Fate and Fury

Chapter 1

1

KATERINA

I n Katerina Ivanova’s twenty-one years, she had been many things.

A witch, certainly. The strongest Dimi that the dukedom of Iriska had known in three centuries, able to command all four elements rather than just fire, wind, water, or earth.

A protector, sworn alongside her blood-bonded Shadow to defend Iriska from Grigori demons, hungry to devour their souls.

A secret-keeper, along with everyone else in her village of Kalach. For if the Kniaz—the duke who ruled Iriska and its Seven Villages—discovered what Katerina could do, he would covet her beyond measure. Damn the Trials; he would have Reaped her years ago for his own, and left Kalach without its best defender.

And above all, a liar and a traitor. For if Baba Petrova, the Elder Council, and—Saints forbid—the Kniaz himself knew the truth of what her heart harbored, her death would be swift.

But never, except for once, long ago, had she been weak. Her mother had died because of it, and Katerina had never forgiven herself. Now here she was, preparing to let Baba bind her magic. Hobbling herself on purpose, and risking the death of the man she loved most.

She watched as Baba knelt in front of the fireplace, dipping her fingertips into a bowl of ash. The ancient Dimi traced a circle on her cottage’s wooden floorboards, just large enough to hold Katerina and her Shadow. Above her, from the ceiling’s blackened crossbeams, swayed thin-skinned braids of garlic, for healing, and ropes of gray-green sage, for purification.

There would be no healing what Baba was about to do to her, not until the old Dimi decided to break the binding. As for purification, as far as Katerina was concerned, it was far too late. She’d lost her heart to a man who was off-limits long ago, and every time she looked at him, she was reminded of how much she craved his body. Good luck purifying that with a handful of dried herbs and a prayer to the long-dead Saints.

Unable to help herself, she glanced across the hearth at her Shadow. Eight years ago, she and Niko had stood in this very room, beside a cauldron seething with ink and blood, sealing their vows as Shadow and Dimi. Then, he had regarded her with barely tempered eagerness; now, his expression was guarded, his face carefully blank. He didn’t like this any better than she did, but he would endure it, for the sake of the village. Of the two of them, he had far more to lose by rebelling.

Baba’s knobbly finger completed the circle, and the power within it snapped into place: a low hum that set Katerina’s teeth on edge.

Next would come the rune. Then the binding spell.

She was running out of time.

Katerina drew a deep breath, letting the layered air fill her lungs: the burn of herbs, the bite of the oil Niko used to cure his blades, the smoke of the rowan-fire as it curled upward. “There has to be another way,” she said for the umpteenth time since Baba and the Elders had demanded she do the unthinkable. “I can control myself. If you trust me to fight for Iriska, then surely you believe I can command my gifts.”

The words emerged haughty, a challenge rather than an entreaty, and Niko arched one dark eyebrow in warning. Along with the Elders, Baba’s word was law. Arguing would get Katerina exactly nowhere. And yet she couldn’t help herself.

Baba Petrova was a small, gnarled woman who had long fought on the front lines of their war against the Grigori. Her back was bent now, her face wrinkled, and she spent more time training Dimis and Shadows than patrolling the village’s borders. Still, her air of authority was formidable. It rolled off her in waves as she straightened and glared at Katerina.

“You are wasting time,” she said.

Irritation bubbled through Katerina’s veins, and, as if to disprove her point, the fire in the hearth leapt high in response. Now, it was Baba’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

Katerina ignored her. “With the rise in attacks, how is it wise to send us to Rivki hobbled, with me only having the use of my fire? What if we encounter demons on the road? Why cripple us like this?”

Next to her, Niko made a disgruntled noise low in his throat, perilously close to his black dog’s growl. “Are you insinuating that I can’t protect you, Katerina?”

For a Shadow, blood-sworn to fight beside his Dimi and stand between her and evil in his human form or the form of his black dog, there was no greater insult. And Niko was the alpha of the village’s Shadow pack. Such an accusation pierced his pride, Katerina knew. And yet?—

“We protect each other,” she said, meeting his storm-gray eyes. “We fight together .”

As they would in the Bone Trials at Rivki Island, the seat of Iriska’s dukedom. As they had been commanded by the Kniaz to do.

