Chapter 12 Re
Chapter twelve
Reunion
“Are you out of your mind?” Jaga asks coldly when I emerge from the shadows at the foot of her throne, my cargo in tow.
“Maybe,” I say cheerfully, supporting Rada when she wobbles, her eyes huge with wonder as she looks around. “I’m certainly desperate.”
“Do you want Perun to know who you are?” Jaga hisses, shaking her head while Lutowa steps onto the dais with a small wave.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make them all forget they were here.”
Lech shoots me a shocked glance, and Nienad rolls his eyes, studying my throne room with hawkish attention.
“This is Nawie,” he says with confidence. “I can tell by how far away the sky is. Why have you brought us here, master?”
“You’re my special guests. There’s food, music, and your favorite witch whom you haven’t seen in a while.”
I grin, watching Jaga from the corner of my eye. She’s uncertain, her gaze shifting between her friends, her hands wringing nervously in her lap. Perfect.
“Send them back,” she hisses through clenched teeth.
At this point, Rada crouches, turning to the boy hiding behind her skirts. Jaga freezes, her eyes trained on the golden child, who’s a bit over a year old and already walks steadily. He’s dressed in simple linen trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, and Jaga stares at him like he’s a ghost.
I send my shadows to whisper in her ear.
“Remember how you cheated fate to save him? Look how nicely he’s growing.”
She whips her head to the side, searching for the source of my voice, but I pull away, stepping in front of my guests.
“Eat to your hearts’ content, my friends,” I say, waving at the table, quickly filling with steaming dishes and crystal goblets. There’s blood for the upir, heaps of greasy food for the bieda, and multiple bottles of wines and meads.
I wave my hand again, and a trio of souls materializes nearby, taking up a fiddle, a flute, and a drum. Another hand wave makes the lights multiply and grow golden until the space is cozy and festive.
Lech looks around, shrugs, and goes to the table to treat himself. Nienad studies the gem mosaics on the walls, and Rada stands at the foot of the throne dais, watching Jaga. Meanwhile, Lutowa is already up there, grabbing Jaga’s hand.
“Sheesh, you look weird in leather. I like it, though. Come on. Let’s get drunk together.”
Jaga shakes off her hand and gets up, putting the throne between them. “Don’t you hate me?” she hisses, eyeing the bieda with distrust.
Lutowa laughs and makes to sit. I growl in warning, sending my shadows to bar her way.
“Only one woman gets to sit on my throne,” I say clearly, my eyes flashing to Jaga. “And no, Jaga, neither of them hates you. Most rebels do, of course. But not those who truly got to know you. A fault in my plan, one I’m glad of right now.”
She blinks rapidly, and I can tell she’s uncertain and lost, looking between Rada, Lutowa, and Lech, who saunters back with a cup full of blood in his hand.
I considered bringing Draga, as well, but decided against it. The armless mamuna would have made Jaga think about that battle we lost and how I said all her friends would have been safe if only she’d let me claim her. It’s not my intent to make Jaga feel guilty or manipulated.
I just need her to want to live again.
“I was angry with you for a while,” Lutowa says with a shrug. “I couldn’t understand how you could not help us win if you knew a way. I finally had to accept you’re young. Like a baby. Young people act in illogical ways. I suppose it will pass with time.”
Jaga’s eyes flash, and she hisses at Lutowa like an angry cat. I grit my teeth, wondering if my plan isn’t so smart, after all. In the end, I don’t step in. The goal is to make Jaga care, and so far, it’s working.
“Will you come down?” Rada asks, her voice sweet and lilting, while the child shouts in that incoherent way of toddlers, pointing up at Jaga with a wide-eyed, alert expression.
Jaga’s shoulders drop and she goes to her wila friend, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “I missed you,” she whispers into Rada’s pale gold hair. “You the most.”
“I missed you, too. I’m so glad you’re alive. We thought you’d be flying with swallows.”
When they pull apart, Jaga crouches in front of the child, her face serious and a bit wary.
“Hello, Dar.”
The gold-haired boy doesn’t shy away. He looks her up and down and sticks his thumb in his mouth, his free hand tipped with tiny claws reaching for Jaga’s hair. She smiles and lets him grasp it, and I have to turn away.
I wasn’t prepared to see her interact with a child. Fuck, oh, fuck.
