Chapter 34
34
ELENA
“ Y ou look beautiful,” Alyona said, sounding wistful.
Elena twisted to look at her friend. Aly sat behind her, unbraiding the flowers from Elena’s hair. It was a ritual—after a Vila’s wedding revels, she spent time alone with her closest female friend, drawing strength from the sisterhood that had been her strongest bond before she wedded her Shadow. “Thank you, Aly. See, things turned out fine after all.”
Aly’s auburn brows lowered in confusion. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t they?”
Was Aly really going to make her say it, today of all days? “You know—because of what you said about Niko and Katerina.” The last word came out as a whisper. Even saying the Dimi’s name made Elena sick to her stomach—not to mention the look on Niko’s face when he’d stood on the altar with Katerina’s hands in his. Only the thought that their unnatural bond would be severed soon had made Elena strong enough to bear it.
Aly sat back, dropping her hands to her lap. “What about Niko and Katerina?” Her face was blank, innocent.
A horrible, sinking feeling seized hold of Elena’s stomach, as if she had taken a step only to have the ground fall away beneath her, sending her plummeting into an abyss. “Nothing,” she said, yanking the rest of the roses out of her hair herself. The thorns sliced her fingertips, sending rivulets of blood running down her palms. “I must have misunderstood.”
“You’re hurting yourself, Lena.” Aly untangled the flowers from Elena’s fingers, setting them aside and dabbing at the cuts with a piece of cloth. “Did someone say something cruel to you about the two of them? You know how close they’ve always been. It means nothing. For Saints’ sake, Niko just stood in front of the whole village and swore his heart to you.”
A sprig of roses had fallen to the floor. Elena stood and smashed it beneath her blue silk shoe. (“The exact color of your eyes!” Aly had exclaimed when they’d dyed the fabric together months ago. Elena had been so happy then.) The perfume of crushed roses filled the air, nauseating her. “Of course,” she said, each syllable clipped. “I’m grateful for their bond.”
Aly studied her face. “Are you all right, Lena?”
Elena had never been very good at hiding her thoughts, but now she was lying for her life. If anyone found out she’d been consorting with a demon, the consequences would be dire—and Niko would be tied to that witch forever. “I’m fine,” she said, offering Aly a small smile. “Just nervous about tonight. It was so effortless for Niko and Katerina to become Shadow and Dimi. I suppose I’m hoping it’ll be as easy for us, in our marriage bed.”
Sympathy rippled across Aly’s features, and she threw her arms around her friend. “Is that what you’re worried about? Niko is a gentleman, Lena, and honorable. He’ll treat you with care. And you’ve loved him forever. It may hurt at first, but in time I’m sure it will be wonderful. The two of you are meant to be.”
Elena allowed herself to squeeze Aly tight before she stepped away. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m lucky to have a friend like you.” She smiled at Aly one more time before she lifted her skirts and turned to go, tears pricking her eyes.
Niko was waiting for her at the cottage Baba Petrova and the Elders had given them. It had belonged to an elderly couple who had passed away within days of each other, the husband following his wife into death. At the time, Elena thought it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard. Now, she just thought they’d been doomed.
The cottage was small and white, with pink climbing roses that formed a trellis over the entryway. She’d imagined passing beneath them as a bride hand in hand with Niko, how their delicate scent would welcome her into her new life. But instead, he stood still and silent in the doorway, one hand on the jamb, watching her come toward him—and the smell of the roses nauseated her.
He didn’t look like a man eagerly awaiting his bride. He looked, Elena thought as his hand clenched on the wood so hard his knuckles whitened, like a man bracing for the inevitable—and not liking it one bit.
She forced a smile onto her face. “Hello, husband.”
“Welcome home, Elena,” he said, and stepped aside so she could pass.
Elena had imagined many things about this night—how their first kiss might be awkward, fumbling; how they might discover the way of things together, and laugh about their inexperience for years to come, cradling their Vila or Shadowchildren in their arms. Before Katerina had bespelled Niko, she’d never imagined her wedding night would be awkward because her Shadow refused to touch her.
He shut the door behind her and stood with his back to it, as if hoping for the opportunity to flee. When she walked farther into the room, he followed, stopping at an appropriate distance. Then followed her farther still, into their bedroom, where he stood once more with a hand braced on the jamb, as if anticipating she might grab hold of him and drag him to her bed by force.
The sight of it pierced her heart. “It’s late,” she said, gesturing to the trousseau that she and Aly had laid out together—a shimmering ivory gown Elena had sewn herself, hemmed with satin and scalloped with lace. “Perhaps I should change.”