Baba didn’t reply. Instead, she knelt to draw the rune. Freed from her scrutiny, Niko took the moment to mouth, What are you doing? at Katerina.

She hazarded a glance at him, then wished she hadn’t. He’d tied his hair back with a piece of rawhide, baring the scar that ran from his chiseled jaw to his temple, earned in a fight to protect their village from Grigori invasion. Above it, his eyes gleamed silver in the sunlight, piercing through her defenses as they always did. She couldn’t afford for him to look at her like that. Not now, when she had so much to hide.

What I must , she mouthed back, and looked away.

Putting the finishing touch on the rune’s complicated angles, Baba stood. “It’s because of the rise in Grigori attacks that I must do this,” she said. “You know as well as I do that the two of you are Kalach’s best defense. We need you here, not at the Kniaz’s right hand, great as the honor may be. Perhaps if you didn’t want to be summoned to the Trials, you would have endeavored to make yourself less appealing to the Kniaz the last time you delivered the tithe.”

Her voice was mild, but Katerina bristled just the same. Held every other year, the Trials pitted a powerful Dimi and Shadow pairing from each of the Seven Villages against each other. Two victorious pairs would advance to the second round the following year, taking the interim twelve months to train. The winning pair would be selected to expand the Druzhina—Iriska’s elite warriors and the Kniaz’s personal guard against the demons who threatened their borders. And in so doing, leave their village behind.

She had tried so hard to be ordinary each time she and Niko went to Rivki. To avoid drawing undue attention. But the Kniaz had noticed her, anyway. And now here she was, about to submit to a barbaric rite, just because Baba and the Elders didn’t believe she had the self-possession to suppress her magic under duress.

Infuriated, Katerina called the wind to lift a spoon from Baba’s wooden table, coaxing it to scoop up a bit of sugar and then delicately stir the cup of tea that sat, cooling, in its saucer. The porcelain cup rose, floating through the air until it prodded, insistent, at Baba’s hand.

“Not a drop spilled,” she said as Baba snatched the teacup from the air with a huff and stomped back to the table to set it down again. “I can more than control my magic. See?”

“That is not the point—” Baba began, but Katerina was out of patience. She called the wind again, this time to send the china in the cabinet rattling and the earth to ripple the floorboards beneath their feet. The flames leapt and churned, threatening to breach the hearth.

“Whether with precision or brute force, I can wield my power as I will. But I had no wish to impress a tyrant.” The words were frigid as they left her mouth, ice-tipped. “I did nothing. Niko, tell her.”

Her Shadow sighed, broad shoulders heaving beneath the fabric of his linen shirt. “We delivered the grain as promised. And Katerina acted only as a firewitch, nothing more.”

Impatiently, Baba motioned for the two of them to step into the circle, atop the rune. “Well, it doesn’t matter what he saw in you. He asked for you by name, Katerina. And by extension, your Shadow.”

It was one thing for her and Niko to travel to Rivki with the tithe. It was quite another for them to enter into battle, where Katerina’s magic would be challenged and tested. Katerina understood the risks, especially now, when Kalach needed her more than ever. Her gifts were the village’s best-kept secret; this was the worst possible time for the Kniaz to discover them, with demonic attacks on the rise, when Kalach was under its greatest threat. Not to mention, the consequences of having hidden something this extraordinary for so many years would no doubt be dire.

But that didn’t mean she had to be forcibly bound. The idea sent horror curdling through her, as if anticipating a brutal amputation. No matter how many times Niko reminded her it was temporary, nothing more than a safeguard, she couldn’t resign herself to it. She’d been lobbying against it for weeks, ever since Baba had come to her with the Elders’ decision.

“Please,” she said now, a last resort. Tears pricked her eyes, and she fought them back. Being at the mercy of those who wished to bind her magic, torn between her loyalty to Kalach and her autonomy, was bad enough; she’d be damned if she’d let Baba see her cry.

“I’m sorry.” Finality marked Baba’s voice. “Come, now. The Vila await their Shadows by the river, and the two of you must get on the road if you are to reach shelter before dark.”

The kohannya ceremony was the very last thing Katerina wanted to think about right now. Her muscles tensed, and Niko’s eyes met hers. He probably couldn’t wait to get to the river, where his lovely Vila had crafted a paper boat just for him, sealed in red wax and inscribed with runes for romance and fertility, promises of a thousand kisses and caresses. The thought made Katerina want to vomit. And that, she definitely couldn’t show.

