Page 115 of Foul Days

“Bravo!” said a voice that sent a chill up Kosara’s spine. “Bravo!”

She looked up. High above her, on a platform of skulls just below the tooth ceiling, the Zmey sat on his throne of bone. Even from afar, she saw his wide grin. A young woman in a white dress sat in his lap. Her face was hidden behind a veil. Kosara shivered, waves of disgust and terror and anger washing over her.

Had she looked this young herself? Most likely. She’d only been sixteen. She’d been a child.

Murderer, whispered a voice in her head. For a change, it was her own.

On another platform, this one slightly lower, lounged the Zmey’s favourite subjects. Two samodivas had answered his invitation, after all, undoubtedly without telling the rest of their sisters. A few yudas pecked at a plate of fruit, fighting over the ripest berries. An elderly rusalka soaked in a small hot tub, her scaly body hidden under the water and her white hair floating just above the surface.

Kosara’s heart climbed to her throat when her eyes fell on the last member of the Zmey’s company. She sat next to one of the yudas, her arm wrapped around the yuda’s waist, her mouth pressed to the monster’s ear. Her hair was gathered in two thick braids—the golden thread she’d tied them with glistened as the yuda grabbed them and pulled her in for a kiss.

Roksana.

Kosara’s throat closed up on itself. She realised with surprise that, right until this moment, there had been some small part of her that hoped she’d got it all wrong. That Roksana’s involvement with the Zmey wasn’t as deep as it seemed. Perhaps she’d needed to see it with her own eyes to fully believe the extent of the betrayal.

Roksana didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. On the contrary, she seemed to be having fun.

Kosara touched Asen’s arm and pointed upwards.

“Is that her?” Asen asked.

“It is.”

Kosara took a deep breath to calm her heartbeat. Roksana was so close. And if she was close, so was Kosara’s shadow.

“We need to get up there,” Kosara said.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? The Zmey might spot us. We can wait until the feast ends and corner Roksana on the way out.”

“I can’t wait if I want to get my shadow back.”

Kosara couldn’t see if Roksana still wore the witches’ shadows around her neck, or if she’d sold them to the Zmey already. Chances were, the Zmey had left the negotiations for after the party was over, and the monster hunter was too drunk on moon wine to bargain.

Kosara had expected Asen to argue—to tell her that he was here to catch a murderer, and her shadow wasn’t his problem.

“How will we get there?” he asked instead.

Kosara smiled at him, despite the guilt coiling in her stomach. This was the man she’d suspected of trying to trick her just last night. Yet here he was, ready to risk getting captured because of her shadow. It turned out her mistrust in people was just as badly judged as her trust.

She looked up, shielding her eyes from the bright light of the chandeliers. As far as she could tell, the only way to reach the platform was to fly. “We’ll have to find someone to give us a lift.”

“What about your household spirits? I’m sure we can all fit in that massive cauldron.”

“I can’t ask them to do this. Household spirits are strictly forbidden from getting close to their humans. The kitchen spirit took a huge risk getting us in here. Besides”—she pointed up towards the platform—“do you see any household spirits up there? It seems obvious: this celebration down here is for the low-class, native monsters. The one up there is for the monsters the Zmey brings with him.”

“All right,” Asen said. “Let’s assume we can find one of the Zmey’s entourage to give us a lift. What will we do exactly? Snatch Roksana mid-flight and sweep her away into the night, right under the Zmey’s nose?”

“Perhaps. The Zmey seems distracted.”

He and the girl in his lap were locked in heated conversation. She gestured wildly, and he threw his head back and laughed. Then, he reached over, lifted her veil, and kissed her deeply. She didn’t pull away from him; on the contrary, she pressed herself harder against his chest. Acid burned in the back of Kosara’s throat.

“What’s this feast for, exactly?” Asen asked, suspicion in his voice.

Kosara struggled to keep her tone neutral. “It’s for the Zmey’s wedding.”

“You told me it takes place every year.”

“It does.”

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