A look of relief crossed his face. “Late. Yes. I’m sure you want to sleep.”
“Maybe not quite yet.” She regarded him from under her lashes, then glanced at the gown draped across the foot of the bed once more.
His eyes flicked toward the gown, then back to her, and his hand tightened so hard on the jamb, she was afraid he’d tear it from the wall. “You must want privacy,” he said, his face a careful blank. “I’ll go into the other room so you can change.”
“But—” Her face burned, hot with mortification. “Don’t you want to—I mean, it’s customary for a groom to undress his bride on their wedding night?—”
Looking as if it cost him to do it, he let go of the doorjamb and stepped closer, his head lowered. “Of course. Allow me.” A hand on her shoulder, he spun her to face away from him. The warmth of his fingers seeped through the fabric of her dress as one by one, he worked the tiny hooks free. “There,” he said at last, when the last hook was undone and the dress fell to the floor—but in the satisfied tones of a man who had accomplished a challenging task, not a husband who couldn’t wait to see his new bride unclothed.
Elena gathered her courage and turned around. He was gazing over her shoulder, eyes fixed on the painting of Sant Viktoriya above the bed as if it were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.
“Niko,” she said, trying to keep the hurt from her voice, “you can look at me. We’re married, after all.”
His gaze dropped and fixed on her face. “Perhaps,” he said, the word making her think of Sammael, “you are such a lovely sight that I’m afraid gazing upon you will be too much for me to bear.” One side of his mouth curved upward in the crooked, teasing smile she’d always loved.
“Don’t worry. If you fall,” she said, daring to touch his hand, “I’ll catch you.”
The strangest look passed across his face then—sadness, regret, and frustration, all drifting through his eyes like a storm cloud before they resumed their usual inscrutability. “You’re a good person, Elena. I know you would.”
You’re a good person wasn’t exactly a passionate endearment, but Elena would take what she could get. She moved closer and shut her eyes, standing on tiptoes to press her lips to his.
Niko’s lips grazed hers for an instant—and then he stepped back, away from her. “Truly, seeing you unclothed has undone me,” he said as her eyes blinked open. “I don’t feel quite myself.”
Elena tried to hide her hurt as he snatched up her bridal night finery as if it were on fire and thrust it at her. “Please put this on,” he said with a horrible attempt at a smile. “Should I regard you in the altogether for much longer, you’ll find me prostrate at your feet.”
She took the gown from him with shaking fingers and slipped it over her head. “If you feel ill,” she said, “maybe you should lie down.” Surely if he were in bed with her, his body next to hers as she’d imagined for so long, she would be able to banish Katerina from his mind. After all, Katerina was only his Dimi. Elena was his wife.
He followed her to the bed willingly enough, pulling back the covers for her. “Comfortable?” he asked, as solicitously as if she were a grandmother with the ague.
“I’d be more comfortable with you beside me.” She patted the space next to her, dipping her head in invitation.
Niko sat down on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the lace that fringed the pillows. “You make a lovely bride, Elena,” he said to the quilt. “I’m sure I was the envy of every Shadow in the village today.”
“I don’t care about any other Shadow.” Her voice was weighted with frustration. Why wouldn’t he at least look at her? “All I care about is you. If you think I’m lovely, that’s all that matters to me.”
Silence fell between them. Elena broke it, reaching out to trace the hem of his white tunic, embroidered with the silver-and-red runes that marked him as hers. “Are you going to sleep in this?”
“I’m not tired.” He offered her another strained smile. “You rest. I’ll be right here.” He lay down beside her, his body stiff.
The few inches of space between them felt like a gigantic gulf. Elena wanted more than anything to bridge it, to show him she could be what he needed, but she didn’t know how. In the end she settled for laying her head on the scratchy fabric that covered his chest. His heart beat beneath her ear, a steady rhythm that both enraged and saddened her. How could his heart go on beating as it always had, when hers was broken?
Slowly, his arm came up to hold her. Elena lay still, afraid to so much as fidget lest she scare him away. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “Sleep, Elena,” he said.
She let her eyes fall shut, forced her breathing to become even. The minutes ticked by, the clock that had been Alyona’s gift to them marking the time. After fifteen minutes, Niko loosened his grip. After thirty, he eased his way from beneath her body, pulling up the quilt to cover her and moving soundlessly off the bed.
