Mistress of the Solstice (25 page)

A woman’s garments were scattered on the floor of the
main room, a boyar’s daughter by the look of it, though
it was really none of my business. My father was free to have his fun
whichever way he liked. If these girls were foolish enough to get
caught with him, it was their problem.

There was a smirk on his face when he came out of his inner chamber to
meet me.

“I need to talk to you, Father.”

He smiled, but kept his silence. He knew why I’d come,
of course, but he wouldn’t make it easy for me.

I held his gaze. “I talked to Raven before
dawn.”

“And?”

“He told me the prophecy.”

“So?”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Father? Why
did you let me face the boy unprepared?”

“I thought you didn’t believe in
prophecies,” he said with dry amusement.

“I thought you were the one who taught me not
to,” I parried.

We studied one another for a moment.

“The Raven suggested that I ask the Mirror why the boy
came to our kingdom. And who is helping him.”

“A wise precaution.”

“Will you come and see it with me?”
And with a glance toward the inner chamber, I added,
“When you can.”

He shrugged. “Let’s go. We
can’t afford to waste time.”

He turned and walked out of the room and I followed, forcing thoughts of
what we left in my father’s inner chamber out of my
head. It was none of my business.

Back in my room, we took our places in front of the Mirror. I caught my
father studying my face.

“I like having my only daughter as my head priestess.
It’s the only way to be sure no secrets
escape,” he said.

I bit back the retort. I was angry that he hid things from me, but now
was not the time to talk about it.

“Why did you think the boy was the one from the
prophecy?” I asked instead. And then, another
thought struck me. “You haven’t
spoken to Raven since his treason, have you?”

My father didn’t answer.

Anger boiled inside my chest. “So, you knew exactly
what the boy was up to. It was no coincidence that you appeared in my
tower when you did.”

He grinned. “Very clever, my
daughter.”

I shivered. “Why didn’t you tell me?
You knew I couldn’t have told the boy anything. And
yet, you made me feel guilty. Why?”

He stepped closer. I could feel his cool breath on my cheek.

“Remember, Marya, the first lesson I taught you about
separating your feelings. Remember the men who gave their lives to
bring you pleasure.”

I remembered. How could I forget?

“Come here,” my father put his arms
around me and pulled me close, cradling me in his embrace. I froze.
He’d taught me on my thirteenth birthday to never long
for his touch. And yet, I still did. More, I depended on it, on these
rare moments when he took me into his arms.

Perhaps it was the magic he used to bind my will to him. I
didn’t care. These moments were worth everything, worth
the tears of the Sacrifice Maidens, the silent obedience of their
heartbroken parents, the lonely, loveless nights up in my chamber at
the top of the East Tower.

I buried my face in his chest, inhaling his scent like cool moonlit
stone, feeling my troubles dissipate as his hands caressed my hair.

“Guilt,” my father said against my
bent head, “is a good emotion. Guilt and anger. They
help you to stay on guard. And you are still on guard,
aren’t you, Marya?”

“Yes, Father,” I breathed out.

“Good.”

He ran his hands through my hair and down my back. I shivered.

This is a trick. A trick to take me off guard, to let dangerous feelings
slip through. A test.

I might have fallen for it when I was thirteen, but not now. I was calm.
I was detached. The only shades of emotions were anger and guilt. No,
not even those. I was the Mistress of the Solstice, the head priestess
at my father’s side. All the longing, all the warmth my
treacherous body felt in response to his touch, was no more than a trap
my father had laid for me, to test how powerful I had become.

My power was infinite.

I felt my father’s hands drop away.

“Good. You have learned your lesson well, Marya. I am
glad.”

I breathed out, letting the tension go. I felt my hands tremble and
clenched them into fists so my father wouldn’t see.

“Are you feeling better now,
Marya?”

I nodded. I felt weak. I felt like an empty shell, searching for energy
to come and fill it.

“The boy is but a tool, brought forth by my enemies to
challenge your powers, Marya. He is not acting of his own will. He has
none.”

I nodded again.

“And now, we will learn his story and see who, or
what, is really behind this.”

Again, I nodded. I had to do what I must. I had to.

“You are strong, Marya,” Kashchey
went on. “Because you are different. Always remember
that.”

“I do, Father,” I whispered.
“I do.”

