Page 67 of Foul Days

Then again, she’d been foolish enough to agree to work for the Zmey.…

“Are you certain?” Kosara asked.

“Absolutely,” Vila replied.

Kosara swore under her breath. Now that she thought about it, it made perfect sense. The Zmey had always wanted a witch’s shadow. He had a magic of his own: raw, wild, uncontrollable. What he’d wanted was magic he could control.

What he’d wanted was her magic. The only thing that gave her strength. The only thing that prevented her—in his mind—from running back to him.

He’d tried to buy it from her when she was younger. He’d offered her palaces built in one night, and caves filled with gold, and mountains of pearls and precious stones. She’d refused, as difficult as telling him “no” was.

So, he’d found another way to get what he wanted. As usual.

But it wasn’t only her shadow he’d managed to steal, was it? He’d gotten Irnik Ivanov’s whole necklace. What would the Zmey do with that much magic power? Kosara shuddered just thinking about it.

And what had he promised Roksana to persuade her to work with him? Roksana, who’d been there on the night Kosara had come back from the Zmey’s palace. Roksana, who’d helped her bandage her burnt hands.

The floor swayed beneath Kosara’s feet.

Roksana, who’d helped her bandage her burnt hands.

They’d never been close before that. How come as soon as Kosara had escaped the Zmey, Roksana was suddenly always around, offering her broad shoulders for Kosara to cry on?

Roksana had attached herself to Kosara like a leech. At first, Kosara had kept the monster hunter at an arm’s distance. But then Nevena had died, and she’d just needed someone, no matter who—someone to get blackout drunk with; someone who wouldn’t question all her questionable decisions.

This time, Kosara swore out loud. How could she have been so stupid.

Of course Roksana worked for the Zmey. It had been right in front of Kosara, all these years. How else did the Zmey always find her, no matter how hard she tried to hide from him? He always seemed to know little details about her life she’d never told him—

“Kosara,” Vila’s voice came as if from very far away. Kosara’s ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton wool. “Kosara!”

Kosara shut her eyes and took a deep breath.

Roksana had turned out to be a snake. So what? Kosara had always known it: having friends when you lived on this side of the Wall was a very bad idea. They only made you vulnerable.

“Sorry,” she said. “I was miles away. What were you saying?”

“Asen here asked me how I know where Roksana is. I know because of this.”

Vila clapped her hands, and when she pulled them back apart, something caught the light in between her palms. It took Kosara a few seconds to focus on it.

A thread. Hair-thin and gleaming faintly, like a solitary moonbeam.

Kosara inhaled so sharply the room spun. “Moon yarn.”

“Moon yarn,” Vila said. “I found it tied to a bedpost in her house.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that. Once tied, moon yarn can’t be untied, everyone knows that.”

Vila snorted. She tied a knot in the yarn and untied it again, her fingers moving fast.

“Oh,” Kosara said. “How?”

“I might teach you one day.”

“I’m sorry,” Asen said. “What’s moon yarn?”

Kosara scratched the scar on her cheek. “The Zmey’s palace, it exists beyond…” She made a helpless gesture with her hand. “Beyond…”

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