Page 71 of Devil's Doom

My skin is tender, looking younger and very fragile. When I run my fingers down my cheeks, they leave pink streaks behind. I suppose it will take time for my skin to harden.

When I turn away from the mirror, swallowing a ridiculous urge to cry, Rada is there, her arms around me.

“Hush,” she says. “It’s just temporary. You won’t even notice before it grows back, I promise. And you don’t have any scars. The healer is really talented.”

“He’s a planetnik,” Lutowa explains from her stool, her knitting needles clicking rapidly. “They have as much magic as biedas. He’s powerful and a useful man to have on your side.”

That explains the taste of storm in his magic. Planetniks are men cursed to fight the storm and dragons. They come out whenever Perun rages. Planetniks are strong enough to devour lightning and wrestle with dragons, and they can fly, carried by the air currents.

“How did he become a healer?” Rada asks, gently combing through my butchered hair with her fingers.

“He’s old, like me,” Lutowa says with a shrug. When she glances at us, her hands keep working, clicking away at a gray, shapeless garment. “Weles made him at a time when he still taught healing, and Nienad wanted to learn. I suspect he is the best healer in all of Slawa. He can teach you, you know. He already respects you, because you don’t squeal like a slaughtered pig when it hurts.”

I perk up in interest, my woes briefly forgotten. If Nienad learned from Weles, that means he must know a lot about the god of death. Maybe Lutowa is right. If I get him to teach me healing magic, I might be able to get information out of him.

“I’m starving,” the bieda says, throwing her knitting into a basket. “I’ll get something from the kitchen. What do you want to eat?”

I explain she doesn’t have to go anywhere, just knock on the table. Her eyebrows hike up, and she nods once. “I finally understand the appeal of being his consort. Food at any time of day, without going anywhere, sounds like bliss. Let me knock, then.”

“Biedas are always hungry,” Rada explains in a hushed voice, casting a careful look after Lutowa. When she’s sure the bieda is busy on the other side of the room, she turns to me with an urgent expression. “Jaga, are you all right? Has he hurt you more? Do you want to run? I’ll get Dar and run with you, even if Lech wants to stay.”

Another urge to cry tightens my throat, and I breathe out with force, willing myself to stop being so freaking teary. I survived, I’ll be fine, and who cares if Woland isn’t back? I shouldn’t want him.

And yet, Rada’s wide-eyed trust and generous offer hit me where it hurts. I don’t think I deserve a friend like her, ready to sacrifice her comfort for my sake.

“I’m fine,” I say, swallowing the thickness in my voice. “He doesn’t really hurt me. At least… It’s complicated. But now he’s gone, anyway, and good riddance. I’m staying, so please, don’t try to leave Lech on my account. He cares about you very much.”

Rada’s face hardens in a way I haven’t seen before.

“Maybe he does, but when it counted the most, he didn’t do anything to save me.Youdid.”

I should have protected you all along, I think but don’t say it. It’s hard enough making friends at all, and doing so in times of war feels like a battle in its own right. For ordinary girls back home, friendship boiled down to braiding each other’s hair and chatting about boys. Here, it’s about saving your friends from rape.

And yet, this is my home. I never want to go back to the mortal world. The freedom to use magic trumps all.

“Come and eat!” Lutowa calls out, dishes and cups clinking as she distributes them around the table.

“Thank you for not hating me—after I lied about who I am,” I tell Rada, squeezing her hand.

She shakes her head, smiling sadly. “I’ll never hate you. Come on.”

As we eat, Rada stares at Lutowa with innocent curiosity, until the bieda swallows her last piece of meat and puts her fork away with a clang.

“What is it?” she asks, her voice impatient though not unfriendly.

“Oh, I was wondering what kind of bird you would be if you died,” Rada says, her eyes hazing over with her usual dreamy gloss. “You’re not stately like a stork, and you’re not as flighty as a swallow, but you don’t strike me as a crow. What do you think you’d be?”

Lutowa glances at me, seeming nonplussed. I laugh under my breath.

“She isn’t wishing you death or anything like that,” I explain. “Her mind just wanders.”

“I’d be a stork,” Lutowa says finally, her lips quirking. “And that’s because they are the biggest, and my sole purpose after death would be to shit on everyone who derided and hated me. And stork shits would be the biggest.”

I sigh and roll my eyes while Rada laughs, her face crinkling into the most delightful sight. Lutowa stares at her, as mesmerized as I am.

“What would Jaga be?” she asks when Rada stops laughing.

“A swallow,” Rada says at once. “Swallows are light and fly with ease, swerving and changing direction as they please. Jaga loves to be free.”

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