Page 70 of Devil's Doom

The water I drank was infused with magic that tasted like the storm, buzzing and clean. I had enough to make me feel safe and full, and now I follow his instructions, letting that magic spread out inside me and flow to the places that were burned the most.

“This will hurt a bit. Try not to shy away, I’m just trying to help.”

The voice is gruff, and I imagine the man must be older, maybe in his sixties, although one should never assume people’s age in Slawa. I trust him. He cares about making me well, even though his assumptions are wrong. I don’t think Woland is any happier since I got here, and he already killed an upir woman because of me.

Though maybe the healer doesn’t care how many people die as long as he has fewer patients.

The skin over my face suddenly tightens, my magic pouring out in a sharp, cleansing current. It feels like being scrubbed clean with a metal brush, and I clench my teeth and fists, inviting the pain in. After a few moments, it stops.

“That was impressive,” Draga says somewhere above me. I imagine she’s standing guard while Nienad heals me.

He hums in thought, his warm, calloused fingers running down my forehead and cheeks, stretching my skin in practiced movements.

“Yes. She really leaned into it, which is rare. Usually, people pull away from the pain, taking their magic deeper. This one knows that for things to heal, they have to hurt. All right,krasnolica.We’ll heal your chest now. Let your magic sit close to the surface, just like before.”

“She’s a healer, too,” Lutowa says quietly while I grit my teeth against the pain, doing my best to breathe through it as the burned skin over my throat and breasts reforms. “How come she’s still conscious? All of her skin is burned to a crisp.”

“Kindly refrain from commenting, will you?” Nienad grumbles, checking the fresh skin over my torso with impersonal quickness. “You’ll be as good as new when we’re done,krasnolica.If you draw on some eyebrows, no one will be able to tell what happened. We’ll do your stomach now. Take a deep breath.”

The process is lengthy and painful. Nienad helps my skin heal in patches, and I cling to consciousness, knowing my participation is crucial. It’s better to suffer now and heal completely than wait for the wounds to fester.

By the time we’re done, my head throbs from how hard I clench my teeth. When Draga helps me sit up, my head lolls, my body too weak. Yet, I make the effort to open my eyes, curious about my healer.

Nienad kneels by my side, returning my gaze. He is a grizzled man, his face tough, long, white hair tied back at his nape. He has silver eyes that shine unnaturally in his wrinkled face, his thin lips pursing in a stern expression. A long, reddened scar cuts from his temple down to his chin, pulling at one corner of his mouth. He looks savage and unsettling, the asymmetry giving him an unhinged air. Despite his brutal appearance, he’s dressed elegantly in a gray vest embroidered with a blue thread on top of a black shirt.

“Thank you,” I say hoarsely.

He waves my gratitude away as if it offends him.

“You can pay me back by keeping the master happy,krasnolica,” he says without a smile, watching my face critically. “I’m afraid I can’t help with the lashes and eyebrows, but maybe wilas have some crafty spells for that. For now, I’ve done all I can, but come see me tomorrow after you sleep it off. And feel free to get in trouble more often. You’re my favorite type of patient—the kind that keeps their mouth shut and has a high pain tolerance.”

I can relate, so I huff with a laugh that makes my chest and stomach hurt. The healer leaves, grumbling about idiots who fuck with consorts, and Lutowa covers me with a towel before Draga picks me up with barely a huff of effort. I keep back a wince when my freshly healed skin flares with irritation. I feel tender all over.

“I guess we’ll have to put off our visit to the baths,” Lutowa says ruefully, walking by Draga’s side. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I died and was born again,” I say, trying to smile. My face tingles unpleasantly, and I give it up. “I just want to sleep.”

“I’ll excuse you from training tomorrow, but we’ll get back to it the day after,” Draga says, her familiar cheer creeping back into her voice.

I wake up a few hours later in Woland’s bed, feeling thirsty and groggy, my skin itching all over as if with a new growth. Someone shuffles by the bed, and my heart beats faster with irrational hope. I’m weak and vulnerable, utterly defenseless against my own stupid feelings.

“Woland?” I mumble, my throat burning.

“Oh, you’re awake!” comes Rada’s relieved voice. “She’s awake! Do you want to drink? I have water with honey and some sort of brew the healer sent over.”

I open my eyes to the sight of my wila friend’s beautiful face. She sits on the edge of the bed, peering at me with worry. I do my best to smile, and she smiles back, tremulous and uncertain.

“Water, then the brew,” I say, immediately coughing. My throat was burned on the inside from trying to breathe in the flames, and it still hurts even though Nienad healed that, too.

“You mentioned you wanted to see your friend,” Lutowa’s melodic voice comes from a stool nearby, where she sits, knitting something. “I brought her.”

I gulp down a full cup and nod with gratitude at Rada. “Thank you so much, both of you.”

They chat while I take stock of myself in the mirror that remained from the time I conjured clothes in front of Woland.

My eyebrows and eyelashes are gone, and it makes my face look alien and expressionless, the lack of eyebrows affecting my appearance more than I expected. But that’s not the worst. My hair, while not all gone, is short now. A few burned ends barely reach my shoulders, and I think they’ll have to be cut away. That nameless man who made fun of me was right.

I look like a scarecrow.

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