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PAV
Nahli’s chicken—gifted to the Bereza family—squawked in Pav’s arms as he walked with Tasha to Mrs. Evanko’s. He thought about Nahli and how pretty she’d looked. But there was Polina, Mrs. Evanko’s daughter. Pav wasn’t sure if she even truly fancied him or if it was because he looked like Anton. She acted as though Pav hadn’t existed one day and then the next, she was kissing him. He didn’t understand women.
“Pav, can I hold Juju?” Tasha asked, stroking the red head of the hen.
“Juju?” He arched a brow.
“Well, she must have a name.” She pulled the chicken from his grasp while trading him her book.
“How do you even know it’s a female?” He was clueless when it came to taking care of animals.
There was a cat that used to come by the cottage often but hadn’t in a while, even then it was Yeva who played with it. Anton hated the thing—it bit him every time.
“Oh, it was just a little love nibble,” Pav had said.
“Love nibble, my ass. That thing is ferocious,” Anton had replied.
Interrupting Pav’s humorous thoughts that had drifted somewhere in the clouds, Tasha replied to the question he forgot he’d asked.
“Roosters look nothing like hens, Pav,” she said. “Roosters are much fancier—no offense, Juju. They’re larger, louder, and they certainly don’t lay eggs.”
He patted the top of her head, fingers interlacing with her tangled dark curls. “Thank you for that lesson, little sister. Now I will be most proficient in knowing the difference in genders of chickens.”
Angling her head to the side, his younger sister turned serious. As did the chicken, or he thought it would have, had it understood humans.
“You can at least laugh at my wit!” he exclaimed, tickling Tasha’s ribs until she let out a high-pitched giggle. Her grip held the chicken firm, but its head bobbled.
They both came to a halt when they stood on the decaying porch steps to Mrs. Evanko’s cottage. Pav tapped the door in a musical knock, and after a few moments, Polina answered.
“Polina,” Pav greeted her, acting as if it was any normal day and nothing new had happened between them.
“Pav,” Polina replied and blinked, appearing bored. She hadn’t looked too bored when she’d kissed him senseless the day before, her hands clenching his hair.
Her red locks fell right below her shoulders, and her gray eyes seemed to alter every time she had a different emotion. She wasn’t thin like Yeva or Ionna, but instead had curves in all the perfect areas. Something Pav hadn’t been able to ignore.
Pav pressed a hand against the doorframe. “I’m here to let your mother know we have a chicken today, along with our adorable Tasha. I needed to make sure it was all right with Mrs. Evanko to leave the new guest here.”
“Oh. That’ll be fine.” Polina’s lips parted in surprise, but he could have sworn her shoulders slumped a little in disappointment as her gaze fell to the hen.
Tasha handed Juju to Pav, took back her book, and headed inside the cottage. Pav was left standing uncomfortably with Polina.
“I’ll be leaving, then. I’m going to drop Juju, this chicken”—he held up the hen for her, like she hadn’t already seen it—“in the back of the house with the other animals.”
She nodded, and he didn’t know what else to say. He descended down the steps and scuffed his feet around the cottage to the back. Soft footsteps sounded from behind him.
Grinning to himself, he continued walking, then hunched over to place the hen on the grass beside a metal watering can. When he straightened, Polina stood behind him with her palms planted on her hips.
“Well?” she asked, holding her hands up.
“Well, what?” He held his hands up right back at her.
Polina released a loud huff and snaked a finger around a lock of hair. “Nothing, Pav.”
“All right, I have to go and help Yeva at the market. See you around.”
“See you around?” Her brows drew together.
What he’d said made perfect sense to him, so he didn’t understand the confusion. “Yes, I’ll see you around. You do live next door to us, after all.” He pointed from his cottage to hers.
“Pav, you can be so frustrating, you know that?” she grunted.
He shrugged, his gaze unable to stay focused on her eyes as it dropped to her mouth. “I can be a lot of things.”
Before he could walk around her, he was backed up against the cottage, and she pressed her lips softly against his. “I like you, okay.”
