Page 63 of Devil's Doom

I wash in a bath adjoining the forge. The water is cold and invigorating, and after I cleanse and dry my sweaty clothes with magic, I feel so good, I hum a song under my breath. It’s a wedding song, traditionally performed by the bride’s friends as they make her a flower crown of rue and other herbs.

“Oh rue, oh rue,

How green you grow.”

When I pass through the forge, singing softly, Wera steps in my path. Her milky eyes are tight with scorn. I sigh, readying myself for another pointless attack. Her tenacityalmostmakes me regret having thrown her into a wall.

Almost.

“Singing wedding songs,consort? Pathetic. As if he’d ever marry the likes of you.”

I blink at her in confusion until I realize what she means. I don’t even have to force my reaction—my laughter is completely genuine.

“Marry? Gods, that would be a lark! Can you imagine it? Woland, a husband?”

I burst into another bout of giggles, but not before I notice Wera’s flinch when I call him by name. I wonder if she can say it without bleeding. Or maybe she’s outraged that I don’t address him asmaster.

“I shall tell him of your disrespect once he returns,” Wera hisses, stepping too close for comfort. She smells acidic and musty, like vinegar and old cellars.

I grin, too unhinged to control myself. “Sure, run to your master. Tell on me, please. He always comes up with thebestpunishments. I'm hot all over just thinking about it.”

There. Now when people look at my bruises, they will no longer see an abused, cowering girl, but a woman who takes pleasure from pain. The first is pitiful, but the latter haspower.

Suddenly, the purple necklace staining my throat is so much more appealing.

Wera gasps in shock, her eyes bulging with indignation. Before she finds her tongue, I turn on my heel and saunter out of the forge, ignoring the trembling of my poor muscles. People turn to look at me, and I nod left and right, keeping a smile on my face.

Woland asked me not to undermine his authority, and I decide to comply, because his authority is what I need right now. He is revered, and I will use it to my advantage.

But I won’t gain his people’s respect by bowing and shaking whenever he passes, the way they do. I’d rather show them I am worthy of the same respect he gets by treating him like my equal.

Instead of trying to make them think less of him, I will use his preciousreputationto make them thinkmoreof me.

See how you like that, devil boy.

Chapter twenty-two

Poison

My good mood lasts for another ten minutes, at which point the sheer amount of unfriendly looks and derisive comments finally gets to me. As I walk through the widest, most commonly used corridors, everyone seems to look at me. Crowds pass this way and that, people carrying things or making them float in front of them, baskets filled with food, loads of laundry, or even cages containing chickens, ducks, and geese.

Warriors dressed similarly to Draga in shirts, trousers, and weapon-laden belts walk fast, hurrying from task to task. The tunnels are like arteries, the people the lifeblood of the rebellion. Everyone seems to have a purpose—apart from me.

All I do is attract hate. People call me “traitor” and “whore” when they pass, the words too quiet to draw attention, their passage too fast for me to react.

Overwhelmed and temporarily stripped of my confidence, I duck into a side tunnel that’s currently empty. I wonder what to do. My two hours with Draga have barely put a dent in my day. Up in the city, I used to go shopping or just walk around with Lech when he was available, getting to know Slawa. Here, there is much less to see, though the number of tunnels probably rivals the number of streets above.

After what Lech said yesterday, I’m wary to approach him or Rada. The thought of losing them hurts, so I shove it aside, desperately thinking how to distract myself from dire musings.

I suppose I could go out and come back later, but that doesn’t align with what I want. Everything I need is here, in these tunnels. I just have to figure out how to get it.

My mind made up, I straighten my spine and walk through the maze of orb-lit corridors into the dining room. After all, I’ve earned my breakfast. The vast space is mostly empty, though a table at the far end is laden with food.

As I pass through, the few people seated at the tables shoot me unfriendly looks. I ignore them, keeping my head up. I already know eating in public will be uncomfortable, and I long for the privacy of Woland’s quarters, but I know I must stay.

I learned it long ago in my village. When people saw me regularly, there was less gossip, and I was more welcome due to familiarity. But if I isolated myself for a time, everyone grew more fearful and hostile.

So that’s the goal, I think. To be seen.

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