Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
KATERINA
Katerina was losing track of the days.
She had screamed herself hoarse, demanding to see Niko, to no avail.
There was no way of telling whether the sun had risen or set, no window to indicate the passage of time.
Her only clues lay in the food shoved through a slot in the bars at intervals: rough porridge in what she assumed was the morning; black bread with a chunk of cheese sometime later; thin, watery cabbage soup to follow.
She still wore the gear she’d been captured in, soiled and reeking of sweat, and what little water they gave her, she didn’t dare use to wash.
Her wrists chafed and bled, but they refused to uncuff her.
When she’d complained of the cold, they’d finally given her a threadbare blanket, but no pillow or pallet; she slept on the stones, the cell bare save for the chamber pot in the corner.
Once a day, a guard came in to empty it; two others always accompanied him, chaining Katerina to rings that protruded from the wall and holding her there at knifepoint until the first guard had completed his onerous task.
It was humiliating, as was the fact that she couldn’t access her magic, no matter how hard she tried.
Were she in full possession of her gifts, she could have vanquished these men in moments.
But no. Filthy and chained like an animal, she had no choice but to endure whatever torment they chose to inflict.
They didn’t beat her, though she half-expected them to.
Nor did they try to take their pleasure from her.
Though the guard assigned to chamber pot duty was a mere mercenary, the kind she’d often seen policing Rivki’s streets, the other two were always Shadows.
For once, she was grateful for the prophecy, which rendered her body off-limits to them.
What they did do, though, was ignore her.
Throwing her dignity to the wayside, she’d pleaded for information about Niko—where was he?
What had they done to him?—and about the tribunal that supposedly awaited them.
But no matter whether she begged, cursed, or posed rational questions, the guards assigned to her cell refused to speak.
No one else spoke to her, either. Dimi Zakharova didn’t return, the guards who shoved her food into her cell thrice daily never said a word, and when she tried again and again to contact Niko through their bond, she was only met with silence.
There had been one night, though, where she could’ve sworn he’d been with her, holding her, kissing her, his tongue tracing a line down the column of her throat and over her breasts.
She’d felt his touch on her skin, hot and yearning, felt him thrust inside her in that familiar, delicious rhythm, his hands on her hips urging them both onward, shivers racking her body until she cried out, aching for more.
And he’d given it to her, claiming her over and over again with a single, unspoken assertion: Mine. Mine. Mine.
“I love you,” he’d whispered afterward, still buried inside her. “Come whatever storms.”
It had felt so real. But when she’d reached for him, wanting to make sure he was truly with her, her fingers had met nothing but air.
It had been a dream, just like all the others she’d secretly nursed over the years: a world in which she and Niko could love freely.
Where one day, they would have a family of their own, a little girl with dark eyes and raven locks, or a boy with irises as storm-gray as his father’s and red hair like hers.
They would live in a cottage of their own, and Niko would cook all their meals lest Katerina poison their family by accident, and they would give their children the gifts of bladework and spellcraft, and show them the power of a love so strong, it defied death itself.
Deep in Katerina’s most secret heart, she had longed for this, and believed somehow it was possible. But now, imprisoned and with the clock ticking closer to Niko’s return to the Underworld each day, the fragile skein of hope she’d clung to for so long had begun to fray.
She’d been so sure they’d spend every hour of their promised six months together, searching for a way to break Niko’s curse, to defeat Gadreel and drive the Darkness back into the Void.
Never had she imagined that she would have to watch him die a second time at the hands of the Druzhina Guard, helpless to save him…
and that her own life would be forfeit, too, parting her from her Shadow for eternity.
It was unthinkable.
Footsteps echoed on the stone floor beyond her cell, and wearily, she dragged herself to her feet. Maybe it was pride or simple stubbornness, but she refused to let her jailers see her crumpled on the floor like a pile of rags.
“What’s tonight’s delicacy?” she called, pitching her voice loud enough to be heard over the running water in which the bowls of burning herbs still floated.
Gods, she was beginning to think death would be preferable to ever smelling the combined stench of wormwood, mugwort, and garlic again.
