My Wild Horse King (The Russian Witch's Curse Book 4)

19. Katerina

A HUNDRED YEARS BEFORE

* * *

Iunderstand why my dad’s mad at the czar. I really do. They should’ve helped our families when there was a drought. Punishing us is one thing, but watching our people starve over a personal grudge, well, it’s maddening. I alternate between hating myself and hating the Romanovs, but it’s harder to hate yourself.

But Alexei’s just doing as his father orders. It’s not his fault.

“You can’t be serious,” Leonid says. “You’re really not upset at him?”

“Being angry only makes things worse for everyone,” I say. “I’m trying to protect you, too. Going up against Alexei and his father would be very bad, but trying to fight all three of the families?” I shake my head. “It’s suicide.”

Leonid looks hurt. “Mikhail says?—”

“Mikhail’s an idiot, and he doesn’t care what happens to you. Don’t you see that? He’s angry, so he just nocked an arrow and he’s firing it. He doesn’t care what happens to the arrow.”

Leonid frowns.

“It’s so true—I can’t believe you don’t see that. He and Boris aren’t partnering up to go attack them. They want you to do it. Our families have cut ties with you, so they’ll be blameless if it goes badly.” I huff. “When it goes badly.”

“You’ve seen me,” he says. “I can do things that you can’t do, things neither of you can do, using both powers at the same time.”

“I know,” I say. “And it’s amazing, but Leonid, it’s a still a bad call. You can’t fight them all.”

“Unless I could get their powers, too.”

“We read all the documents,” I say. “They’re not about to offer them to you, and that’s the only way.”

“There’s one thing I didn’t show you.” His broad shoulders droop a bit. “I—I knew you’d be upset.”

After Mikhail followed me to the clearing at the edge of our property where I’d been meeting him, we had to change locations. The abandoned hut Leonid’s been living in is pretty depressing, but I wasn’t sure where else to meet him. Leonid’s managed to scavenge some things—mismatched chairs. A scarred and pitted, rough-hewn table. A pitcher and some matching clay cups made by a somewhat skilled artisan, but chipped and worn down by time. The hut isn’t welcoming, but it’s at least got a lived-in feeling. I brought him a pile of blankets when I came this time.

Leonid rummages around underneath the chair I piled the blankets on, and then he stands.

He’s holding an old book.

A very old book.

“What is that?” I’m nervous, because it looks an awful lot like the journals we were studying in secret at the palace. “Please tell me you didn’t steal that.”

“It belonged to my ancestors,” Leonid says. “They stole it from us first.”

I close my eyes and sigh. “Leonid, that all happened hundreds of years ago. You have to let it go.”

“But we’re still dealing with the aftermath now,” he says, his eyes bright. “Your family’s being punished right now by the people who stole it. They’re ignoring you and your people, and they’re not doing what they were tasked to do, which is serving the people of Russia, keeping them safe and healthy.”

“Right, and I plan to keep telling them?—”

“They ignore you.” He balls his free hand into a fist. “They mock you. They don’t respect you.”

“I know they aren’t perfect, but they had reasons for?—”

“Stop defending them!” Leonid’s beautiful face is smudged with dirt. His hair, pulled back with a leather strap, has come undone, and now it streams around his face like sunlight surrounding a work of art. How he can be so ungodly beautiful in the midst of such squalor, I don’t know.

But it makes him look even more unhinged.

No one that gorgeous should be living in a hut like this, shouting. No one like him should be raging about the injustices of the world. He should be ruling it. It’s plain when you see his face. He’s the kind of person who was created for others to bow down to.

And judging from his face, he means to try to take his rightful place.

I have to at least try to stop him, because no matter what his bloodlines said, he is where he is, and he’s going to smash himself against the cliffs, trying to fix the injustices he’s fixated on.

“Mikhail’s using you,” I say. “They won’t notice the book is gone, so if you just make sure?—”

“Katerina,” he says. “I kept this particular book for a reason.” He kicks the chair toward the table, and then he straddles it, slamming the old book down on the pitted surface. “Look.”

