Page 72 of Dark Ink

“My children.” Koschei’s voice has a lifted quality to it that’s at odds with my grave mood.

Jenya flinches at his use of the word, all the new information undoubtedly weighing on her.

Koschei welcomes us by spreading his thin arms to the sides. He’s wearing a light linen robe. Bile rises in my throat at the sight of him. He must be naked under it, ready to defile me and continue our abominable bloodline. The three layers of skirts that circle my legs won’t protect me against his assault. The bra I kept under my linen shirt still has the knife. If I can get to it in time, maybe I can use it.

I shiver, doing my best to remind myself that he’s only an old man. I’ve faced much scarier people in Lavender and Love and Err. I can do this. I fed Duke Hazelton gravel the other day, and I used to think he’s one of the biggest monsters in the world.

No one is immortal, Tanya.Anyone can be destroyed.

“Tatiana, I trust you can feed yourself tonight?” Koschei’s lips quirk up in a cruel smile. He’s challenging me to disobey him.

One part fear and one part intentional planning make me lower my head.

“I will eat,” I say as evenly as possible.

I don’t think he will drug me. It’s not his style. He revels in exerting power over people, so he will want to look into my very sober eyes as he rapes me.

We all sit down at the table and dig into the simple feast. There’s roast chicken and potatoes, tiny pickled cucumbers and elaborate salads that I haven’t tasted since I left Russia. If anything ever felt like a last meal, this is it.

Koschei’s silent, methodical eating allows me time to do my breathing exercises as I put Olivier salad on my plate and chew cautiously, one small forkful at a time.

Reaching deep inside me for any calm that remains, I look around the room in small, measured glances, taking in the space where I will fight for my life.

The two guards who brought us in haven’t left yet. They’re stationed one at each side of the door, their faces as inscrutable as always. In one unlit corner of the room, I can make out the outline of a bed. I don’t allow my gaze to linger on it, afraid of any thoughts my imagination will conjure. We’re in the middle of the room, only feet away from the door, but escape seems impossible. I would need to fight.

As I chew and swallow the lumpy salad, I try to decide what I’m actually fighting for tonight.

Am I fighting to live? For Jenya to live? For our freedom and a better life?

Or am I fighting to end Koschei?

What is my end game? Am I ready to die to ensure that the world is wiped clean of his existence?

My eyes burn at the thought. This line of thinking will only make me cry, weaken me at a time when I have to be indomitable.

Ben’s face flashes in my mind, like a beacon of a reason to stay alive.

All the time I spent sulking and being angry at him, I wanted him to come and shake me and tell me that I’m behaving like a silly child.

He taught me to feel things I believed only existed for whole, unblemished people.

And I took that knowledge and fed it my insecurity, my shame and guilt, my warped beliefs that my darkness will taint everything I touch.

The slightly sour taste of the salad grounds me in my sobering moment. The taste of my past is in my mouth and I don’t hate it. No, I only hate the person in front of me, who decided he was a mythical being among humans.

It took me being this close to him to realize three things:

One, my memories of the past are not all bad. Looking at Jenya fills me with balanced, calming love. The food in front of me doesn’t make me vomit. It’s Koschei and his rituals and punishments that twist everything until it breaks into tiny little pieces of negativity in my mind. And because of that, two, I need to take part of his mythical power away.

He’s only human, and he has a human name—Gregoryi Gagarin. I already know he hates the shortened, westernized version of his name, Greg, so from now on, he’s no longer Koschei Bessmertnyi. He’s Greg. And Greg is over seventy years old.

So, three, I’m fighting to kill him and survive. He will stand no trial and face no jail time. He will die tonight, at my hand.

That same hand, with that same blow, will free me and Jenya.

I will use my freedom to tell Ben I was a silly little child, and that I’m ready to stop being alone against the world.

Chapter 40

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