Yvgenie (37 page)

‘
I'm honestly trying not to. It's yourself pushing you. Or it's someone else's wish. One can never be absolutely certain, at such moments. —When in doubt, do right. Harm has far too many consequences.
’

‘
Damn,'' Pyetr said, shook the remaining water from the pan and left him with the horses.

The woods might be thicker here, or the sky had faded. But when Yvgenie looked up he could see the sun through the branches, white and dim as a sun hazed with unseen cloud. He saw the lacy shadows of branches ripple over
Il
yana and Patches, he knew by the sharpness of the edges that there
we
re no clouds, and yet it seemed all the colors in the forest Kid sky were fading.

A cold touch swept past his shoulder: Owl. He put out his
ha
nd without thinking: Owl settled briefly on his arm, a feint
ic
y prickle of claws. Then Owl took off again, as a gray-
br
own shape crossed the hillside ahead of them.

‘
A wolf,
’
Yvgenie said.

‘
Where?
’
Ilyana asked, and it was gone. He could not
s
wear now that it had been there, but his hands had grown
so
cold he could scarcely feel the reins.
‘
Yvgenie?
’

‘
My eyes are playing tricks,'' he murmured; but he feared
h
e had been dreaming again, and he feared what those dreams might mean. He thought, I'm slipping. And saw his own hands reaching after branches in the dark, remembered the water pressing his body against the brush, the roar of the
bl
ood in his ears, and knowing he was going under—

—even while he was riding in the sunlight. He was dying,
fin
ally, he knew he was, and soon he would grasp
after anyt
hing to save him, even those things he loved.

She was so like the mouse. So like her. Pyetr sank down on his heels, tucked the empty pan away in the pack.

Easier to look at the ground instead. He gave Babi's shoulder a scratch, looked up. There was the anger he expected. And hurt; and curiosity: all the mouse's expressions; Irina's nose and
his
mouth—that was the combination that made Nadya different.

He said, quietly,
‘
No one told me either. I didn't keep any ties to Vojvoda. How did you find out?
’

She opened her mouth to answer, angrily, he was sure; then seeme
d not
to have the breath for it. She made a furious gesture with a trembling hand and looked away from him, at the ground, at the sky, at the fire—at him, finally, with her jaw set and fire in her eyes. But no answer.

He said,
‘
Is your mother still alive?
’

‘
What do you care?
’

Himself—of a drunken father, in a dark street outside
The
Doe: What do you care?

She said,
‘
I grew up as Nadya Yurisheva. My moth
er’s
family kept me safe. I never heard. I never did, not in all
my
life until the month I was going to be married, and I didn'
t
believe it even then, until I laid eyes on you. It turns out I'
m
the daughter of a gambler and a murderer who had to ask m
e
who my mother was! How many sisters do I
have
across the Russias?''

He thought, he could not help it: With your mother's dowry and Yurishev's money at stake, damned right your family kept their mouths shut, girl. And equally likely somebody profited getting the story to the bridegroom's family.

But it was not Irina's delicate petulance in front of him.
It
was an outraged daughter with a chin desperately set, eyes brimming with tears she was struggling for pride's sake no
t
to shed.

He said,
‘
I didn't kill Yurishev. I swear to you.
’

‘
No. Of course you didn't. Your friend did.
’

‘
Sasha was fifteen, mucking out stables and washing dishes in a tavern. He didn't even know me till after the fact. Did you grow up with the Yurishevs?''

‘
No. They mostly died.
’
A tear escaped and slid down her cheek, but fury stayed in her eyes.
‘
My father's whole
family
mostly died—ill-wished—in Vojvoda, in Balovatz, in Kiev
…
The wizards wouldn't let them alone.
’

Old Yurishev dropping dead after running him through, with no mark on him—the whole town in hue and cry so quickly after wizards and Pyetr Kochevikov—

God, he had lived so long with the misdeeds of wizards he had forgotten ordinary greed, relatives, and poisons. Yurishev had come back home unexpectedly that night, Yurishev might even have had time to drink a cup of wine before the alarm upstairs—

‘
Wizardry, hell.
All
of them, you say.
’

''
What
are you saying?''

‘
P
lain and ordinary murder, girl. How did they tell you
it was?
’

C
olor flushed her cheeks.
‘
That you broke into the
house—
that you—as-saulted—my—m-
’

Go
d. He reached for her hand, but she snatched it out of
reach
. So he said, gently, lightly,
‘
Girl, I do assure you—
whatever
you've heard of me, force was never my style.
’
He
settled
back on his heels and met her cold stare with cool
hones
ty.
‘
It was an affair of some weeks. Someone told
Yur
ishev, Yurishev chased me out of the house, ran me
th
rough when I tripped, and died in the street without my
lay
ing a hand on him. Leaving town seemed a good idea,
right
then. As simple as that. I don't blame your mother—
’
A
n outright lie, the kindest he had in him.
‘
She had to tell
‘
To
watch something, didn't she?
’

‘
Then why did all the other Yurishevs die?''

