23. Twenty-Three

A flutter of black velvet was all Ryurikov saw before he collapsed into Awimak’s arms. He grasped the claw pressing down on his chest, opening his mouth to say something. What, he wasn’t sure, but Awimak silenced him with a hiss. A shush.

Ryurikov coughed, launching bolts of agony through him. Blood splattered back onto his face. His body jostled, now resting against Awimak’s chest, and a hot, searing pain against his side and arm had him whimpering.

I’M SORRY, DRURY.

Awimak’s blood scorched even him, then. Good thing he’d never poked his wounds. The thought made him want to laugh. He succeeded only in coughing again, bringing up more blood.

It occurred to him they must be moving. That he must be dying. Did it even matter? Surely the Quinary would help again. He’d done their bidding, he would continue to do so. He would owe them thrice, but that was fine, if it meant being with Awimak just a little longer.

That they were nowhere near a forest also occurred to him, moments later.

With every rattling breath Ryurikov tried to draw, more blood flooded his chest. Panic gurgled into the back of his throat, metallic, overpowering. Hot as it trickled past his lips and down his jawline. He reached out, trembling fingers curling under Awimak’s chin. A weak attempt to pull his demon down for a kiss. Just one more.

Awimak’s roar rumbled his chest, yet was inaudible over the thundering around them. All Ryurikov could see were blurred shadows, tinged yellow. Ryurikov arched his back, throat clenching as he fought to breathe.

“What do you think you’re doing with him, anyway? You can’t meddle with humans to such a degree!”

THAT IS A CONCERN FOR ME, AND ME ALONE.

“Not when you bring this to my doorstep!”

Ryurikov groaned in absolute misery. That croaky, grating voice bored into his skull. He wanted it to stop.

BE SILENT, ENCHANTRESS, AND TEND TO HIM. OR I WILL brING FAR MORE TO YOUR DOORSTEP THAN YOU WILL EVER BE PREPARED FOR.

“Don’t you threaten me!”

I DO NOT THREATEN.

“I can and will talk to your mother about this!”

“Please, Radojka, just keep helping him.”

There was a pause, then a relenting sigh. Something cool slid across his chest. Ryurikov would have slapped the bony hands away, touching his bare skin like that, but they alleviated some of the hellish pain.

He groaned again.

DRURY?

He sounded so worried. Ryurikov forced his eyes open, and regretted it instantly. Fuck it was bright. He reached out instead, and the familiar chill of Awimak’s claw enveloped his hand.

“How am I supposed to—”

“Shut up,” Ryurikov croaked. He squinted against sunlight pouring in through the rippled window. It took a while for the blurry shapes to coalesce. Though he could scarcely make out the details, he knew he was looking at Jezibaba at the end of the bed. “Your voice is worse than a pig being roasted alive.”

“I’ll gladly kick you back down, you ungrateful weed.”

He ignored her, focusing on Awimak. They were inside the witch’s hut, that much was obvious, and his demon clutched him tight enough to hurt, kneeling by the bed. One of many beds.

Ugh, they were in the children’s room.

“How’d you manage to get up here?” As he recalled, the staircase wasn’t exactly wide.

IT TOOK SOME SQUIRMING.

Ryurikov smiled, then sagged further into coarse bedding. Good grief, he was tired. Hoarsely, “The Quinary?”

HELPED.

He hummed. The first time they’d resurrected him, he’d only been a little stiff. The second time, it took longer to recover. It made sense that the third resurrection would take more. He better stop dying. The fourth death would undoubtedly be ghoulish.

“Aren’t I lucky,” he said around the lingering taste of blood.

“You are.”

Ryurikov’s eyes flew back open. He bolted upright, and instantly regretted it, the pain shooting through his chest worse than the lightheadedness. Ignoring it, he fought the sheets to get out of bed.

YOU AREN’T READY—

He fell face first to the ground with a startled cry. Twisting around, he caught sight of his legs, ensnared by the blankets, while the rest of him dangled off the bed, his shoulder and neck at an awkward angle against the floor.

“I can’t move my legs,” said Ryurikov flatly, as Awimak gathered him back up and propped him against the headboard, fussing with the sheets around his naked hips.

