Chapter 4
4
KATERINA
I t was a beautiful night to burn, and a ridiculous one to die.
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her competitors in the pit beneath the Bone Trials arena, Katerina inhaled the mingled scents of sweat, damp earth, and rowan-fire, and pleaded with her magic not to betray her. Next to her, Niko rested his palm against the small of her back, offering comfort. The heat of his touch radiated even through her fighting leathers, and Katerina jerked away.
Her Shadow looked down at her, puzzlement warring with battle-eagerness on his face.
“All right?” he said, voice pitched low so the other Dimis and their Shadows wouldn’t hear.
“Never better,” Katerina bit out, straightening her spine. The roar of the crowd seeped through the bars, ebbing and flowing like the waves that lapped Rivki Island’s shores, and she swallowed, her throat thick with disgust.
The ride from Kalach had been uneventful, other than poor weather that had spooked the horses and forced them to arrive in Rivki looking like they’d been dragged backward through a blackberry hedge. They’d broken their ride in Drezna, as they usually did when delivering the tithe, then ridden hellbent through the rain to make it in time for the Trials’ opening feast. Now they were here, crammed into a space so small that Katerina’s skin crawled with the spillover of her fellow Dimis’ magic, about to turn against each other for the benefit of a dictator.
Six nights before the Bone Moon, when the veil between humanity and the Underworld grew thinnest, the Seven Villages’ most powerful Dimis and Shadows should be home, defending Iriska against soul-devouring Grigori demons. Not doing…this.
At least Katerina had been able to keep the retention of her abilities a secret. There had hardly been cause to use them on the road, what with the lashing wind and the downpour. The only one they’d needed was her fire, to dry out wood for kindling and set it aflame. She’d come so close to telling Niko the truth again and again—she hated lying to him, any more than she had to—but in the end, she’d decided against it. With luck, she wouldn’t need to call on her water, earth, or wind to defend them, and they’d be back in Kalach before anyone was the wiser.
A horn blew in the arena above, putting an end to her musings. Amplified by witchwind, it jarred small pebbles loose from the walls. They spattered against Katerina’s leathers, and beside her, a fellow Dimi—Trina Samarin, of Povorino—gave a grunt of disgust as the pebbles struck the side of her face, drawing blood. Katerina could smell it, iron-rich in the damp air.
“Pleasant accommodations, no?” Katerina said, cocking her head at the confines of the pit. “You’d think they’d treat us better if we’re meant to be Iriska’s best hope of survival.”
Trina sneered at her, as if making idle conversation were tantamount to admitting weakness. The light filtering through the bars fell in stripes across the umber skin that marked her as hailing from Povorino, and her green eyes shone, bright with malice.
“There’s no we about it,” she hissed, her voice surprisingly girlish to be filled with so much venom. “Think of me when you’re lying in the dirt of the arena, choking on dust.” She lifted a hand, summoning the wind to command the pebbles at her feet. They peppered Katerina’s leathers in a fusillade before falling to the stone floor once more.
Trina had been nasty to Katerina since they’d met at the previous night’s feast, as if sensing a threat to her victory in the arena. At first, Katerina had ignored her, which only seemed to spur the other woman on. By now, moments before they were about to fight for their lives, Katerina’s patience had worn thin.
“If one of us is about to be lying in the dirt,” she said sweetly, “I hardly think it’s me.” Fire flared in her palms and she let it rise, heat forming a wall between them. Trina took a startled step back. Beside her, her Shadow bared his teeth, but instead of responding in kind, Niko chuckled.
“Watch yourself, Fyodor,” he said. “My Dimi doesn’t make idle threats.” He refrained from saying the rest of it: that if anyone here knew what Katerina was capable of, they’d think twice before pelting her with pebbles.
The horn blew once more, drowning out Fyodor’s retort, as Katerina called her witchfire to heel. “Dimis and Shadows of Iriska. Citizens of Rivki.” The Kniaz’s voice boomed over the receding blare of the horn, echoing throughout the arena and into the chamber below. “We are gathered here today to determine the strongest among us, so that they may one day fight alongside my Druzhina.” Through the bars, Katerina could make out the proprietary sweep of his hand, gesturing left and right at the entourage that flanked him.
The Druzhina Guard were the strongest Dimis and Shadows Iriska had to offer. Yet Kniaz Sergey spoke as if he owned them, as if their power were his to command, rather than their own. Who cared if he had inherited his throne, his bloodline anointed to rule Iriska by the Saints? His hubris infuriated Katerina.
Dimis— women —held the power of the elements in their hands. So why did Iriska cling so tightly to tradition, ceding its governance to an entitled, overindulged man?
“Tonight, we will see displays of strength that dazzle us,” the Kniaz announced. “But we will also watch as the weaker among us fall, dishonoring the villages they call home.”
The crowd howled in approbation. In the dimness of the pit, Katerina rolled her eyes.
