“OW! THAT HURTS!” MARYNKA HISSED, breath short with pain. “Are you trying to make me die faster?”
“Maybe if you stopped squirming, maybe if you hadn’t stabbed yourself, you wouldn’t be dying,” Zosia snapped back.
Marynka glared, watching, as Zosia made a frankly poor attempt to bandage her wounds with makeshift strips torn from the sash that had circled Marynka’s waist. “We could have taken them.”
Zosia snorted.
“I even let you have his heart.”
“You let me, did you?”
A loud flapping of wings silenced them both. Shadow flashed as an owl flew overhead, across the crescent of the moon. Zosia’s head jerked up, but she didn’t take her hands from Marynka’s chest.
The touch sent a rush of cold through Marynka and she shivered, tensing, as those icy fingers drifted over her skin, over her rib cage, skirting the place where the blade had driven in. She could still recall how it had felt, the cold steel scraping like teeth over bone, the horrible sear of tearing flesh. Such a wound from a sacred blade should have been lethal. If it wasn’t for the flare of magic Grandmother had pushed into her chest, it would have been.
Marynka leaned her back against the tree trunk, legs splayed out in front of her. Zosia was practically sitting in her lap, with a knee on either side of her hips. They’d walked—or in Marynka’s case limped, Zosia’s arm around her waist the only thing keeping her upright—until the sun had vanished. The sky fading from hazy red to vivid black. The world growing darker, colder by the heartbeat. A deep winter wind was blowing, the kind that froze the breath before it left your lungs. How they’d managed to make it even this far. . .
They’d stopped in the densest part of the forest, sheltering beneath the snow-hung boughs of an ancient fir. Neither of them dared light a fire. With Black Jaga likely tracking them, it wasn’t worth the risk. Instead, Zosia had dug the snow away from the trunk right down to the bare earth, burrowing out a little cave for them beneath the evergreen’s lowest branches, laying a few boughs on the ground for insulation.
Zosia was growing increasingly jumpy. Dark lashes cast half circles on her ghost-pale cheeks. Her mouth formed a grim line.
Marynka dropped her gaze. “Why did you accept Beata’s deal?” she asked quietly. “Why—” She couldn’t finish. Why were you willing to give up your freedom, the freedom you want so badly, to save me?
Zosia was silent before she spoke. “I don’t know.”
Marynka’s brow furrowed.
“I wasn’t going to accept. I left Beata behind and started to run, but when I was flying over the forest. . .” Zosia looked up, holding Marynka’s gaze. “Maybe I wanted to see what you would do when you thought I would take your place. Or maybe I thought it worth the cost if at least one of us would go free. But mostly, I think, I just wanted to make you angry.”
Marynka blinked twice, and then she threw her head back and laughed. A truly unwise decision that made her gasp. “Oh God, that hurts.”
“You did try to kill me, burying me in that snowslide,” Zosia said.
“I didn’t try to kill you. I had complete faith in your ability to survive my attacks. I knew an avalanche wouldn’t be enough to get rid of you. I wasn’t worried about you at all.”
Zosia shot her a disbelieving glance.
Marynka gestured at her wounded chest. “Does this make us even then?”
“Not even close.”
A sudden, bone-achingly cold gust of wind rushed through the black trees, stripping snow from the branches. The forest creaked in the darkness like an old wooden house.
Marynka continued to watch Zosia, her expression serious. “You need to leave me here.”
Zosia buttoned Marynka’s kontusz closed over the makeshift bandages, ignoring her.
Marynka tried to push her hands away. “Stop. You don’t have time for this.”
“There’s time,” Zosia said, putting her hands right back where they’d been.
“There isn’t,” Marynka insisted.
Zosia sat back on her heels, weight resting on Marynka’s thighs. In that moment they didn’t need words. Their matching expressions spoke for them.
Let me save you.
No, you let me save you.
Even with their lives balanced on a knife’s edge, they couldn’t stop trying to outdo each other. Marynka stifled the urge to laugh.
The cold sharpened, nipping at her cheeks; even the shadows were shivering. The night itself trembling in anticipation. There was a growing pressure in the air, like a storm was brewing.
“You can feel it too. Black Jaga’s coming and I’m too weak to fly on the wind like this, but you can still get away.” They had to split up. Even if Marynka didn’t want to, even if it was the last thing she wanted to do right now.
But she was slowing Zosia down and that was unacceptable.
She tried to sit up more. “We’re wasting time arguing.” Each second that passed was another second wasted. Zosia had to get moving. On a night this dark, the witch would be stronger than anything either of them could throw at her. “Go as fast as you can. She knows you betrayed her.” A heavy weight, shame, settled in the pit of Marynka’s stomach. “I shouldn’t have told Grandmother you were running away, that you’d been taking the hearts for yourself. If I hadn’t—”
“Even if you hadn’t,” Zosia said, “they would have realized eventually. Black Jaga was already suspicious that I lost to you four times in a row because we both know how very unlikely that is.”
