THERE WAS NO BRUSHING OFF or hushing up the third attempt on the prince’s life. Talk spread fast through the city. A thick mist threaded the streets like smoke, and those striding through it wore matching frowns and spoke in low, tense voices. Zosia didn’t need to hear what they were muttering to know they weren’t chatting about the weather. Fear passed from person to person like a sickness with each new whisper.
A scuffle broke out in front of the Royal Cadet School among foreign soldiers and patriotic students. Sleigh drivers refused to carry passengers down certain avenues. The Warszów Courier reported that the princess fainted at a salon party, claiming to have seen a monstrous pair of eyes staring at her through a frosted window. The prince turned down an invitation to another costume ball with the weak excuse that he needed to rest his feet.
“The Rusjans have brought a monster into our city,” Zosia heard a young man tell his family as she passed the steps of a snow-capped cathedral. His ruddy face was lit by the glow of a fat beeswax candle. Half the population had crammed into the city’s churches in droves this morning to celebrate the midwinter feast day. Everyone eager to have their candles blessed, to take a little holy fire home for protection.
“It escaped the night of the ambassador’s ball,” the young man continued, gesturing excitedly. “The tsarina’s given the ambassador a devil on a leash, and he sets it on those who offend him. Like the prince. He’s always hated Józef. He believes he’s a bad influence on the king, so now the monster’s hunting him.”
“Oh, hush,” said an older woman, very likely the young man’s mother. She had a whole armful of candles pressed to her generous bosom. “All that talk. You’re going to blow the candle out.”
Zosia glanced down at her own unlit candle, which she was holding simply to blend in. She couldn’t risk handling actual holy fire, but for everyone else, it was important to keep one taper burning the whole way home. The eldest in the family would use it to safeguard the house, dripping wax upon the thresholds and burning black crosses into the ceiling beams to scare away misfortune and wicked spirits—and in this case, it was hoped, also the monster haunting the city. The wide, misty avenues and meandering streets were a sea of ghostly, flickering lights. The red-orange flames of hundreds of candles danced like ogniki, like the lost souls of the dead that haunted the Midnight Forest.
Moving on, feeling just the tiniest bit hypocritical, Zosia glided down a pathway paved with frost, her dark fur-lined cloak whipping at her ankles. Her left ankle twinged with a phantom ache where the princess’s fluffy white dog had bitten her as she’d fled the prince’s sleeping chamber. It wasn’t often that someone managed to turn the tables on her, which made it all the more unbearable when they did.
Things had always come easily to Zosia. It was frustrating, infuriating, when they didn’t work from the beginning. This was the one area where she had no patience. She wasn’t like Midday—always rising from the ashes of defeat. Midday, who knew what it was like to have to work hard at something.
She should’ve known Marynka wouldn’t go down so easily. Where other people, where any normal person, would’ve given up, Marynka charged on regardless, stubborn and determined. There was a fire in Midday that never failed to make Zosia’s heart race. The idea of giving up would never even cross her mind.
Marynka was likely oozing with satisfaction right now, but not for a second was Zosia going to let her come out of this victorious.
A lesser person might have focused on revenge, and she had cast a quick look—all right, maybe several quick looks—about for the other girl, but she was above that. She had self-control. The main thing was to concentrate on the goal. If she did happen to run into Marynka, she was definitely going to murder her with her bare hands but for now. . .
The prince came first.
The best kind of revenge, after all, was success.
Figures flashed ahead, blurs of darkness among the mist. Ice splintered beneath Zosia’s boots as she crossed the street, keeping a careful distance, eyes on one figure in particular. The prince was dressed casually, in clothes that would blend easily into a crowd, but even if she hadn’t been watching since he left the Copper Palace, she would’ve known him from his broad shoulders and solid build. After holing up indoors for three whole days, Zosia supposed he’d grown bored or tired of hiding. Or maybe he’d just wanted to join in with the feast-day festivities like everyone else. Whatever his motives, they didn’t matter.
