Page 12 of Devil's Deal

Everyone listened to her. Whisperers have power and the obedience of their people.

She retreated with me in her arms and my mother approached the fire again. It was calm, and everyone breathed in relief, their eyes turning to me. The baby. Because if my mother alone didn’t anger the fire, surely it had to be me, all two moons old and barely able to hold my own head, yet already an evil witch.

Wiosna went over to the fire, confident and sure as she held me close, and nothing happened. No sparks. No signs from an angry god.

She told me about it when I began learning from her. By then, I understood there was something wrong with me. A reason why other children refused to play with me, why adults averted their eyes or prayed for protection when I passed.

Because nothing Wiosna did fully erased that first impression and fear, especially after I grew hair, and it was as red as sunset. But she saved us that night. If not for her intervention, both my mother and I would have been thrown out into the wilderness, because the sacred Kupala fire never lies.

It can always tell a witch apart. And once she’s revealed, people lose no time getting rid of her.

Gods save them from powerful women.

Now, I walk to the fire, not too slowly, but not in haste, either. I draw my show out for people to feel that thrill and for my victory to be even sweeter. Because I’ve dabbled in magic for years, and never did the fire reveal it at Kupala.

What if it does tonight?

A flicker of unease presses at my heart, and my steps slow as I look around. Everyone from the village is here, barring a few of the elders. The men are not yet drunk enough to be clumsy, and everyone watches sharply, their suspicions clear on their faces. There is no Wiosna to save me now if anything goes wrong.

And even though I’ve never faced the fire’s wrath in the past, tonight is different. The awareness crashes through me like a bolt from the sky. The fire’s heat that I already feel on my skin is probing, oppressive, and sweat beads on my nape.

I’ve blundered. In my foolish vanity, I might have made a deadly mistake that will be the end of me. Even worse, it will be the end for the twelve-year-old girl I’ve left behind in the woods, with a shaken heart and a lifetime of nightmares in her head.

I’ll never save her now.

Because I wear a chaplet spelled with magic on my head. And even if the sacred fire can’t sense whatever power lies within my soul, it surely detects the poppies.

Stupid, reckless Jaga.

But there’s nothing for it. If I turn back now, they’ll think I’m afraid of being tried. It will be as good as admitting I am a witch. So I can only move forward and hope. Or even pray.

The fire crackles and hisses, long tongues of flame suddenly reaching for me. For my chaplet. I halt, clenching my fists, fear squeezing my heart. If I go any closer, I’ll be burned. The Kupala fire destroys all magic to keep the celebration sacred.

“Go on! What are you waiting for?” I recognize Swietko’s voice and swallow convulsively. I take another step. The fire sizzles, a long flame reaching almost to my face. Someone behind me gasps. They clearly saw that and know as much as I do—this is not how ordinary fire behaves.

I am doomed.

“Whoever hears me, please,” I pray desperately in my mind, standing in front of the fire and knowing I have to take one more step. The fiery serpents reach for me again, and I hold my body rigid so as not to recoil. “Let the fire be calm. Please, whichever god will save me. I’ll do anything. Please, don’t let me get burned.”

Another shout comes from the crowd and I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. The heat of the fire flows down my breasts and stomach, too hot to be pleasant. If no one hears my prayer, if no one saves me, it will be the last touch I feel.

I hold my breath and take the final step.

Chapter five

Queen

The wall of flaming branches in front of me calms, and, for a moment, I swear the heat dissipates as pleasant coolness soothes my skin. The silence of the gathered people is hungry, expectant. The moment stretches as I wait for my doom.

Surely, the sacred flames will reach for me any moment. They will tangle in my thrice becursed chaplet and my mother’s ill-fated dress and swallow me whole.

I wait. The fire crackles, calm and warm, and the heat, so unbearable just moments before when I stood farther away, slides over my skin through my clothes. It licks down my neck and collarbones and then lower, caressing the valley between my breasts.

My heart beats too fast, making me dizzy, and yet I stand strong. I don’t dare close my eyes. Slowly, I realize nothing’s going to happen. I don’t dare think it yet, but I feel it in my bones.

I’m safe.

And those watching probably realize it, too. Someone laughs, someone grumbles, and a murmur of dissatisfaction spreads through the crowd.

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