Holding Niko’s gaze, she strode to the center of the rune. A moment later, her Shadow followed. He stood facing her, close enough that his leathers brushed her pants.

“Take her hands,” Baba instructed.

His eyes never leaving hers, Niko obeyed. His calloused fingers wove through Katerina’s, their touch achingly familiar. As vicious as he could be with a blade, he was gentle with her, as if he held something priceless. As if she were breakable.

Katerina squeezed his fingers hard enough to hurt, but Niko only smiled at her, his full lips rising. How could he smile at a time like this? She wanted to hit him, bite him, send her magic through him like a sharpened arrow—anything to break that perfect composure, meant to reassure her. She wanted to press her lips to his and devour him, and let the world burn.

But that was beyond forbidden. Even thinking about it was a betrayal. Acting on it would have horrific consequences.

It was fortunate Katerina was good at keeping secrets.

“Sant Antoniya, patron saint of Dimis, hear me,” Baba intoned. “Sant Andrei, patron saint of Shadows, be with your child now.”

Beneath their feet, the rune shuddered. The aftereffects rippled through Katerina’s body, and Niko gripped her hands harder, holding her steady. It will be all right, he mouthed.

Katerina pressed her lips together and shook her head. How could she allow this, no matter what Baba and the Elders had decreed? Panic gnawed at her bones. She had to leave this circle, she had to stop this?—

“Before you stands Katerina Ivanova, your loyal servant.” Baba’s voice resonated throughout the room, echoing off walls and floor and ceiling. “You have gifted her with powers beyond reckoning, and we are grateful. But now, for the sake of the village she is sworn to protect, we ask your permission to bind all her gifts but one. We ask this in the name of the trifold Saints, as penitents to your grace.”

As if in response, Katerina’s magic surged. The fire shot upward in the hearth, the water in the kettle bubbling, the shutters rattling as the wind outside began to rage. Niko winced as the force of it hit him, his breath hissing between gritted teeth. Easy , he mouthed.

Did he think she was his stallion, Troitze, to be soothed with a command and the gift of an apple? Katerina bared her own teeth at him, dread coiling in her gut as Baba spoke again.

“With salt, we bind Dimi Ivanova’s waterwitch.” She pulled a pinch of white crystals from the pocket of her dress, scattering them on the rune at Katerina’s feet. “With vervain, we bind her windwitch.” The dried purple petals fell atop the salt, and a terrible choking sensation seized Katerina, as if a thousand zlydini spirits had hold of her lungs and were clenching their tiny, malevolent fists. She gagged, and Niko’s eyes widened in horror. He was speaking now, his voice low and urgent, but Katerina couldn’t make out a word. Her ears roared with the beat of her own blood, her mouth filled with the taste of saltwater. She spat, and spat again, but it made no difference. Air, she needed air, she needed?—

“With roots of cypress, we bind her earthwitch.” Baba’s voice was inside Katerina’s head somehow, inescapable, threading through bone and sinew. The lemon-spice scent of cypress shavings filled the air as Baba opened her hand and let them fall. “May all three rest, and wake no more until I free them.”

The rune flared with heat, the floorboards shuddering. Pain shot through the soles of Katerina’s feet and arrowed upward, sharper than anything she’d ever known: the loss of her mother, the slice of a poisoned Grigori blade, the desperate, doomed desire she felt for her Shadow. She shrieked, unable to contain it, and the cypress shavings caught fire before they hit the ground. Somewhere inside the inferno, Niko was shouting: Stop and you’re hurting her and then a fusillade of incomprehensible syllables that ended in her name. Through the falling embers, his face loomed up and then disappeared again, pupils blown wide so that only a rim of silver iris remained. The roar of his black dog filled the air, ripped from his human throat.

It was unthinkable for a Shadow to interfere with Baba Petrova’s magic this way, to stand between her and the ceremony she and the Elders had deemed must be done. Baba was their leader, owed deference and respect. But Niko growled louder and louder, the vibration echoing through his body and into his hands where they still gripped Katerina’s. His body flickered with the first hints of his Change, a moment before his hands fell away. And then he was moving her, pushing her off the rune and out of the consecrated circle. In the world beyond the agony that tore through every inch of Katerina, as if someone were trying to rip her magic out by the roots, porcelain clattered and smashed. Someone was screaming. She thought it might be her.