“You say that like I didn’t just beat you. I had the prince in the palm of my hand.”
“And she would have realized if I’d taken his heart,” Zosia continued, ignoring the interruption. “At least now. . .” She glanced up at the trees, watching the uneasy stirring of the branches.
“I told you,” Marynka said. “We could have taken them. You could’ve taken his heart, absorbed its magic. You’d be—”
Zosia shook her head.
Marynka was suddenly suspicious. “You didn’t want to take his heart, is that it? You’re not getting soft on me, are you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“He’s very handsome. I saw him kissing your fingers at the frozen lake.”
Zosia rolled her eyes. “I promise you it isn’t like that.” She brushed a strand of silver hair behind her ear. “He’s trying to stop his country from being devoured by an evil witch. I can appreciate the sentiment. And I told him—until next time. For now, let Józef attempt to free Lechija. After he succeeds, I’ll return then and take his heart.”
“Do you think he will free Lechija?” Marynka asked. “Do you think he can win against Rusja’s tsarina? He’s naive if he’s hoping everyone will fight together. He can’t really believe that everyone shares the same thoughts and feelings just because we’ve grown up on the same land.”
“Maybe he is naive,” Zosia said. “But you could say the same about me and my hopes to ally with you. He might succeed. He did survive us.”
It was Marynka’s turn to snort. “You do have a soft spot for him. What was it he said to you?” She pressed a mocking hand to her chest, putting on a deep voice. “‘Oh, Zosieńka, but you’ve already stolen my heart!’”
Zosia punched Marynka’s thigh.
“You seemed to like dancing with that boy at the costume ball too, and—”
“You seem to pay a lot of attention to what I do with boys. Are you jealous?”
Heat rushed to Marynka’s cheeks. “You wish!”
Zosia leaned closer, a wicked smile spreading across her face.
Marynka leaned back, flustered, her head knocking against the tree trunk.
“Maybe I do wish.”
Marynka’s eyes widened. Zosia closed the space between them, pressing her cold lips to Marynka’s startled mouth.
Marynka froze, inhaling sharply. And then she reached, fingers grasping at Zosia’s collar the moment Zosia started to pull away. Their mouths met so forcefully it was almost painful. All teeth and hot breath and bruising touch, the rough bark of the tree trunk scraping against Marynka’s back, the taste of blood on her tongue. A part of her wasn’t even truly surprised. Maybe this was where they had always been headed. Maybe this was always going to happen. This thing between them had been simmering away for years, fueled by every confrontation, every clash. Maybe this was what she’d been trying to deny all along. Because she’d known deep down that once she gave in, if she let whatever this was start, it would be over for her. She wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Don’t. . .” she managed to get out, trying to catch her breath. “Don’t think this means I like you.”
There was a dark gleam in Zosia’s eyes, the faintest hint of what might have been laughter in the curve of her mouth. Marynka would’ve been incandescently furious, wouldn’t have been able to stifle the urge to shove her away if she hadn’t been able to feel Zosia’s pulse racing equally fast, frantic and thundering beneath her fingertips.
“I would never think that.” The tip of Zosia’s nose, ice-cold, brushed Marynka’s cheek.
She kissed Marynka desperately, like they were never going to get another chance, like she thought Marynka might never let her do this again, like she couldn’t bear to let go. Her hands fisted so tightly in Marynka’s hair that it hurt, dragging her closer, not letting her escape.
Marynka sank her teeth into Zosia’s bottom lip in retaliation, and Zosia made a sound that could have been pain or something else, kissing her harder in response, digging her nails into Marynka’s scalp, shooting shivers of lightning across her skin. Her chest burned from lack of breath. It was as though even this was a competition, as though neither of them could bear to be outdone, undone, by the other, as if Zosia were trying to prove she was so much better at this, too.
She pressed Marynka back against the tree, pressed so close they cast a single shadow on the snow.
Marynka winced at the weight pressing on her injured chest.
Zosia broke away immediately and Marynka, embarrassingly, found herself trying to chase her lips. A bitter wind blew as they stared at each other, ruffling their hair, racing through the trees, sending snow dancing in eddies over the frozen earth. A chilly reminder of reality.
“You need to leave,” Marynka repeated hoarsely.
Zosia’s eyes closed tight as she scraped herself together. Marynka could almost hear her thinking up counterarguments, weighing the words before she gave in. “Tell me where to find you. I’ll lie low, and then I’ll come back for you once she’s stopped searching for me.”
“Can’t she track you? Grandmother always knew where to find me if she needed to.” They were—had been—connected by the magic she’d gifted Marynka. No matter the distance, day or night, the wind would bring Red Jaga to wherever she was.
“I can hide my presence from her. I didn’t eat all those princes’ hearts for nothing.”
