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DARYNA
Since she had found out about Maryska poisoning Anton, Daryna had been warring with herself. How could she not have sensed her deception? If only there was a way for her to concoct a truth serum to feed anyone who came to her cottage. Perhaps there could be, and she would have to try and brew one.
Daryna’s life had already become too much to bear as it was. She didn’t know exactly how old she was, although her estimate was somewhere in her twenties. She didn’t even know her real damn name.
All she knew was that the only memories she had were over the span of the past eight years. Another spell she should have been able to remedy was a remembering tonic. But she didn’t know how to do that, either. Perhaps she wasn’t even a true witch.
Because of Boda, Daryna knew where Maryska had lived, but she hadn’t wanted to venture into the more populated section of the village just yet. Even though she’d been jittery to go into Verolc to deliver things, it didn’t drive her nerves up as much as it did with the thought of seeing people in her own territory. Dealing one on one with a villager who came to her door was enough, and Boda had never been much for conversation.
Outside the window, the sun was settling into its resting place, and most of the vendors and shopkeepers would already be retired for the evening. Tonight would be the perfect time for Daryna to leave.
Uncrossing her good leg from her other knee in front of the table, she leaned over to grab her wooden appendage and strapped it on. She stuffed two candles in her satchel, along with a dagger, and headed out into the night. An owl hooted as she plodded through the woods, twigs snapping, and leaves crunching beneath her feet. She begged for silence, though it didn’t come.
Should she have ridden Lilac? It was too late to turn back and draw the horse out of the barn. And Lilac’s presence would be too noticeable when she reached Maryska’s cottage.
When she arrived at the fork in the road, she followed the dirt path underneath the light of the moon, until she made it near the market. Flaming torches lit the spot, and smoke from cooking meat caressed her nose. It was supposed to have been quiet and dark on her way to Maryska’s, not bustling in preparation for a market celebration that would soon be alive and filling the night. She’d never been invited to one, nor would she have gone if she had been.
Drawing up the hood of her cloak, she abandoned the area and hurried to Maryska’s before someone caught sight of her.
Row upon row of cottages followed, each one separated by wide gaps. Maryska’s was the nicest one of all with fresher paint and a high archway. As Daryna approached the door, a clacking noise sounded above her. She looked up, and underneath the silvery moonlight, bones clinked from a wind chime.
Lips tugged downward, Daryna pressed her fingers to the bones and her body stirred with warmth. Unnatural. Otherworldly. She yanked her hand away, still staring at the skeletal piece while opening the already-unlocked door.
She fished out a candle and stepped into the darkened shadows of Maryska’s home. Her heartbeat stayed steady as she closed the door behind her. Placing her index finger and thumb together against the candlewick, she rubbed until a small flame crackled to life. With the flame out in front of her, and no signs of occupancy, she lit several of the candles around the sitting room.
Daryna lifted a silver candelabra from the center of a square table and searched through cabinets in the dining area. It seemed as though Maryska may have abandoned the place in its entirety. Fruit, now rotten, and dried meats had been left behind. Most people would have taken whatever food they could with them, unless she had enough money to start over, which was a possibility.
Nestled in the corner, beside two dusty brooms and next to the stove, was a medium-size black cauldron. She set the candelabra on top of the stove and lifted the rounded metal. Hoisting it to right under her nose, she inhaled the barren space deeply. She blinked, recognizing the scent, an attempt at a love spell—basil, catnip, cinnamon, with a tinge of daisy and dandelion.
Why would Maryska have come to Daryna if she practiced spells on her own? The deceiving little witch was going to do more than die. Daryna threw the cauldron down in the corner, and it struck the wall with a loud bang.
Snatching up the candelabra, she walked with desperate steps into a bedroom. For more light, she lit a few of the wicks around the area and set the candle holder on a nightstand. She sifted through a closet filled with clothing, taking in a familiar scent—oranges mixed with jasmine, and something else...
She pressed the sleeve of a golden dress to her nose and drank in the scent. She couldn’t recall the smell, but it was familiar—more than from the day that Maryska had stopped by. Daryna hadn’t paid much attention to scents then, but now she could remember a hint of something. Inhaling one more time, she faltered backward, and discovered what she should have known all along. Life and death combined.
“What are you doing?” a male voice asked from directly behind her.
Squaring her shoulders, she spun around and grasped the person by the throat, then slammed him against the wall.
When she caught a good glimpse of the stranger, he was tall and broad like a man but still had the face of a young boy. He had to be no older than sixteen with strawberry blond curls and freckled cheeks.
“What are you doing, boy?” she snarled.
