expressed his dissatisfaction by splitting Niko’s lip. But he hardly noticed the fresh blood that trickled onto his chin, because at his fingertips, the shades flickered, waiting to be used.
It had taken hours of work, lying awake when the prison was silent, learning how to rouse the shades through determination rather than rage or passion. Niko had had to call on every bit of training at his disposal, remembering those moments when he’d first Changed—how he’d had to coax his black dog out of hiding, learn to blend his human consciousness with that of the animal, and then cage the dog once more when the time came. In the end, it had been his desire for Katerina that had done the trick—not just for her body, but for her: her wit, her tenacity, her courage. Without her, that sense of hollowness, of being adrift, grew stronger every moment. He’d thought of her, missed her, craved her, and at last the shades had done his bidding, streaming from his fingertips through the bars of the cell…just as they did now.
Niko watched them go, then settled back against the rough stone wall and closed his eyes. He could still see them, as if they were an extension of himself: coursing past the wall-mounted torches, then ducking past the guard at the end of the corridor, occupied with a game of solitaire to pass the time. Just a little taste, they whined, licking at the leather of the man’s boots. So hungry…
No, Niko commanded them, pushing away the undeniable thirst to give in. Taking even a portion of the guard’s soul would be wrong, even if it made the shades stronger. He was just doing his duty, and there were some prices Niko was unwilling to pay. Keep going.
The shades made no sound, but their snarl reverberated through Niko’s body just the same. Foolish servant of the Light, they hissed. You will learn soon enough.
On the heels of their voice came Elena’s: You are nothing but what I made of you.
“You’re not here,” he growled aloud. “Stay in Hell where you belong.”
The memory of the Vila had shaken his concentration, and the shades hovered, creeping ever-closer to the man’s boots. Shaking himself all over, as if shedding water in the form of his black dog, Niko forced himself to focus. Katerina, he reminded the shades.
Reluctantly, they flowed onward, through his empty wing and past cells where prisoners slept, past two more guards clad in mercenary gear, and then down one twisting corridor after another, drawn by the deepening magnetism that told him he was growing ever-closer to his Dimi. Here, his shades hesitated, recoiling from the burning herbs that floated in the fountains. The Grigori could not cross running water, and even with the ability to skirt the fountains, the Darkness that fueled the shades recoiled from it.
It was nice to know they had a weakness. Something that Niko could use, if need be.
Go on, he urged them, and they obeyed, but sluggishly, seeping along the floor toward the guard who sat in a wooden chair outside the corridor that led to his Dimi’s cell. Niko tilted his head, the unmistakable fumes of alcohol seeping through the shades’ perception into his own. Was the man drunk?
He bid the shades to rise, swirling closer to the man’s face. And by all the Saints and demons, yes, he was. The guard was passed out cold, a bottle of kvass tipped over on the floor beside him, snoring with such force, it ruffled his greasy hair.
Holy gods.
He knew Katerina couldn’t use her magic, trapped in that damnable cell, what with the iron bars, the salt, the knots, and the burning herbs. But if she could leave it…if she could walk out of the cell’s open door…
Then, the two of them might have a chance.
Mustering every bit of his focus, Niko concentrated on forming the shades into a hook, the same way his rage had shaped them into a blade, poised at Morozov’s throat. They resisted, but he ignored them, forging the shape in his mind and then commanding them to reach for the heavy chain of keys that hung from the man’s belt.
He had never tried such a thing before, had no idea if it would work. Perhaps the shades were good for nothing but reconnaissance and sucking the life from his enemies. But when would he ever have an opportunity like this again?
If not this, then perhaps he could shape the shades themselves into keys, pouring them into the lock of his cell and Katerina’s, and then solidifying them enough to turn the bolt. But that was an option for later, if this failed. He was here, now. He had to try.
In the dim, watery light of his cell, his left hand rose, reaching for the guard’s belt in his mind’s eye, guiding his shades to do the same. His hand flexed, bent, and the shades followed suit, curving to snag the keys. They closed on the chain, tugging, and triumph sparked in his chest as they came free?—
“What are you doing, nezhit?”
The voice came low and gruff, shattering Niko’s concentration. He blinked, the cell around him coming into view as the guard and the keys faded away. For a moment he saw double: Berezin standing outside the bars, flanked by Morozov and two other Shadows; the drunken guard listing from his chair, the keys half-hanging from the loop of his belt. Then the image of the guard faded, and with it, his sense of impending victory. It was just him, alone on the floor of his cell, fingers outstretched to nothingness.
He dropped his hand, clenching it into a fist. Against his palm, the shades seethed, annoyed at being thwarted. They were here, with him; but they were also in that unfamiliar corridor, an extension of his consciousness. How would he call them back again, without Berezin and his soldiers seeing?
Well, one thing at a time. First, he had to assess the threat. Then, he could strategize.
He lifted his head, but didn’t quite meet Berezin’s eyes. Better for the Shadow to think he had broken Niko’s will, that he knelt to the man as his alpha. “Sleeping,” he said. “Or at least, I was. As you can see, my options for entertainment are quite limited.”
It struck him as he spoke that this was something Katerina would say. Saints, he missed her. And he’d been so close to being with her, to setting her free.
