Page 118 of Cry of the Firebird

"It's working just fine."

Yvan smiled pleasantly at her. "How nice for you."

"It is, yes."

"If it's so great, how come you are hiding in the back of the train, drinking by yourself?" he asked.

Anya scowled but couldn't think of a reply. Yvan sighed and helped himself to her vodka.

"I'm not going to argue with you,shalost.I just think there should be someone in your life who is not going to indulge youbecause they think you're the chosen one," he said, draining his vodka in one gulp. "You should be using the time on this train to learn some more magic from Honaw and Chayton, not drinking the entire vodka supply. Get focused and stop wallowing." Yvan hesitated before he bent down and kissed the top of her head, whispering, "Get some sleep occasionally."

Yvan left her sitting there, drunk and ashamed. He was disappointed, and that killed her more than anything he could have said.

As soon as the carriage door shut, Anya burst into tears. She should've just told him the truth. She was drinking because the closer to Russia they got, the more afraid she was becoming. Anya might have seen Ilya shut the gates in her vision, but she had no idea if that would work for her. She didn't know what the words were that he had spoken as he did the ritual. She could turn up and cut herself to pieces, and the gate could do nothing.

Chosen one, my ass.

Anya was running the sleeves of her gray sweater over her face to wipe off her tears when she spotted the stranger again. Tall, impossibly fair, and looking at her with a mixture of horror and surprise. He went to open the door to the carriage, but he stopped, turned around, and disappeared along the aisle.

Anya's chest was filled with instant pressure, and she fought to push down the magic threatening to break out of her. Shaking and drunk, she got to her feet and hurried back to her compartment.

It's just a coincidence. He probably didn't want to come and drink in there because you were bawling your eyes out.

Over the next few days, Anya spent her time with Chayton and Honaw, as Yvan suggested. They were trying to teach her how to use the drum she had been given. Like Baba Zosia, they didn't dare touch it in case the symbols changed. They had trieddream walking a few more times, but every time Anya was drawn to something she shouldn't be and was pulled back in.

Anya wanted to tell them about the silver haired man she had seen who had disrupted her magic so much. If it wasn't for the fact she had been drunk when she had seen him both times, she probably would have.

No, she would keep the stranger to herself, at least until she saw him sober. Then Anya would send Isabelle and Katya to rough him up for scaring her so much.

"What is it?" Trajan's face came into focus in front of her. They were eating in one of the dining cars, and the noise of clanking cutlery and people talking was almost deafening.

"Nothing, just thinking," she replied vaguely.

Trajan looked at her over the top of his glasses. "Are you and Yvan talking to each other yet?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Come now, Anya. You haven't spoken to him all day. That's some kind of record because usually, you two are thick as thieves. Did you have an argument?"

"Something like that. We'll get over it, don't worry."

"I'm not worried, nor am I complaining about having you to myself for once. But still, don't let some small oversight become an incurable problem. You care for each other too much for that."

Anya smiled because only Trajan would say it like that—'an incurable problem.' He wore a burgundy scarf around his neck that set off his eyes and contrasted boldly with his dark curls. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a nervous habit that Anya didn't think he was even aware of.

Something pale flashed over his shoulder, and Anya saw her phantom stranger sitting at the end tables. Her breath caught, and magic rushed through her veins as it tried to break free of her. It was like it wanted to reach out and touch him. She dugher nails into her palms and tried to hold it in, so she didn't set herself on fire again.

The silver haired man looked at Trajan the way a gardener looks at a slug, and he screwed up his face. He noticed Anya watching him, and his expression relaxed as he inclined his head in greeting. Slowly, he tucked the paper he had been reading under his arm and departed from the carriage. It wasn't until he was out of sight that Anya finally felt like she could breathe again.

"I think you are right," she said and got to her feet. "I need to go and speak with Yvan."

Trajan opened his mouth to say something, but she grabbed him by the soft fabric of his scarf and pulled him in for a quick kiss before hurrying after the silver haired man.

By the time Anya moved into the next carriage, the stranger was gone like he had vanished into thin air.What the hell is going on?

Anya glanced over her shoulder a few times as she hurried to Yvan's compartment. Without knocking, she barged in to find the firebird in full flaming glory perched on the metal bar of the bed. Swearing, she pulled the door shut behind her before a curious passenger accidentally looked in.

"Hey, is Yvan in there? I really need to talk to him," Anya said, sitting down on the bed beside it. It cooed at her, and Anya got the distinct impression she was getting a cold shoulder. She slowly released some of her magic, so her hand lit up with its own fire. Very carefully to not startle it, she gently stroked its back.

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