12. Isla
12
ISLA
L ev’s mouth moves, but I don’t catch his words over the intensifying drum of my pulse. I pivot more fully toward him and palm his chest like a lover, even though my intent is the farthest thing from romantic.
The instant I feel the hard shape of metal beneath the fabric, my disquiet morphs to anger. There are few things I hate more than being fooled.
“I think we’ve outstayed our welcome.” Lev— not Lev —cinches my wrist with fingers that aren’t long because I made them so, but because they’re genuinely his.
I bet that by we , he means me , and that the welcome I outstayed isn’t the barkeep’s, but his.
“We haven’t finished our bottle.” My tone is as flat and crisp as those toasts his sister dunked in her tea this morning.
A muscle judders his borrowed jawline. Part of me is tempted to refresh his glamour, but another part of me is damn tempted to let his true face bleed through. To think I felt bad when they called him a coward… He might not be gutless, but he is a trickster.
“It won’t go to waste in here,” Konstantin promises, his gaze scrolling over the crowd before perching back on me. He suddenly drops my wrist to palm my cheek, the tips of his fingers spearing through my hair.
I suspect my feather is beginning to show. After all, I changed our appearances at the same time. Without moving his hand off the side of my face, he shoves his cask stool back, stands, and tosses a few silver coins on the table.
Even though Glacin currency is different from ours, I sense, from the widening stares of the tavern-goers, that what he’s left is an absurd amount. One that’s bound to arouse suspicion. Then again, we’ve evidently already checked that box.
As I get to my feet, I swipe my empty shot glass from the table. “ Zah’jeen !” I toss out the Glacin toast with much enthusiasm, then pretend to drink, even though I’m aware the cup is empty.
Konstantin must decide that walking with a hand pressed against my cheek is odd, because he brushes out my still-blonde hair until it drapes across my eye, then tucks me into his side.
It’s only once we’ve exited the tavern that I grumble, “Fear of heights, huh?”
“I don’t love heights.” Konstantin’s beard is receding, and his ears lengthening…tapering.
“Explains why you live underground,” I snap, securing my glass under the waistband of my pants. “What it doesn’t explain is why you pretended to be Lev.”
I pull away from him and trudge around the tavern toward the kitchen, determined to find out whether the theory that drew me to the Tin Teapot has any legs.
“Where are you going?” he hisses.
“I’ll be right back.” I don’t need to peer over my shoulder to glean that he’s trailing me, for the crunch of his heavy footfalls resonates in the stagnant village air.
I circumvent two towering horses with shaggy chestnut coats. Upon sensing me, they tense, their large eyes flaring as they peer at me through the curtain of their long forelocks. When they begin to nicker and blow, I pat their necks, then present them with my palms. A whiff of my skin—of my Shabbin blood—instantly unpins their ears and relaxes their posture.
I give each of them one more rub before slinking toward a high-perched window and rising onto my toes. There, beside a hearth, sits a girl in a homespun dress and a turban, stirring a large wooden spoon through a soup pot while reading a book.
“So much for the daughter having left the premises…” Konstantin’s low words plume beside my ear, echoing my thoughts.
When the kitchen door flaps open, I duck. Konstantin doesn’t.
I spring back up, grab his shoulders, and yank him down. “Your spying skills leave much to be desired, Vizosh.”
Under his breath, he mutters that he’s never had need for such skills until me. My eyeroll is the last thing he sees before I paint an invisibility sigil on my forehead. Since I hold him, he also winks out of existence. His breath punches my nose in sharp, panicked gusts.
“I take it this is your first time becoming a specter?”
“It was my first time taking someone else’s face, too. I wasn’t even sure it would work.”
Right. But since glamouring himself hadn’t harmed him, the magic had taken to his skin just fine.
Keeping one hand anchored to his arm, I stand. When I peer through the kitchen window, the kitchen is empty.
I set my teeth and am about to expel an annoyed growl when I catch a shadow drifting over the tiles, and then the girl is exiting from what must be a small pantry, carrying a stack of books. I squint to make out the gilt titles pressed into the leather spines. Cookbooks? Revolutionary edicts? Whatever they are, the fact that she can read proves that she’s cultured. Like Alyona.
Turn, turn, turn. Come on. She does, but not in our direction. Ugh .
“I cannot wait to hear the reason we’re standing out here like creepers,” the Ice King grouses as his fingers find purchase on my waist.
“And I cannot wait to hear the reason you took Lev’s face,” I volley back in a hush.
The girl’s shoulders pinch as though she’d heard us. When she looks straight at the window, straight at us, my lungs hold still, and not to avoid fogging up the glass, but because of the hue of her irises: bright-amber.
Not Alyona.
I stare at Svyato’s daughter a moment longer, cataloguing her features—sharp nose, tiny mole above her lip, pasty skin. I wish for a glimpse of her hair, but what would I gain from knowing its color? Even if it’s white like Alyona’s, the cook isn’t Konstantin’s undead sister.
Frustrated, I pluck the fingers my accomplice has wound around my waist and haul him away from the Tin Teapot and across the street. “Remove your medallion, and I’ll fly us back.”