Bewildered by her kiss with no warning, he couldn’t help but ask, “Not Anton?”
“What? I never liked your brother.”
Lie.
“Yeah, all right, yet you followed him around and stared at him all the time with deep and endless longing.”
“I did not!” Her cheeks turned a bright shade of crimson. He found it cute, especially since it closely matched her hair. “Fine.” She sighed. “I did, but that was a long time ago.”
“I’m not just your second choice because you’re too young for Anton, am I?” Pav smirked, and she was smiling, too.
“You’re so infuriating.”
“But you apparently like it.”
As she leaned into him, he drew her close to kiss her again.
“Pav?” Yeva’s voice called from next door, interrupting the almost kiss.
“I have to go, but I’ll come by later.” He wiggled his brows and hurried to help Yeva carry the supplies to the market while the kiss lingered in his mind.
The day at their booth had been good for Pav and Yeva so far. Five people had gotten their palms read by Yeva. One woman had come for a bushel of lavender and wound up with seven other types of herbs, with a little persuasion from Pav.
It had looked like rain all day with the overinflated clouds floating in the gray sky, but it hadn’t started to pour yet. Pav handed Yeva a strawberry-filled pastry that he’d gotten a few booths down. He’d talked to the older woman and told her how beautiful she looked, and she handed him two desserts for free. In return, he gave her a kiss on her lovely wrinkled hand.
“You should possibly begin a craft in talking, Pav.” Yeva plucked the sugary pastry from his fingertips and took a large bite. A low moan escaped her at the divine taste of the fluffy pastry.
“That’s how I felt when I ate mine. Finished it in two bites.”
“You can go ahead and leave.” Yeva waved him off in the direction of their cottage.
“Are you sure?” He didn’t mind staying for as long as she needed him to. His mouth never grew tired of talking.
“Go on.” She shooed him away with a smile. “You can get a little rest.”
With a tug on her braid, Pav headed out past two older women and winked at them as they painted clay pottery.
Once he made it to the old cottage, out of the heat of the day, the inside of the house felt empty. Not a single sound. “Anton?” he called. “Tasha?”
No reply.
His brother should have already picked up his sister from Mrs. Evanko. A strange feeling crawled over him, and he blew out a breath. Pav didn’t like odd feelings. The last time he’d had one, his father’s hands had been cut off and those nightmares had never gone away. He kept those thoughts hidden deep inside himself, and he would cover them up with humor to try and feel normal.
Closing the front door behind him, he darted across the weeds to Mrs. Evanko’s and banged on the door a little too rapidly and a little too roughly.
Mrs. Evanko swung open the door with a scowl, a deep line etched in between her brows. “What in all of Kedaf, Pav? You only have to knock once and not hard either.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Evanko.” He couldn’t even put on his usual smirk or offer her a compliment about how gorgeous she looked. “Has Anton come by to pick up Tasha?”
“No.” Her brows lowered even more. “She’s still in the back either playing with the girls or reading them a story. Do you want me to get her for you?”
He couldn’t bring Tasha to where he would need to be. “Can you watch her a little longer? I need to go and find Anton.”
“That’s fine. I’m cooking dinner already, and she can stay. Feel free to come back and join us.”
“Yes, that sounds great,” he said hurriedly. Whirling around, he raced down the steps.
“And knock less intensely once you come back!” she yelled.
He didn’t answer her.
His chest tightened. It wasn’t like Anton to be late, and if he was going to be, he would have stopped by the market to let him or Yeva know. In fact, Anton hadn’t come by to see them at the booth on his way home.
Pav didn’t focus on that as he ran the whole way to Maryska’s. He avoided passing through the market because he knew his sister would insist on going herself to find Anton and for Pav to return home to wait on them.
It would be a terrible idea for Yeva to go and retrieve Anton anyway. At least Pav could put on a flirtatious smile and offer Maryska compliments that would entice some answers from her.
