Page 19 of Devil's Doom

“Normal. ‘M fine. A moment.”

I step away, wiping my hands on my dress. As I look around, I expect the grove to lose its color, just like the forest did after the toll, but if anything, Perun’s temple looks even more vibrant than before. The flowers glitter like precious jewels, the trees are healthy and robust, wind whispering between perfectly shaped leaves, all green with no trace of discoloration.

“Were you a healer?” Lech asks, coming up behind me. His voice is weaker than usual, but still as charming as always. “Before you died?”

Damn it all.I wait a bit before turning to him until I’m sure my face is perfectly neutral. Of course, nobody knows I’m mortal. Just like the utopek, Lech assumes I became a bies in the mortal world, served my sentence, and was sent to Slawa.

“For a short while,” I say, keeping my face straight. “The training stayed with me, though.”

He regards me seriously, his mouth for once not tilted in a cynical smirk. The change in him is startling when his usual expression is gone. He seems older, more weary—moretrustworthy, somehow.

I already know not to take anything he says at face value, only the deception is not to foolmebut the spies the city apparently teems with.

“Interesting,” is all he says. “Come on. I’ll show you the other side of the mountain and then we can get dinner. You might want to thank for my guidance by getting mine.”

I scoff. “You want me to pay for you to leech someone’s blood? Forget it.”

“Most eateries serve lamb blood,” he says with a shrug. “Or does that offend your sensitivity, too, one-eyed girl?”

I huff with impatience. I’m tired from the climb, sweaty, and now annoyed because I let a part of my identity slip. “Will you stop calling me that?” I demand through clenched teeth.

A ghost of his usual smile curves Lech’s pale lips. He still seems sickly. “You gave me no name to call you, so I had to invent one myself. What would you like to be called?”

“Alina,” I say the first name that pops in my head even as I berate myself for not coming up with a solid identity earlier.

I can’t be Jaga, the mortal whisperer from a small village who caught the eye of the devil. If I show too much of myself, Woland will find me at once. Though he likely doesn’t stay here. I can’t imagine the arrogant demon subjecting himself to Perun’s tax, so he must stay somewhere the toll doesn’t reach.

But he still has people at his command. It’s them I should avoid.

“Let’s go, then, Alina. I’m starving.”

We cross the grove and come out through a wide arch on the other side. Below us, Slawa rolls down the slope, the river glittering like a silver serpent at the bottom of a ravine. It cuts the mountain almost in half, its tall banks made of hard, gray rock. A few boats spear the water, and cavorting bodies glitter and flash by the shore, probably rusalkas or other water people.

The city looks enormous from up here, the number of chimneys sending curls of smoke into the blue sky dizzying. The older parts built of stone end about halfway down the mountain. Below are the newer, smaller houses made of wood.

It takes effort to remember my nightly climb from the foot of the mountain, but one detail leaps out at me: the trash. There were heaps of it lying around here and there, but not in the upper part of the city. I imagine people living down there are poorer, maybe less powerful.

“Down the stairs and over the bridge,” Lech says, pointing out a wide staircase leading down from the temple.

The bridge curves in a graceful arch over the river. It has no barriers on the sides, so when a stronger gust of wind whips up my dress, I contemplate what will happen if I fall into the water. The bridge is so high over the bottom of the ravine, a fall might just kill me.

I’m itching to test out if my magic is strong enough to let me fly. Excitement curls in my belly, and on its wings comes resentment. I should be able to enjoy my newfound power, to play with it and test its limits, but the risk of Woland finding me and Perun’s greedy tax keep me from it.

Flying would beamazing.Not just as means of escape from a difficult situation, but as something I’d do for fun. I’ve never had much of that in my life.

As if called forth by my thoughts, a dark shadow falls on top of us. I look up, right at an enormous, rust-colored belly of a dragon. He sails past, his wings stretched open and unmoving. When he’s on the other side of the bridge, the dragon suddenly folds his wings and dives, shrinking as he goes. He disappears among the houses.

“One of our esteemed guardians,” Lech says, his mouth tilted with sarcasm. “There are about three dozen stationed permanently in the city, you know. They are here to keep us safe, but don’t make the mistake of seeking a dragon’s help if someone beats you or rapes you. They protect us from things far more important than mere death or body harm, you understand.”

I look up into his brilliant blue eyes that stare at me intently over a mocking smirk. I can’t keep back a grin, so I smile at him, finally understanding the way he speaks. Lech carries deep, utter disdain for those in power, but since he knows there are spies everywhere, he never lets an irreverent word pass his lips.

Instead, he shows his true meaning through subtle signs. His smirks, his mocking praise, the cynicism glinting in his eyes—all that makes me think he’s not truly indifferent to the deaths wrought by Perun’s toll, for example.

I might be wrong, but my instincts about people are usually right. Whisperers need to see what hides under the surface, because patients lie to their healers all the time. And as a hated outcast on the verge of banishment, I had to be aware of my neighbors’ thoughts and motivations.

“You know what?” I say when Lech’s smile grows genuine in response to mine. “You’re not entirely rotten for a leech.”

He presses his hand to his heart in mock delight. “Why, Alina! Your exuberant praise makes my heart race!”

---