Her back hit the wall, knocking the remaining air out of her lungs. Niko pressed against her from head to toe, his body hot and insistent and trembling with a rage she could taste, copper-bright on her tongue. But she could taste something else, too: fear, tart and dark as the blackcurrants that grew by handfuls beside the village gates. Fear for her.

Niko was suffering. And no one hurt her Shadow and lived.

In the hollow of her throat, the silver amulet that held a drop of Niko’s blood throbbed, reminding her of what mattered most. Her deepest fear was losing him. Failing him and watching him fall to the Dark. And yet here she stood, on the verge of surrendering the very gifts she relied upon to defend him.

You are a Dimi, Katerina told herself grimly. Born into war. So, fight.

The pain was everywhere, woven into the very fabric of her being. It pierced her heart and throat and belly, as if her magic had shattered into shards of glass that wounded her from the inside out. But she could think past it. She must.

She shut her eyes and sank down, down into the depths of herself. Past the pain and the heat of the flaming cypress, past Niko’s roars of fury and Baba Petrova’s commands. In the quiet, she envisioned the roots of her magic, anchored deep in the soil of her soul: red for flame, brown for earth, blue for water, white for wind. In her mind’s eye, she fell to her knees and dug her fingers into the soil. You are mine, she whispered to her power. Mine to keep. Mine to command. My gifts from the Saints, and I will not let you go.

The force that had hold of her magic pulled, insistent, fighting to rip the roots free. But Katerina held fast, with every ounce of strength she possessed. Inch by inch, bit by painful bit, she gained ground, until, with a bellow of fury at being deprived of its prize, the spell let go. The pain retreated with it, her magic anchoring firmly within her once more, until Katerina was alone in her skin again, shaken but whole.

Her eyes flickered open, and she peered over her Shadow’s shoulder, blinking. The air still burned, shot through with flecks of fiery cypress. The table had been overturned. And Niko’s body was pressed against hers, his back against her front, both of them crowded against the far wall. His arms spread wide, hands touching the plaster on either side of her in a clear gesture of protection. At their feet lay splintered china—Niko’s doing, perhaps, in his haste to break the circle and get her away from the rune that fueled the spell.

He was still growling, one long, unbroken burr that would doubtless fill most people with terror. The sound comforted Katerina, as familiar and soothing as a lullaby.

“Let her go,” Baba was saying, with the exaggerated patience of someone who had been repeating themselves for quite some time. “This had to be done. And I mean her no harm.”

Her Shadow merely snarled, body shaking with the effort to hold his human shape.

Enough was enough. Katerina cleared her throat, which ached as if she’d swallowed ground glass. “I’m all right, Niko,” she said. “Stand down.”

The growl ebbed, and Niko spun, grabbing her by the shoulders. His eyes were wild, his black hair half-loose from its tie. “Thank the Saints. Are you hurt, Katerina? Are you?—”

“I’m all right,” she repeated, though she wasn’t sure if it was true. Her body still ached with the after-effects of the spell, a fine tremor running through every limb. But Niko didn’t need to know that, did he? Not when he was looking at her like she might go to pieces under his hands, crumbling to the floor in a heap of tears and ashes.

Her Shadow’s gray eyes narrowed, gaze sweeping over her from head to toe. “Are you,” he said again, a statement this time rather than a question.

Inside her, magic stirred: fire, earth, wind, and water, all there to call to her hand. Could he feel it, bound to her as he was?

If so, he didn’t say a word. Jaw set, he turned to face Baba. “Is it done?”

Baba gave a curt nod. “I am sorry,” she told them both, with a wry glance at the wreckage. “It was never my intention to hurt you. The moment you come home, I will undo the binding. And even with only one of your gifts at your command, you are powerful, Katerina. Trust in that.”

Katerina would have to. She had no intention of abandoning her village by unleashing her other gifts in the Trials. But neither did she have any intention of telling Baba the truth: that the spell had failed. That she would ride out to Rivki in possession of her full powers.

There might be demons on the road, after all.

And a Trial of her own to conquer, here in Kalach, before she could ride to meet them.