Page 120 of Foul Days

Could the Zmey grieve? It felt surreal, knowing he had been capable of actually loving someone at some point in the past. Perhaps, if Kosara had met him before all this had happened, things would have been different.…

She shook her head. She was falling into that old, familiar trap again, making excuses for him. Oh, he’s not truly evil, he’s just misunderstood. It was a slippery slope. You showed the Zmey even the slightest bit of empathy, and he took your whole hand.

Kosara forced herself to return to the game. She kept her face neutral as Sokol handed her two cards. The first was an upir crawling out of his grave, blood dripping out of his gaping mouth. The second depicted a winged monster covered in golden scales, breathing fire. The Zmey. He had to be a king. And if Kosara knew the Zmey as well as she thought she did, he was the king of hearts.

She suppressed a smirk. A king of hearts in her hand and a queen of hearts on the table. Her chances weren’t looking bad, not at all. She raised the bet.

The nameless yuda folded and revealed her cards. She held two monsters, too: a varkolak howling at the moon, and a trio of rusalkas covered in seaweed. Only the yuda’s frustrated face indicated her hand wasn’t strong enough.

Kosara and Sokol kept betting until the showdown. The yuda’s face was unreadable. Her feathery eyebrows were furrowed just like they’d been throughout the game. The corners of her mouth occasionally twitched, but whether she suppressed a frown or a smile, Kosara couldn’t tell.

Finally, they placed their last bets. Sokol let the smile spread across her face. She didn’t make to show her hand, waiting for Kosara to reveal hers first.

Kosara turned her cards around. Orel sucked in a breath through her teeth. That had to be a good sign.

Except, Sokol’s smile didn’t falter. The yuda slowly revealed her cards: first a six of clubs, and then a monster card. It showed a yuda, her wings raised high, framing the full moon.

“I win,” Sokol said.

It took Kosara a few seconds to make sense of the yuda’s words. She’d lost. She held two great cards, judging by Orel’s reaction, and she’d lost against a six and a yuda.

“How come?” Kosara asked.

“Yudas beat all other cards,” Sokol said, as if she was talking to a child.

“That doesn’t sound very fair.”

Sokol shrugged. A surprisingly human gesture if you ignored the way her feathers rustled. “When you play with yudas, you play by their rules.”

Kosara couldn’t believe it. She’d lost. “Three games out of five?”

Sokol laughed her high-pitched laugh. Then, she jumped from her seat and extended a hand towards Asen. He didn’t try to protest. He didn’t even let the disappointment show on his face. A true gentleman.

Kosara wanted to warn him—be careful, don’t get too close to her, make sure she doesn’t smell your fear—but before she could do anything, the two of them disappeared in the crowd.

Kosara was left standing among the monsters, biting her lips, trying to come up with a new idea. The varkolaks were getting tired: some of them had fallen asleep standing, with their tails between their legs. The upirs swayed about, their movements slower and slower. Most of the spirits sat on the floor, drinking honey mead, smoking herbs, and telling stories.

Occasionally, Kosara spotted Asen and the yuda in the crowd. The dance floor slowly emptied around them, as more and more monsters stopped to watch. The spirits stood up, circling the couple, and clapping in tune with the music. He really was a good dancer.

Too good, perhaps. The more attention he drew to himself, the more likely it was they’d get discovered. Kosara waited, her nails sinking deeper into her palms, her heart beating faster and faster.

At last, the song ended. Asen bowed to Sokol. She nodded her head. Kosara sighed with relief, but it immediately turned into a gasp, as the yuda drew Asen into a hug.

Sokol froze. Her eyes grew larger. Her nose twitched, buried in his hair. Her face twisted.

Oh no, no, no.

Kosara rushed towards them, grabbed Asen’s arm, and tried to pull him away from Sokol. Too late.

“I smell human flesh!” Sokol shrieked.

The circle of spirits tightened around them. There was nowhere to run. All around them, the spirits whispered. Kosara couldn’t understand a word, but she felt their disapproval. Their eyes prickled at her skin.

“Human? Him?” Kosara’s smile was so tense, she was afraid her jaw might lock. Her voice shook. “You must be mistaken.”

Sokol slashed at Asen’s cheek with her talon. A second passed, and then blood began to trickle, ruby red. Human blood.

The varkolaks awoke and rose to their feet, their low growls filling the suddenly quiet hall. The upirs startled out of their trances. They moved towards Asen, as if summoned by the call of his blood. They were fast now—faster than Kosara thought possible. She blinked, and one of them was right in front of her, grasping at Asen’s face with bony fingers.

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