Page 122 of Devil's Deal

I hesitate for a moment, but he looks so lonely, so beautiful and fragile, I have an urge to comfort him. I wrap my fingers around his wet, chilled palm and give it a gentle squeeze. He shivers and looks at me with those silver, bottomless eyes.

“Thank you.”

I don’t want to let go, and he doesn’t extricate himself, either. Shamelessly, I drink in his beauty, awed beyond expression. A part of my conversation with Woland echoes in my mind—the way he described Weles as so much more than what I was taught.

When I look at his son, whose beauty makes my chest ache, I realize Woland must be right. Whoever fathered this creature cannot be evil and murky.

Maybe Woland told me the truth tonight. Maybe all mortals are just Perun’s playthings, and we have it all wrong about who is good, and who should be feared.

Chors sighs and pulls his hand free. I drop mine into my lap and blink, waking from my daze.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “You’re just such a pleasure to look at.”

He smiles faintly. “Don’t be sorry. Not many people do, you know—look at me. What kind of help do you need?”

“Oh, right.” I look away to gather my scattered thoughts. “Well, there is this poludnica in the fields by our village. She killed two people already, and almost killed me, and I just want to deal with her. But I don’t know how.”

He laughs, the soft, husky sound drifting over the water as it splashes over the shore, eager to pull closer. I scratch my cheek in embarrassment, wondering what foolish thing I said this time.

“You’re playing the devil’s game and you’re asking for my help?” Chors says with incredulous amusement. “You are a bold one.”

“Rod said you could help,” I mutter, looking at my hands clenched together in my lap.

I don’t see the joke. It must be another of those things mortals don’t know. Maybe Chors and Woland are connected somehow, but I can’t figure out how, because I don’t know any tales about Woland apart from him being the devil.

And since the devil’s name is not to be spoken, his tales aren’t told, either.

Chors shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. His cheekbones shimmer with the movement.

“I will help you, if only for making me laugh,” he says. “Give me your left hand.”

I hesitate but do as he says. He grips my wrist delicately, like he’s afraid to damage it, and turns my palm inner side up. He lays a single finger in the middle right above my wrist, pressing in. The place grows cold and tingly, and my hand twitches in his hold, but I don’t pull away.

“And done,” he says softly, removing his finger.

Where before there was only clear skin, now is a silvery crescent shape surrounded by three tiny stars. It shimmers just like his face, and I turn my palm slowly, marveling at the sheen.

“Now the poludnica can’t hurt you with her sun-focusing power,” he says. “Hold her down until the moon is up in the sky. My light will burn Dadzbog out of her. She’ll be harmless.”

I’m still unsure whether I can hold her for so long, but at least now, she won’t be able to burn me. I can work with that. I can actually end her for good.

“Thank you,” I say with wonder, looking away from the beautiful symbol. “You are very generous.”

Chors snorts, playful sparks appearing in his eyes for just a moment.

“Don’t thank me. Instead, promise to tell me in detail how he reacts when he sees my mark on you. Goodbye, Jaga.”

He vanishes in an explosion of silvery mist, and I blink, suddenly uneasy. I look at the mark again and rub it experimentally with my thumb. It doesn’t come off, not even a bit. It seems to be embedded in my skin.

And now I wonder if Chors actually wanted to help me, or if I’m just a piece in a divine game I don’t understand.

Chapter forty

Singed

I sleep for a few hours until dawn, and then attend Magda’s burial in the morning. Both she and Jacek are buried in the graveyard outside the village, because Jarota decided their deaths weren’t violent enough to justify burning their remains.

If there is no gore, that means a death was peaceful in his opinion. I decide to have an eye on those fresh graves just in case, because with Woland plotting against me, I don’t trust the dead not to turn into upirs or something.

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