 

Ivan

I
van’s mind raced.
You’ll have to do all the
talking
. But Wolf had never mentioned anything
about leaving him alone to face Yaga. He was wise, and powerful, and
ancient. He was always around. He was supposed to protect Ivan.
Right?

“My friend was here just a moment
ago,” he said.
“I’m sure he’ll be
back any minute. We travel together.”

“Your friend is surely smarter than you
are.” Baba Yaga laughed. “He ran
away when he saw you wander into my lair. You’re the
one who had to stay and do all the silly talking. Teaches you a thing
or two, doesn’t it?”

It certainly does.
“We didn’t come
here accidentally. We came here looking for you.”

“You did, did you?” A spark of
interest gleamed in the yellow eyes. “Whatever
for?”

Ivan took a deep breath. “I guess if you eat me,
you’ll never know.”

“Oh, no you don’t.
You’re going to tell me everything and then
it’s the kettle for you, boy.”

Ivan smiled. “I won’t be the one to
argue with you, old mother. Just let me clean your house first.
It’s too sad to think of an old woman like you living
here all alone, with no one to help with the chores.
I’ll clean up and fix your door, and if my friend
doesn’t show up with rabbits by the end of it, you can
still eat me, right?”

“I suppose,” she said.
“There’s no harm in waiting. If you
came out here looking for me like you say, you must know you
can’t escape unless I let you.”

“Of course I know, old mother.”

There was a brook nearby and it wasn’t
hard to persuade the hut to walk over to it. Thick reeds on its banks
made good cleaning rags, and Ivan soon got absorbed in scrubbing, and
rinsing, and mending. He liked to do things well. And
he’d told the truth—after seeing Baba Yaga crying
over a resurrected warrior in the Cat’s tale he
couldn’t believe she was evil. Just lonely, and
neglected.

Where had Wolf gone?

He found stems of flax with their tiny blue flowers
growing upstream, and wove a bunch of them into a rope. He knew how
to set a simple rabbit trap. He and his brothers had done it sometimes,
when they’d played in the palace gardens.

Vassily had always said that a real man should be able to feed himself,
and not depend on his servants for everything. Little Ivan used to feel
sorry for the fluffy rabbits with their beady, frightened eyes, but he
believed every word his smart elder brother spoke.

He’d always adored Vassily. Until
he’d overheard his brothers one day telling their
father how Ivan had mistaken a bull for a stallion and had nearly
killed himself riding the angry beast. In truth, it had been Vassily
who’d dared Ivan to ride the bull, the same Vassily who
had later mocked Ivan in front of their father, making the youngest
Tzarevich seem like a fool.

Vassily must have believed Ivan to be too badly hurt to be able to get
up and listen at Father’s door.

Ivan had never looked at his brothers the same way again, but he did
remember everything Vassily had taught him. Including catching rabbits.
The skill had come in handy more than once when traveling with Wolf.

He set the trap in the bushes on the other side of the stream and
settled on the bank beside the hut, rubbing the kettle with sand. The
old metal was already beginning to shine when he heard the cracking
sound that signaled a trapped animal.

By the time he was done cleaning, he had six rabbits lying on the grass.

He skinned and gutted them with his knife, cut them into pieces, and
filled the kettle from a deeper part of the brook. Then he washed up
and went inside to light the fire.

Baba Yaga had been watching him intently. “You said
something about putting fresh grass into my mat.”

“Of course,” he said.
“Just as soon as I start the
stew.”

He looked around for a spice shelf. The room was hard
to recognize. The light of the setting sun shone through the clean
window, painting the polished floor boards reddish brown. The mended
door fit into its frame without leaving any holes for the mosquitoes to
come through. The drapes, still damp, were almost back to their
original white, and made the small room seem almost cheery. The merry
fire crackled in the stove. The chimney, swept with an old broom found
in the corner, didn’t smoke anymore, and the logs in
the stove gave off the pleasantly heady smell of burning pine.

He found the cabinet with salt and some spices that smelled like
they’d be good in the stew. In a corner, he came across
a sack of beets, onions, and potatoes. They were beginning to wilt, but
he judged them good enough for cooking. Then he went outside to pick
some grass for the mat.

The clearing was awash in the last orange beams of the sun. In its light
Ivan saw a dark shape sitting in the grass by the forest hedge.

“You!” He strode over to
Wolf’s side, relief washing over him.
“I was beginning to get worried. Where have you
been?”

Wolf just sat there, staring past Ivan.