14. Fourteen

The hut was as they left it, the quiet creaking of trees and wind ominous as Awimak’s snarled warning echoed in his head.

Wiser to pretend he suspected nothing.

It probably was, but Ryurikov did not shy from danger. The trees bent low, the verdant crown parting to make way. He strolled in, Awimak close behind, and paused by the door. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, then pushed inside the hut.

A few candles lit up the interior, now accompanied by the spectral glow of the lantern floating in after him. A spot of light outside swung in through the paned windows of the kitchenette, Jezibaba’s outline hunkered over it.

“Meet you in the garden,” Ryurikov murmured as blazing exhales whisked the back of him. Only when he heard Awimak shift around the hut did he move further inside to open the back door.

Green birds were silent, the scent of honey particularly strong. Awimak had rounded the corner, his breath misting before him, orange in the glow of his eyes. Jezibaba held up a lantern in a knobbly hand, the other rummaging around the vegetable patch. All else was silent, the air rippling with the threat of embroilment. Ryurikov’s glove creaked, hand clenching around the broom handle.

“I should have predicted your return.” Jezibaba’s voice held its usual aged tremor, but it was calm, bordering on cold.

A sneer pulled Ryurikov’s lips back, the anger boiling inside his chest rising into his throat. He raised the broom. Brought it down across the width of his thigh. Its snap echoed against the trees.

He lunged off the porch, feet barely touching ground before the splintered, sharp end of the broom handle speared Jezibaba’s stomach.

Her lantern clattered to the ground, and patterned sashes turned dark. Ryurikov hoisted her up, ramming the handle deeper into her belly. Green-tinged blood oozed over his arms. Staining his clothes. Splattering across his face as he swung her impaled form in an arc. Slammed her down with a crack.

He straightened up with a tired exhale and scrutinised her limp form. Grey hair strewn about, thick blood draining into the soil. Eyes wide open. Cloudy, and lifeless.

Ryurikov regarded Awimak nearby and deliberated on what to say. Huzzah, the infernal lizard’s dead? Care for a celebratory fuck?

He opened his mouth and squawked in surprise as the ground trembled, gave a lurch, and tilted. Like an exhausted beast, the tree-legs groaned, and Ryurikov went tumbling sideways into the fruit trees. His chest collided with a trunk. He held on, wrapping his legs around.

“Fuck, I forgot about that!”

Awimak lowered to dig his claws into the soil, up to the forearms. The earth churned like a rolling boil around him. Roots sprang up, serpentining across the garden, spreading into every crevice, over the hut and beyond. The tree-legs below staggered, then eased back up, until Ryurikov no longer had to hold on for his life. Carefully, as if expecting everything to cave under him a second time, he sidled toward Awimak.

“Awimak,” he began, faltering at the way the demon’s body trembled, muscles flexing with effort. Multifarious roots protruded from his body, leading into the soil. Was he holding the entire hut up on his own with those? “Do I need to cut you free?”

IF I RELEASE, IT WILL ALL COLLAPSE,Awimak rasped. YOU SHOULD LEAVE.

Ryurikov’s lips curled. He’d be glad to get away from this place, travel alone, or maybe with Awimak. “You’ll be fine, I presume?”

YES.He sounded a little stressed.

Ryurikov spun on his heel and darted for the hut. “I’m going to raid the place, hold on a little longer!” He turned back to flash the demon a grin. “If this whole thing comes down, I’ll know I took too long.”

Awimak’s snort sounded desperate now.

“Okay, hurrying!”

Darting past Jezibaba’s corpse, Ryurikov closed his hand around the broom handle. A trophy, for his troubles.

A crack and a squelch, and as he pulled it free, her body vanished in a great plume of dark smoke, wafting up in a circle overhead before dissipating. Ryurikov swore, the crone’s cackling disturbing the air, scratching at his neck and ears.

FLEE!Awimak snarled.

Ryurikov knew he ought to heed the suggestion, but the hag-smoke curled around Awimak, and he could see it in those sunset eyes, hear it in the way he grunted with distress that this would not end well for him.

With a growl, Ryurikov swung the silver bow forward. He released an arrow into the churning smoke, transforming to resemble some kind of giant, rippling beast. It dispersed, then reappeared right in front of him.

A smoking fist swung up. It connected with his chin hard, clacking his teeth together, flipping him onto his back. Reeling and chin pulsating with pain, he shook his head, swivelled on the ground, jumped to his feet and swiped the bow through the cloud. It split, then returned to Awimak with a gleeful laugh, enveloping him. The wind picked up, the scent of honey sickly, burning Ryurikov’s throat.