The writing’s ancient. I’m not sure how he can even read it. I squint.

“Here.” He points. “Read this part.”

“To summon the all-mother?” I look up at him. “What does this even mean?”

“I think it’s her. You know the journals make it seem like she chose Rurik for a reason? This is how we find out what that reason was. We can summon her!”

“The All-Mother?” I shake my head. “That sounds very, very inadvisable. I think it’s a bad plan. It’s either complete nonsense, or it works and we’re even worse off.”

“I think it’s talking about the witch known as Baba Yaga.”

“So what?” I ask. “You know what the stories say about her.”

He rolls his eyes. “I hardly think she travels around in a house with chicken feet and eats small children.”

“But maybe she does.” I shudder. “This is a bad idea, Leonid.”

“Well, if it is, you’ll be able to tell everyone just how bad.” He closes the book. “Because I’ve already done it.”

He stands and grabs a bowl from a shelf in the top corner of the small room, and he pours the contents into the fireplace. The flames crackle as he does, and I can feel it—the injection of our magic into the dark, sticky-looking liquid. “I followed all the horrible, bizarre instructions. Dig up earth of loam, of sand, of clay, and of peat. Add water of stream, ocean, lake, and snow. Mix it with the wind from the steppe, and the air from the ocean.” He smiles. “Slaughter a crowing rooster and mix his blood, laced with the sparking power of the earth.”

Fire blooms in the hearth.

“And burn it all to ash.”

I’m shaking my head. “No. This is a terrible idea. Stop now, before?—”

But it’s too late.

Thunder roars above us. The earth shakes beneath our feet, and the roof of the miserable hut trembles, chunks of sod crumbling down on our heads. The sound that follows, like the lowing of cattle, the groaning of the earth beneath, and the rumbling of thunder above, fills the air around us, somehow combining in an unholy and unnatural way.

“Who dares to summon me?” The voice pounds against my skull. I drop to my knees and wrap my arms around my legs, closing my eyes and pressing them against the tops of my thighs.

“Who summoned me here?” The voice is louder, somehow, rattling my very brain inside my skull. “Present yourself.”

“It was I, Leonid Ivanovich.” I look up, and moonlight streams through the ravaged roof, lighting up Leonid’s proud, but filthy face. “I called you, because I’m the rightful heir to your power. Others have usurped it, but I call on you to make it right.”

The cacophony, the wind, the trembling, it all stops.

The moonlight on Leonid’s face is all that remains. I uncurl myself, wondering whether it’s good or bad that the noise and pressure and battering of the unnatural wind has abated.

And then a woman steps through the front of the hut.

“Leonid Ivanovich.” The woman’s ancient—a hunched crone. Then I blink, and she’s middle-aged, her hair just beginning to grey at the temples. Small creases on the edges of her eyes are there, but only just. Not a second later, she’s a maiden, fair and lovely to behold, with streaming blonde hair and eyes just like Leonid’s.

She smiles. “My child.”

Her child?

“I called for your help,” Leonid says. “The Romanov family, as well as two others, possess the powers that were meant for me.”

The woman extends her arm, and her hand presses against the side of his face. “You’re as beautiful as your ancestor.” Her smile’s soft and kind. Her face is as gentle as the summer rain. Her eyes are still every bit as bright and startling as Leonid’s—the most vibrant green of grass growing in the middle of summer.

“Help me,” he says.

“No one’s entitled to powers, child,” she says. “Not you, and not the Romanovs.”

He frowns. “But?—”

“I thought your line had gone.” She shakes her head. “Had I known you yet lived—I couldn’t sense you.” She peers at him. “How did I miss. . .”

“Father says our ancestors fled. They traveled far, into old England, until when I was a young child, he and his father finally returned.”

