Page 81 of Katya and the Young God

“Nah, this isn’t that bad,” he says, and his voice is light, lighter than she’s heard it.

Stepan bounds back to them, getting some pets from Pieter, before tromping out again.

So Katya fills her lungs with the bracing air, and the light would be dour and dim, if not feel the oncoming feeling of...something. Like the air cuts with anticipation that only it knows.

They walk, slowly, with accounts for Pieter’s injured gait, but with every step it’s as if he loses a weight on his shoulders. “I can’t believe, after all this time, the Organization was so fucking close,” he says, and he’s not even scowling. “I only knew that there was a house here, not that...” he gestures at the stable of trees around them. “It’s more than a little ridiculous.”

“Believe me, I agree,” Katya says, desperately trying not to shiver.

“And that Stepan would just come over and get treats from people who would freak the fuck out if they knew who he belonged to,” he says, and there’s such a lightness to him that she doesn’t want to interrupt, doesn’t want to bring it down. Wants the mood and the weight in his shoulders to stay as it is right then, for forever.

It’s not usual for her, to want something like that, so she looks out at the woods around them. Deep green pines surround the white barked-birch, and the ground is a dusty gray brown at their feet.

“And this entire time, you were just...right there.”

“I got here a week before the mountain,” she interjects, and her breath puffs up around her face. “It was a bit sudden.”

His gray eyes alight on hers, and there’s no trace of menace or anything, not a trace of animosity or wildness, and it takes her breath away. “That’s almost reassuring,” he says, and outside, his face has lost some of its pallor. “I’d hate to think I was that inobservant for longer.”

“I would have followed Stepan back to the cabin before too long,” she says, and despite herself, she shivers. “I’m far too curious about what my neighbors are doing all the time.”

He smiles at her, actually smiles, and she has to look away before it’s too much.

It takes longer than it should, but the cabin comes slowly into view, and it’s so cold outside she doesn’t feel the chill of the runes.

Something unwinds in Pieter’s back when he sees his cabin, before he straightens, face settling more into a familiar scowl, and he tilts his head at her, walking along the perimeter in a large, lazy loop.

She tromps along, keeping her hands deep in her pockets, as he kicks over the occasional stone, his eyes unfocused, and he presses against the wound. Like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.

“Anything?” She asks him, when she can no longer feel her feet and desperately wants to just go inside.

He raises an eyebrow at her, his eyes still unfocused, and she’d be unsettled if literally every magical being didn’t have the exact look when they’re focusing outside themselves.

“Someone got close, but turned away,” he says, then blinks, and his eyes sharpen and focus, before he winces, pressing his hand to his side. “Can’t tell who they are, they didn’t leave anything behind, but they definitely skated around the perimeter for a few hours.” He leans to the side, slightly precarious, and Katya ducks under his arm, leaning him against her shoulder.

“So surveillance,” she says, a pit growing in her stomach. “We shouldn’t stick around too long.”

With a nod, leaning companionably against her, they go to his cabin, and the door clicks unlocked easily under his hand, and he sits heavily on the couch as soon as they’re inside.

Immediately, Stepan heaves himself onto the side of the couch with the blanket and curls up, his tongue lolling out in contentment.

“This is why you take time off after injuries when you can’t heal yourself,” Katya says, rolling out her shoulder, ignoring his dirty look. “I had to take three months off of work for my shoulder.”

“Wouldn’t you go crazy?” He drawls, rolling out his vowels.

And she very nearly did, but she’s not going to tell him that, so instead she just looks around the small cabin, which is no less depressing for having him in it. After a brief moment, of loss of focus, like the area draws in grief and brings it to a vicious point, he looks up at her.

“Right,” he says, and she can see the resolve in the line of his jaw. “What do you know about Rune bombs?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. She knows of their existence, but has never been given an opportunity to learn more, and she suddenly and viciously regrets not having paper to take notes. “Haven’t seen them, know we proof our main offices to resist them, haven’t gotten the foggiest on how to use them.”

“I didn’t see anything in the compound that suggested they had those kinds of defenses,” he says, looking like he’s going to push himself up but losing steam half way through, shamefaced.

Katya leans against the table. “You could have not seen it, that’s a pretty basic defense.”

“I’m not sure they had much time to set up anything more elaborate than a copper room,” he says, slumping more into the couch, a fission of pain over his face. “In the hall cupboard, there’s a picnic basket with a plaid cover. I keep components in that,” he says, like it’s being pulled out of him. “I’d get it, but it’s heavy, and —"

“On it,” she says, as quick as she can, and she gets a quick grateful glance in return.

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