“Let me guess. Stewed rat? Ah well, at least that would add some protein to that wretched soup.”
Whoever was bringing her meal tonight didn’t answer, but that was no surprise. Sighing, Katerina stepped back from the bars, out of reach of whomever might be paying her a visit. They could likely do whatever they chose to her; that didn’t mean she needed to make it easy for them.
The footsteps drew closer, and finally their owner came into view—black leather boots, red tunic and pants, and a familiar face, framed by curly dark hair that never stayed in its tie, no matter how much effort had gone into styling it.
The face of a friend.
“Sofi?” Katerina said, blinking in the dim torchlight. “What are you doing here?”
She hadn’t seen her fellow Dimi since the Trials, when Sofi and Damien had been so happy to have made the first cut to join the Druzhina. After Drezna had fallen, perhaps they had simply stayed on in Rivki, with nowhere else to call home.
Katerina had spent the intervening months wondering if Sofi hated her, if she blamed her for Drezna’s fall.
If Nadia had managed to get word to Rivki in time, or whether Sofi and Damien had left the capital, buoyed by victory, and arrived home to find their village naught but a hole in the earth, everyone gone and even the orchards leached of life.
“Sofi,” she said again, the word catching in her throat, “I’m so sor—”
The other woman pressed a finger to her lips, adjuring silence.
Mute from birth, there was no danger of Sofi’s voice giving them away; Katerina, on the other hand, was a different story.
Perhaps that was why she had come, Katerina thought with a sudden onrush of hope.
Maybe she had a message from Niko, a plan?
“Okay,” Katerina signed, in the language she and Niko had learned so they could talk with Sofi, whenever they stopped in Drezna on the way to deliver the tithe.
She understood spoken English just fine, but signing was her first language, so Katerina chose to honor it whenever possible.
“I’m so glad to see you, though. I’ve been worried… ”
The other Dimi regarded her, eyes wide, their vivid color dulled to navy-blue in the dim torchlight. “You look terrible,” she signed.
Despite herself, Katerina laughed, the sound rusty. Sofi had never been one to mince words. “Thanks a lot,” she signed with an effort, her shackled wrists making the words clumsy. “But Sofi—do you have word for me from Niko? Have you seen him, is he all right?”
Sofi shook her head. “I haven’t seen him, nor has Damien,” she signed. “He lives, I know that.” She stepped closer, minding the line of salt, so as not to scatter it and give them away. “But perhaps not for much longer. Are the two of you actually…together? Did he really die? I don’t understand…”
Her fingers slowed, indicating bewilderment, and Katerina lifted her own hands, wincing as the metal bit into the tender skin of her wrists. “Yes and yes,” she signed. “But it’s not what you think. He isn’t evil. We didn’t do this to Iriska, Sofi, I promise. We didn’t do this to Drezna.”
At the sound of her village’s name, Sofi’s eyes filled with tears. “My family. The villagers… Did they suffer?” The movements were jagged, filled with pain.
“I don’t know.” Her friend deserved honesty; Katerina could give her that much. “By the time we got there, everyone was already gone. We would have saved them if we could, Sofi. We would have done anything.”
Sofi ran her fingers under her eyes, smudging the kohl that rimmed her lids. She squared her shoulders, changing the subject to something less painful. “We don’t have much time. Tell me, is it true you control all four elements? That you’re not merely a firewitch?”
Was it Katerina’s imagination, or did she detect betrayal in the intensity of Sofi’s gaze, the swooping motions of her fingers? If so, Katerina could hardly blame her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth about my gifts,” she said, willing the other woman to believe her.
“Baba Petrova and the Elders made me promise to never speak of it. They thought if the Kniaz knew what I could do, he would Reap me early, and rob Kalach of its strongest defender. Which might well have been the case, but…I hated hiding it from you and Damien.”
Though her abilities were an open secret in Kalach, the villagers had been sworn to silence on the rare occasions they traveled outside the village’s borders.
And they’d kept their word. Katerina was the one who had violated it—first in the Bone Trials, when she’d used all of her gifts to save Niko’s life, and later, on the road to Drezna, when Gadreel’s army had ambushed them and she’d done what she had to, to survive.