Page 21 of Devil's Deal

“Jaga should serve the wine!” Swietko’s loud voice breaks through. “Let her be useful for once!”

“That one really doesn’t like you,” Strzybog murmurs softly. I flinch, seeing he stands as close as the fires allow.

That’s an understatement if I ever heard one.

Jarota straightens. “And so it shall be! Jaga, bring the finest wine for our guests!”

I sigh and nod, gathering the skirts of my dress to walk swiftly to the bench with cups and drink when a cry of protest stops me in my tracks.

“No! If anyone should serve wine to the gods, it’s the Kupala queen!”

The crowd murmurs and parts, revealing a flushed, beautiful, red-lipped Ida. She stares at me with narrowed, challenging eyes.

Strzybog laughs, a gust of warm wind tangling between my bare ankles. “Spunky little thing, eh? I’ve always wanted to drink from the hand of a queen.”

He winks at me, and I grit my teeth. Reluctant just a minute ago, now I want nothing more than to be the one who will push a cup of wine into the gods’ hands. Especially Nyja’s.

Though, maybe not Woland’s. I drop my skirts and nod, letting Ida have it. But just when I take a step back, a deep, blood-chilling voice speaks, freezing the air with its menacing power.

“I shall take a cup from Jaga’s hand.”

Chapter eight

Blood

Strzybog whistles. “You really weren’t kidding about claiming the mortal.” I think he’s surprised and a little awed.

Meanwhile, the villagers panic. There are a few high-pitched screams in the crowd and an overall shakiness. Some cower away, trying to get lost in the crowd while a few crane their necks to spot the owner of the terrifying voice.

“Great,” I mutter, clenching my fists to overcome my own shaking. “As if they needed another reason to hate me.”

Ida straightens and comes over, her hips swaying, her head raised high, beautiful chaplet on display. She approaches the circle, standing closer than I do and facing it squarely. She looks at the gods with bold eyes, taking in each face save for Woland’s, who is still obscured, and drops into a graceful bow.

“I shall bring you the best mead my family makes,” she says after straightening.

Before she saunters away, she gives me an arch look. I grit my teeth and turn to the black cloud, bidding my body to stay still as I address him directly for the first time.

“Will you also have her family’s best mead?” I ask, trying to sound polite, but an angry edge creeps into my voice. I’m done with the fear and the constant turmoil in my body. I lock it all down and force deep, soothing breaths into my chest, ordering myself to be calm.

And yet, anger lingers, only growing stronger. I do not like being ordered around the way he just did. Like I’m not even here. Although, to be fair, I don’t take any orders well. Wiosna called me an awful, obstinate child every day until she died.

“No,” Woland’s voice is lower, meant just for me, yet it still chills the skin on my back as an unpleasant buzzing starts in my ears. “I will have some of your wine.”

“It’s sour,” I say instantly. “Nobody likes it.”

I make my own dewberry wine that I personally quite enjoy. It’s tart and fresh and, unlike other drinks, doesn’t muddle the mind quite so fast. I always donate three bottles to every Kupala celebration and usually have to take two back home after. Some people believe my wine is poisoned. But mostly, everyone prefers sweeter, more potent drinks, like Ida’s mead.

Another reason why she is the queen and I am not.

“Do you want me to repeat myself?” he asks, his voice growing even more unpleasant with impatience.

“Fine,” I bite out. Gods, he terrifies me, and yet, I have a strong desire to show him he doesn’t rule me. That I am no one’s to be claimed.

That desire makes my tone brusque and disrespectful. “Dewberry wine for you, then.”

I turn away with a swish of my skirts. I don’t even take half a step when a firm, crushing force grips the back of my neck, turning me back around. I grunt from effort and pain, then clench my teeth to force back a whimper.

Damn, it hurts.

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