Marynka bit the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t really given any thought yet as to what she would do now, where she’d go. “The Midday Forest,” she said finally. What would she find there? Would the old wooden house still grant her entrance?
Zosia nodded. “Wait for me.”
“Don’t get yourself killed before then.”
Zosia smiled. “Only because you ask so nicely.” And then she was standing, drawing the shadows around herself like a cloak. She took a moment to cover the mouth of the shallow cave Marynka was sheltering in with more branches ripped from the tree to keep the snow out, ignoring the face Marynka made in response.
She looked back once, looking like she wanted to say something more, but at that moment the wind leapt and then she was gone, carried away with the frosty air. The flash of a silver braid dissolved into the dark. The night stretched into stillness.
A strange panic choked Marynka’s throat, and she fought the irrational urge to call after her, chase after her. Just how far would Zosia have to run? How fast?
With no one to see, she curled in on herself and squeezed her eyes shut. Truthfully, she was afraid, and not only for Zosia. She didn’t know what would happen to her now that Red Jaga was gone—a fact she was not ready to think about, refused to think about. Even just prodding at the memory made her feel ill. Grandmother was dead and she honestly didn’t know what to feel. Should she be crying, mourning for the witch who had taken her in? Or should she be dancing with relief that she was finally free? She’d never see her again. Ever.
Grief seized Marynka’s heart in a fist.
Questions chased each other round and round her head. Would the fire in her veins gutter and burn out? Would the magic she’d been gifted die with Grandmother? If so, it really was better that Zosia had left. Marynka didn’t want Zosia seeing her like that, as someone weak, defanged, and ordinary.
She reached for the flame inside herself and imagined cupping her hands around it to keep it burning. She imagined blowing breath to kindle the dying embers of her power to new life. The air surrounding her warmed slightly. She thought of the wound in her chest and willed the flesh to knit back together. Eventually, exhaustion dragged her into an uneasy, sleepy oblivion.
When she woke, night had left and morning arrived. A white horse was nosing at the branches that covered Marynka’s shelter. A girl stood by its side, her twin braids glowing like gold in the soft dawn light.
“So,” Marynka said, licking cold-cracked lips, “when were you going to tell me you bargained with Grandmother for my freedom?”
Beata didn’t bother to look innocent or sorry. There was a vicious tear in her sleeve. Dried blood stained the white fur trim at her collar. She looked tired and annoyed and also a little like she was going to cry.
Despite knowing there would be no one, Marynka found herself searching the clearing. She wondered how far away Zosia was now.
“What happened?” Beata asked, reaching a gloved hand down to help Marynka climb out of the snow cave. Her body still ached, but she felt stronger than before.
She took a deep breath, leaning her weight against the horse, watching the east flame red through the trees. She told Beata everything—how Zosia had appeared just as Grandmother was about to take the prince’s heart, how she’d learned Red Jaga intended to replace her, how she’d turned on the witch knowing her life was basically forfeit. She told Beata about driving the blade into her own chest and the prince killing Grandmother, about Zosia and the prince’s truce, and Zosia fleeing from Black Jaga.
Through it all, Beata stood silent and then she shuffled closer to wrap an arm around Marynka’s waist. Marynka pressed her face into the crook of Beata’s neck. She could feel Beata’s sigh, her breath in her hair.
“Do you think she’ll get away?”
“She has a head start. And she’s Midnight.” The thought gave Marynka comfort. She would get away. When she’d kissed Zosia, it hadn’t felt like something ending; it had felt like something was just beginning. “I—” She lifted her head. “I might not hate her as much as I thought I did.”
Beata didn’t even pretend to look surprised. “I wondered when you were going to figure that out.”
Marynka scowled.
“What will you do now?” Beata asked quietly. “You’re free. There’s no witch to tell you what to do. You can come home with me. I won’t tell White Jaga everything that happened, only that things went wrong and the prince killed her sister, which isn’t a lie. Or—” Her voice grew even softer. “Will you go after Zosia? The last girls, the Midnight and Midday before you, left without me. I think they didn’t trust me or maybe they didn’t like me enough to want me with them. So I just. . . Will you promise you won’t go anywhere without saying goodbye?”
“Beata,” Marynka said slowly, in the tone of someone explaining something to a small child. “If I go anywhere, you’re coming with me.”
Beata’s head snapped up. “What?” The horse pressed its nose into her chest.
“With us.”
“I’m not tagging along pathetically while you and Zosia are all—” Beata made an incomprehensible gesture with both hands.
Marynka raised an amused eyebrow.
Beata huffed, her breath smoking the air. Her cheeks had turned pink. “Anyway, you’re still recovering. You should let yourself heal completely first.”
Marynka brushed a sprinkling of snow off her shoulder. She tipped her face up to the sun, letting its growing heat reach down into her bones and soothe away the cold. Some of the tightness in her muscles unwound. “Let’s go then.”
“Where?”
“To begin with, someplace warm.”