Page 17 of Devil's Doom

He grins, his white teeth flashing sharply. “How fast she learns. Yes, most people prefer to stay home when it hits, simply because the toll makes everyone vulnerable for a few minutes. Those who have stronger magic and recover faster often take advantage of the weaker ones.”

He winks at me, as if to sayIam strong enough to take advantage of somebody. Since he’s out with me, looking debonair and unconcerned, I suspect that applies to him, too.

“Come on. I’ll show you the temple.”

He leads me through a labyrinth of streets and narrow pathways between houses, up and up the slope. We’re in the heart of the city now, the buildings made of old stone, most of them two or three stories high. These have round windows, fitted with opaque crystal glass that Lech informs me was “all the rage three, no, four hundred years ago”.

Stairs begin. A few times, we reach a rocky wall at the end of a street and have to climb two dozen steps carved into the rock until we emerge on a higher level. At one point, Lech grabs me with shocking force and slams my back into the wall of the nearest building.

“Look out!”

A curse dies on my tongue when a large crate shoots past me, mere inches from my stomach. I flatten myself against the wall, watching with huge eyes as more crates fly by. Ten, fifteen, twenty-five…

Behind the crates, a man walks at a stately pace, twice as tall as me and just as slender. His head is bald, the skin bulging over purplish veins, his eyes big and completely orange, with no pupil or white.

He carries a gnarled stick that he holds steadily with one hand, while with the other, he reaches into a large sack tied to his belt. As he passes us in one long step that probably covers as much ground as three of mine, he takes out an egg and pops it in his mouth, shell and all. I still hear the crunching when he disappears from view.

“That was a ware shepherd,” Lech explains with a smirk. “Dozens more like him work in the city, transporting all kinds of goods. Floating so many crates at once requires a lot of magic, so a shepherd will usually carry a supply of eggs and eat one when he runs low.”

I nod as we set out again, my thighs burning from the steady climb. “What else are the eggs used for?”

“You can get anything you want with magic, but most races produce little in a day. If someone needs more magic than they are able to make, they will eat eggs. Most services run on magic in one way or another, so every worker in this city needs them. Also, if someone is too weak to pay the toll, an egg might save their life.”

We climb another set of steep stairs, coming up almost on top of the mountain. Swathes of soft, green grass roll over the ground, beautiful flowers swaying on two sides of a comfortable walkway leading up to the fortress that presides over the city of Slawa.

The wind whips tendrils of hair that escaped my braid around my face. I stop, huffing from exertion. Lech watches me with amusement, not winded at all from the climb. His red hair glimmers in the sunlight.

“Does that happen often?” I ask when I can finally speak. “People die when the toll takes their magic?”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, yes. Every day. But not to worry, you’ll get used it. Also, it’s mostly children, so no big loss. They have little magic to begin with, and if they fail to sleep through the night or get sick, the toll usually finishes them. The magical contraceptive trade is booming because nobody wants to have kids these days. Shall we?”

He sets off up the walkway, and it takes him a few steps to notice I don’t follow. I’m rooted to the spot, outrage, fury, and deep, soul-crushing guilt filling my gut like jagged stones.

“What is it? Do you need to rest?” Lech asks gallantly, returning to my side. “There are benches inside. We can sit there.”

“I’m not tired,” I grit out through my tight throat. “You just said children die here every day, and you made it sound like… Like nothing. Not even an inconvenience.”

He shakes his head with a small laugh that infuriates me further. “Well, if our lord and emperor Perun doesn’t mind, why should anyone else?”

His voice is light, and his eyes glitter with amusement, but there is a strange, mocking tilt to his mouth. I don’t know whom he mocks—me, himself, or the god of thunder.

“Because it’s wrong!” I explode, clenching my fists with fury.

Every day in this city, a child dies, and nobody cares. My whisperer training prepared me for the grim reality of children perishing in their first years, but I also learned how precious and important those tiny lives are. And now that I carry the weight of a newborn’s death on my shoulders, I can’t allow this matter to be treated with such callous indifference.

I shouldn’t have forgotten who Lech truly is—an upir and a bies. His soul is so corrupted, he probably can’t tell good from evil. His good manners and worldly polish fooled me, but the charming man with a sharp tongue is only a mask hiding a rotten beast.

“Wrong? Not according to Perun,” he says with a shrug as if he couldn’t be any less interested in the topic.

His eyes are watchful, though, as they regard me without blinking. That makes me pause, because that careful stare is so incongruent with the rest of his manner. Something’s wrong, so I take a deep breath to collect myself and think.

Not according to Perun. Our lord and emperor.

Heresy, I remember the word the utopek used when telling me about dragon guards in the city.

Woland told me about it, too. Heresy is a deadly crime in Slawa, and that means I can’t say what I really think.

I narrow my eyes at the upir. Is he goading me? Does he hope I’ll do something that will allow him to report me as a heretic? Damn, I really shouldn’t have trusted the leech.

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