He nocked another arrow, intent on freeing Awimak, the crunch of vegetables beneath his feet lost within the gales and dry creaking of the hut. The trees enclosing them shifted, their movement unnatural, branches curling forward to wrap around Awimak, his large body shrouded by the witch’s smoke.

Ryurikov hesitated, unsure of where to fire his arrows. Branches imprisoned the demon entirely, and he cast around for something, panicking. His sights landed on the black chicken clucking and flapping its wings in distress beneath the porch.

“Let him go or the chicken gets it!” Ryurikov shouted, arrow trained on the bird. He could do with some poultry for dinner, anyway.

Awimak howled, agonised. The ground beneath Ryurikov’s feet lurched again. The smoke came out of nowhere. Hurtled at him harder than a wild horse. Sent him into a tree. Pain speared his shoulder as he collapsed to the ground, groaned, and pushed back up.

The fumes vaguely took on the witch’s shape, settling near the beanstalks. White eyes stared at him from writhing curls of shadow, and Ryurikov made a face at her.

“Fuck you, you antediluvian sprout.”

He steadied his own bow, the silver one glinting uselessly in the distance near the carrots, and made to shoot the chicken. A long swathe swiped at him. He ducked to avoid a blow to the face, yet it hooked around the back of his neck and yanked him forward.

Ryurikov spat out dirt, now in the vegetable patch, and staggered upright. A beastly force connected with his stomach, the intensity of it lifting him off the ground before he crashed back down. He coughed, then retched, spittle clinging to his lips as he grabbed at carrot bushels to help hoist himself up again. He wrenched the vegetables out in the process, and weakly tossed them at the witch, swaying where he stood.

“Don’t hold back now,” he wheezed.

His blurry gaze landed on Awimak behind the dark cloud, now completely lost within thick roots and boughs, likely crushing him. There was a reason she hadn’t killed him yet, but he couldn’t be so sure she had a reason to spare Awimak.

“Let him go. Your issue is with me.”

“This is your doing!”The discomfited warble of Jezibaba’s voice raised his hair.

Unsteadily, he lifted the bow off the ground, nocked another arrow, and pointed it at Jezibaba’s form, more turbulent than the surrounding winds. She cackled again, luminous white eyes slitting with mirth.

“I know,” Ryurikov murmured. “You’re smoke, can’t hit you.”

But he could hit the prized lantern, bobbing and swaying in the gales by the porch, its pallid flame fluttering madly.

The arrow hit the glass, shattering it, and the lantern dropped with a clunk. Fire pooled like a liquid set ablaze, festooning all within its reach and spreading. As the flames journeyed up the hut, a shriek pierced the air—and his eardrums. It came from the hut itself.

Boughs whipped away from Awimak. He was curled in on himself, but still alive, his wide shoulders dropping with every heavy breath.

“No!”Jezibaba uselessly spilled herself at the white flames to stop their spread.

Ryurikov laughed even as he darted to Awimak and unsheathed the long dagger. “I’m cutting you loose!” And he hoped it wouldn’t hurt.

“Put the broom back together!”

He ignored Jezibaba’s demand, slicing the finer roots first. He winced as Awimak grunted in pain, thick, lava-like blood spilling from the wounds.

“Fuck’s sake,” Ryurikov snapped. “Why did you attach yourself?”

FOR ENTERTAINMENT. Burning eyes raised to bore into him.

“Not the ideal time for a jest,” Ryurikov breathed, “but I like your spirit.”

“I’ll stop killing you if you fix it!”Jezibaba wailed.

The ghostly fire had engulfed most of the hut, its shrieking relentless. Her smoky form flitted back and forth in panic and Ryurikov realised there was nothing she could do to save her home. Nothing at all.

He laughed again. “Serves you right!”

“I swear it!”The disembodied voice echoed all around him. “I will spare you and help you find Valka. Fix the broom!”

Ryurikov glanced at Awimak. Pallid flames snaking toward the demon snapped him into motion. His grip curled around the broom handle he’d dropped by cabbages. His boots scuffed through dirt as he came to a stop by the straw end, having found its way into the thicket of the garden’s edge.

An agonised, raspy groan jerked his focus back to Awimak. The blaze had set on him and sent Ryurikov’s heart hurtling through his ribcage. He jammed the splintered ends back together with trembling hands. Jezibaba’s blood was sticky enough to act as glue, but he tugged off his scarf and tightened it around the fracture for good measure.

No sooner had he tied the knot than the black smoke swarmed him, ruffling his hair as it sucked back into the broom with a great whoosh.

The winds died and Ryurikov relaxed his shoulders. Still clutching the broom, he watched as Jezibaba’s solid form darted past him, muttering things in a foreign tongue and raising her bony hands up at the hut as if praying to it.

He staggered back to the demon, dark smoke wafting off singed hair and skin. Awimak didn’t move.