He held up his hands, wincing. “I’m more of a man, in truth.” With her free hand, she took no time grabbing the dagger and placing it at his stomach as he prattled on, “A lover as well, not a fighter, except if you give me a sword, but I wouldn’t fight you, of course. Unless you wanted to practice, that is. I only came here to search through Maryska’s things.”
Not taking her eyes off him, Daryna lowered the dagger and released her hand from the boy’s throat. “Try anything funny, and I’ll remove an eye and four fingers.” She thrust the blade to the side to show her words rang true.
Breathing heavily, he dropped his hands to his sides, not appearing as shaken as she would have liked.
“Now tell me,” Daryna continued, “why did you want to search through Maryska’s belongings?”
“Because Maryska murdered my brother,” the boy spat.
Her hands quivered, the room closing around her. Backing up to the edge of the bed, she plopped down. “Anton’s brother?”
“Yes, Pavla. But mostly, Pav. Unless people are angry, so it may be Pavla at this moment.”
Was Artem coming back from the grave to haunt her with his children because she hadn’t given him more coin from his stolen goods?
Her eyes met his. “I remember your father.”
“I know you do, Daryna.” The edges of his lips quirked up.
“How do you know who I am?” she snapped, dagger back at his stomach.
“Everyone has heard tales of your beauty and your magical existence,” he rambled an obvious lie, still smiling, even with the tip of the dagger right under his ribs. “I was going to come visit you next.”
Why would he want to come and see her? There could only be one reason. “I’m not going to give you coin for any of the goods you steal from here.”
“That’s not why. May I speak to you without your blade digging into my flesh? Battle wounds should be saved for ... battle.”
She loosened the blade a fraction. “Go on, then.”
“I was hoping you could help me locate her. And it just so happens that fate brought us together on this night.”
“Because you believe me to be a witch?”
“There are better words for it. Don’t you think?”
“No, I think witch will do just fine.” She removed the dagger from his stomach.
“You’re the key to helping me find Maryksa.”
“I know she’s responsible for killing your brother.” She didn’t mean for it to come out harshly, only stating the truth. “There’s nothing I can do for you.”
But there was. The otherworldly odor. She knew how to find Maryska. Daryna spun on her heel to walk away and go home to make a concoction for herself.
“Wait!” he pleaded. “You’re the one who sold the poison in the tea to Maryska, aren’t you?”
She stopped in her tracks and turned back to face him. “How do you know that?” There wasn’t time to waste denying it, when she had things she needed to prepare for.
“It had a scent I couldn’t detect,” he said.
“Maryska lied to me”—Daryna lowered her voice—“told me a story of an ex-lover.”
“I’m not understanding why she had to use you for poison.” Pav rubbed his chin. “I believe it wasn’t intentional on your part, and I would like your help to get to where Anton is, so I can question him first before locating her.”
Shoulders tensing, she asked, “You want me to murder you?”
“No, I want you to perform something temporary. If you can.”
She took in a deep breath and smelled the citrusy scent of the room—Maryska. Not only her, but somewhere farther away—Torlarah. But how did she know that? It was as though a primal instinct had flung itself forward, familiar, yet she still couldn’t recall why.
Daryna stared at Pav’s soft features. This wasn’t only her vengeance—it was his, too.
“On two conditions,” she demanded, keeping quiet on where Maryska was from, for now. “You work for me as long as I require it, and I come with you.”
“Easy enough,” he replied.
Underneath his smile, a misery lay hidden that he was trying to hold back. And how gullible he was because he didn’t even ask any questions about what he would have to do. She wouldn’t make him do anything too difficult, mostly errand runs to Verolc, but he still should have thought to inquire. He must really love his brother. The thought of loving someone that fiercely could only be considered a weakness.
“You have access to herbs?” she asked.
“I do. My sister runs a booth at the market, and her fiancée has a large plantation.”
Daryna shoved the dagger back into the side of her satchel, figuring he wouldn’t try anything funny, but she had good reflexes if she needed it again. “I’m going to require you to bring me sage, thyme, and two eyeballs of a goat. One eye for you and one for me.”
Pav’s brows shot up, his hand shifting to scratch the back of his head. “Goat eyes?”
“Yes, two of them. I have the other essentials we’ll need.”
His nose wrinkled in repulsion, and the edges of his lips tilted downward.
“If you can’t handle it, you don’t have to do it. Yet if you want to cross over, this is your only option.” She wasn’t even fully confident if she could perform the task, as she’d never tried it before. But she would find out if her spell book was right.
“I’ll do it.”
