Mistress of the Solstice (16 page)

“I climbed up the wall,” he said.
“It isn’t all that
hard.”

Trying to appear calm, I lit a candle in a sconce on the wall and in its
reddish flickering light I looked him up and down. He
hadn’t been killed by my traps, which in itself seemed
unbelievable, but he should at least look badly beaten. My father and I
believed the traps impossible to avoid.

I could see no significant signs of hardship in his
neat clothing. He still wore a peasant’s garb, but it
was different from what he’d worn on the palace plaza.
His fine linen shirt was embroidered with a thread at the neck.
It was ripped below the shoulder, a dark splotch spreading around
the gash. Blood? My skin tingled at this new evidence that he was
speaking the truth. He
did
encounter, and apparently overcome, my traps. But
how?…

I continued my inspection. His dark baggy pants and
the
lapti
on his feet
looked new, perhaps a bit grass-stained. I could see the strong line of
his neck running into the wide opening of the shirt, the muscle of his
arms, the width of his shoulders under the bleached fabric. He bore no
visible weapon, only a short dagger on his belt, but his body was lean
and fit like a warrior’s.

I forced thoughts of his body away. They hardly seemed to fit the
occasion.

“Listen,” I said.
“I don’t know who you
are…”

“I am Ivan, the youngest son of Tzar Erofei of the
Twelfth Kingdom,” he answered readily. Then he
paused and added with a quick smile:
“I’m also known as Ivan the
Fool.”

His smile was so hard to resist. I lowered my eyes to suppress an
unseemly desire to giggle. He made me feel carefree, the way I
hadn’t felt in years.

“The fool,” I said.
“Indeed.”

Names. How did it happen that he told me his name?

Names were like bonds. They made things personal. They made people feel
as if they knew each other.

They made people care.

They made it so much harder to do what was
right.

I shook the feeling off. There would be time to deal with it later, or
so I hoped.

His gaze held me. The blue of his eyes was like a lure, a promise of a
life I could never have, the call of a distant heavenly land. If I had
been born a simple village maiden, if I didn’t bear my
gruesome duty of conducting an annual sacrifice, if I was free to
love—

I forced myself back to my senses.

Love.
One did not speak of
the enemy on the verge of the Solstice. This word had no place in my
thoughts. It was not only forbidden for me, but more, I never desired
it. There wasn’t a man born who could possibly be my
match. Was there?

This boy must be a sorcerer, for no regular mortal could ever make me
feel this way.

I drew myself up. “I will give you exactly three
seconds to get out of here, Ivan the Fool. If you are not out by
then—”

I expected him to spring into action. At the very
least, to show some reaction to my words. Instead, he reached into his
shirt and pulled out a slightly crumpled purple-and-yellow flower.

“I brought this for you,” he said,
his face shining with the mischief of a child letting his playmate in
on a secret.

In my surprise, I reached out to take it before the realization of what
it was hit me full in the face.

These were not two flowers, a purple and yellow, as I’d
first thought. This was a single plant, one of the most common in the
nearby forests.

Ivan-and-Marya.

My outstretched hand wavered and the flower slipped to the floor.

“Do you believe in destiny, Marya?”
he asked softly.

Destiny.
Perhaps I was
still dreaming, and all this was a figment of my imagination? Perhaps
if I indulged in this, just a moment longer, there would be no harm?
Wasn’t I allowed to have a pleasant dream every once in
a while?

I slowly looked up to meet his eyes.

“There’s no such thing as
destiny,” I said.

He reached over and took my hand.

I melted into his touch like cream melts into hot bread, like a drop of
ice melts into a patch of spring sunlight. The warmth of his skin, the
brush of his fingers against mine echoed through my body with a shudder
so strong it shook me to my very soul.

I had known the touch of many men. I didn’t even care to
remember how many. But not like this.

I felt naked under his gentle gaze. I swayed with the slightest movement
of the night air. The soles of my feet were burned by the smooth stone
floor. I was transparent to the warmth of his gaze, the sunlight of his
smile.

His touch.

And then he spoke, his soft voice caressing me like a breath of warm
wind.

“I am the happiest man in the world to be able to see
you so close. You are beautiful beyond belief.”

