Page 61 of Devil's Doom

Even if my body craves him, I’ll have to resist. It’s too risky. And if we don’t fuck, the only way for him to claim me will be if I choose it, and I don’t think I ever will.

But what other choices do I have? Who might help me?

I know Rod and Chors, but the former seems too distant to beg for help, and the latter has some ties to Woland I know little about. Yet, they are gods. Maybe I could call on Chors. Maybe if I tell him about the prophecy…

I dunk my head under water, letting out a frustrated flurry of bubbles. I cannot tell him. It’s bad enough with one god chasing after me, and if there are more? I won’t survive it.

Maybe I should just give myself to Woland and be done with it.

I emerge with a bitter laugh, knowing that will never happen. He’s a cruel liar and a beast with no regard for others. I can’t let him fool me again.

Also, Woland as the ruler of Slawa? It sounds like a joke. I think about Rada’s baby who will have to live in this world. Did I save his life just for him to bow to Woland and call him master?

What else can I do, then? Go to Perun? I scoff, knowing he’s the last person I want to rule over me.

Nyja, then? She is loyal to Woland, though the temptation of power might sway her. But she had a chance to claim me at Kupala, and she didn’t even try. I think hard, trying to come up with another god who would be a good ruler. Since claiming me is supposed to grant someone victory in this war, maybe it’s my duty to let myself be claimed—and end Perun’s rule of terror.

If only there was someone I could trust.

A thought strikes me. I gaze unseeingly into the fire, my mind slowly spinning.

He is powerful beyond measure, almost as much as his brother. He has experience ruling, and if Wiosna is to be believed, his land is a good, prosperous place. Woland said he is the one who actually created the mortal race and walked among them as shepherd and teacher before Perun chained him to the roots of the Great Oak.

But Weles is neutral in the war. Yet if he knows victory is certain with me by his side, maybe he will fight.

My skin wrinkles as I soak far too long, considering my options. I might decide to let Weles claim me, but I want to get to know him before that. But how? He is locked away in Nawie. I know he doesn’t come out, because as soon as Perun gets a whiff of his brother, he launches an attack.

If Weles could die, Perun would have killed him long ago, according to Lech. But gods are immortal. I received a demonstration when Woland stabbed himself over a dozen times with my knife, the wounds healing instantly.

It’s quite bothersome—he can kill me with a snap of his fingers, yet I have no way to hurt him.

As I dry myself with a warm towel, I wonder if poison might work. Probably not, but I tuck that idea away for later. I could treat him to a nice cup of belladonna after a long, tiring day—like the loving consort I am.

Curling up in the huge bed that smells like Woland, I do my best not to miss him, just as he laughed I would. Instead, I focus on my new goals: to grow stronger and learn everything I can about Weles.

Woland is plotting something, that is certain. I’ll plot right back at him.

I wake up to the sound of a horrible racket, feeling as if I barely closed my eyes. Draga stands nearby, beating a metal ladle against a pot. I sit up, covering myself with a sheet, and look at her with bleary eyes. The room is brightly lit, and Woland isn’t here.

“Dadzbog will come out in two hours,” Draga says cheerfully, putting the pot away. “The first rule you’ll follow in my training is to always rise before your enemies! That way you’ll get a head start.”

I stifle a big yawn, shuddering from the cold. “Is it really two hours before dawn?”

Draga nods, pointing at a bundle of clothes at the foot of the bed. “Get dressed. I need to see what I’m working with.”

I went to bed naked, too tired to bother with making a nightshirt for myself. As I crawl from under the sheets, my body instantly pebbles with gooseflesh. I hiss, hugging myself. At least the stone floor is covered with a thick rug.

“Wait. Raise your arms out. And now turn. All right, get dressed.”

As I put on a tight, warm shirt and a pair of loose trousers held at my waist by a sturdy belt, Draga lists everything that’s wrong with me.

“You’ll need to braid your hair so it’s out of the way, that’s for sure. You don’t want Wera to yank on it when you fight, right? And I’m sorry to say it, but you look like you have no strength at all. Those arms are twigs, so easy to break. If you hung from the edge of a cliff, holding on with your hands, would you pull yourself up? Thought so. Your legs are only a bit better. They need work. Tell me, did you get winded coming down here yesterday?”

I slip on comfortable leather shoes with hard soles. “Yes, a bit. Though I walk a lot every day. It used to be worse.”

Draga nods, unconvinced. “Walk. Right. How about running?”

I give her a grim smile, thinking about the last time I ran properly, with Woland on my heels. “I haven’t run in a bit, but I’m sure I can manage if I’m properly motivated.”

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