Page 77 of Devil's Doom

“Here,” I say, fishing out three hardboiled eggs, half of my supply. “And take this, too.”

I infuse a small wineskin with a spell of general wellbeing and pain relief. It won’t cure her, but it will ease her discomfort, at least.

The woman cries from gratitude when she receives my gifts, pus oozing out of her tear ducts. As I watch her half-eaten face and the wisps of thin hair clinging to her greasy temples, I realize she is probably a wila. I’ve never seen an ugly one, so it’s a shock.

But then, the rot doesn’t just eat a person’s body. It mainly feeds on their magic, and magic is the source of wilas’ beauty.

Followed by the woman’s teary blessings, I keep walking, my jaw clenched. Now that I’ve seen what the rot does to people, knowing how widespread and incurable it is gives me a chill. Perun, of course, did nothing to help his ailing subjects. Some ruler.

And yet, Woland isn’t interested in curing the disease, either. If he did, he would have ordered Nienad to work on a solution.

It’s another thing I’ll have to ask Weles about, then.IfI manage to get an audience.

It’s late afternoon by the time I leave the last hastily built cottages behind me. The day has grown windy, the wind tugging the edges of my cloak until they tangle between my legs. I keep following the river, the bank far more even down here.

When twilight comes, coloring the sky purple and gold, I sit down on a large stone among still blooming devil’s bit flowers. I eat my supper, watching out for the moon’s appearance.

The night comes early. Winter will be here soon, even though Slawa’s weather is a bit warmer than back home. But winter solstice is less than a month away, and the cold is inevitable.

Despite the toll that hit a few hours ago, I brim with magic. I barely spent any for my breakfast, and thanks to my training, my capacity for power has grown even more. I still can’t equal Woland and I never will, but Lutowa respects me the way she does only those who have the most magic.

When the thin crescent of the waning moon appears in the east, I whisper his name under my breath.

“Chors.”

The river murmurs on, the cold wind playing in the grasses. Far in the distance, the wall of the forest stands black against the darkening purple sky. I wait, shaking from the cold.

When the moon rises high enough for its light to touch the river, I call him again.

“Chors. Please, talk to me.”

He doesn’t come. Night has fallen, the cold so cutting, I get up and run in place to get warmer. When that fails, I give up and murmur a spell that creates a small pocket of hot air around me. It’s not very costly, but I can use it only for a few hours.

“Chors! I need to see you!”

The reflection of the moon floats on the river, thin and sharp-tipped. I wonder if he’s ashamed since he’s probably starving right now. Should I wait for the full moon? No, it’s too long.

I remember what Lutowa said about Chors’ interest in the wila he questioned. He was curious about her female body. I am no seductress, but I am so impatient to meet Weles, I’ll try anything. Keeping the hot spell snug around me, I strip and walk into the river. The spell tugs harder at my resources, more magic needed to heat up the water.

I stop when my hips are covered, my small breasts visible, and look directly at the moon.

“Chors, please. Let me speak with you.”

“I was here all along.” His melancholy voice drifts over from the stone where I left my things. “I waited for you to say something interesting.”

I turn to look at him. He sits, his limbs elegantly arranged. One leg sprawls easily in front of him, one knee hugging his chest. His eyes glow silver when he looks at me, his cheekbones sharper than I remember. He doesn’t look skeletal the way Lutowa does, but his face is gaunt.

“And in the end, it wasn’t my words that made you speak,” I quip, noticing the way he examines me, his brow gently furrowed.

“No,” he admits. “I’m curious what your appeal is. Did you know the devil hasn’t touched any other woman ever since he got you banished from your village? It’s never happened before. In all the centuries, I’ve seen him bed thousands of women, and he never went a week without, yet now, he seems to have lost interest. I’d like to know why.”

I shiver, even though my heat spell holds well. Chors sounds puzzled, his voice melodic. What he says is unbelievable, but I don’t think he’s lying—not because I think he’s a good person, but because lying requires solid knowledge of social interactions, which he seems to lack.

“And what do you think?” I ask, spreading my arms wide. “What do I have that others don’t? Because I don’t know. I’m curious myself.”

He hums under his breath, his long, dark hair gleaming silver for a moment, touched by the loving caress of Slawa’s bright starlight. When he stands, I realize he is indeed more slender than before, though he was lean back then, too.

His black clothes fit well, the silver embroidery catching the light. When he takes off his jacket and shakes it once, folding it meticulously next to my things on the stone, I clench my fists under water.

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