Page 12 of Fate and Fury

Niko lowered their joined hands, tugging Katerina back into line. He relinquished his grip, and she missed his touch. He grounded her, and she needed that right now, badly.

If anyone had seen through to the truth of what she’d done, it would be the Druzhina. And now, she had to face them. What would they do to her? Reap her and Niko on the spot? Haul them both away? Send riders to Kalach to punish Baba and the rest?

Nausea swept Katerina at the thought, and she had to fight to keep a poker face as the two pairings who had failed the Trials were dismissed. They filed out of the arena, heads lowered. The hunch of their shoulders and the slant of their backs broadcasted shame, and a part of Katerina was grateful not to be among their ranks, even though she mourned the loss of control that had led her here. How could she regret it, though, if it meant Niko lived?

How could she not?

The crowd began to filter down through the amphitheater, streaming toward the doors carved into the stone. The victors would have to wait until the arena had emptied, then pay their respects to the Druzhina and the Kniaz. Baba Petrova had drilledthe protocol into Katerina, just in case. She knew the names of each of the Guard and their abilities, who saw eye contact as an insult and who demanded to be the first to initiate a handshake. She knew that she had to curtsy to the Kniaz, whereas Niko had to bow. What shedidn’tknow was how to reconcile her failure with Kalach’s survival. What would she do if the Druzhina saw right through her?

Katerina stood, her stomach churning, as she watched the crowd file out. The Kniaz rose, making his way down onto the floor of the arena with his consort, and the Druzhina followed. They formed a receiving line, each of the fifty Shadow and Dimi pairs facing each other. Trina and Fyodor turned, the closest and thus the first to make their way toward the waiting Guard, and Katerina and Niko followed, Sofi and Damien on their heels.

When it was their turn, Katerina stepped forward to greet the head of the Druzhina, holding her breath. “Dimi Novikova,” she said, inclining her head in a gesture of respect.

After a long, tense moment, the older Dimi nodded back at her, the slightest brush of her witchwind brushing Katerina’s hand in greeting. Katerina let a hint of her witchfire rise in response, the other Dimi’s wind feeding it. Then she closed her hand around the flame, extinguishing it as Baba had taught her.

Dimi Novikova didn’t smile at Katerina, or welcome her to Rivki. But she didn’t demand to know why Katerina possessed the ability to buckle the earth or call the wind, either. Katerina’s chest expanded with a deep, relieved breath. Had she gotten away with it, after all?

Turning from the older Dimi, she moved through the receiving line, Niko behind her. None of them spoke to her beyond what politeness required, but to her chagrin, Shadow Berezin began interrogating Niko about a particular bit of clever bladework. She had no choice but to leave him and move forward, fearing exposure with each step and craving thesecurity of having her Shadow at her back, until at last she cleared the gauntlet and felt her pulse slow.

But her relief was short-lived as she came face-to-face with Kniaz Sergey, eyeing her like he’d like to undress her right here on the sand; and his consort, glaring as if she’d take great pleasure in stabbing Katerina through the heart.

7

KATERINA

“Your Grace,” Katerina said, sinking low into a curtsy, just as Baba had instructed her. “Dimi Zakharova.”

She’d seen the Kniaz many times before, of course, when she’d taken her turn delivering the tithe. But then, he’d always been seated on his throne, giving her no more than an imperious nod as she and Niko knelt and placed a ceremonial bushel of wheat at his feet. Katerina hated that the nobleman demanded such a thing from them, just as he did from the other six villages in Iriska: oil from one, firewood from another, potatoes from a third. She hatedhim.

Now here he was, right in front of her, close enough to incinerate with a thought. And instead, she had to act as if he’d just bestowed the greatest honor imaginable upon her.

She fixed her eyes on his silver-buckled shoes, engraved with runes of safety and protection, waiting for permission to stand. As much as it galled her to bend to him, it was a thousand times better than being hauled away for treason to the realm.

“Rise, Dimi Ivanova.” The Kniaz’s voice was as imperious as always, laced with Rivki’s distinctive accent: clipped vowels, a slight roll to the letter ‘r.’

Katerina obeyed, taking him in: white stockings, woven with silver runes; black breeches; a fine, brocade cobalt coat; jeweled rings winking from every finger. She met his eyes at last, onyx, deep-set orbs that contrasted with the pale skin of his face, like ink spilled on bone china. They sparkled in the light of the Bone Moon, bright with cunning.

“You know my esteemed consort by name, I see,” Kniaz Sergey said, waving an indolent hand at Dimi Zakharova. “But have you two had the pleasure of meeting?”

“We have not,” Katerina said, glancing sideways at the woman who stood by the Kniaz’s side. She was an earthwitch, everyone knew that. It was beyond Katerina why she would allow the Kniaz to leash her, to dress her in blue velvet to match his waistcoat and parade her about like a pet. But the last thing she wished to do was offend either of them, not when she had so much to lose. “It is my pleasure.”

“Is it?” Dimi Zakharova said, her nostrils flaring as if she smelled something foul. Perhaps she did, come to think of it; Katerina probably stank of ashes and sweat. Well, that was nothing to be ashamed of. She squared her shoulders and met the other Dimi’s gaze head-on.

“You tell me,” she said, giving her most innocuous smile. “I certainly hope so.”

The Kniaz waved his bejeweled hand again, dispelling the rising tension between them. “Now, now. The battle is over, and it’s time for more enjoyable things. I must say, you performed admirably today, Dimi Ivanova. Should you do the same at the second round of the Trials next year, I’ll look forward to the moment when you call our fair city home.” He tilted his head, a sparrow eyeing the first juicy worm of spring. “Tell me, will you be bringing an entourage, or will it merely be you and your Shadow?”

“I beg your pardon? Your Grace,” she added hurriedly as Dimi Zakharova frowned.

“Are you…attached?” His gaze flickered over her, lingering on hips and waist and breasts, and Katerina swallowed back the retort that rose to her lips.

“If you mean, am I promised to another, Your Grace, then the answer is no.” Unlike a Shadow, she had the right to choose her own mate: a strong man who would share her bed, get her with child, and continue the Dimi line. Konstantin, maybe. Or Maksim. Both citizens of Kalach were tall and handsome, with land to their name. Though she didn’t love them—had barely spoken to either of them—the time was coming when she’d have to decide.

Katerina had no interest in Konstantin or Maxim. Her heart belonged to another. But right now, she’d rather be wed to either of them than endure the insolent way the Kniaz’s gaze slid over her, as if he were touching her with his hands rather than his eyes. Next to him, Dimi Zakharova stiffened, the hostility in her expression intensifying.

“Excellent, excellent.” Kniaz Sergey rubbed his palms together with glee. “And your Shadow?” He nodded at Niko, who had freed himself from Shadow Berezin but was still paying his respects to the remaining Druzhina in turn. “Does he have a lovely Vila back home? For if not, the selection in Rivki is grand indeed. He’d have his pick of the litter.” He gestured to the second level of the amphitheater, where a group of women fluttered like butterflies, adorned with jewels and arrayed in brightly colored, ornate gowns.

Katerina had no particular affinity for Vila in general, and Elena in particular. Beyond her obsession with Niko, Elena’s fanaticism about following the will of the Saints to the letter drove Katerina mad. Still, her chest tightened at the indifferent way the Kniaz spoke of the Vila, as if they were chattel ratherthan individuals with thoughts and opinions of their own. She didn’t trust herself to speak, but luckily, he mistook her indignant silence for awe.

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