Page 29 of Fate and Fury

“First we sow,” Baba said. “And then we reap. As it is meant to be.”

“As it has ever been,” the villagers echoed.

“Blessed be the union of this Shadow and his Vila, so that the spirits may look favorably upon our fields. Blessed be the Saints, by whose grace we live and thrive.”

“Blessed be the Saints.”

“Blessed be the Kniaz, the Saint-anointed protector of our realm. Blessed be the harvest, so that we may have enough grain to gift him our tithe.”

“Blessed be the Kniaz,” the villagers chanted.

Fighting to keep her expression blank, Katerina let her gaze drift over the faces of the crowd that filled the pews. There was Dmitri, the blacksmith, who forged the Shadows’ blades. Elyosha, who had crafted Katerina’s amulet, carving the sigil of the Dimi into the precious metal of its surface. And Trinika, who baked the cinnamon-spiced apple pies that were Niko’s favorite.

Behind them sat Konstantin and Maksim, a few seats apart. They looked like negative images of each other; Konstantin was dark-haired and dark-eyed, serious, whereas Maksim was yellow-haired and green-eyed, his lips always on the verge of a smile. Despite his lighthearted demeanor, Maksim was the more observant of the two. He caught Katerina’s eye and winked.

He was charming. Good-looking. Hard-working. There was nothing wrong with him at all, except that he wasn’t the one she wanted.

Embarrassed, she glanced away, her gaze falling on the children in the front row. Their lips formed the words of the response, their faces transported, lulled into complacency by the steady thud-thud-thud of the treshchotkas and the confidence in Baba’s voice.

“We tithe, and in return, the Kniaz offers us protection,” Baba said. “Should there be a war, he will defend us. Should there be a famine, he will share what we have given, to be sure we eat. For his line was chosen by the Saints to protect us.”

Katerina didn’t believe this for a second. The Kniaz took what he would, and cared not for Kalach or anywhere else. But to say so aloud was treason—not to mention blasphemy.

“Blessed be the Dimis and their Shadows.” Baba turned, looking at Katerina and Niko, then at the Dimis that stood by the altar, flanked by their Shadows. “For they defend our souls from descent into the demon realms, where they would be used as fuel for the Grigori’s fire.”

The stronger the Dimi, the greater her ability to fend off demonic invasion, with her black dog at her side. But the stronger the Dimi, the more alluring she was to the Grigori, who sought to harness her power to fuel their own. It was the greatest of ironies: the better able to defend Kalach Katerina became, the more she drew the demons to its doors. And if Baba Petrova were to be believed, the very gift that had allowed Katerina to defeat the Grigori on the road to Drezna was tied to the reason the demons had been there at all.

Katerina didn’t know which was worse: to believe that her very essence had caused the destruction of Drezna, or that her feelings for her Shadow had summoned the demons. Either way, she was to blame.

“In a year comes the Reaping.” Baba’s eyes were bright now, lit from within. A stranger might mistake this for fervor, but Katerina knew what it truly was: fury for what Kalach must lose, mixed with a healthy dose of fear. “It comes as no surprise that Dimi Ivanova and Shadow Alekhin shone at the first round of the Trials, despite the binding of their power. At the next Bone Moon, a year hence, they will compete again for the right to serve in the Druzhina. In so doing, they will serve the Saints, as well.”

Rage coursed through Katerina’s veins at the thought of leaving the village to fend for itself during these dark times, and she tamped it down with an effort. This was her own fault, after all. If her love for her Shadow hadn’t superseded her commitment to their village, she wouldn’t be in this position. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

As if divining her thoughts, Baba gave Katerina a sad, acknowledging smile. “If and when they depart,” she said, “their brethren will remain behind, to defend us from the hungry, greedy Grigori. And where a Dimi and Shadow go, so shall the Shadow’s Vila.”

“Blessed be the Vila,” the villagers intoned. “For they continue the Shadow line.”

Elena’s ruby-stained lips lifted in a euphoric smile, as if she were picturing the moment such a thing would occur. Katerina fought the urge not to throw up.

“Niko Alekhin,” Baba said, and the treshchotkas stilled. “Shadow of Kalach. Black dog of Katerina Ivanova. Do you accept the Vila Elena Lisova as your betrothed?”

Silence hung in the air, and Katerina’s hopes hung with it. She didn’t know what she was hoping for, exactly—that Niko would tell Baba no? That he would refuse?

He couldn’t do such a thing. For one, this betrothal was a sacred covenant, owed to the Saints. For another, he of all people had to honor this union, after the way his father had tainted the family name. What had almost happened last night—he was right to have turned from her, for so many reasons.

She knew he had to answer Baba. But still?—

Next to her, Niko drew one deep breath, then another. “I do,” he said.

“Do you vow to protect your Vila with the last drop of your blood after you are wed? To consummate your union, and be blessed with a new generation of Shadowchildren and Vila?”

Katerina fixed her gaze on the dust motes that drifted through the air. She inhaled, letting the musky scent of incense fill her lungs, and pretended Niko’s answer wouldn’t break her heart.

“I do,” he said.

“Elena Lisova of the Vila.” Baba’s voice was grave. “Do you accept the Shadow Niko Alekhin as your betrothed?”

Katerina forced herself to look at the woman she’d grown up playing hide-and-seek and hunt-the-demon with. Elena was glowing, her pale cheeks rosy and her blue eyes bright. “I do,”she said, and behind her, the other Vila let out a murmur of approval.

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