“How tall you’ve grown!” Jaga exclaims, her voice sounding joyful and easy for the first time in months. “And how nicely you stand! Say, can you run? How fast? Ow, Dar, no. Don’t tug that hard. Auntie was bald once, and I didn’t like it. Oh, no, I did not.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, arranging shadows around me so no one sees my moment of weakness. There she is, the woman who could have my children, who would have them if only I hadn’t fucked up so many times. She is so good at it. A born mother, only—barren.
“He is so fast,” the upir says, his voice fond. “I swear, running after him gets harder and harder. And when he starts to fly, I don’t know how we’ll manage.”
I turn sharply. “Fly? What do you mean?”
Jaga has the boy seated on her hip, a flurry of magical butterflies twirling in the air as they evade his grasping fingers. I ignore that heart-rending sight and focus on Lech.
“He grew wings once,” the upir says, his smile shrinking. “I mean, he might not fly. I know wila children have little magic, no matter who the father is…”
He trails off, and I reach for the boy. Jaga hesitates, giving me a sharp, suspicious look, and I sigh.
“I only want to examine him. A wila child growing wings is unheard of.”
Her mouth purses, and she hands me the boy, the butterflies following him.
I smile and sit him in the crook of my elbow, supporting his back with my palm.
His legs dangle happily on either side of my arm as we watch each other face to face.
He makes a gurgling sound of curiosity, the butterflies forgotten as he stares at me with parted lips.
Behind him, Rada steps anxiously from foot to foot, squeezing Lech’s hand in fear. She’s never warmed up to me, suspicious ever since she saw the bruises on Jaga’s throat when we first met.
“I won’t hurt him.”
She nods uncertainly, and I press my free hand to Dar’s chest, diving into his body and soul with my magic. I instantly know he’s special. The boy is so young, and yet, I can tell at a glance he has more magic than Rada and Lech combined.
“Interesting,” I murmur, bringing him closer. “Look into my eyes. There. Good boy.”
I trap him with my gaze until his eyelids can’t close. He fusses, gripping my cheeks with his pudgy fingers, and I look deep into his soul, finally understanding why he’s so powerful.
“He will likely fly and shift, maybe more,” I say, closing my eyes so the spell breaks. I hand the child back to his mother. “He received a powerful, old soul from Wyraj. No wonder his fate was to…”
I break off and shake my head. Jaga bounces on the balls of her feet, watching me with worry. I give her a nod and mouth, “Later.”
Jaga’s guests move toward the food, and I dissolve into shadows, determined to watch without interfering. Jaga speaks warmly with Rada and plays with Dar, though the boy squirms out of her arms to explore the glittering walls. He likes shiny things, a bies after my own heart.
Jaga gives Lutowa the cold shoulder, which the bieda ignores, content stuffing her belly with food. It’s not that surprising. Lutowa is very old, very jaded, and quite cruel. Their friendship struck me as odd back then. Maybe it’s natural they fell out.
Nienad might have been a mistake. He’s obviously bored here, drumming his fingers on the table between sparse sips of wine. Jaga looks at him only once, her eyes cold and vicious.
My motives for bringing her friends might have been relatively pure, yet I still hide well and eavesdrop, hoping Jaga will open her heart to Rada, at least. But my witch doesn’t speak much.
Mostly, she listens to the wila and Lech talking about Dar.
The conversation is utterly mundane, yet her eyes warm with interest, and she smiles more than she’s done over the course of the last month.
She really cares about the boy, then. Time to gamble again and tell Jaga more secrets.
After a few hours, Lech approaches me respectfully, asking if he and his family can go back to the rebel base. I corral them up to wipe their memories, but Jaga holds me back.
“I’d like a word with Nienad. Alone.”
Her face is hard, and I grant her wish with a nod, pulling the other guests into the shadows to send them back. I’m gone for maybe ten minutes altogether as I settle a minor dispute between rebels. When I come back, my throne room is empty.
My heart hammers with instant terror, and I send my shadows away in every direction, searching for Jaga. I don’t have to look far. My magic locates her in my bedroom, and that’s where I go, another sort of fear clawing at my heart.
If she fucks Nienad of all people, I fucking swear…
“What do you think about this new strain of the rot? How does it feel? Tell me.”
I stare, speechless and uncomprehending. In front of me, Jaga walks leisurely from one side of the spacious room to the next. The furniture has been pushed against the walls, clearing the space in the middle.
There, suspended on an enormous wheel made of pure magic, hangs Nienad. He is stretched open, his arms and legs akimbo, and the wheel turns slowly until he’s upside down, his naked body convulsing from pain. Jaga watches him with cold curiosity, twirling one of her small knives between her fingers.