“Tomorrow afternoon, then.” Swishing past him, she stopped and turned to him one more time. “And do not tell anyone of this. Blow the candles out before you leave, otherwise, the cottage might burn down.” She wouldn’t mind it turning to ashes if Maryska were still here, but it would be a loss now that she was gone.
As Daryna passed the market, she came to an abrupt halt when the music of banjos, flutes, and tambourines playing drifted through the air. Laughter sounded, and the scent of pastries mixed with the meat from earlier caressed her nose.
A part of her yearned to join the celebration, but she loathed the idea of being around such a crowd. The thought of holding a conversation with multiple villagers twisted her stomach into endless knots. Before she’d awoken with her leg hacked off, Daryna didn’t know if she’d ever danced.
The tambourines grew louder, and she wanted to follow that sound. Just go and take a look, she told herself. It can’t be that bad.
From what Boda had said, most people believed her to be an elderly woman covered in wrinkles with a long, pointed nose. Apparently, one had to be an old hag to be a witch.
She drew up the hood of her cloak and walked away, but then spun back around and strolled into the market. As she passed a gangly boy around the age of ten, he held out a steaming turkey leg for her to take. Hastily, she flicked her stare from his and moved on.
People of all ages stood in the center of the market dancing, touching hands as they passed from one partner to the next. Daryna pushed her hands inside her cloak at the horrendous thought of touching so many sweaty fingertips, her own palms beading with perspiration. Dragging them back out of her cloak, she rubbed her hands against the velvety fabric.
She focused her attention on three girls with tambourines, and a part of her yearned to cradle the instrument in between one hand and tap it with the other. But then the noises of the market all clashed together, tearing her gaze away from the girls.
Clapping, stringed instruments, flutes, laughing, talking. Her eyes darted around the market to each sound, her head filling with dizziness.
An elbow nudged her in the side, and she yelped while jumping back, her hip striking the edge of an empty table.
“I thought you were going home.” Pav’s voice hit Daryna’s ears, yanking her out of her uneasiness.
She scowled at him. “Did you follow me here, Pavla?”
“Sort of. I was passing through here anyway, since I have a girl to meet.” He waggled his brows.
Frolicking. She should have known.
He held out a cup of ale toward her as he drank from his own. “I think you might need this.”
Narrowing her eyes on him, she ripped the cup from his hand and took a long swig. She did need it.
He held up his cup. “So how about a thank you, Pav, for bringing me this benevolent drink?”
“That would be too polite of a response,” she answered in a terse manner.
Pav set down his ale on the edge of a booth counter and held out his hand. “Dance?”
“I only do sacrificial dances.”
He chuckled. “With goat eyes?”
“And chicken heads,” she said dryly.
“I better hide my younger sister’s chicken, then.”
She didn’t reply, only stared out at the crowd. He reached out a hand in front of her face again.
“Look,” she said, “I’m not going out there. You’re also a little young for me to dance with.”
He kept his hand out for her to take. “I dance with my sister. You can be like my older sister for the duration of a dance.”
For a short moment, Daryna was tempted, but she didn’t think her dancing would be on par with the others. She may be able to walk well with a wooden leg, but dancing involved quicker shifting.
“Perhaps another time.” She glanced up to see a curvy girl with sections of her red hair curled, a halo of flowers encircling her head, staring at Pav. “There’s a girl over there who seems to be waiting for you.”
Pav lifted his chin to look in her direction. “Ah, yes, there’s my little red flower.”
“Go dance and live the night away, because tomorrow you’ll be leaving Kedaf.” It didn’t come out as daunting as she would have liked.
“I’ll save you a dance when we return, then.” Pav nodded, walking backward with a broad smile before turning around and sauntering toward the redheaded girl. When he took a flower from her halo and placed it in his own hair, the girl giggled.
Young love, Daryna thought. A waste of time, as was love in itself.
She shuffled through the crowd, until she ran into a man a little older than herself. He held out his palm.
“Care to dance, my lady?”
Heart pounding in her chest, she stared from the man’s hand to his mossy-green eyes, and back at his hand. She ran away from it like it would bite her in the neck. How could she not be afraid to stab someone in the chest like Boda, but the thought of holding someone’s hand frightened the life out of her?
She wanted to stay hidden in the dark, away from everyone. Leaving the other candle in her pocket unlit, Daryna hurried back home to her sanctuary.
Breaths ragged, she stumbled into her cottage and calmed herself. She then gathered the supplies she needed for the next day, removed her wooden leg, and sat in front of a fire—alone—just the way she liked.
As the fluid sound of tambourines came to her once more, a nagging thought slipped into her mind. Perhaps living with loneliness was no longer a blessing.