“Because you think shifting within the reach of so many antimorphs is wise?”
“Wiser than trekking through the human lands on the arm of their fucking king.”
“Good thing they can’t see us.”
“If I let go, they’ll be able to see you just fine.” My reminder makes his fingers close snugly around mine. I’m guessing the male won’t be releasing me any time soon. “I can’t believe you fooled me.”
“Says the girl poking around my kingdom. Why were you saluting my dead sister? Why were you spying on a tavern cook?” His strides are so brisk that, more than once, the tread beneath my boots fails me and I skid, but his vise-like grip keeps me upright.
“Tell me who gave you Lev’s face, and I’ll tell you why I visited Oloho Samov .”
“Katya.”
“…Katya?”
“She was repaying a favor from long ago.” Konstantin maneuvers us down a side street that’s so narrow, the dwellers from one side could reach out and high-five their neighbors without leaving the comfort of their homes. “I answered your question. Now answer mine.”
“I heard Svyato Suprovic took Alyona in after your father banished her from the capital. If I’m not mistaken, Svyato’s sister, Olena, was the royal child-minder.”
A beat of silence echoes between us before he says, “It still doesn’t explain what?—”
“I was hoping to find Alyona here.”
“She’s dead, Miss Ríhbiadh.” The finality of his tone suggests he’s convinced of it. “For someone who knows so much, I’m surprised you didn’t hear how I plunged an iron sword through her heart to avenge our father’s death.”
“I did hear.”
“Then why are you searching for my dead sister in a Voshnan tavern?”
I lapse into silence.
He growls, “ Why ?”
I lick my lips, scrutinizing the indent my invisible feet are leaving behind on the worn path of snow. It’s only once we’ve penetrated the woods and put a mile between us and the nearest human dwelling that I come to a decision. “Release me, and I’ll explain.”
“And risk you flying off?”
“Are you afraid of the woods, Vizosh?”
He entreats his gods for patience.
“Fine. Move your death grip to my elbow. I need both hands.”
“To do what?”
“You’ll see. Actually, you won’t see; you’ll hear.”
Curiosity usurps his chariness, because he inches his fingers up my arm. I pull the shot glass from my pants’ waistband, then carry my other hand to my earring. After pricking my finger on a ruby spike, I sweep my blood over the glass in the same parallel pattern I drew on the underside of the table back at the tavern.
When voices emerge from my palm, a rasped exhale whitens the air, and I’m hauled sideways. I let Konstantin run with his assumption that we’re being followed, enjoying his panic. When he picks up the pace, I decide to come clean, if for no other reason than that my feet hurt, and I don’t feel like sprinting through snow.
“Relax, Vizosh. No one’s tailing us.”
He halts so abruptly that my body pitches forward, then back.
“The voices you’re hearing are coming from the glass I borrowed for surveillance purposes. Which was my other reason for visiting that establishment. Did you assume I was there for the vibe?”
“I assumed you were there to rile up some dissidents.”
My breath hitches. “You suspected me of trying to sabotage your reign?”
“Can you truly blame me? You appear out of nowhere, pretend like you don’t know me, make friends with an arms dealer who’d prefer I weren’t occupying the Glacin throne, and then sneak off to the human lands… with him .”
“I didn’t pretend. I genuinely had no clue who you were, nor whose suite I’d ended up in. As for Lev, I made conversation with him last night because it was the polite thing to do.” And he was nice, I think but don’t add out loud since Konstantin obviously has a bone to pick with his constituent.
“Did you agree to dine with him because it was the polite thing to do as well?”
“No. I agreed because I wanted an excuse to venture into the human lands, and I wanted to do so without a slew of guards on my tail. How was I to know there was contention between you and him? But more importantly, how is it any of your concern whether a man I agree to have dinner with likes you or not?”
“When that man sells illegal weapons to the masses, which the masses then use to kill my subjects, everything he does becomes my concern.”
A new bout of silence stretches between us, interrupted only by the sound of wind combing through the fir trees.
“Why are you convinced my sister’s alive?” Konstantin asks, changing the subject. “Do you know something that I don’t?”
I bite my lip.
“Did one of your Shabbin relatives bring her back from the dead?”
Could a Shabbin have gone after Alyona’s freshly slain body and resuscitated her? Shabbins have that sort of power, but it makes no sense considering Alyona hates— hated —Shabbins. “No.”
“Then, why?”
“Because the Cauldron keeps showing its keepers a prophecy where Alyona and I… interact .” A euphemism, but best not to divulge all.
The bang of cups followed by the clatter of cutlery comes through the shot glass, causing me to jump and fist the glass a little harder. I work on loosening my grasp before I shatter my link to the tavern.
“I took Lev’s face.” Konstantin’s voice is gravel.
“I’m aware that you duped me. I thank you for the reminder.”
“What I meant by that is that perhaps someone borrows my dead sister’s face.”
My eyebrows jump, because I hadn’t considered that. “If you’re right, then that would mean a bloodcaster’s involved.”
“Or a bloodcaster’s the culprit.”
