Page 64 of Fate and Fury

ELENA

“You look beautiful,” Alyona said, sounding wistful.

Elena twisted to look at her friend. Aly sat behind her, unbraiding the flowers from Elena’s hair. It was a ritual—after a Vila’s wedding revels, she spent time alone with her closest female friend, drawing strength from the sisterhood that had been her strongest bond before she wedded her Shadow. “Thank you, Aly. See, things turned out fine after all.”

Aly’s auburn brows lowered in confusion. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t they?”

Was Aly really going to make her say it, today of all days? “You know—because of what you said about Niko and Katerina.” The last word came out as a whisper. Even saying the Dimi’s name made Elena sick to her stomach—not to mention the look on Niko’s face when he’d stood on the altar with Katerina’s hands in his. Only the thought that their unnatural bond would be severed soon had made Elena strong enough to bear it.

Aly sat back, dropping her hands to her lap. “What about Niko and Katerina?” Her face was blank, innocent.

A horrible, sinking feeling seized hold of Elena’s stomach, as if she had taken a step only to have the ground fall away beneathher, sending her plummeting into an abyss. “Nothing,” she said, yanking the rest of the roses out of her hair herself. The thorns sliced her fingertips, sending rivulets of blood running down her palms. “I must have misunderstood.”

“You’re hurting yourself, Lena.” Aly untangled the flowers from Elena’s fingers, setting them aside and dabbing at the cuts with a piece of cloth. “Did someone say something cruel to you about the two of them? You know how close they’ve always been. It means nothing. For Saints’ sake, Niko just stood in front of the whole village and swore his heart to you.”

A sprig of roses had fallen to the floor. Elena stood and smashed it beneath her blue silk shoe. (“The exact color of your eyes!” Aly had exclaimed when they’d dyed the fabric together months ago. Elena had been so happy then.) The perfume of crushed roses filled the air, nauseating her. “Of course,” she said, each syllable clipped. “I’m grateful for their bond.”

Aly studied her face. “Are you all right, Lena?”

Elena had never been very good at hiding her thoughts, but now she was lying for her life. If anyone found out she’d been consorting with a demon, the consequences would be dire—and Niko would be tied to that witch forever. “I’m fine,” she said, offering Aly a small smile. “Just nervous about tonight. It was so effortless for Niko and Katerina to become Shadow and Dimi. I suppose I’m hoping it’ll be as easy for us, in our marriage bed.”

Sympathy rippled across Aly’s features, and she threw her arms around her friend. “Is that what you’re worried about? Niko is a gentleman, Lena, and honorable. He’ll treat you with care. And you’ve loved him forever. It may hurt at first, but in time I’m sure it will be wonderful. The two of you are meant to be.”

Elena allowed herself to squeeze Aly tight before she stepped away. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m lucky to have a friend likeyou.” She smiled at Aly one more time before she lifted her skirts and turned to go, tears pricking her eyes.

Niko was waitingfor her at the cottage Baba Petrova and the Elders had given them. It had belonged to an elderly couple who had passed away within days of each other, the husband following his wife into death. At the time, Elena thought it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard. Now, she just thought they’d been doomed.

The cottage was small and white, with pink climbing roses that formed a trellis over the entryway. She’d imagined passing beneath them as a bride hand in hand with Niko, how their delicate scent would welcome her into her new life. But instead, he stood still and silent in the doorway, one hand on the jamb, watching her come toward him—and the smell of the roses nauseated her.

He didn’t look like a man eagerly awaiting his bride. He looked, Elena thought as his hand clenched on the wood so hard his knuckles whitened, like a man bracing for the inevitable—and not liking it one bit.

She forced a smile onto her face. “Hello, husband.”

“Welcome home, Elena,” he said, and stepped aside so she could pass.

Elena had imagined many things about this night—how their first kiss might be awkward, fumbling; how they might discover the way of things together, and laugh about their inexperience for years to come, cradling their Vila or Shadowchildren in their arms. Before Katerina had bespelled Niko, she’d never imagined her wedding night would be awkward because her Shadow refused to touch her.

He shut the door behind her and stood with his back to it, as if hoping for the opportunity to flee. When she walked farther into the room, he followed, stopping at an appropriate distance. Then followed her farther still, into their bedroom, where he stood once more with a hand braced on the jamb, as if anticipating she might grab hold of him and drag him to her bed by force.

The sight of it pierced her heart. “It’s late,” she said, gesturing to the trousseau that she and Aly had laid out together—a shimmering ivory gown Elena had sewn herself, hemmed with satin and scalloped with lace. “Perhaps I should change.”

A look of relief crossed his face. “Late. Yes. I’m sure you want to sleep.”

“Maybe not quite yet.” She regarded him from under her lashes, then glanced at the gown draped across the foot of the bed once more.

His eyes flicked toward the gown, then back to her, and his hand tightened so hard on the jamb, she was afraid he’d tear it from the wall. “You must want privacy,” he said, his face a careful blank. “I’ll go into the other room so you can change.”

“But—” Her face burned, hot with mortification. “Don’t you want to—I mean, it’s customary for a groom to undress his bride on their wedding night?—”

Looking as if it cost him to do it, he let go of the doorjamb and stepped closer, his head lowered. “Of course. Allow me.” A hand on her shoulder, he spun her to face away from him. The warmth of his fingers seeped through the fabric of her dress as one by one, he worked the tiny hooks free. “There,” he said at last, when the last hook was undone and the dress fell to the floor—but in the satisfied tones of a man who had accomplished a challenging task, not a husband who couldn’t wait to see his new bride unclothed.

Elena gathered her courage and turned around. He was gazing over her shoulder, eyes fixed on the painting of Sant Viktoriya above the bed as if it were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

“Niko,” she said, trying to keep the hurt from her voice, “you can look at me. We’re married, after all.”

His gaze dropped and fixed on her face. “Perhaps,” he said, the word making her think of Sammael, “you are such a lovely sight that I’m afraid gazing upon you will be too much for me to bear.” One side of his mouth curved upward in the crooked, teasing smile she’d always loved.

“Don’t worry. If you fall,” she said, daring to touch his hand, “I’ll catch you.”

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