“Valka?” He tried to peer past Awimak’s big horns, reaching up to feebly push them out of the way.

His sister, still wearing that blasted stained-glass tunic, moved from the window to stand beside Jezibaba. Flute at her hip, sabre on the other side. At least she didn’t look ready to use either, only fiddled with the leather belt, her hazel eyes trained on him until he tried meeting them. She looked away.

“Can you please wait?” Ryurikov ground out. “I just recovered from dying.”

“Recovering,” Valka corrected, unhelpfully. “And this is the last time, Ruri.”

“You’ll make sure of that, will you?”

Valka sighed, vexed, arms dropping at her sides. “That’s not what I meant.”

SHE MEANS THAT THREE RESURRECTIONS ARE ALL THE QUINARY CAN MANAGE.

“Oh, fuck.” No more dying for him, then. At least not any time soon.

“Lucky,” continued Valka, “since the drake’s bites are poisonous.”

Ryurikov pursed his lips. So that was what the cold sweat had been about. And if he hadn’t gotten stabbed, then by the time he’d realised what was happening, it would’ve been far too late to reach the Quinary.

Lucky, indeed.

He shook his head, furious Valka had so readily attacked him, to kill, when all he’d wanted was to talk. “Why are you here?”

Valka’s expression became uncertain. She crossed her arms, uncrossed them. Crossed them again. “I…”

WAS IT SOMETHING I SAID?

Ryurikov side-eyed Awimak. He sounded so damn smug.

“Fine, alright,” snapped Valka. “Yes, you were right. And I’m sorry, okay?”

“What did you say?” asked Ryurikov.

When Awimak slowly turned his head to regard him, Ryurikov was sure his demon was smiling. Fucker. He wasn’t going to tell him. It didn’t matter, he supposed. Valka had come back, and she wasn’t trying to kill him again. They were off to an excellent second start.

“I spent years hating you,” she said.

Maybe not that great of a start. “I’ve no doubt.”

She moved to sit on the edge of the bed by his feet, twisting ’round to look him in the eyes. Ryurikov did his best, but his vision was still so blurry. He hoped that wasn’t permanent.

“I left with Radojka and didn’t hear about what happened until months later. I tried to find out what had happened, but all anyone ever told me was that you were responsible. I’m sorry. I should’ve known better than to believe the rumours.”

Ryurikov freed his hand from Awimak’s grasp long enough to comb fingers through his hair. He winced when that too made his chest hurt. Finally, he looked down, and grimaced at the remnants of several wounds littered across his abdomen, slathered in some glimmering indigo salve. They weren’t open, exactly, but they looked raw and like they’d come from different blades. At least most of the bite marks had faded. Strangely, the burns he’d gained from Awimak’s blood had scarred over, quilting across his existing scars.

“Who’s Radojka?” he asked, unsure of what else to say. His sister had chosen to believe rumours over thinking for herself, that was an injury he wouldn’t recover from any time soon.

Valka jerked her head at Jezibaba, now sitting on a bed in the far end of the room, scowling.

“Wh–Oh, right.” Jezibaba was the name given to all crones who abandoned their posts. There weren’t many, most of them simply couldn’t. Briarmour was an extreme example of why. “That reminds me, there are hags who have developed magic that can fight against Skin Crawler fire.”

Both Valka and Jezibaba leaned in at that.

“How?” asked the crone.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Ryurikov snarled. “Go talk to them, I’m sure they’d be delighted to meet another one. Or use your damned window-doves to communicate with your fellows.” He cast an ugly glare at his sister, who had the decency to shrink under it. It caused his anger to flare, regardless. “Why are you here? Don’t your stupid lizards need you for something?”

Valka shrugged, rubbing her hands across her thighs. “They can get by without me for a while.”

YOU’VE DONE WELL WITH THEM, said Awimak, and Ryurikov shot him a look of betrayal.

“Don’t compliment her!”

“He’s right, you know, I did do well with them,” Valka said. “We went from just a rocky mountain to paradise.”

“That was all you?” Despite his anger, pride stirred, and it only served to annoy Ryurikov further.

