His father had woken Niko, mouth pressed into a thin line of concern, as if he wondered whether Katerina were perhaps stashed under his bed or, worse, beneath his covers. Looking back, he wondered whether his father had known more than Niko himself about what his feelings for Katerina would evolve to be; look what had befallen Anton Alekhin, after all. Or maybe it was simply that Niko and Katerina were meant to be bonded, and, like the Vila on the doorstep, he believed that a Dimi might seek solace with the boy destined to be her Shadow, when she’d lost everything else.
It didn’t matter. Katerina hadn’t come to him.
The more he’d thought about it after his father had departed—pressing a kiss to his mother’s lips and murmuring that he’d be back just as soon as he could, then turning to Niko with assurances that he’d find her, not to worry—the madder he’d become.
Why hadn’t she come to him? He wouldn’t have made her speak, if she didn’t want to. He would have sat in silence with her, or listened to her scream if that’s what she needed. He would’ve done anything for her.
In a few years, when they were bonded, she would be trusting him with her soul. Why, then, could she not trust him with this? Had she run away? Or…was it possible that, believing she’d lost everything, she’d followed her parents into death?
The thought chilled his blood, as if he’d plunged into the snowbanks that lined the village streets, heaped higher than his head. He couldn’t draw a full breath.
What if Katerina were out there, wandering, freezing? What if she needed him?
Hurt and worry drove him from his bed, pulling his leathers on and sneaking through his window, even though his father had cautioned him to stay in bed. It wasn’t a far drop; snow had piled up beneath the sill, and he landed atop it as silently as he’d been trained, not disturbing a flake. And then he set out to find the girl that, even then, he loved with every piece of him.
The village was a hive of activity, Shadows and Dimis alike crisscrossing the streets, firewitches melting the snowbanks in case Katerina had fallen into one, the way she had done when she was a toddler. There was nothing Niko would find that they couldn’t.
He drew a deep breath, scenting for her. His lungs filled with the resinous aroma of pines laden with snow, the throat-clenching bite of smoke curling from cottages’ chimneys, the overlaid, familiar scents of his pack and the Dimis to whom they were bonded. But no Katerina.
It didn’t matter. Because suddenly, with a conviction as clear as the slow, steady thud of his heart, he knew where she had gone.
Turning, he headed in the opposite direction of the searchers. Toward the village’s edge and the blacksmith’s forge.
He knew Katerina. Beneath her silent, cold surface, she was burning alive. And she would seek a place to channel her flames. A place where she could let her rage go free.
Snowflakes drifted downward in thick, lazy clusters as he strode down the path that led to the forge. It was quieter here, peaceful. He passed the library, its windows etched with frost. Lantern-light glowed from within; someone was up late, studying. But not Katerina. He knew it, deep in his heart. What solace could she find amid the dusty tomes? What books could hold the resolution to her misery?
The downy powder yielded beneath his boots as he stalked the last few steps to the stone-walled forge. Thick, gray smoke belched from the chimney, and the air around the entrance shimmered with heat, the snow sizzling and melting as it met the ground. A metallic char wafted from within, fueled by the acrid scent of burning coal.
Squaring his shoulders, Niko pushed open the door. Inside, the coal blazed blue-white, fire roaring upward from it. The column of flame flared so brightly, he had to glance away to keep from being blinded. Before it, close enough to risk immolation, stood Katerina.
He would never forget how she’d looked, then. A tiny figure, her red hair a halo around her head, tendrils buffeted this way and that by the currents of air that moved the flames. Her eyes were wide and tearless, her fists clenched, her eyes fixed on the center of the forge, where the fire blazed brightest.
Slowly, as if stalking prey in the form of his black dog, Niko came to stand beside her.
“Everyone’s looking for you,” he said, his voice as soft as he could make it.
The girl who would one day be his Dimi lifted one shoulder and let it fall.
“I was looking for you,” he pressed.
Finally, her voice small and cracked, Katerina spoke. “Well, you found me.”
“What are you doing here?”
The shrug again. But her gaze sharpened, peering into the heart of the flames, as if that were answer enough.
Niko’s own gaze flicked over her, making sure she was unharmed. She wore her training leathers, as if she’d come prepared for battle. But she’d loosened them a bit, doubtless because of the forge’s heat, and as his eyes traced the lines of her face, then fell to her collarbones and the hollow of her throat, he swallowed hard.
“Where’s your necklace, Katerina?”
She shook her head.
“Did you lose it?” he asked, concern knotting his brows. It was all she had left of her parents. If the chain had broken during the demons’ incursion and the pendant had fallen into the snow, it would destroy her.
“I’ll find it,” he vowed. Here, at last, was something he could do. “Tell me the last place you saw it, and I’ll scour every inch of the ground. I won’t rest until you have it back again.”
A resigned twitch, not genuine enough to be a smile, lifted Katerina’s lips. And then she opened one of her clenched fists. There, in her palm, lay the necklace’s chain.