“Only the two most powerful pairs will be chosen to advance to next year’s Trials and compete for a chance to join the Druzhina.” Kniaz Sergey’s voice vibrated with satisfaction. “And if the Saints smile upon us, perhaps we will witness a third pair of such strength that at the Reaping, they will displace one of our own.”
There was another roar, this one of protest. Every so often, Kniaz Sergey would choose an additional pair of victors, ousting a bonded pair of the Druzhina. It was his way of culling the herd, keeping his Guard on their toes—and it worked. Whenever Katerina came to Rivki to deliver the tithe, she could sense their gazes on her and Niko, assessing the competition.
Everything about this was wrong. Dimis and Shadows fought together, on the side of the Light. They should be allies, not enemies. Yet here the Kniaz was, seeding dissent where there should be unity. She glanced around; other than Trina, whose eyes shone with excitement, her companions in the pit looked grim. Sofi, Drezna’s Dimi champion, turned her back to speak to her Shadow; her hands carved the air in a series of intricate gestures, but with Sofi facing away, the words were unintelligible. Mute since birth, Sofi communicated primarily through sign; Katerina and Niko had both learned the language so they could converse with her whenever they visited Drezna. Whatever she had to say now must be both private and unnerving, because her Shadow shook his head, clapping a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
Watching them, Dimi Roksana, who hailed from Satvala-by-the-Sea, lifted her chin. “Good luck,” she said. “May the best of us rise to defend Iriska.”
“Good luck,” they all echoed—except Trina and her Shadow, who smirked as if nothing would make them happier than to watch their fellows fall one by one, and trample on the remains. What was wrong with the two of them?
Kniaz Sergey’s voice broke through the howls of the crowd and the mutterings of the Dimis and Shadows in the pit. “Let the Bone Trials begin!”
Katerina turned toward the stairs that led up to the arena, Niko stalking beside her and leveling a menacing glare at anyone who attempted to push past them. At twenty-two, he was the youngest alpha Shadow in Iriska. He couldn’t afford to show weakness by letting anyone else take the lead. Not for the first time, he reminded her of Troitze—an observation she wisely kept to herself.
“This will be over soon,” he muttered as they climbed the narrow steps, the crowd’s roars growing louder the closer they got to the surface. “On your weakest day, you’re stronger than the rest of them, no matter what Baba did to you.”
“Shhh,” Katerina demanded, cutting her eyes at him in warning, but her heart clenched. Neither of them had families left to protect. Still, the thought of Iriska’s so-called nobleman finding out that an entire village had been keeping her secret and punishing Kalach’s vulnerable citizens in her name sent bile surging up her throat.
Niko inhaled, his nostrils flaring in disgust at the dank scent of the moldering stairway. His voice dropped, skirting the edge of the black dog that lived inside him. “I know I told you this was for the best. But now—maybe I was wrong, Katerina. Maybe I should have fought harder for you when you protested the binding. And maybe in the arena…you shouldn’t have to hide what you’re capable of, and damn the consequences.”
Katerina’s heart twisted. The two of them were joined; her inability to show her true strength was a reflection on him, as well. Above and beyond his pride, Niko had good reason to seek victory in the Trials. Every day, her Shadow fought to reclaim his family’s good name, and nothing could bring him more honor than being chosen to fight in the Druzhina. She hated to let him down. But how could she do otherwise?
“Niko,” she said, low-voiced.
He arched a dark eyebrow at her. “Hmmm?”
She couldn’t tell him what was in her heart—how she thought of him in a way a Dimi was forbidden to regard her Shadow, how she crumbled inside every time she thought about what awaited them when they got back to Kalach. How things would change for the two of them, forever. But before they set foot in the arena, she could tell him the truth about the binding ceremony, so he didn’t stride into battle believing he’d failed her.
If it hadn’t been for him, who knew if she would have found the strength to resist the spell? She could be splintered now, a fraction of herself.
As usual, she owed him everything.
“I—” She paused mid-step, and a huff of annoyance split the air behind her.
“Having second thoughts, Dimi Ivanova?” Trina said, her tone mocking.
Niko’s shoulders tensed beneath his black leathers as he turned, fixing his storm-gray eyes on the Shadow and Dimi who stood on the steps below them. A growl rumbled in his chest, and Fyodor growled back, the sound dripping with menace.
Katerina’s desire to confide in her Shadow fled, replaced by irritation. “I flee from no one,” she said, lifting her chin. “Can you say the same, Dimi Samarin? I heard the last time Grigori attacked a group of travelers outside Povorino, witchwind failed to drive them back. A firewitch had to step in to save them.” She opened her hand, a small flame licking above her palm. “Tell me, was it weakness that almost killed those people? Pure cowardice? Or both?”
Her lips rose in a smirk, and the flame rose with it, illuminating the other Dimi’s furious expression. Katerina didn’t wait to hear what she had to say. She turned away, clenching her fist to extinguish the flame, letting her fury spur her onward.
Three more steps to the top. Two. One.
