He did have to be punished, after all. He had willingly left her.
But he had been under Katerina’s spell. He was, still; how else could Elena explain his resistance to her advances? She was prepared to forgive him after he did his penance, and the sooner he got started, the better.
Damn Katerina Ivanova, who was the beginning and end of all her troubles.
In the distance, the surface of Lake Wraith twitched, as if in response to Elena’s frustration. Abandoning the window, she paced the room, from one ornate corner to another. Did Sammael truly think that imprisoning her here, like a plumed bird trapped in a well-appointed cage, would prevent her from having her way?
The spirits of the forest might be able to protect Katerina and her traveling party from Gadreel, but they could not stop Elena nor the Darkness she wielded. Each day, as the time her Shadow was due to return to her embrace drew closer, the connection between them strengthened. When he slept, she could slip beneath his skin. Into his very soul.
Of course, he had not been sleeping tonight, when the hounds had emerged from the rift that the Darkness had torn in the earth. Gone were the days of treading the Shadow Path that connected the Underworld to the world aboveground; the Darkness had ripped a hole straight through the veil between the worlds, and her hounds had charged through, vicious and eager.
The Darkness had gifted Elena the ability to see through their eyes, and what pleasure she had taken in watching as they’d cornered Katerina. She’d felt the hot breath rasp through their lungs as if it were her own, had felt the prickle of fir needles on the hounds’ bellies as they crept forward and the gleeful gnash of their teeth as they scented their prey. When Ana had tried to save her friend, Elena had wrapped a thread of Darkness around the other Dimi’s magic, snuffing out Ana’s flame before it could catch. The expression of terror on Ana’s face had sent joy spiking through Elena. For once, she was the one in charge.
Ana was far easier to manipulate than Niko. Dimis were wanton, hedonistic creatures, opening themselves up to wild magic and wielding it as they would. Though she had not been able to rise from the Underworld in spirit again, Elena had been only too pleased to leverage the weakening wards and her strengthening link with Niko to send her power outward, attaching it to whoever Katerina trusted most. Whoever she’d think least likely to betray her.
She would have preferred to possess Katerina, to force her to claw her eyes out and gnaw off her own skin, like those fool guards in the dungeons. But there was something about the Dimi that kept her out. Whatever it was, it couldn’t last forever.
Ana had failed to strangle Katerina. She would not succeed in saving her tonight.
Elena had watched, gratified, as the hounds crept ever-closer to their target. She’d loosed her hold on Ana’s magic and let the Dimi’s witchfire burst free, incinerating Alexei—what sweeter revenge could there be than having a Dimi kill one of her own, the way Katerina had murdered Niko?
Besides, with Alexei dead, that was one less person to defend her.
Of course, Katerina had chosen a foolish, self-sacrificing path. She’d elected to put out the fire consuming Alexei, rather than defend herself against the hounds. But what did Elena care? She would die that much faster, then.
As Elena took in the Dimi’s dirt-stained, bloodied face through eight pairs of hungry eyes, her heart had beat as fast as a hummingbird’s. Lying on her bed, in the clearing with the battle and yet not, she’d slipped a hand beneath her wedding dress, eager to pleasure herself as the hounds tore open Katerina’s throat.
One stroke, and the first stirrings of ecstasy rose. Another, as the first hound lunged, knocking Katerina to the forest floor. At last, there was no way the Dimi could survive.
But no. Niko and the Darkness he wielded had saved her. Again, he had chosen the Dimi over Elena and all she offered. It was inexplicable. For surely, he must sense her presence there, within the hounds. Surely he missed her and longed for her, as she longed for him.
Infuriated, she’d severed her connection with the hounds and leapt to her feet. And now, here she stood, alone in the palace of a sanctimonious demon who fancied himself a king, who would not so much as raise a finger in the service of her happiness.
She had made a mistake, choosing Sammael. He was weak. But no matter. She would be free of him soon enough.
Perhaps, she mused as she came to a stop in front of the window once more, she could call Niko to her. If she could see through the eyes of the hounds, if she could entice the Darkness to sunder the very earth, then she must be able to do more than that. Perhaps she could draw on the forces aboveground, to make them yield to her. To even break her curse.
Ah, yes. She would rise, and bring war with her.
But to do that, as with all acts of import, she would need blood.
“Bring me sacrifice,” Elena whispered, plastering her hands against the lead-paned glass. Frost spread from her fingertips, crackling across the rippling surface. “Zevana, goddess of the moon and the hunt, bring me that which will yield to my will, that I may rise again.”
For a moment, nothing happened. The moon hung, bloated and limned with scarlet, over the jagged cliffs of Mount Woe; the air was still. And then, with a suddenness that sent her staggering backward, nearly tripping over the torn hem of her dress, a flock of birds slammed into the glass, mere inches from her face.
They were doves, Elena realized. Doves, flying at night, purveyors of lost and damned souls.
They were an offering.
On the other side of the glass, Elena could not reach them. But they had died for her, and that was enough.
Once upon a time, she had been a silly girl who had set a paper boat adrift in the river outside her village, eager for her Shadow to claim it, and by extension, her. The kohannya ceremony seemed a million years ago; it seemed impossible she had ever been that naïve, that innocent. Now, she knew that it wasn’t enough to dream of what she wanted, and imagine it would come true.
Now, she had to reach out and take it.
She’d heard tell of zagovory, the incantations that kitchen witches recited behind closed doors. Baba Petrova had always eschewed such spells, saying they were foolish at best and evil at worst, tampering with others’ free will. But in this, as in so many other things, Baba had been shortsighted.
Sometimes, people didn’t know what was best for them. Sometimes, they needed to be shown.
