Page 135 of Foul Days

Her skin sizzled and blistered in his fire. Every breath seared her lungs. She tried to scream but her tongue had turned to shadow.

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to—

And then, some desperate survival instinct kicked in. Her mind cleared, as if she’d wiped the mist off a window.

He was right. She could never escape him. Not while his monsters descended on her city every year. Not while he could bribe her people with promises of a better future.

There was only one way out of this. The question was, would she be strong enough?

“Fine,” her voice came out hoarse, barely audible.

“Sorry?” the Zmey said. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

Kosara took a deep breath. It tasted bitter, like smoke. “I’ll help you.”

* * *

Kosara’s hands were in the Zmey’s again. This time, his touch was gentle. Soothing. It still made her flinch.

He’d flown her to one of the palace’s many balconies. Through the arched windows behind them came the bright lights and the clamour of the feast. Far below in the garden, Kosara could just make out the dark shadows of Roksana and Asen, standing a few steps away from each other, waiting.

The Zmey had changed back into his human form. His clothes were human, too, impeccably tailored, and clinging to his every muscle. He’d put them on deliberately slowly, as if he thought the sight of him naked might stir something long forgotten in her. It hadn’t.

He whispered a spell and ran his fingers over Kosara’s scorched skin, again and again. The blood clotted. The wounds closed up. At first, even the gentle breeze made her blisters smart. Now, only a distant stinging remained, as if her newly repaired skin was slightly too tight to fit her body.

Clumps of charred hair fell down in front of her eyes. They stank, unsurprisingly, of burned hair. It made her sick. Or perhaps it was the Zmey’s touch that made her sick.

His fingers kept working the healing spell into her hands. He could be so gentle when he wanted. That’s what made him so dangerous. If he’d always been an angry, violent mess, she would have never fallen for him. It was moments like this when she’d caught herself wondering if maybe, with a lot of love and care, he could be redeemed.

He couldn’t, she reminded herself. He wouldn’t.

“Are you feeling better?” He smiled at her.

It was a handsome smile. It sent shivers down Kosara’s spine. He’d fooled her before when she’d been younger, but now she knew: he might play the role of human expertly, but he wasn’t human. Beneath his friendly mask hid a monster. His twelve shadows twirled and twisted on the floor beneath him.

“Much.” Her voice came out hoarse. She’d swallowed too much smoke.

“I’m glad. I didn’t want to hurt you. Please don’t make me hurt you again.”

Kosara moved her eyes away from him. She thought she saw the flicker of Asen’s metal pen in the garden below. And was that a notepad in his hands?

Was he interrogating Roksana? Right now?

“What are you thinking about?” the Zmey asked.

Kosara had committed the cardinal sin of not paying enough attention to him.

“The spell,” she said, turning back to face him. “It will be difficult.”

He shrugged. “You said it yourself, we make a great team.”

Kosara looked down at her hands. Her newly formed burn scars were smooth and bright red. They’d fade to white soon. The Zmey wasn’t going to make them disappear, she knew, even though it would only take him a few words. He’d leave them there as a reminder.

His lips curved in a smile. “Don’t think I’m leaping into this without any preparation. I know the spell requires a lot of raw magic power.”

“Why the hell do you need me, then? You’ve got plenty of that.”

“It also requires a lot of skill. It will be just like the good old days when we used to cast spells together. My power and your steady hands. No one will be able to stop us.”

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