Mistress of the Solstice (5 page)

His smile held childlike wonder of one beholding a miracle. It creased
his freckled face and lit up his eyes, blue like cornflowers in a field
of ripe wheat. I felt warmth wash over me, echoing through my tired
body as I looked into those eyes. It made me feel invigorated, as if an
invisible stream of power emanating from him cradled me it its beams.

I shook it off.

“You’re in my way,”
I said.

His smile widened. “You are so
beautiful.”

His voice was so clear, so intense, even though he spoke quietly. It
echoed through the plaza that had grown deathly still, watching us.
Against reason, his words sent shivers down my spine.

I recognized trouble.

I had been complimented many times by men much more impressive than him.
And yet, they’d never made me feel like this.

They’d never made me
feel
.

I struggled for words, but he seemed to have no lack of them.

“Can I come and visit you in the castle? I would very
much like to get a chance to know you better.”

His eyes continued to draw me in. Their cornflower blue held warmth, a
mischievous vigor I had never seen before. I knew I should stop
looking, but instead, I looked closer and saw something else I had
missed at first. Beneath his childlike wonder, his eyes held sorrow.
Old pain, surely older than he could possibly be. I felt an urge to
come closer to him, to touch his hand.

Stop it, you fool
. I
forced my eyes away from his face and looked past him at the crowd
of frozen onlookers, then at my nearest guard.

“Don’t harm him,” I
said. “Just get him out of my
way.”

I urged Sunset to side-step the man and continue on towards the palace.
A whip cracked behind me, followed by a grunt and gasps in the crowd,
but I never looked back.

My room occupied the entire floor of the East Tower of the palace. Its
gray, roughly hewn walls lay in a circle, covered by plain hangings to
keep out the worst of the drafts. As I stepped in, smells of herbs,
stone, and old parchment enfolded me, soothing and familiar like
welcoming hands. Calm spread over me as I glanced around at the simple
furnishings, the things necessary for my life and my magic. Basic,
essential things, nothing that could induce feeling, that could bond me
in any way. A low wooden bed; shelves of books running along the wall;
a tall dark wardrobe in the corner; a massive chest between two narrow
windows bearing the sacred objects for the Solstice Ceremony; the
Mirror in its dark wooden frame, between the shelves and the door. And,
of course, Raven’s perch, a large, gnarled branch of an
ancient tree fixed above the shelf in the corner.

Raven didn’t stir when I walked in. He could be a very
sound sleeper when he wanted. I wished my serving women had his tact
and could sense my need for solitude as they fussed over me, taking off
my dirt-stained cloak and preparing a bath for my tired feet. The bath
was welcome, actually, but I was still relieved when they finally
departed, leaving me alone with Praskovia.

“You look tired, Maryushka,”
Praskovia took the thick wooden comb to my hair as I sat on a chair,
relaxing my back, sore from the day in the saddle, against its smooth,
polished wood. She didn’t often use my childhood
nickname, and just by this address I realized how worn I must look.

I wished I could forget who I was and hide my face in
Praskovia’s large bosom, like I sometimes had when I
was a child. Or, at least, sit with her like we used to, and talk about
what was on my mind. But how could I tell her that I had been shaken by
a daft villager down at the plaza? What would she think of me then?
She was right. I was tired. After a day’s worth of
travel I had every reason to be.

“It was a long ride,” I told her.

“You need to eat,” Praskovia said.
“You are so pale. Let me send someone up with a bowl
of borscht.”

I considered it. She was right, again. I probably needed to eat. But I
felt no hunger. And I couldn’t bear to think of the
fussy kitchen maids invading my room with their cheerfulness that they
tried so hard to hide in my presence.

“Maybe later,” I said.
“I want to be alone.”

She stood for a moment, looking at me. I sensed her worry, but I
distanced myself from it. I had had enough of emotion for one day.

When I failed to meet her gaze, Praskovia turned and walked towards the
door with smooth, graceful steps. She must have been quite a beauty in
her youth. I wondered if I would look like her when I got older.

When the door closed behind her, I went straight to my Mirror. Its
surface was misty-gray, reflecting nothing until a request was made. As
usual, I started with the one I had been asking the Mirror ever since I
was twelve.

“Show me the most beautiful woman in the
world.”

The gray mist thinned and disappeared, revealing my own face. I knew I
would see myself, and I could have simply asked the Mirror to show my
reflection, but what fun would that be? Pride was an emotion far enough
from love to allow me to indulge in its simple pleasures. I smiled, and
my face in the Mirror smiled back at me, pale and powerful. Mistress of
the Solstice. Daughter of Kashchey.

“Show me my thoughts,” I told the
Mirror absentmindedly, watching the reflection of a tiny vertical line
in the middle of my forehead where the dark arches of my eyebrows came
together, a line that hadn’t been there before. My face
disappeared, the gray mist wavering beneath the smooth surface of the
glass, and then…

I was staring into a pair of shiny eyes, blue like cornflowers, innocent
like a child’s. His freckled face was smiling, his
straw hair standing on end just the way it had on the plaza. His lips
moved, mutely uttering the stupid phrase from before:
“You are very beautiful.” And a
spark in the depth of his eyes pierced me to my very soul.

“Stop!” I drew back, nearly
tripping over my feet in my haste. My heart pounded as I watched his
face melt away into the mist.

The Raven awoke on his perch and shrieked, but I could see nothing
except the cornflower eyes, could hear nothing except his soft voice,
which sent shivers through my body: “beautiful,
beautiful, beautiful…”

“How dare he!” I whispered.
“How dare he tell me I am
beautiful!”

“Because you are beautiful, Marya,”
Raven replied in a hoarse whisper. “The most
beautiful maiden in the world.”

“I am not a
maiden!” I retorted. Maidens are virgins, and by my
father’s Death I was not a virgin!
I will not be caught by those
bonds!

I wished I could see Father, draw strength from his pale, handsome face;
let the light in his hawk-like eyes drive the memory of silly
cornflowers right out of my head. I wanted to go to him, to touch his
hand, to hear his calming voice. But I didn’t dare. I
didn’t want to show him my weakness.

I knew what I had to do.

 

Ivan

H
er eyes…

Their green was like water, deep and treacherous, with silky weeds at
the bottom that could hold you to your death in their sweet embrace.
They were the eyes of a sorceress, powerful and merciless; the eyes of
the most beautiful woman in the world. And so much more…

He saw a vulnerability inside her eyes that held him tighter than her
beauty, stronger than her commanding power. Behind her mask of cold
detachment, he saw a pure, innocent soul, trapped like a bird beating
in its tight impenetrable cage. It called to him, and in his heart he
gave it a promise, which he was now bound to keep, just like his
promise to Wolf, just like his silent oath to the fathers and brothers
of the virgins sacrificed every year in the Solstice rites.

He had no choice now.

He had to save her too.

“No more talking with
her
, I
hope,” Wolf said.

Ivan raised his arm and looked at the crimson whip mark that creased his
skin from wrist to elbow. “Gleb was right. So were
you.”

Wolf edged forward and paused just short of touching, his muzzle very
close to Ivan’s ear. “She is like
that, you know. She never allows herself to care for anything or
anyone. This is what makes her so powerful.”