Page 106 of Foul Days

Asen’s hand shot up and caught her wrist. He pulled away from her, his eyes wide with raw, genuine hurt.

He didn’t look like a traitor whose inevitable betrayal she’d just thwarted. On the contrary—he looked betrayed.

Kosara stared back, her lips still warm from his, unsure what to say. A half-formed explanation was on her tongue, but it didn’t seem to make any sense, so she swallowed it.

Her actions from the past hour shifted in her mind: only a moment ago, they’d seemed completely logical, just like most stupid decisions did in the middle of the night. Now, she saw the gaps in the story she’d spun for herself. The gaps she’d filled with some sort of sinister intent on Asen’s part.

The truth was, he’d shown her no reason to suspect him. He’d done nothing wrong, other than wear a talisman he didn’t want to tell her about.

“Sorry, I…” She trailed off. You what, Kosara, you stupid idiot? You what?

“Please leave,” Asen said, his voice level. Only one throbbing vein of his temple suggested how angry he was.

“I’m sorry.”

“Get out.”

He opened the door, waited for her to go out, and closed it after her.

Kosara stood in the hallway alone, hot from embarrassment and furious. At herself. A tear tickled her cheek as it rolled down.

She wasn’t crying. She was not crying.

What kind of pathetic loser cried twice in the same night?

Not Kosara, that was for sure. Her eyes were simply burning because of the salty air. Her tears were because of the cold.

She’d ruined everything. Her fragile friendship with Asen. Their plan to sneak into the palace. Asen would have every right to return to Chernograd, leaving her to face the Zmey alone.

She couldn’t do it alone.

Kosara raised her hand to knock on the door. She could try to explain: Listen, I asked you who enchanted you, but you didn’t tell me, and I was worried.…

Then she lowered her hand again. It was way too late for that now.

19

Day Nine

When Kosara finally fell asleep, she dreamed of the Zmey. His eyes changed from blue to completely black—like a samodiva’s—to being mounted onto a ring, staring at her and never blinking.

A door creaked. He was here. He’d finally found her.

She peeled her tear-crusted eyes open. A dark silhouette rummaged through her coat’s pockets. He was bulkier than the Zmey. His hair fell in greasy streaks down his large back, draped in bright yellow oilskins.

Kosara swore internally. When she’d suspected there was someone on the ship she shouldn’t have trusted, she’d been right. Except, it wasn’t Asen. Of course it wasn’t Asen.

She tried to stay quiet, but Blackbeard must have heard the change in her breathing. He spun towards her. For a moment, they stared at each other. Then he rushed to her and pinned her down to the berth.

“Where’s my compass?” His breath stank of alcohol, brine, and something rotten, like seaweed washed up on the beach. He slammed her into the berth. “Where is it?”

Kosara kneed him between the legs. Blackbeard gasped. She pushed him back and ran.

“Bakharov!” She hoped Asen hadn’t gone to sleep yet. And that he wouldn’t simply ignore her—even if she deserved it.

The thudding of Blackbeard’s steps echoed behind her. The rusalkas screamed. Kosara’s heartbeat grew louder and louder until it drowned everything else.

She climbed to the deck. Waves were slapping the side of the ship, sending it swaying, spraying salty water in her face. Her wet nightgown stuck to her body, freezing cold. Her feet slid on the floorboards.

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