“Bloodcasters can’t be killed with iron, and that’s how I—” Focá.
“ Interact with my sister?” he deadpans.
A hiss followed by the distinct crack of a plate surges from the shot glass. “ I said we needed to close down early tonight. Get yourself home, Ivan. ”
“ Boss wants to see you and Mesty, Svee. ”
Mesty? Could that be the daughter’s name? Also, they have a boss? I thought Svyato owned the tavern?
Svyato must be sweeping the shards into a dustpan, because I hear the creak of bristles and the plink of shards. “ Like I told that half-blood, Mesty went out. ”
Metal dings. “ Where? ”
“ Ivan Borislavic, put that thing away right this minute! I raised you better than that. ” Since Ivan doesn’t call Svyato ‘Atsa,’ I figure the barkeep helped rear him out of villager solidarity, like we, Crows, do back in the Sky Kingdom. “ I swear to Gods that if you ? — ”
Hinges groan, and then Ivan’s hollering Mesty’s name at the top of his lungs.
“ For fuck’s sake, I told ya she was out ,” Svyato snaps.
“ Where’d she go? ”
“ Dunno. Mestyla’s a grown woman now. Once she’s done cookin’, she can go wherever she damn well pleases. ” In exasperation, he adds, “ I’ll fetch me jacket and go with ya. ” Svyato must follow Ivan out of the tavern, for there is only silence after that.
My heart trounces my ribs. “I should fly back there. See who’s this boss they speak of.”
What if it’s Alyona? I think but avoid saying.
After a prolonged beat of silence, I reiterate my suggestion of heading back. More silence. If Konstantin weren’t still gripping my ribs, I would’ve assumed he’d returned to the tavern himself.
“Vizosh? Are you awake?”
“Svyato is well past three-hundred years old.”
How… random . “Why are you dwelling on his advanced age?”
“Because his daughter’s so young.”
“Unlike women, Faerie men can reproduce until they die, so he could very well be her father. Age aside, I think I should go back.”
“They’ll be long gone by the time we get there.”
“Not if I fly.”
“I’ll send Salom.”
His suggestion doesn’t sit right with me. Possibly because the humans referred to Salom as ‘the Flesher.’ What if he reaps them with his iron blade?
“Why send your general when you’ve got me?”
“Because I don’t want to risk you flying the other way, toward another nest of king-haters.”
I suck in my teeth, annoyed by his disbelief. “You seriously think I’m planning on sneaking off to Lev’s house right now?”
I plant my feet wide, bringing us both to another standstill.
“That’s simply offensive.” I try to pry his fingers off my elbow.
He wends them tighter. “People I’ve known forever have betrayed me. My caution isn’t that farfetched.”
“What would I gain by stirring up shit in a kingdom that isn’t even mine?”
“You’re obviously embroiled in my kingdom if the Cauldron sees you killing someone on my land.”
I’m half tempted to deny that I’ll be killing anyone, but the king’s not a dolt. “Since we’re being so honest with one another, I have a question for you: if it is your sister I end up unaliving, how will you react?”
“What do you mean?”
“Will you seek revenge?”
“On who?”
“On me .”
“The only revenge I’ll seek will be against the person who resuscitated her. Why in the four realms did you jump to the conclusion that I’d harm you ?” His face must be turned toward mine, because his searing breaths clout my forehead.
“My parents are worried you might.”
His grip grows lax enough that, if I wanted to pull free, I could. “My father may not have been a perfect man or a perfect ruler, but he didn’t deserve to be killed in cold blood by his own daughter.” More brisk exhales warm my face. “Please reassure your parents. Or better yet, ask them to come back so I can make them the promise face-to-face.”
“You already swore an oath to my mother. She’s going to call it in soon.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yes. Good. In case they doubt my word, at least they’ll have a magical reassurance of my sincerity.”
I suddenly wish I could see his face to gauge his genuineness. “Glad to hear you don’t want to slay me.”
“I may still want to slay you; I just won’t be capable of it.” If humor weren’t coloring his tone, I’d unhook our fingers and flock right back to Luce. But he is smiling.
…I think.
“How long will your listening sigil hold?”
“A week. Two, if we’re lucky. It’s only the blood applied to the skin that fades fast. Wood is denser, so it retains blood longer. Stone holds it forever.” Before he can deem me a fool, I add, “I looked for some in the tavern, but everything was made of either lumber or tiles.”
“What about glass?”
“It’s denser than wood, so unless another sorceress lifts my blood, or someone shatters the cup, our link to the tavern should last.”
“Clever.”
“Hmm? What is?”
“You are. Reckless, but clever.”
His compliment warms my chest. “I try. Not the reckless bit. That comes naturally.”
A soft puff of air blanches the air. “You’re not what I was expecting, Miss Ríhbiadh.”
“Should’ve lowered your expectations, Vizosh.”
His fingers grow stiff again. “That’s not how I meant it.”
“But you still don’t trust me enough to release me?”
The pressure of his fingers vanishes, and he reemerges from the ether. Even in his maladjusted red pants and matching top, he appears regal, surely due to his proud bearing. “Still there?”
“Still there.”