She had spent the past week doing little but worry. So when they stepped from the treeline and found themselves on the edge of a shimmering lake, its surface reflecting the cerulean sky above, she had to hold back tears at its simple, uncorrupted beauty.
This was Lake Svetloyar. Katerina had read of it often and again, in childhood tales and the research that had nearly driven her mad, in an attempt to save her Shadow. There was a reason that Volshetska had been built here, on the banks of a lake whose sacred waters flowed downstream into Volchiy Zaliv—Wolf’s Bay—further south. The lake might look still, but it was tidal, the running water blessed by the Saints centuries ago. Rumor had it that its double existed in the Underworld, as powerful as Svetloyar in its own way. “As above, so below,” Baba Petrova had always said.
Of course, rumor also had it that the Invisible City, Kitezh, existed at the bottom of the lake, sunken as part of a demonic attack centuries before, but that was a childhood tale, told at her grandmother’s knee. An ache pierced Katerina’s chest at the thought of those simpler days, when her babushka had spun stories and fed her sweets, and her parents had still lived.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and took in her surroundings. No bridge arched across the lake, but that was as Katerina had expected. It lay on the lake’s floor, dormant until summoned. All Dimis were taught the spell to raise it, as part of their training, should they ever need to reach the Magiya. It was simple, requiring only an incantation and a drop of blood.
Several yards down the shore sat a small wooden cabin. The logs were rough-hewn, without artifice. But when the six of them made their way over and eased open the door, they might as well have found paradise.
There were beds. A fireplace, stacked with wood. Fishing rods. Candles. Pots and bowls and even soap, filling the cabin with the aroma of cedar oil and flowers. It was a resting place for travelers to the Magiya, a place to spend the last night of a lengthy journey.
It was beautiful.
The tears came now, as she stared at the bounty before them, and Katerina didn’t bother to hide them. “We could take a bath in the lake,” she said to Sofi, who stood beside her, gaping. “We could sleep in a bed.”
“I think,” Sofi signed, her eyes flashing with humor, “that I have forgotten how.”
That night was the best one Katerina could remember having in a long time. Here, by the edge of the water, Katerina felt protected, as if the Lisovyki and the Mavky were once again watching over her. No patches of Darkness marred the sand or stripped the leaves from the trees.
She, Sofi, and Ana bathed in the lake, scrubbing grit and ash from their bodies as their Shadows stood guard. Afterward, the Shadows Changed and swam out into the water, diving for shells that they brought to shore as offerings for their Dimis, competing over who could find the prettiest one. Back in human form, they splashed each other as if they were boys again, playing. When Alexei succeeded in sneaking up on Niko and pulling him under, he surfaced laughing, a sound Katerina hadn’t heard from him in a long time. It was his real, untroubled laugh, full-throated and genuine, and tears pricked her eyes anew.
They washed their clothes and spread them to dry on the flat rock in the lake’s shallows, swathing themselves in spare linens they found in the cabin. The Shadows fished for their dinner, catching fine, fat trout to roast over the fire. They ate on the hearth rug, savoring buttery fish and crisp watercress. Ana found herbs for tea in the cupboards, and after dinner, the three Dimis sipped the hot, strong brew in companionable silence as their Shadows patrolled the beach’s perimeter together, like a true pack.
It was, in short, a perfect evening—so much so that, as everyone readied themselves for bed, Katerina felt compelled to give thanks. She excused herself, walking outside to stand for a moment at the edge at the lake.
“Thank you,” she whispered to whatever might call these waters home. “For tonight. For protecting us as we traveled through the woods.” She couldn’t understand why Gadreel hadn’t come for them again, nor why the Druzhina hadn’t managed to hunt them down. The only answer that made sense was that the spirits of the forest had protected them, concealed them. The Lisovyki and Mavky could not stop the incursion of the Darkness; that was too much to expect. But they could guard travelers against targeted assaults, and that much they had managed.
Niko remained convinced it was his fault the demon-hounds had found them. That Elena was tracking him from the Underworld somehow, and controlling Ana. If that were the case, it was all the more miraculous that they still lived.
“Thank you,” she said again, and turned from the water to walk along the shoreline. She wouldn’t go too far; even with the sense of safety that blanketed her, that seemed unwise. But she wasn’t ready for tonight to end.
Clouds scudded across the sky, obscuring the constellations as she walked along the sand, her feet leaving imprints as she went. Oaks overhung the dark water at the edge of a small cove, and she headed for it, thinking she’d turn around there, then walk back to the cabin and get some rest. But when she reached it, she blinked in surprise. This was no cove, but a shrine to the trifold Saints. A small stone altar nestled among the trees, inscribed with runes. Atop it sat a bowl, for ritual offerings, and a scattering of herbs.
Impulsively, Katerina sank to her knees in the moss before the altar and closed her eyes. “Sant Antoniya, patron saint of Dimis, hear my prayer,” she whispered. “I am still a loyal servant of the Light. Protect me, and show me how to protect my Shadow from the forces that seek to destroy him. Show me how to drive the Darkness back and save Iriska. Bless our path, that the Magiya does not turn us away. I kneel to you here, and ask for guidance in your name.”
She expected no answer. But one came nonetheless: a touch on her shoulder, warm and feather-light.
“Open your eyes, Katerina Ivanova,” a voice said, cracked and familiar. “Open them and see.”
Katerina blinked—and then gasped. Beside the altar, in the space that had been empty before, sat the three women who bore the face of her mother. At their feet sat the caged Firebird, peering through the bars with its dark, impenetrable gaze.
The Rozhanitsy.
“You have done well,” the youngest one said, looping a fresh skein of thread on her loom. The thread was no longer golden, nor black, but a stunning combination of the two, like the sky as the sun sank into its depths. “You have fought with valor.”
The middle Rozhanitsa smiled at her, the kindness in her eyes unmistakable as she reached for the thread. “Your mother would be proud of you, had she lived.”
The third woman—the crone—lifted her scissors, opening and closing the blades. “What say you, Katushya? Should I snip it now, or let her spin?”
Katerina’s heart beat everywhere—her throat, her wrists, her chest—with a speed that sent her blood thrumming. “What—whose thread is that?” she managed. “Is that mine?”
But the women didn’t answer her question.
“I could tie it,” the crone mused. “Or…” She raised the blades again. “You choose.”
“I don’t understand,” Katerina said, her wary gaze fixed on the rune-adorned metal.
“Oh, I think you do. Blood opens gates. Yours is not all Light.”