Valka managed a strained smile. “I’ve taught them how to cultivate and stop ruining things with their poison and…butts. I’ve been trying to teach them how to write too, but I don’t think they’re capable of it.”

Ryurikov frowned, vaguely recalling something Apatura had told him. “They are.” It was likely just in a language Valka couldn’t read. “And they must have been sending messages, for word to get around that you were captured by a dragon.”

Valka hummed in interest. “Yeah, funny story.”

For some reason, that soured Ryurikov’s mood to a state worse than curdled come. “I don’t want to hear it.” He laid back down, failing to suppress the sharp groan of pain when he rolled onto his side. “Leave me alone.”

He resolutely didn’t look at anyone even as he heard Jezibaba shuffling out, then the creak of the bed, a weight lifting off it. Only once certain they were gone did he reach out again, to the gigantic mass sitting on the floor right by him. Awimak took hold of his hand A slick tongue dragged across, lavishing his knuckles.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, peering up from the lumpy, reed-stuffed pillow. “You’re alright?”

I AM. I DID NOT THINK I WOULD REACH THE FOREST IN TIME.

“Well, you did.”

He didn’t resent Awimak for saving him, yet again. Of course he didn’t. He was glad to be alive… Again. Ryurikov wasn’t even sure why he felt as curmudgeonly as he did, but it worsened as Awimak stroked him across his back.

“I’d like to rest.”

OF COURSE, MY DRURY.

Awimak didn’t leave.

“Preferably on my own.”

He ensured he wasn’t looking at the demon. The guilt pinching his gut was bad enough, he didn’t need to see Awimak’s hurt. After a long pause, hooves and horns scraped across wood, shoulders had likely met a doorframe, and a struggle echoed down the staircase.

When all became quiet, Ryurikov strained onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Thick, knobbly branches, some sprouting delicate leaves shimmering like shards of glass. The chimes of snails and pinecones moved in the faint breeze pulling in from the window, set ajar.

Under the ugly knitted blanket, he rubbed his thumb over the length of his pointer finger, mind stumbling back to the moment just before the first blade greeted his chest. The fear he’d endured, thinking Awimak harmed, came back to clobber his insides. His heart stuttered at the very idea of losing Awimak, of his demon dying.

How had this happened? When had he begun to care? Why could he only think of holding Awimak?

It was loathsome, feeling so vulnerable. Having a weakness.

Thinking.

Ryurikov needed every last driblet of strength to sit up. He tried moving his legs and failed. Swearing, he glanced around for something to help. All he saw was a tankard of water, set on a makeshift bedside table—a thick log. Its mere presence was offensive and he scoffed.

He hurtled himself out of the bed shortly after.

The fall was uncomfortable. Painful, really. He leaned up on an elbow to glare at his legs, still refusing to move.

“Fucking work!” He smacked the uncooperative limbs.

Since that did absolutely nothing, Ryurikov dragged himself across the floor, naked and all. The sound of something massive struggling its way back up the stairwell made him panic, and he didn’t even know why. He just wanted to get the fuck away from this place, from Awimak.

DRURY, said the demon, twisting and turning through the doorway, holding a bowl of carrot soup. Ryurikov could tell because it all sloshed down to the wood flooring. WHERE DO YOU INTEND TO GO?

“Away from here,” he said, anger causing spittle to cling to his lips. He wiped his mouth while Awimak freed himself and moved to crouch by him.

IT WOULD BE BETTER IF YOU REST FIRST, THEN WE CAN—

“No, Awimak. I’m going away, alone.”

The demon became eerily still, like a tree in the dead of night.

I UNDERSTAND.

Ryurikov let his shoulders sag in relief. “Alright, then… I’ll be on my way.” He would have liked to leave, but his legs still weren’t working. He hoped that wasn’t permanent, either.

WHY?

“What do you mean? You just said you understand.”

Awimak’s breath plumed a misty white, and his eyes roared. I UNDERSTAND, RYURIKOV, BUT I WOULD LIKE FOR YOU TO SAY IT OUT LOUD.

“Say what?”

THAT YOU CHOOSE TO BE A COWARD.