I forced a smile. “Don’t you know? I
am the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“You are, indeed!” he exclaimed.
“And, yet, no legend could do you
justice.” He stepped closer, and I inhaled his
smell, sun-baked grass and fresh river water. It made my head spin.

No man I had known ever smelled like this. I allowed myself a moment to
revel in his smell, resisting the urge to step forward and sink into
his arms.

If I wanted to remain sane, I had to stop this right now.

It was time to wake up.

I pulled my hand out of his hold and drew away. A breath of the cool
night air with the familiar smells of stone and dry wood settled over
my confused senses.

“If you don’t leave
this instant—”

“I need to talk to you, Marya,” he
said. “That’s why I am
here.”

“Talk to me? What about?”

“The Solstice.”

Now that I kept my distance from him it was easier to
stay sane. In the dim light I could no longer see his eyes, shrouded in
deep shadow, nor catch his scent, carried away by the draft at my back.
It was easier to concentrate.

“What in particular do you wish to know about the
Solstice?”

His neck became tense, a barely perceptible change that made me
instantly alert.

“Do you know why your father, Kashchey, demands
Solstice sacrifice?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,
since you’re obviously an outsider,”
I said, “but if you must know, it feeds his power
to keep our kingdom safe,”

Ivan shook his head, stepping around me so I was forced to turn toward
the light.

“It does feed his power,” he said.
“But this has nothing to do with the good of the
kingdom. Those poor girls die to keep him young. They give their lives
for his enjoyment. And you have the power to stop
this.”

I felt my skin tingle as my magic power awoke inside me.
“You know nothing about this, Fool. Leave, before I
smash you where you stand!”

He didn’t move, but I saw the shadows shift on his face
as his gaze softened. “You’re wrong,
Marya,” he said quietly. “Deep
inside, you know it. Your father keeps you in his power. He controls
you. I can help you break free.”

A surge of power rushed to my fingertips as I raised my hands, palms
out. “Be gone!”

He shook his head and took a step forward.

I lifted my chin. “Since you obviously
don’t understand words—” Fire
crackled in my hands. “Good bye,
Fool.”

He leapt out of the way of the blast, his movement so quick and fluid
that I couldn’t help but gape. Had he been tricking
me all this time? Was he a great warrior after all?

“Please, Marya,” he pleaded.
“All I want is talk.”

“You’ve talked
enough.”

The lack of fear on his face was hypnotizing, but not nearly as
unsettling as the touch of pity as he continued to look at me. He
showed no move to run away. He just stood there, waiting for my next
blast. And it was then, as I gathered all my energy to smite him to
dust, that I realized that this act would kill me too, that I simply
could not bear the thought of putting out the sunlight that emanated
from his eyes. Not like this.

I lowered my hands.

“Leave.”

“No.” He took another step toward
me.

My voice sank to a whisper. “Please. I am letting you
go. Run, before I change my mind.”

“Come with me.” He reached over,
and I felt my head spin as I realized that he would touch me again, and
that if I felt again the warmth of his hand, his smell, I would not
be able to resist him anymore. I shrank away from him as if he was a
snake.

He took another step. I stared at him, mesmerized. His eyes. His
touch—

And then his muscles went tense again as he spun around even before I
saw the movement out of the corner of my eye.

Relief and regret washed over me as the stately, black-clad figure
crossed the room in a few surefooted strides. His eyes burned like
coals in a pale face framed by long dark hair.

My father, Kashchey the Immortal.

 

Ivan

O
nce he saw her up close, there was no going back. He was doomed, and he
knew it. Or perhaps the same doom had engulfed both of them, throwing
them into a turmoil from which there could be no escape.

She was so much more beautiful up close. And more. She was his soul
mate, a true part of him whose closeness was the only thing that could
make him feel complete. And she was trapped, helpless and powerful all
at the same time, an impossible combination that made him want to stay
by her side for the rest of his life, to look into her eyes, to cherish
and protect her as she deserved, as she was born to be.

Not to use her, like her father had been. She was so much more than an
exquisite tool to quench his dark, vile need.

And then Ivan realized it. His true quest was not to save this
year’s virgin, and every other virgin to come in her
wake. His true quest was to save Marya, Mistress of the Solstice.

When he came to this kingdom, he had been committed to fulfill his quest
or die. But now he knew: his soul would not rest until his quest was
accomplished.