Crows cawed from a broken branch of a wide tree as Pav rounded the trunk, revealing Maryska’s cottage. Besides the crows, there was no other sound as he drew closer to the door.
The home was cozy with earthy tones of green, brown, and white, and covered by a dark thatch roof. Verdant bushes were planted to the right of the door, sprouting flowers of blue, white, and yellow. Above him, a wind chime, of what could only be bones, rattled. Maryska didn’t seem like the type who would have such a macabre thing.
Pav reached to touch one of the sharper bones when a loud caw pulled him from his distraction. Clearing his head, he lifted his sweaty fist up to the door and knocked. Beads of perspiration had gathered behind his ears and slid down the back of his neck.
No one answered.
Not caring if it was a bad idea, Pav reached for the handle and found it unlocked. As soon as he pushed open the door, he spotted something that made his entire body freeze. On the floor rested a body—a male’s body—his brother’s body.
“Anton!” he shouted, dropping to his knees beside his brother.
Anton lay on his stomach, eyes closed, and blond locks of hair splayed across his mouth. Rolling him to his back, Pav pressed two fingers at the base of his neck where the pulse should have been.
“Come on. Come on!” he pleaded.
Nothing.
Pav inspected Anton for any visible wounds, but he couldn’t find any. He couldn’t be dead. Couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t. This was Anton—the one who would do anything for someone. The one who would sell himself to help his family have food on the table.
Hand shaking, he slapped Anton across the cheek. “Wake up! Please!” Hot tears streamed down Pav’s cheeks, dampening his brother’s tunic.
Maryska.
Where was she?
He stood, tears still falling as he searched around the cottage, unable to find any answers to his brother’s inexplicable death. Inside the bedroom, there was no Maryska either—only a rumpled bed, a large dresser with a mirror, and a nightstand with two cups on it.
He rushed toward the cups and noticed one full of tea, the other empty. Staring at the empty ceramic, then shifting his gaze to the open door that led to Anton’s body, Pav picked it up and brought the cup to his nose. A lingering scent of peppermint assaulted his nostrils, and he pulled the ceramic back to inspect the minuscule amount of brown liquid sloshing along the bottom.
When he brought the empty drink back to his nose, he drew in another long inhale. A second smell hit him that he couldn’t name, light, with a bit of a flowery odor to it. One that could secretly kill.
Pav would find Maryska, question her, then murder her for this. Without a doubt, he knew it was her who did this.
Setting the cup back on the nightstand, he searched through all of Maryska’s possessions. Clothing, money, and her satchel—all her belongings were still there. Perhaps he was wrong and someone else had poisoned Anton and kidnapped Maryska.
No, that would be madness—he knew about her obsession with his brother. Pav was good at reading things, and that was why he wanted to be a soldier one day, not just because he could wield a weapon.
Anton had either told Maryska he was finished with her, or she knew he was planning to. Then the bitch had fed him some tea and took off. That was also madness. Either way, he knew she was the one responsible, and she was gone.
Pav didn’t know what else to do when he entered the sitting room. He didn’t want to leave Anton’s body there, but he needed to find Yeva.
He lifted Anton’s arms and placed them on his still chest in an X, as was their custom. “I’ll be back, brother, and I’ll figure this out.”
Something else permeated the air, a light unusual scent entwined with oranges. It was an odor he’d never smelled before. He shrugged off the odd feeling creeping up his spine and sniffled as he left the cottage.
Despite wanting to curl into an infant position and sob, he hurried to the market, where he found Yeva packing up their belongings. It looked as though almost everything they’d brought had been sold.
“What are you doing back, Pav?” Yeva smiled, opening the creaking gate to approach him.
Pav couldn’t get the words out—he always had something to say, having never experienced this choking inability to speak. But his throat was dry, his chest hollow, and his heart a brittle organ on the verge of erupting.
“It-it’s Anton. He’s gone, Yeva ... he’s gone.” Pav’s legs gave out beneath him, and he fell to his knees with a sob, just as cold rain began to pour from the sky.