Not a silly girl, no. One close to an answer that could
t
rouble her sleep at night.
‘
Good question. Wizardry, perhaps—but not likely. Let me tell you:
real
wizardry's not what they tell you in Vojvoda and Sasha's not the kind of wizard you'll find selling dried toads and herbs in shops. His kind won't go to towns. They can't. Towns scare them, and
if
you'll believe me in the least, they don't give a damn about
t
he Yurishevs and the Medrovs and their relatives. Not to say his wishes can't go that far—but not with any purpose against the Yurishevs. There's no malice in him. None. Watering the garden—whether it's going to take rain from other people—
t
hose are his worries. They keep him very busy.
’

She was listening. The anger was a little to the background, now. Curiosity was at work, one could see it in the
fl
icker of her
tear
-filmed eyes.

She asked, scornfully,
‘
So was it all accident?
’

‘
Sasha says there aren't any accidents in magic. No accident in your being here, either. Your young man—I take it he's the same you were about to marry—
’

A quick, black scowl.

‘
Nice lad,
’
he said,
‘
but in serious trouble. Let me tell you a name. Kavi Chernevog.
’

‘
I never heard of him.''

‘
Not likely you would have. He's not dealt with folk downriver in years. But things happened in Kiev because
of
him. Things are still happening because of him—no matte
r
he's dead. I don't know why the leshys brought you here
or
what you were doing in the woods with this boy, but you haven't heard the worst trouble: Chernevog's gotten hold
of
him and run off with my daughter, who's not being outstan
dingly sensible right now.
’

‘
Gotten
hold!
Of Yvgenie?''

‘
Wizards can do that. Living or dead ones.
’
He saw the shiver, saw her wits start t
o scatter and grabbed her hand;
and said,
‘
Dead, in this case. Rusalka. Which means no good for your young lad, and no good for my daughter either. The way wizardry works, with three and four wizards involved, things may happen that
none
of the wizards precisely want, and ordinary folk like us can't do a damn thing
about
it. Like Sasha over there
—whatever he wants, we'd do. Ab
solutely.
’

Her hands were clenched in his. She darted a fearful glance in Sasha's direction, back again. He said,
‘
That's the way i
t
works, girl. All he has to do is want something. No spells. Nothing. He has to be very careful what he
does
want. That's why he doesn't go into towns. No real wizard can. The world's far too noisy for him.
’

She was frightened. And still doubtful. She drew her hands away from him.
‘
Can he stop this Chernevog?''

‘
He has before.
’

She believed that part. He was sure of it. She looked him in the eyes and said,
‘
They tell stories about you. They say
you're
the wizard.
’

He shook his head solemnly.
‘
Not a shred of one. Not the least ability.''

‘
You're different than they said.''

‘
Worse or better?
’

A hesitation. And silence.

‘
Fair answer. —How
is
your mother?
’

Her lips trembled.
‘
She won't forgive me. None of them will forgive me.
’

'' For running off with Yvgenie?
‘

Silence. But the eyes said it was.

‘
So why did you?
’

The tremor grew worse. The jaw clamped. Fast. Damn you all, that look said. It might have been Irina's teaching.
Or
his temper. He had no idea, but he knew the hazard in it.
He
heard Sasha come walking over with the horses, he looked up as Sasha stopped and stood there, with the horses saddled.

E
avesdropping, he was certain of it.

Sasha blushed and looked at the ground and up again.

Which said he was right. But little enough he could blame
Sasha
. He got up, offered Nadya his hand, and thought she would refuse it.

She took it, at least, with grace he was not sure he would
ha
ve had, with his father, who had, dammit, dropped out of his life and into it again only often enough to keep the pain constant.

He flung their packs over the saddlebow, climbed up and
offer
ed Nadya a hand and his foot to help her. She tried to
settl
e sideways on Volkhi's rump.

‘
You'll fall,
’
he said.
‘
Not in this woods, girl. Tuck the
s
kirts up and hold on.
’

They told stories in Vojvoda, how Pyetr Kochevikov and his
s
orcerer ally had shapechanged their way into birds after murdering her father in the street—Nadya had heard the dreadful stories long before she had ever heard the whispers about her parentage. Her mother had told her about all the murders, and her uncles had warned her how cruel and terrible the wizards hunting her were, and kept her close within walls.