Page 52 of Fate and Fury

Sammael inclined his head. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Elena of Kalach. If you weren’t summoning me, you were certainly summoningsomeone. I heard your call for aid. Perhapsif you share your troubles with me, it will be in my power to offer succor.”

“You’re a demon,” Elena blurted, before she could stop herself. “Demons don’t make things better; they destroy. Why would you want to help me?”

“If I may,” Sammael said, gesturing in her direction. She nodded and he approached slowly, sitting down on the moss-covered steps that led to the altar. From this position, he looked non-threatening, like any of the village boys. Or men, rather—now that she had the chance to study him at close range, he appeared to be in his early twenties, without the lankiness that characterized so many of the boys who had not yet grown into their height. He had ginger eyebrows and an endearing freckle on the right side of his nose.

Of course, this was just the form Sammael had selected for the occasion. For all Elena knew, he was five hundred twenty-nine years old and more truly resembled a blacksnake.

“Well,” he said, tracing a finger along the meandering line of moss, “perhaps I would like to correct the impression you have of my kind, which understandably is not all that positive.”

Elena suppressed a snort. “You could say that.”

“Perhaps I am intrigued that you may have the answer to the question that has been plaguing the Grigori: what has caused this mysterious shift that gives us greater strength, and weakens the wards between worlds? If I assist you, you might be kind enough to assist me as well. Perhaps you have merely caught me in a good mood. Or perhaps,” he said, looking directly into her eyes, “I like you, Elena Lisova. It is not often I have the opportunity to have a conversation with a lovely, charming Vila.”

“Perhaps,” Elena retorted, “that’s because you’re too busy slitting our throats or carting us off to be ransomed like chattel.”

This time Sammael threw his head back, giving a full-throated laugh that took Elena by surprise. She wasn’t used tocoming up with snappy, sarcastic retorts. That was Katerina’s territory. But here she was, making a demon guffaw.

Maybe Elena had been so busy buying into everyone else’s perception of who she was meant to be—kind, pliant, gentle—that she’d never figured out her true identity. She liked this new version of herself a great deal. But what did it say that it had taken the worst betrayal of her life and a conversation with a demon to bring it out in her? And was she dishonoring her vow to Sant Viktoriya by the very notion?

“Touché,” Sammael said when he stopped laughing at last. “But I may be of use to you, just the same. Tell me, what are you doing out here alone, calling on forces we both know Vila are not in the habit of summoning?”

Elena bit her lip, undecided whether to speak.My Shadow has committed the unthinkable with his Dimi. She has bewitched him, I know it. But I can fix it. I just need enough power, enough strength to set him free.

“You have no reason to believe me.” Sammael’s voice was soft. “But I truly wish to help you—if such a thing is possible.”

Elena had no magic except the blood gift that allowed her to give birth to Vila and Shadowchildren. But she’d called, and the Dark had answered. Perhaps she was wrong to fear it. What if the Saints had heard her prayer and pitied her? What if they’d sent Sammael to her to give her the strength she needed to make things right?

Maybe the Saints intended Sammael to gift her with magic, enough to become more powerful than Katerina. Maybe they meant her to rescue Niko from the spell the Dimi had cast upon him, and put Katerina in her place once and for all.

She couldn’t go to Baba Petrova or the Elder Council for help. What if they held Niko responsible for the fulfillment of the prophecy, believing that he was acting of his own free will, and punished him terribly? What if they cast him out or even killedhim? They would never listen to Elena if she protested; Vila’s opinions weren’t held in high regard, not like Dimis’. She had to find another way to save Niko’s soul and make Katerina pay.

She’d called on Sant Viktoriya. This had been the answer to her prayer. To ignore or dismiss it would be to dishonor the saint she revered.

Elena looked into Sammael’s dark eyes, fixed on hers with an expectant, sincere expression, then down at the moss that sprang up between the stones of the altar.Katerina would know what it could do,she thought.If it could hurt or heal.

She dug her fingers into the moss, ripping it free of its moorings, and told the demon everything. He listened as she poured out her heart, not interrupting once, treating her tale with the attention it deserved. When she finished, he said only, “That is a terrible story indeed, Elena Lisova. I wish I could be of service to you, for a lovely woman such as yourself deserves better than such a betrayal.”

Elena sniffed, wiping away her tears. “My betrayal is the least of it,” she said, looking up at him through clumped lashes. “This could mean the end of Iriska. I know you’d likely love nothing more than that, but I’ve dedicated my life to upholding the mission of the Saints. I have to do something. But what?” The tears flowed harder, streaking her cheeks.

She felt a gentle touch on her arm. When she looked up, the demon was extending a handkerchief to her. It was such an absurd sight, she almost laughed. “Thank you,” she said, taking it and blowing her nose.

“You are most welcome. At least I could perform that small service for you.” He smiled at her. “Tell me, Elena—this Dimi. What is her name?”

Perhaps Elena shouldn’t tell him. Her instinct to protect Kalach ran deep. But surely the harm here had already been done. “Katerina Ivanova,” she said.

The demon’s red brows rose. “The name is familiar to me,” he said. “Is that not the Dimi that vanquished the Grigori on the road to Drezna?”

Of course, he knew who Katerina was. “Yes,” she admitted. “Along with the Shadow to whom I’m betrothed. It wouldn’t have been possible without him.”

The demon stroked a finger across his chin. “I see,” was all he said. “It occurs to me—well, never mind.”

Elena leaned forward, eyes on his face. “Never mind what?”

“It’s nothing.” He looked down at the moss between his feet.

“Have you thought of something that could help me?” She didn’t bother to suppress the eagerness in her voice. “If you have, please tell me.”

“Your Saints matter so much to you,” he said, sounding reluctant. “Even on short acquaintance, I can tell that. And I hesitate to voice an idea that might add to your misery.”

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