Yvgenie (13 page)

A tear rolled down her face, just spilt, without her even thinking about it.

Damn.

She wanted not to cry. That stopped the tears, but it did not cure the feeling that lay cold as a stone in the middle of her chest.

‘
Ilyana?
’

‘
Mother's mad, isn't she? I'm sorry.
’

‘
I'm glad you're sorry, mouse.
’
He touched her under her chin.
’
Fact is—I want you to be very ca
lm now and don't wish anything—
’

That always meant something terrible. She wanted him to say it—fast and plain.

‘
Your mother's left, mouse. She's gone out on the river.
’

‘
There's a vodyanoi!
’

‘
I know it. She knows it. But the greater danger's here.
’

‘
Me.
’
Things were her fault, they were always her fault, dammit!

‘
Mouse, I want you to think as kindly toward her as you can. And be very honest with
me—please
be honest. Do you promise?
’

‘
I didn't
do
anything!''

Her father patted her hand.
‘
It's all right.''

‘
What are you saying, that
I
made her leave?'' Her father was mad at her. Her father was treating her the way her mother did when no one cared what was right, her father had his opinion, and that was her mother's doing, dammit, no
telling
what her mother had told him except it was Ilyana's fault, everything was always Ilyana's fault—her mother arranged it that way.

Another tear spilled, plop, down her cheek.

‘
Don't cry,
’
her father wished her. But
her
wishing had to stop it. He gathered her up, covers and all, and held her und rocked her, while she laid her head on his shoulder dry-eyed and thought how she wanted—

No. She mustn't think bad thoughts. Mustn't want people hurt.

Even her mother, for trying to take her father away from her for good, and for pulling a tantrum and making him blame her, when it was all her mother's fault.

Her mother never wanted anybody to like her, her mother never, ever wanted her to have anybody, and if she had not fought back and if it were not for uncle Sasha, her mother would have made her father mad at her forever and driven him away. As it was, she was just misera
ble, and upset, and she wanted—

—wanted her friend back.

Mouse, her uncle reprimanded her.
No!

Uncle Sasha believed she was wrong. Everyone did. All the time.

Even when she loved them. Her mother took everything she ever wanted away from her and nobody was ever on her side. She had no idea why h
er mother wanted her to be alone
or why everyone thought she was a fool or why they alw
ays
protected her mother.

Her uncle said, inside her head, Mousekin, don't thin
k
like that. Absolutely we're listening to you. But you
have
been wrong a couple of times in your life. Haven't you?

She had to admit yes, but she still refused to believe it tin time. She told her uncle: I've been seeing my friend
every
spring, every spring since I was little. And he's never
hurt
me. I don't know why he would now.

She embarrassed her uncle. She caught something abo
ut
her being grown-up now and grown-up girls being an entirely different question with a rusalka.

If men can be rusalki: th
at thought came through the con
fusion, too. Her uncle was not entirely sure that was poss
i
ble.

So maybe
you're
wrong about what he is. So there, uncle
.
Who's not listening, now?

That was impertinent, her mother would say. That would get her sent to her room if her mother were here. Which
her
mother was not, this morning. And she was already
in
her
room, with her father stroking her hair and saying:

‘
Dear mouse, don't give me trouble, please don't give me trouble today. Your mother's gone away so you'll have som
e
rest and quiet. And we'll talk about it, if you like—
’

If I don't like, too…

‘
But mostly, right now, mouse, I just want you to dry your eyes and come have breakfast and let's not worry
about
it.
’

He can only come here a few days more. And then it's another year. And I can't even talk to him—

Not wise, her uncle said.

Leave me alone! she wished him.

But she did not completely mean that. She really did not completely mean that.

‘
Breakfast?'' her father asked.

She nodded against his shoulder. And wished her uncle not to be mad at her, which he was kind enough to tolerate.

I'll make breakfast,
’
Sasha insisted; and Pyetr decided to
help
—

Cleverly, he thought, because Ilyana needed something to
ta
ke her mind off the situation—and two men trying to find
essentials
in her mother's carefully arranged shelves had her
off the bench in short order, had her protecting her moth
er’
s things; and perhaps, a devious man could surmise, beginning to want her mother back when it came to
overdone cakes
for breakfast, because two men who very well under
st
ood campfire cooking were not going to put off breakfast
-
making on a child who had not been well, no, absolutely not. They could make breakfast, they had done it before.