She slowed when he slowed, quickened her pace when he did. Paused when he paused—to stop and crouch down to relight a crying child’s candle with the flame from his own. Zosia sneered a little. But the sight gave her an idea.
The group of young men accompanying Józef kept their hands close to the hilts of their sabers. One, with tawny skin and a scar crossing his temple, was dressed in the uniform of the king’s elite guard. He was also clearly a friend and kept teasing the prince, trying to make him confess the name of whoever had made his enchanted ice mask melt the other night.
Zosia was grateful for their loud voices and laughter. It made it easier not to lose them. The mist held on to the city with dissolving hands, but it was annoyingly stubborn. Growing thin and insubstantial one moment, only to unexpectedly thicken and steal the prince from view the next. That and the constant flickering of the candles played tricks on her eyes. Figures and frost-laced buildings faded in and out of sight. Grand old palaces were suddenly there, then not there, like ghosts.
Her skin prickled, but she couldn’t tell if it was because of all the divine magic or something else. The prince and his friends turned a corner. Picturing the map of the city in her head, Zosia hurried down a different side alley, intending to loop back and come out ahead of them. They were heading away from the Copper Palace and the Golden Castle and the Ice Maze, moving in the direction of the abutting Christian, Jewish, and Muslim cemeteries.
She would orchestrate a crash meeting—pretend to clumsily bump into the prince, pretend the blessed flame of her candle had died. It was a tactic she’d used before to get close to a target.
Zosia was panting as she stepped to the mouth of the alley. The mist was thick as soup here, and she ran blindly into a shorter body. She dropped her candle. “Why are you here?” she ground out, exasperated.
“Why are you?” Marynka shot back. “Find your own misty avenue to ambush the prince. Aren’t you too cautious to be stalking him in broad daylight?”
“And you? You wouldn’t be about to launch another ridiculous attack in front of half of Warszów?”
Black ice snaked over the ground, sweeping over Marynka’s boots and up to encase her body, but Marynka knew better this time. Heat shimmered around her like a shield. Where the cold darkness touched her boots, it melted.
Her lip curled as if she were amused. “You’ll have to do better than that.” She fixed her sun-gold gaze on Zosia. A glowing scythe materialized in her hands. Her teeth were gleaming points. “I’m not falling for that trick again.”
Zosia ripped a glove off, calling to the shadows. An icy ink-black dagger formed in her palm an instant before Marynka’s scythe came singing down. Zosia’s blade shattered on impact, and she hissed as slivers of ice cut into her fingers.
Shadows swirled across her skin, coiling up her wrists like smoke. Her wounds healed in seconds. Her fingers tapered to long, lethal claws. “You really do not want to go toe-to-toe with me.”
“Don’t I?” Marynka bared her teeth in challenge, and Zosia couldn’t help it; she grinned back. For a moment their faces were a mirror image of each other’s.
What even was this? Zosia fought to wipe the grin from her face. How could she even feel like this, so excited, whilst at the same time feeling so incredibly irritated? It shouldn’t make her heart beat faster that Marynka could stand her ground before her, that she wasn’t afraid, that she didn’t flinch from Zosia’s monstrousness, that she smiled at it, so clearly pleased with even the worst parts of Zosia that Zosia could barely stand it.
That she could even catch Zosia’s arm as she lashed out—
A foot hooked Zosia’s ankle, and she stumbled backward as Marynka threw her weight forward, pressing Zosia back against the unforgiving brick of the alley wall, gripping her wrist so hard it almost hurt.
Zosia winced as the hardness of the wall met her shoulders, driving the air from her lungs. The burning edge of Marynka’s scythe scraped against her throat. A slip of her hand. . . It would be nothing for Midday to end her.
Just as it would be nothing for Zosia to tear Marynka open from stomach to hip. Her free hand pressed between their bodies, long, ink-dark claws digging into the other girl’s navel. “Don’t hold back on my behalf.”
The air sparked. “I am going to cook you inside your own skin.”
