Page 10 of Devil's Deal

To at least have this.

“I wonder which one will be queen this year,” Bogna whispers, the longing in her voice obvious.

Not me, that’s for sure. I was never invited to join the young maidens’ rituals and would never be picked their queen.

The same longing Bogna can’t hide blooms in my chest as I watch the girls throw arms around each other and laugh, their faces clear of worry, their eyes flashing coquettishly at the group of young men standing by a bonfire nearby. The men watch them with covetous eyes, talking in hushed voices between small sips of mead and wine.

Older men, those already married, glance at the maidens, too. I bet many of them will go off into the bushes with girls who are not their wives. That’s the essence of Kupala Night—naked bodies, sweat, and sex.

“Ida,” I answer Bogna’s question.

Even now, Ida stands in the middle of the group, the center all girls revolve around. Ida is the most popular of them, not only because she’s the prettiest and has the wealthiest parents, but also because of her natural charm and boldness. She walks tall, looks people in the eyes with a smile, and doesn’t shy away from showing off her naked body.

Like now. Her shift is the thinnest, her taut nipples the clearest through the material.

For one agonizing moment, I can’t subdue the visceral craving in my gut. It washes over me, acidic and powerful, making my fists clench and my chest hollow. It’s a desperate, hopeless ache that could easily turn into hate.

I pack it deep into myself, regaining control. And yet, I can’t hide this intimate knowledge of my deepest desire from myself.

Because tonight, I want to be her.

I want to be Ida, with the beautiful wheat-gold hair she flaunts with confidence. It’s loose, falling down her back almost to her buttocks like a gold curtain. I keep mine braided and tucked away, knowing it for the curse it is.

It’s not just the beautiful hair I crave. I want her eyes, summer sky blue and perfectly matching. Eyes that laugh and challenge and beckon, unlike mine that scare and repel.

My eyes almost got me killed. Hers get her attention, admiration, kind words and eager lips.

Finally, I want her body. She’s shorter and fuller than me, with generous breasts and hips, her waist narrow, her limbs lithe. As close to a goddess as a woman can be, and I can’t compare with my tall stature and narrow hips.

Even more than her body, I want the looks she gets. No one has ever looked at me like the men look at her now.

With unabashed, primal hunger.

I already know so many will lap at her honey tonight. And when the chaplets float down the river, all boys will try to catch hers, but only the strongest one will win.

That’s the natural order of things. The most beautiful, popular girl always falls to the best fed, wealthiest lad. The two most blessed will be joined, their blessings combined, their luck multiplied.

I want all that and I will never have it.

And I know their joy is fleeting. One night is all the girls get, all Bogna got, as well. Most of the maidens will find husbands tonight and likely get pregnant, losing their right to bear a chaplet forever.

After this, they’ll be married matrons like Bogna. With their hair covered and fates sealed, they will bear children, tend to the hearth and home, and look at the new batch of Kupala maidens with the same longing Bogna has in her eyes.

I know all that. And yet, I can’t fully leash the envy spreading dark, angry wings in my chest right now. Because I should be among them. I should be one of the merry crowd, dipping in the river and tempting boys with sultry looks. I should be given this right to be a wild, untamed temptress even for just one night.

To shine my beauty and challenge with my eyes. To laugh with other girls and wear my chaplet proudly, anticipating the moment it will float down the river. To hope and feel beautiful and wanted as boys fight for the right to jump with me over the fire.

Yet all I get are hateful looks, muttered curses, and spit on my doorstep.

“She looks so pretty,” Bogna says with a nod. “The cornflowers and mullein suit her. And the roses! I think her chaplet is the most beautiful apart from yours.”

I smile bitterly. Suddenly, the magic I did, the spell that cost me so much, seems so pointless. Because Bogna is right, my spelled chaplet is the most beautiful tonight. And yet, it means nothing because nobody wants to catch it.

To be fair, I don’t want it caught by any of the village boys. I just want to be included. To belong.

I scoff at my folly. No chaplet will ever achieve such a feat. I could wear a crown and still be an outcast.

“Go find your friends,” I tell Bogna, nodding at the group of young mothers nearby.

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