She closes her eyes. “They left my realm, beyond my reach.” She shakes her head. “What’s done cannot be undone.” When she opens her eyes again, they’re no longer bright green. They’re the deep brown of loamy earth. “I cannot help you. The only way you can regain your power is if they’re given back to you by the others. Those I bestowed them upon must relinquish them to you.”

“But—”

She presses her index finger against his mouth, and in that moment, she ages what looks like a hundred years. Her back is hunched. Her eyes are rheumy, and her fingers are crooked and covered with blotches. “You must not attempt to force them, my child. Promise.”

Leonid’s nostrils flare. “You say there’s no way, but?—”

“My calling is to provide balance to the world. It always has been. I’m not the only force in this world, and nature seeks balance, always. Light begets dark. Life begets death. High requires low. Sky cries out to earth, and fire calls for dousing moisture.”

“But—”

“You’re very keen on talking,” she says. “But you need to learn to listen.”

Leonid’s eyes flash. He’s not happy.

“Heed my warning.” She’s middle-aged again, and she’s grown at least four or five feet in height. She towers over him. “If you attempt to force my powers under your control, you’ll harm yourself, and you’ll harm those you’re trying to force as well. You must not attempt it. The only way you may regain strength is through surrender. Do you understand? Are you listening?”

“But why?” Leonid’s pleading again. “You can’t be strong if you surrender.”

“When I gave your ancestors their powers, I broke several rules.” She sighs, shrinking back down. “I punched into my abilities and drilled them out, forcing a conduit.”

“Tell me how,” Leonid says.

She shakes her head. “When the Romanovs and the other families approached me, it wasn’t because they wanted power. The loss of the Rurikid line left a gaping hole, you see. No one could claim the throne. My mistake continued to cost all the people of the earth. I had to try and fix it. But this time, instead of carving out the power, I found a weak spot, and I teased it out. As I did it, my power split. I realized that the largest part of my problem was that I offered too much—I had thrown off the balance in the land. One human should never have had access to all that magic. Splitting the elements of my strength creates a web of balance, a net of control. But by sharing my abilities through both force and release, my power flows outward and inward. I didn’t worry at the time, as the inward flow was sealed.” She frowns. “Until you reclaimed it.”

“And now the powers are at odds?” I ask.

Her head whips around like a snake’s, both verdant green eyes intent on my face. “Who are you?”

“I’m a daughter of your second attempt,” I say. “I have the power of lightning.”

She nods. “You surrendered already to my child.”

“I—well. I guess I did.”

“Ask this girl for help,” Baba Yaga says. “Perhaps she can help you convince the others.”

“That’s why we called you,” Leonid says. “They won’t listen.”

“Then you suffer from the same affliction.” Her eyes sparkle. “I can do no more. I wish you luck in restoring balance, child.” She inclines her head, and then she simply disappears. Where she once was, there’s nothing. No smoke, no sparkles.

Nothing at all.

I sink back on my haunches, both relieved and overwhelmed at the same time.

“She was worse than useless,” Leonid says.

“I’m not sure,” I say. “At least we understand why you have to obtain the surrender.”

“Because she screwed up,” he says. “Because my ancestors were dumb and left.” He sighs. “This whole thing—” He freezes. “Why do you think she told me not to try and force the powers so many times?”

I blink. “What?”

“She said it more than once. She was really worried that I’d do that.” A slow smile creeps across his face. “I think she warned me off of it, because it’s possible.”

“Leonid, no.” I scramble to my feet. “She was so adamant?—”

“And if I was worried about someone taking over, if I had split my powers out for a reason, wouldn’t I be just as adamant in my warnings?” He’s delighted. He thinks he’s found a solution.

But I know he hasn’t. “This is a bad plan.”

“Why?” He shrugs. “I’ll gather the players. I’ll ask them again, as she told me I should, and if they still refuse?” He nods slowly. “Then I’ll do exactly what she made me promise never to do.” He grins his devilish grin. “I’ll take what I’m due, consequences bedamned.”