And of course they would clean up.

Babi sulked about the cakes. Babi still had extras and got
t
ipsy on vodka. And the batter spilled across the hearth would
eventually
clean away, even though it had cooked on,
between
the stones, where no mop could reach it.

The domovoi complained, too, about the smoke.

And Ilyana sat at the table with her chin on her hands and watched, back and forth, bac
k
and forth like a cat.

‘
You're trying to make me want her back,
’
Ilyana said.

‘
It wouldn't be nice to spy on your father,
’
Pyetr said.

She said, chin on fist now, frowning,
‘
I didn't.
’
And winced and shut her eyes as pottery clattered.
‘
Uncle—
’

‘
It didn't break,
’
Sasha said.

‘
Mother's going to blame me. She always does.
’

‘
Nothing's broken,'' Pyetr said.
‘
And your mother won't blame you. I take all responsibility. Why don't you run down lo the stable and bridle up the horses?
’

‘
I don't want to ride.
’

‘
No? What do you want to do today?
’

‘
I don't know.
’

‘
Well, why don't we ride until you do?
’

‘
I think I'd better write some things down.
’

‘
That might be a good idea,
’
Sasha said.

‘
I don't think so,
’
Pyetr said.
‘
God, she's had enou
gh
of magic. She's a
child,
for the god's sake. That's whal wrong: too much taking care of. She should skin a knee
or
something a little less damned
dire,
can't she?
’

‘
Don't fight,'' Ilyana said; a wish; even he heard it. Ily
ana
had her lips clamped as if something else was going to
es
cape.

‘
We're not fighting. Your uncle and I used to discuss
this
before—
’
He almost said, Before I married your moth
er.
Which was true. He said instead,
‘
We're friends. It d
oesn’t
mean you don't like somebody if you yell.
’

‘
I know,
’
she said, with exactly her mother's frown.

It was not fair to Eveshka, either. He remembered pain. He remembered—

She said, sullenly,
‘
I'll go riding if you want.
’

‘
I'm not going
to make
you do anything, mouse. Th
at’s
the point, isn't it? Your mother's just very fragile. Maybe s
he
always will be. But she doesn't want you to grow up like he
r.
She wants you—
’

'Wants' was not a good word. He knew that after all these years, dammit, he knew better.

The mouse bit her li
p.
‘
I don't know what she wants. It
changes. All the time.
’

‘
What would
you
like to do? That's the point. Go do it.
’

‘
You wouldn't like what I'd do.
.
.
’

He saw that expression in the mirror when he was shaving. On a bad day. He tilted his head and gave her one that matched it.

‘
Mouse, if you're a fool, I'm going to be very up
set.
There's a vodyanoi to consider now, in your slipping ab
out
the woods with secrets—he
doesn
't
stay to the water, let me tell you something about Chernevog.
’

‘
I don't want to hear!
’

That stung. And he forgot what he was going to say.

Sasha said,
‘
She's distressed, she didn't intend that.
’

‘
What about him?
’
the mouse asked, very quietly. And
it
came back to him what he had b
een going to say—that a man Chern
evog's age had no business with a fifteen-year-old girl.

But he did not think, on second thought, that she would understand that.

Instead he said,
‘
If you should see him—tell him
I'll
talk to him. Alone.
’

She looked upset with that idea, and not only, perhaps, for fear of what he might say to Chernevog in that exchange. Maybe she was thinking about the danger he could be in
—
knowing what Chernevog was. That was what he hoped she would see, at least.

She said, cautiously,
‘
What would you say to him?
’

‘
I'd ask him what he wants. I owe him my life, mouse. But I don't owe him yours. And I'd
pay
mine to keep you safe.
’

Something wizardous went on—so strong he felt his skin crawl.

She said,
‘
Don't talk like that!
’

‘
It's every bit true, mouse.
’

She jumped up from the bench and ran for her room. In a moment, through the open door, he saw her sit down on her bed with her book in her lap.

Not sun. Books.

He shook his head.

Sasha said quietly,
‘
You scared her. That's good. She's thinking—very noisily right now. I can't avoid hearing.
’

‘
Don't tell me. I don't want to deal with her that way
_.
''