Page 125 of Devil's Doom

Zlotomira purses her lips, pushing a plate of buttered bread with powidla my way.

“They come in here sometimes and force my girls to serve them, just like they force the wilas in the brothel or right on the streets. And there’s nothing we can do, because if anyone resists, they are captured and tried for treason. We need someone to put a stop to this injustice. Only, your rebellion won’t be it.”

“But what if they could win?” I press. “What if there was a way for Woland to defeat Perun right this second?”

Zlotomira chuckles under her breath. “Then we’d have a party. We’d milk that moment of freedom for all its worth. The tolls would be over. People would dance in the streets.”

I fold my arms on my chest, unconvinced. “But after? Let’s say, a year after Woland’s victory. What do you think it would look like?”

She looks into the fire, growing serious. “Hm. I believe the control would be more lax. Better for business. I’m not sure, though. See, Perun wants to keep us all in the city, where he can milk us for magic. That’s all he wants. But why does your devil want to rule, if that’s his true goal? If you learn that, you’ll know what his world will look like.”

I sit back, thinking. Gods, she’s right. And I’ve never asked myself this question, not once.

Whydoes Woland want to defeat Perun? What’s his true purpose? I have no idea, and it bares how little I truly know about him.

“Could he just want power?” I ask, not even pretending that I believe Woland is led by an unselfish goal, like freeing the people of Slawa. “Isn’t that what all men want? Power and obedience?”

She laughs, slapping her knee. “Oh, you innocent girl. You’d be surprised. So many men want just the opposite. We see them here all the time. They want to be ordered to crawl, or even to lick my mamunas’ milk off the floor like dogs and be praised for it. Now, I cannot speak to what the devil wants. Possibly, he just wants power. But that seems like a simple goal for someone who’s been alive for so long.”

I want to ask her about the men who crawl for women, because the idea intrigues me in a way that brings a flush to my cheeks. But it’s not why I’m here, so I let it go.

“What could he want, other than power?”

Zlotomira grins, chuckling under her breath. “That, my dear, I cannot tell you. But if what Draga tells me is true, and you are his favorite, let me give you that piece of advice you came to ask.”

She leans over the table, beckoning me closer.

“Men talk best when they are relaxed, lying in bed, their balls empty, stomachs full. Ask him when you have him like this, and whatever he tells you or doesn’t should give you a clue. Now, eat the bread. We make the powidla right here in the bar, with plums that hang on through the first frost. It’s my grandmother’s recipe, and it will be the sweetest you’ve ever tasted.”

I thank her and dig in, my mind churning. Maybe she’s right. Maybe all I need to do is suck Woland’s cock and ask him. Sometimes, the simplest solutions are the best.

Chapter forty-two

Creation

I try to pay for my meal before I go, but Zlotomira waves my eggs away.

“Stay safe, dear, and come back any time. There will always be a room for you here.”

Hot tears burn my eyes as I thank her. When she hugs me, it is maternal in a way I never expected to be hugged. Her warm arms and the smell of breast milk envelop me, and I have to bite my tongue to keep the tears from falling. I tell myself it’s just from sleep deprivation.

Outside, the sun has set. It’s only afternoon, and the taverns are as busy as always, bawdy music filtering out through the windows. I walk fast, barely paying attention to my surroundings. Yet halfway up a narrow street leading to the bridge, something prickles my nape. The air I breathe in grows warm, just for one breath. It smells of cherries and cut grass, and I look up, my heart pounding.

Ahead is that shape again, the same one I saw on the bridge when I was out with Lech. I already know she’s a woman, but I have no idea who she is. She stands still, and I do, too, waiting for her to move.

The door of a house up the street opens, throwing the flickering light of a candle on the cobbles. The woman disappears, the dark shape of her cloak melting into the dark.

Eerie.

I resolve to ask Lutowa or Nienad if they know of a bies that shows up in the dark, accompanied by the scent of summer. She can’t be a poludnica. They hide away in the night and only come out in sunlight. What else could she be?

In the rebel base, the cavern is still filled with healing rebels, though fewer now. The bodies have been removed, and those well enough to walk have left for their quarters. I spot the red of Lech’s hair and head that way. He’s still asleep.

“Rada left to get some food,” Lutowa says, coming over. She holds a basket of small apples that she pops in her mouth, barely chewing. “Nienad says he’s better. He should wake up within a day.”

I sag against a pillar, pressing my hand to my chest in relief. “Praise Weles! I am so relieved. Here, have a reward for being the bearer of good news. I brought you kolaches and a jar of mamuna powidla.”

“Really?” The bieda buries her nose in the linen napkin wrapped around the baked goods. “These smell amazing. I owe you one!”

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