“Try it,” Zosia said, throat straining away as the glowing edge of the scythe pressed a red line into her skin. “I’ll tear you in two.”
They were at a stalemate.
Marynka’s fur cap had fallen back. Her hair was on fire in a spill of pale sun filtering through the mist, a stray curl skewed across her forehead. She leveled Zosia with a look that might have been intimidating if she hadn’t had to tilt her head back and look up to lock eyes.
They were standing chest to chest, breath fogging the air between them. Both daring each other to make the first move, to be the first to retreat.
This close, Zosia could count the freckles dusted like kisses across Marynka’s nose, could feel her breath, see the way her lips were chapped with cold. Those lips were dangerously close, and for a heartrending moment, Zosia seriously considered what would happen if she leaned forward, leaned down, and pressed their mouths together.
Would Marynka freeze?
Would she scream?
Would she bite?
A hundred inappropriate thoughts Zosia had buried during their journey together came surging back. The unfairness of it all stuck in her throat and she gritted her teeth, sucking in a breath through her nose as she fought desperately to ignore the heat pooling in the pit of her stomach. Marynka was Midday. Her opposite. Her rival. Her. . . Was there even a word for a rival who you also wanted to kiss? Whatever she was, Marynka was the very last person she should be having those sorts of thoughts about.
“I wish,” she said bitterly, “that I’d never met you.”
“Oh?” snarled Marynka. “I’m so glad the feeling is mutual.”
“When are you going to give up? How many years have we been competing for hearts? Remind me again, how many times have you lost now?”
“Who knows,” Marynka said. “A few times. Not a lot.”
“You’ve lost twenty-four times.”
“Twenty-three times!”
“So you have been keeping count—”
The crunch of approaching footsteps had them both tensing.
“Step back,” Zosia hissed.
“Or what? You’ll slice me open in front of half of Warszów? In front of whoever walks around that corner?”
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? They’ll see us. They’ll know us for what we are. You’re going to get us caught.”
“Then we’d better enjoy this while we still can,” Marynka said, not moving an inch.
“Only you would find this fun.”
“Oh, don’t try to pretend like you don’t.”
The footsteps drew closer. Zosia could make out voices. Muffled laughter. Any second now, whoever it was would pass by the mouth of the alley and find two monsters at each other’s throats.
Zosia’s heart stuttered in her chest. The scythe bit into her skin, tilting her chin slightly up. There was a reckless gleam in Marynka’s eyes that said: If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me.
How was this fool even still alive?
A hot trickle of scarlet ran down Zosia’s neck and into her fur collar. The cut healed instantly but the blood remained. It was far from the first time the two of them had caused a scene, but this felt different, more dangerous. It was the first time there had been so much at stake.
Sweat beaded at Marynka’s temples.
Zosia let out a breath.
At the very last moment they drew apart. Zosia’s claws vanished. Marynka hid her glowing scythe behind her back. Her eyes faded from incandescent gold to a human shade of hazel. The prince passed by right in front of them.
He didn’t even glance their way, but one of the boys he was walking with did. He looked a little startled to find two girls in red and black cloaks staring silently at him from the misty entrance of the alleyway.
Zosia shrank from the attention but Marynka loved it and waved.
The boy raised an amused eyebrow. The prince and his company moved from view. A beat passed. Another. If they’d raced to follow immediately, they would have missed the final boy stalking his fellows’ steps, trailing a careful and deliberate distance behind as Zosia had.
His fur cap was plumed with costly peacock feathers, studded with a giant ruby, and drawn low over his brows to shadow his saintly features. The thick collar of his coat ate up his slender neck.
Still, Zosia recognized him. Kajetan. “Why is he always—”
“Him again,” Marynka said, peering round the side of the building, elbowing Zosia out of the way.
Zosia elbowed her back, both of them spilling into the main street. “Do you think he’s also after the prince? Why else would he—”
“No, the other night he tried to warn Józef against us. He’s the prince’s soul mate.”