Ryurikov scowled, in particular at Awimak’s tone of indifference. “I am not—”

YOU ARE RETREATING BECAUSE YOU ARE AFRAID.

“I can’t do it, Awi!” The shouted confession rolled through the dusty room, as ineffective as his limbs. Ryurikov raked trembling fingers through his hair and tossed an angry look out the window. “I can’t deal with–with—”

WITH WHAT?

“With you! And me. And–And this.” Helplessly, he flapped his hand between them. “You disarm me, Awimak, and I don’t know how to handle it! Maybe I am a coward, but at least I won’t get hurt if I run!”

Another bout of silence, stretching until Ryurikov forced himself to look at the demon. Still holding the bowl, thumb right inside it.

“And anyway, this is no good for you, either.”

WHY?This time, Awimak sounded offended.

“You said you’re much older than I am! What are human years compared to yours? I’ll die of old age and only a year would have passed for you.”

SEASONS PASS FOR ME MUCH LIKE THEY DO FOR YOU.

Ryurikov grunted in annoyance. “You know what I mean!”

I DO, Awimak said. MY DRURY, HEAR ME WHEN I TELL YOU THAT I WILL UPROOT ANCIENT TREES AND MOVE ENTIRE FORESTS FOR YOU. AND WHEN YOU DIE, I WILL LIE DOWN AND BECOME PART OF THE EARTH ALONGSIDE YOU.

Finally, Ryurikov met Awimak’s gaze. His eyes surged more than the rising sun, tailing orange with every subtle shift of his head. And his words, they seared themselves inside Ryurikov’s chest, as poignant and reverberating as a church bell.

LET ME LOVE YOU, RYURIKOV, IN THE WAY YOU NEVER THOUGHT YOU DESERVED.

Ryurikov’s eyes burned. He gasped, realising what was happening, and swiftly raised a hand to cover his face. Massive arms encircled him, he couldn’t summon the desire nor the strength to fight it. He grit his teeth, silently commanding the tears to cease, but succeeded only in giving himself a headache from the strain. Awimak gently squeezed, as if prompting him to do something other than fight himself.

He opened his mouth, and absolutely loathed the hiccup that rattled his entire body. “F-Fuck. If–If you must, Awimak.”

I MUST, AND I DO. Awimak lifted Ryurikov off the ground, his legs sliding uselessly across old planks until he was settled in a silken-haired lap. I CANNOT HELP BUT GROW. PERHAPS ONE DAY, YOU WILL BE ABLE TO ADMIT THE SAME.

That prompted Ryurikov to snort. “Just don’t fucking die on me.”

LITTLE CONCERN THERE.

“Yeah?” Deciding Awimak knew enough about him already not to be dissuaded by ugly tears, Ryurikov looked up, balefully. “Is that more deductive reasoning on your part?”

Awimak shrugged. WORST THAT WILL HAPPEN IS I DO WHAT EVERYONE ELSE DOES. SOMETHING YOU HAVE DONE THRICE ALREADY. ONCE IN MY ARMS.

He understood the meaning, of course. If Awimak was still here after he’d died in his arms, then Ryurikov had no right to be scared about something that was far less likely to happen to his demon. His shoulders sagged in defeat. The last remnants of fight left him completely, and he let himself rest in those massive arms.

After a while, he muttered, “Why the hell can’t I move my legs?”

Awimak squeezed him tighter. I BELIEVE YOUR SPINE WAS SEVERED.

“Ah.”

IT WILL TAKE SOME TIME TO FULLY RECOVER.

“Fuck.”

ONCE YOU’VE RECOVERED, WE SHALL.

“I’ll hold you to that.” He wrapped his arms around Awimak’s neck as his demon shuffled on his knees to the bed, returning Ryurikov to its itchy blankets. “I’d be much happier in the garden, you know.”

Awimak hummed in agreement, reaching behind him to grab the bowl of soup abandoned on the floor. PERHAPS I WILL BUILD YOU A NEST OUTSIDE, THEN.

He held the bowl out, but it was nearly empty, a few pieces of herbs clinging to the side.

“Ah… Thank you.”