Page 158 of Devil's Deal

Wisla gasps, looking at her two friends. “Girls, has he ever marked anyone? Diwa, you’re the oldest. Do you know anything?”

The rusalka on her left, whose eyes are colored a light shade of purple, shakes her head. She is the one who told Wisla I had Woland’s mark. “I’ve only seen this on his war banners and shrines. Never on a person.”

They’ve got it wrong, but I don’t correct them for fear they decide to drown me, after all. The mark isn’t a distinction, it’s a curse. Though I suppose it’s good to know Woland doesn’t force other mortals to spread sickness and rot. I’m special.

I shake my head, pressing my fingers to my temples. I should probably leave. After all, these are rusalkas, and they admitted freely to mesmerizing people, taking advantage, and then drowning them in this pond.

Except, I need company. Also, am I really any better than them? I have blood on my hands.

And yes, I know those who died were hurt because of Woland’s mark. Yet, I’m sure it would be easier for me to blame only him if I hadn’t known what was happening. But when Maja came in, I already knew. And at that point, with Darobor guarding my door, it seemed like I had no choice. But unfortunately, over the course of my forest wanders, I realized I could have acted differently.

That’s what weighs on me. I could have left, in the end. I could have run, or at least tried. But I didn’t, and so, it’s my fault.

That’s why I can’t really judge the rusalkas for what they do. I’m a midwife who killed the baby she delivered. Truly, I am worse than them.

“Never mind him and his marks,” I say, looking up. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Jaga. Can I sit with you here for a while? I’m so tired. And do you happen to have something to eat?”

Their smiles are terrifying when all three bare their sharp teeth at me. But I’m pretty sure I’m safe, so I smile back.

“We were about to get some food, anyway,” Diwa says. “Sagna, why don’t you get us all dinner?”

The rusalka who cried into Wisla’s hair nods. She has eyes as green as the ferns I sometimes admire and seems to be the shiest and youngest of the three. She hops out of the pond, the scales glimmering on her naked body, and darts off into the greenery.

“I’ve never met rusalkas before,” I admit, settling more comfortably against the warm wall of the pond.

The stones seem to be heated, and that’s why the water is so pleasant. I’d kill to have something like this at home, especially in winter. But then, I don’t have a home anymore. And this is clearly magic, so out of my reach.

Wisla nods. “We don’t spend much time among mortals these days. We just come to hunt every few moons, but the mortal world isn’t very welcoming, to be honest. It used to be different, many years ago. We mostly live in Slawa.”

I perk up at that. Woland is bent on taking me to Slawa, and this seems like a good opportunity to find out more.

“What’s Slawa like?”

I expect them to launch into a cheerful description of their home world, but both rusalkas clamp their mouths shut, exchanging tight glances. I remember there is a war going on there. Of course they wouldn’t want to talk about it, and it was stupid of me to ask.

“Loud and crowded,” Diwa finally says. “And… draining, in some ways. That’s why we have to hunt so often. We used to get by on one mortal every few years, but now... Oh, well, it is what it is. What are you doing so deep in the forest, Jaga?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking what to tell them. But they are the only people apart from Wiosna and Woland who know about magic and everything, and I yearn to be honest with them. One can only hide certain pieces of oneself for so long.

“I’ve been banished for witchcraft, and now I just walk around, trying to find a way to keep Woland from claiming me.”

They gasp when I speak his name, Diwa’s hand flying to her mouth.

“Doesn’t it, you know, cut you?” Wisla asks carefully. “He’s put a curse on his name. Only his chosen few can speak it.”

I laugh without humor. “He made me say it until I stopped bleeding.”

“Oh my. That’s so romantic.” Wisla fans herself. “And you say he will get bored! When he is so clearly in love.”

I snort with laughter. The notion of Woland being anything as innocent as in love is ridiculous.

“Bringing a woman flowers is romantic. Or singing songs for her, stealing kisses under moonlight… But not making her bleed!”

Diwa and Wisla exchange amused looks and burst out laughing.

“Stealing kisses under moonlight so Chors can peek?” Wisla asks, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “You’re so funny, Jaga.”

Yes, I’m clearly funny and don’t know much about their world. It annoys me that I’m out of my depth, but it’s not really their fault. We come from different worlds. I suppress my irritation, because I’m their guest, and I don’t want to offend my hosts. My stomach rumbles, giving me another reason to be good. Food is coming.

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