Trina’s witchwind shoved at Katerina’s back, sending her stumbling across the uneven stone threshold and onto the sand of the arena. She gritted her teeth as her own power rose in response, itching beneath her skin, eager to be used.
Today, you are a firewitch, she told herself fiercely. Nothing more. If you need to set this whole damned arena alight to save yourself and your Shadow, so be it. But you will keep tight hold of the rest of your gifts, or pay the price.
Her fellow Dimis and their Shadows spilled from the doorway behind her as Katerina blinked, her eyes adjusting to the moonlight. The Trials were always held at night, simulating the conditions of a Grigori attack as closely as possible, though the exact nature of the threat varied from year to year, a closely-kept secret. She’d half-expected to be set on the moment she crossed the threshold, but the floor of the arena was empty. Tiered seating rose all around it, so high it nearly obscured the gilded domes of the Kniaz’s palace atop the tallest peak on the island. In the distance, she could see the gleam of the lake that surrounded Rivki, filled with Vodyanoy water-spirits to keep the demons away.
The seats were packed; the Trials were the most notorious event in Iriska, with tickets at a premium and a lucrative betting ring on the winners. But it was impossible to miss the Kniaz. He sat front and center, three rows from the pit, surrounded on all sides by the Druzhina. Next to him reclined a dark-haired woman draped in blue velvet—Dimi Zakharova, his consort. She glared at Katerina, which made no sense at all. The very last thing Katerina wanted was to take her place.
Ah, well. Katerina wasn’t here to make friends. If no one in Rivki could stand her, so much the better.
She turned her head, inspecting the arena. But there was nothing to see, save for the rowan-fires that burned to the left and right of a small door, carved into the opposite side. Smoke curled into the air, silhouetted against the star-speckled sky and the harsh, cratered face of the waxing Bone Moon. The stormy weather that had dogged them all the way to Rivki had passed; the night was still. Even the crowd had gone quiet.
Katerina regarded the fires, her mind churning. Rowan-smoke was toxic to Grigori. The trees’ fire granted the demons a true death, as did Shadows’ blessed blades and their bite, in the form of the black dogs they could take at will. But there could be no demons here, not inside the most powerfully warded spot in all of Iriska. Rivki was protected by the Druzhina and surrounded by a moat where the Vodyanoy lurked, poised to devour any Grigori foolish enough to try to cross the bridge. So why the fire? Was it merely a symbol, or did it portend something more?
The arena was too silent, too empty. If a threat lurked here, it was invisible. How was she meant to defend herself against something she couldn’t see?
The other six Dimi and Shadow pairings spread out, giving themselves room to fight. Katerina kept a careful eye on Trina and Fyodor, thirty feet away. On their right stood Sofi and Damien, her Shadow. As Katerina’s gaze swept over them, Sofi gave her a small, tense smile. Outside the arena, the two were her friends, sworn to fight beside her and Niko. But now, the Kniaz had made adversaries out of them. For while they wouldn’t be fighting each other hand-to-hand, there was plenty of room for subversive tactics and sabotage.
Katerina wished she could tell Sofi the truth about what she could do. She wished she could explain that she’d rather be eaten by the Vodyanoy than serve in the Druzhina. But instead she just smiled back, her gaze narrowing as the door on the other side of the arena creaked open.
Sand crunched beneath Niko’s boots as he shifted his weight, his right hand falling to the blade he favored. “There’s something unnatural inside there,” he whispered. “Not human, not demon. Katerina, I don’t know?—”
His voice disappeared beneath the roar of the crowd as the door eased the rest of the way open and a man strolled through, hands open at his sides. His dark hair was cropped short, his face clean-shaven. He wore a forest-green tunic and slim black pants, the picture of a fashionable gentleman. Katerina had seen many just like him in Rivki’s Perun District, dining at establishments far fancier than any to be found in Kalach.
The direction of the wind changed, blowing the sharp-edged, resinous fumes of the rowan-fires toward the man. He coughed, the sound carrying across the arena, and Katerina stiffened. On either side of her, the other Dimis and Shadows did the same.
“Demon,” she said, watching in horror as the doorway behind him filled with more and more of his kind—twenty men and women clad in richly dyed fabric. Grigori were shapeshifters, able to take on the forms of whoever they chose; it was part of what made them so lethal. But if they’d penetrated the capital, surely the Druzhina wouldn’t just let them loose in the arena for the sake of the Trials. Would they?
Her power rose, buzzing in her fingertips, as the demons fanned out behind their leader, with him as the tip of their arrow. “Niko,” she said, her voice urgent.
Her Shadow drew a deep breath as the wind changed again, sampling the creatures’ scents. “Not true demons,” he said grimly. “Illusions of some kind. But,” he finished as all twenty of the false Grigori drew blades, “dangerous nonetheless.”
There was no time for Katerina to wonder what sort of strange magic this was, or whether the blades the illusions carried had been bathed with the Grigori venom that was fatal to a Shadow in human form. Because as the crowd bellowed in anticipation, the demons’ leader raised a hand, beckoning, and all of the creatures charged.