He stood in silence, and she tried to convince herself he was looking down at her sleeping face, thinking how beautiful she was, how lucky he was to have her for his own. But instead his footsteps sounded on the wooden boards of the cottage, moving inexorably toward the door. It shut behind him with a click, leaving Elena alone.
Her eyes blinked open. Sure enough, he was gone.
He’d gone to meet her. Elena was sure of it. On their wedding night. Tears slipped down her cheeks.
In the silence of their empty cottage, a moth fluttered onto Elena’s shoulder. She moved to brush it away, but it came back again, this time settling onto her hand. She blinked at it through her tears.
“Sammael?” she said at last.
The moth’s wings flapped twice, as if in assent.
“He left me.” Elena’s voice broke. “I’d hoped once we were together—once I wore his ring—it would be different. But it isn’t. It’s just the same.”
The moth lifted one tiny leg and stroked her knuckle, as if in sympathy.
“You’re the only one who knows the whole truth.” She ran a finger along the moth’s velvet wing. “Of course, I might not know the truth either, if it hadn’t been for you. You pretended to be Alyona, didn’t you? Somehow, you got past the wards and masked your scent. You stole her shape, and told me about Niko and— her .” If she had to say Katerina’s name aloud, she thought she might break something.
One moment, a moth fluttered on her fingertip. The next, the air in the darkened cottage wavered, and Sammael sat on the side of her bed, smelling of rosemary and cloves. “The wards have weakened,” he said. “And as for the rest—I can explain.”
A shriek escaped her, and she slid backward until she hit the wall. “Saints,” she said, pressing a hand to her pounding heart.
She could barely make him out in the darkness, but there was no mistaking the apology in his tone. “I thought you knew it was me, Elena. It was not my intention to frighten you.”
Elena had never shared a bed with a man before, but in the past quarter-hour, her boudoir had hosted a Shadow and a demon. What was next—an entourage of sacred Saints? “I did know it was you,” she said, trying to imbue her voice with courage. “It’s just—I didn’t expect you to materialize like that. As a man. In my bedroom. On my wedding night.”
“I assure you I meant no impropriety.”
She sat up, pulling the quilt around her. “I think we’re beyond that, don’t you?”
His harsh intake of breath shook the bed. “I think you are beautiful, Elena. As lovely as the fairest flower in the forest, as vibrant as the setting sun—but I swear I will never touch you if you do not want me to. Demons covet, it is true. But I have tried to be better than that with you, no matter what Gadreel might insinuate. I will never lay a finger on you in desire, save you ask me for the favor. I set my word on it.”
It had not occurred to Elena that Sammael might want her as a man wanted a woman. He had attacked Gadreel when the other demon had even insinuated as much. The knowledge of it broke over her like a wave on a hot day: terrifying, but also exhilarating. Her own husband felt no desire for her. It was refreshing to find someone who did, even if that someone was a damned soul. “And what, pray tell, is a demon’s word worth?” she said into the dark.
His laugh was a serrated blade, scraping along her skin. “Ah, there you have me, Elena Lisova. I swear it on my pride, then, on the yearning I have for power—to defeat Gadreel, who lusts after the Dimi you detest—on the depth of the Darkness that eats all things. For a demon such as myself, there is no greater bond. And if you wish me to transform back into a moth, I will do so without question.”
Elena considered this. “No, thank you,” she said. “Moths cannot talk, and I find myself very much in need of conversation.”
He dipped his head; she could see that much. “Your wish is my command.”
“You lied to me.” She clenched the quilt in her fist. “You let me believe Alyona herself told me of Niko’s infidelity.”
Sammael sighed. “I could tell you it is my nature; demons lie. I could lead us into a discussion of semantics, and tell you it was more a matter of trickery than falsehood. Both are true. However, both are also less than you deserve. So I will tell you once again that I am sorry, and hope it will suffice.”
“You did me a favor.” Elena let go of the quilt and sat up straight, her back against the wall. “Why, though, could you not have told me the truth after we got to know each other? I would have understood.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps I thought you would not forgive me, Elena. Even a kind nature such as yours must have its limits.”
She wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks. “It does indeed. And Katerina has breached them. Niko has gone to meet her, I’m sure of it. I’d hoped to spend my wedding night differently, but what greater glory can there be than wrenching him free of her grip at last? I’m strong enough. I know I am. With you by my side, I can rival her power. I can set him free.”
Sammael took her hands in his, his aim unerring despite the dark. As he’d promised, there was nothing of desire in his touch—just the strength of a partner in arms, the finality of a contract sealed. When he spoke, she felt the weight of his words on her skin.
“I am, as always, at your service.”