Page 123 of Devil's Doom

“He said he’d do away with death,” I say, my voice hushed. “Is that possible?”

The old planetnik shakes his head, his stormy eyes blinking away from my face. He looks a hundred years old, just how I feel.

“We’ll never know until we win this part of the fight, girl. Go. Get some sleep. Keep the master happy once he comes back. He’ll need a lot of comforting from his consort.”

I clench my jaw and turn away, but my anger flares only weakly. I have no more fire in me to support anything but the horrible, heart-wrenching guilt.

Because I can’t stop thinking that maybe if I let Woland claim me, Draga would still have both arms and Lech would be well. I look around, taking in the rows of people lying on makeshift straw beds right on the ground. Most of them sleep, either healed or on the mend, but some sob over lost loved ones or curl up from pain that only time can cure.

I remember those same people smiling in welcome when Wera announced I was one of them. I remember them drinking in my honor. And now, here they lie, defeated and broken.

There is always one thing you can do to make sure we’ll win.

The guilt flares, hot and suffocating, and I run out of the cavern without even speaking to Rada or Draga. I don’t know what to do. Back home, the choice was obvious—I didn’t know why Woland wanted to claim me, and the fight we fought was between me and him. Yet now, hundreds of lives are on the line. Thousands, if I were to include all the inhabitants of Slawa who suffer under Perun’s cruel tolls.

And if what Woland told me is true, and Perun has his eyes on the mortal world, the number of people affected by my choice becomes too huge to comprehend.

I cannot bear the responsibility and guilt. For the first time since this battle started, I feel strongly that maybe I am the one in the wrong.

Maybe I’m selfish. What’s one life, even if it’s mine, compared to the lives of millions?

And yet, is Woland truly the one who’ll save them all?

I make it to our chamber with my last strength. Woland’s gone, off to whatever duties called him away from the rebel base, and I both loathe his absence and feel relieved. He’s the only person I can talk to about this, the only one here who knows about the prophecy, and yet, I still don’t trust him.

We were supposed to win. He was so confident. But dozens of his people are dead or hurt, and we gainednothing.

The wall will be fixed within a day. The toll will come, just like always, or maybe worse. Because Perun, enraged by another rebel attack, will terrorize the city in retaliation.

I throw off my clothes with jerky movements, anger giving me the burst of energy I need to battle my bone-deep weariness. I haven’t changed or washed since the battle, and now I scrub myself viciously, my mind spinning in circles.

I could call Woland’s name. He’d come. And I could tell him I belong to him. It would be done.

A part of me longs for the easy way out, because it issoeasy. I’ll be free of the responsibility and guilt if I let him claim me. Whatever he does with the victory will be his triumph or fault, and I’ll be on the sidelines, no longer instrumental to anything.

But then, living by his side, I will have to watch the consequences of my choice every day. And if he fails to keep his word, if he hurts the people of Slawa even worse than Perun, there will be no way for me to stop him.

I dunk my head under water in the tub and release all my air in a mute scream. I don’t know what to do, and yet, every piece of my body demands I dosomething.Sleep would probably help me clear my head, but I know I won’t be able to lie in bed even for a minute.

All those screams of pain, and the bodies we left behind, feel like accusations. I cannotsleepwhile the rebels suffer.

Clean and dressed in a pair of trousers and a shirt, I call for a meal. It arrives instantly, hot bread dripping with butter and a few pieces of cheese and roast carrots, served with hot milk sweetened with honey. I eat everything, then pack a few eggs into a satchel. My magic is barely a hum in my chest, almost depleted. I still have to go.

In the cavern, I step carefully, avoiding my friends. And still, just when I’m about to slip out through the unguarded door, someone grabs my hand.

I turn, bracing for a fight, but it’s only Lutowa.

“Going out to assess the damage?” she asks, pointing with her triangular chin at the door. “Perun’s probably beyond pissed. Poor people.”

She doesn’t sound like she’s sorry. Her eyes sparkle, and it seems like she grabbed at least a few hours of sleep while I tended to the wounded.

“Do you want to come with me?” I ask on an impulse. I hate being alone with my guilt. Maybe talking to Lutowa will distract me long enough to deal with the worst of it.

She snorts, rolling her eyes.

“So the good people of Slawa can stone me when I’m still weak after the battle? No, thank you. You know that as long as we don’t win, I can’t show my face up in the city. At this rate, I’ll never be able to live on the surface. But you go. Bring me a few kolaches.”

She pats my shoulder and turns away, leaving me crushed by so much more guilt. She’s right—as a bieda, Lutowa is banished from the city. That’s why most biedas joined Woland’s movement. He promised them acceptance long ago, and yet, they are still forced to hide underground like rats.

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