Up ahead, the prince and his friends had paused. Kajetan paused too. Zosia dragged Marynka to a halt before they ran straight into his back.
A sleigh dashed by on their right, speeding down the center of the street, through the snow. The bells on the horses’ harnesses ringing sweetly.
The bright flame of the blessed candle Kajetan carried stuttered in its wake, wobbling until he curled his fingers around the glow. Then it blazed with unnatural steadiness. It hurt Zosia’s eyes to look at it directly. Her skin itched. Kajetan’s lips moved as if in prayer. The mist curled around him like a pet.
“I thought it was you playing tricks with the mist,” she murmured, “trying to make it hard to follow Józef.”
“I thought it was you,” Marynka said. “I even got separated from Beata in it.”
They were both silent for a breath.
Zosia cast a glance sideways. Marynka’s single raised brow said it all: Shall I kill him, or do you want to?
A dozen paces or so ahead, Kajetan started walking, only to find himself suddenly dazzled by a blinding burst of sunlight burning through the mist. He threw a hand up to shade his eyes, and a searing gust of wind ripped his fur cap from his head.
He leapt after it, cursing, skidding, and slipping gracelessly on the glossy footpath as ice melted beneath his boots and shadow snatched at his ankles. Arms pinwheeling madly, he went tripping headfirst into the middle of the road, into the path of an oncoming sleigh.
A panicked shout went up from the driver. He stood, yanking hard on the reins. There was a terrible cry as the horses spooked and reared.
Zosia didn’t stay to observe the results. She and Marynka were already weaving through the bustle of the other walkers wearing expressions of carefully crafted innocence. It surprised Zosia how well they worked together when they weren’t actively trying to sabotage each other. She might even have shared a pleased smile with Marynka, if at that moment the ice beneath her boots hadn’t gone slick, melting.
She slipped. Staggered. Flailed. Regained her balance and tore after Marynka who’d dashed around the corner ahead in the direction the prince had vanished. Caught a fistful of her red cloak and yanked.
When the brief shove-fight and subsequent squabble ended in another stalemate, Marynka puffed out, “Wait. . .wait.” She stopped trying to set fire to Zosia’s hair. “Can you see him?”
Zosia released a fistful of Marynka’s collar. Her gaze swept up and down the avenue. The mist had thinned as they’d fought. The skeletal outlines of poplar trees lined the edges of the road. A sleigh was pulling to a halt outside a dilapidated palace. A group of girls were busy trying to blow out each other’s blessed candles.
But there was no sign of the prince.
Had he and his friends disappeared inside one of the buildings?
A door flung open, spilling out music and warmth. Maybe even now he was watching them with his coffee-brown eyes, looking out from behind a frosted window with a mouthful of mulled wine made all the more delicious for the knowledge of the cold outside.
“Wonderful,” Marynka said, righting her clothes and fur cap. “We’ve lost him. And now he’ll go hide in his palace again with all his guards.” She crossed her arms, her gaze raking over Zosia. For a moment she sounded almost pleased. “I guess that makes this round a tie.”
Frustration flared in Zosia’s chest. This wasn’t like their usual clashes. This wasn’t a competition. There was so much more at stake. If she didn’t take this heart and Black Jaga realized what she’d been doing, she’d never have her freedom.
She whirled on Marynka. “This isn’t a game.”
“It’s always a game.”
“Well, I want to stop playing.”
“So give up and go home, then.” Marynka flapped a hand at Zosia as if she was shooing away an insect. “I’ll take his pure heart back to Grandmother. I’m sure Black Jaga will forgive you returning empty-handed for once.”
Zosia couldn’t have said what pulled the confession from her throat. Afterward, she didn’t know what possessed her. Exasperation. Fury. A sudden mad desire to be understood. Because if anyone could understand, it should be Marynka. She might be the only person in this world who could.
The words spilled out, defiant: “I’m not taking his heart for Black Jaga, you absolute fool; I’m taking it for myself.”