“Fuck, are you dead?” Had he been less concerned for Awimak’s well-being, Ryurikov would have taken slight at his own voice, the way it quavered.

NO. Awimak grunted. The root-like protrusions gradually snaked back into his skin, leaving behind raw pocks oozing with orange glowing blood.

Ryurikov kept his hold on the broom, cradling it against his chest, and knelt in front of the demon to peer up at the skull. The spectral light of the lantern’s fire became muted. Then, they were cast in darkness but for Awimak’s eyes, thankfully on him again.

“Why the fuck did you do that? You know the Quinary would have just saved me again.”

Probably.

Awimak huffed, breath misting between them even in the dark, but he didn’t answer. With a slight shake of his head, Ryurikov stood and faced the hag. She grumbled and sulked over the damage to her hut. Admittedly, it was extensive, the wood scorched and bubbling with sap. Shame.

“So, control of the hut is tied to the broom?” He glanced at the object in question. Even in the darkness, its wood resembled that of the hut, and he realised himself an idiot. Of course the hut was tied to it.

Jezibaba glared at him. “My home.”

Ryurikov hummed. “It’s a real pity. Deal’s a deal, witch. You better stop trying to kill me now. And take me to Valka.”

“Assuming she even wants to see you!”

“She’s not getting a choice.”

Although he might need to slay a dragon on the way.

The garden was a slew of ruined vegetables, flowers, and agitated chickens angrily clucking about, but gold lights reminiscent of moths illuminated it. It was strangely enchanting. Jezibaba had retreated inside, and Ryurikov kept a stubborn hold on the broom while guiding Awimak to his favourite tree. Its fruit had grown. A few more days and the apples would be edible.

Instead of moving away once Awimak sat, Ryurikov squatted between the powerful legs. He laid the broom down in grass, and shifted closer to peer at the singed skin and the many open wounds. He really wanted to touch them.

“Does it hurt?”

Awimak leaned back, the sigh a wraith’s death rattle. I WILL BE FINE.

“Not exactly what I asked.” Ryurikov’s lips quirked up. “You said you can’t heal me, but can you heal yourself?”

IN TIME, YES.

His fingers twitched where he had them on his own knees. An odd feeling snaked its way into his stomach, plenty to do with the dawning realisation that had he not been so imprudent, Awimak wouldn’t have gotten hurt. His jaw tensed, Jezibaba’s words after Eastcairn returning to him like an annoying fly buzzing around his head.

“You could have just left me.”

BUT I DID NOT.

“Why?”

Burning eyes regarded him. OUR DEAL.

“Doesn’t extend as far as you’ve been reaching.”

A TREE ONLY KNOWS TO GROW.

Ryurikov’s lips vibrated with a puff. “You’re being very evasive—”

A furry and heavily toned leg curled around him, eased him forward, careful enough that should he put up any resistance, it would stop.

Ryurikov’s heart did a thing, a thing he didn’t like. It lurched and stuttered at the same time. His hands connected with Awimak’s torso, fingers splayed against the muscular chest to catch himself. The scent of earth and stone greeted him, drifting into his very soul with a deep, nervous inhale.

Slowly, carefully, like he might run off in fright, Awimak’s virile arms coiled around him. Before he knew it, Ryurikov was in an embrace. Not trapped, but he was unquestionably encased and left blinking at the rough bark of the apple tree, chin resting on the soft skin of a wide shoulder.

The last hold he’d been in was Valka’s, thirteen years ago on the day they said goodbye to each other. He never hung around long enough to be held by anyone, yet he’d somehow stumbled into this hold and was…disinclined to move.

It didn’t matter that his ribs hurt, that his chin throbbed and his stomach was likely forming a cluster of bruises. Being with Awimak like this, surrounded by the rustling of trees, while great claws capable of maiming held him in the gentlest of ways was...nice. For once, he could think of little to say.

Well, there were plenty of things he could say, jibes he could make, and actions he could take, but he didn’t want to.

Awimak had put his life on the line, Ryurikov wasn’t unaware of that, and he’d done so specifically for him. Because trees grew, apparently. It still made no fucking sense.

YOU ARE WARM,Awimak said, the snarl but a gravelly murmur.

“And you’re cold.”

Cold in the way the grounds outside his castle were on a summer’s morning, where he found solace in the dew and mist clinging to the grassy expanse on the rare occasion he’d been allowed out.

Ryurikov shifted to free his tingling legs, knees nudging the inside of Awimak’s thighs. Admittedly, being held put him on edge. When Awimak’s solid chest rumbled with what had to be a hum, Ryurikov jerked—not in fright, exactly. But close.

“You must be famished,” he murmured. The arms dropped away from him the moment he moved back.

STARVING,said Awimak.