25. Twenty-Five

Crackling fire and the repeated tapping of his foot interrupted an otherwise silent presence chamber. Ryurikov’s gaze remained fixated on Jezibaba, tended to by Valka. Her nose had stopped bleeding, but it was displaced. It was an improvement.

“How do you communicate with each other?”

His voice rang clear, commanding, shattering the silence in full.

“When we’re awakened to our magic, we develop a link to all other witches,” said the short-haired hag. “A link which cannot be severed, even if one of us forsakes another to take her place.”

Ryurikov’s lips thinned into a stern line. “Forsakes?”

“Do you think it’s a joy to be mistreated?” snapped the one with the matted braid. “That we enjoy working for the entitled and their spawn?”

“Why do you do it, then?” He sighed, realising his mistake shortly after, and leaned back to rest against Awimak’s muscular thigh behind him. A claw came ’round his neck, cupping it. The chill sent a tiny shiver through him.

“Were you taught nothing?” Short-Haired rasped. “We were—”

“Hunted and flung into the Vermilion Vertex, if not outright burned. Yes, yes.” Ryurikov waved it aside. “Who took Jezibaba’s place, then?” The two hags gave him a look, like the answer was obvious. He sighed a second time. “Radmila. And here I thought I was a shitty sibling.”

“We all do selfish things, Ruri,” Valka murmured, unable to look at him properly.

SOME MORE THAN OTHERS, said Awimak, his harsh rasp echoing through the chamber.

Ryurikov smirked before sobering up again. “Can you teach others this water magic? Are you able to make it portable?”

“You need a steady source,” said Short-Haired.

“Like the well,” mused Ryurikov, thoughts flicking to the tree-well at the hut.

“What do you plan on doing, if we give it to you?” asked Braided.

“Take the fight to the Skin Crawlers,” he said. “Protecting this town is all good and well, but how long will you fare, just among the three of you? I assume the other one is still alive, keeping the barrier up.”

“Branka is,” said Braided. “She’s down there with the remaining two of the Jarl’s daughters.” When he raised his brows in askance, she continued, “They showed a proclivity for magic.”

“I didn’t realise young witches existed,” said Ryurikov.

“They don’t, because unleashing magic before you’re sixty kills you.”

Well, he supposed he couldn’t blame them. A thumb had taken to stroking his cheek. He leaned into it, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the tip.

“You’ll teach the Jezibaba, then?” he asked, distracted. His cock became restless, need stirring his stomach.

“It’ll take some time,” replied Short-Haired.

“Great.” Ryurikov refrained from giving the thumb a long suck, barely. He rose instead, to stretch with a loud groan. “I’m taking the Jarl’s room.” With a glower at Jezibaba, he added, “Stay and learn, Beldam. Or my dagger will find your rimpled neck again.”

Grandiose, filled with luxurious pelts, and gloomy, but the Jarl’s chambers were spacious, at least. Awimak didn’t have to crouch much, only to avoid the dark beams running across the ceiling. The heavy door shut behind Ryurikov and he leaned against it with a shaking exhale.

TIRED, MY LOVE?

Abruptly, he forgot how to inhale, eyes snapping to Awimak standing but a few feet from him. If he were to take a moment to reflect, Ryurikov would realise he envied the ease in which his demon expressed himself. And maybe, before this, he would have avoided thinking about it entirely. Now though, he had to wonder. Worse still, he had to wonder out loud.

“What do you see in me?”

It echoed Jezibaba’s accusation, one that had occupied the recess of his mind ever since, her hoarse words endlessly stoking his anger.

ASIDE FROM YOUR UNWAVERING DETERMINATION TO EXIST?

“That’s debatable, but yes.” His hands flattened against the door, growing damp with sweat.

THERE IS A KINDNESS IN YOU THAT NO FIRE CAN BURN AWAY. YOU CARRY THE HEAVIEST OF GUILT, AND STILL YOU STAND. Awimak closed the distance between them, ducking once under a beam, then again to level their gazes. He reached out, cupping Ryurikov’s cheek in a gentle claw. YOU ARE UNYIELDING IN YOUR TRUTH, AND MORE GENEROUS THAN YOU REALISE.

Ryurikov huffed, his heart disfluent with nervousness. “And those are desirable traits, are they?”

THEY ARE TO ME. Awimak dipped low.

His elongated jaw moved to reveal that grey pointed tongue, snaking out, gently sliding across Ryurikov’s lips. He opened his mouth to greet it, and as their tongues met, a reigning heat reawakened, deep in his belly. Reaching up, Ryurikov hooked his fingers into the nostrils of the skull to pull him down further. He sought Awimak’s mouth again, grunting in frustration when there were no lips to claim.

So he pressed a firm kiss to the side, against sharp, canine-like teeth, then eased out from between demon and door. “Come on, sit on the bed.”

Awimak gave a curious rasp, but did as prompted. Ryurikov strode to the gilded dresser, dark like charcoal, and gathered a comb, its bone-white aglow in the low light of the dying fire. Ornately carved, hooded figures stared up at him from the comb. He brought it over, sliding behind his demon, now perched on the edge of the massive bed.

“You’ll tell me more about yourself?” Kneeling, he ran his fingers through abyssal hair, smooth but with the occasional knot and stray lichen he carefully picked out.

WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW?

“If you’re meant to devour nightmares, why are the Unbroken Wilds your home?” He ran the comb through fine tresses, taking his time. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to live nearer people?”

IT WOULD.

“And anyway,” he continued, “if you’re supposed to eat nightmares, why are so many afraid of you? I’ve heard the stories.”

Awimak’s head shifted, his mane cascading further down his back. WHAT STORIES WOULD THOSE BE?

Ryurikov stopped short of snorting. Like Awimak didn’t know. “Just the usual ones circulating demons. That you eat human flesh, wear their entrails as jewellery.”

I DO NOT MUCH CARE FOR THE TASTE, NOR THE STENCH OF WEARING THEIR INNARDS.

His eyebrows shot up and movements stilled, for a spell. Then, when he was almost certain his demon’s words were a jest, Ryurikov chuckled. “Is it alright if I braid your hair?”

DO WHAT YOU LIKE.

“I’m exposing your ears.”

IF YOU MUST.

“Oh,” Ryurikov snickered, “I must.”

He gathered the silken hair in his hand, exposing a flawless neck, and couldn’t resist but drop a kiss to the nape. Then another, once he was sure the slight movement under his lips had been a shiver.

Most of the arrow-induced injuries were gone, with only the deepest lingering as feathery marks of light grey, stippling the muscular back. Ryurikov’s gaze journeyed down the spine, to where dupion fabric hid what had to be shapely buttocks. Did Awimak have a tail, he wondered. Better yet…

“Can I fuck you?” Awimak’s back visibly tensed, and Ryurikov regretted blurting the question. He swiftly set to braiding the hair, hoping that was enough to keep his demon with him. “It’s fine if not. I was just wondering.”

IT IS…POSSIBLE.Awimak sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. YOU WOULD BE THE FIRST.

Ryurikov froze. Did that mean what he thought it meant? Not only was Awimak a virgin in that regard, but had he just said yes? “I’ll need clearer consent than that, Awi.”

YES, RYURIKOV. YOU MAY MAKE LOVE TO ME.

He didn’t know whether to reel with honour or feel disgusted at the phrasing. He chose to continue braiding. Awimak’s glossy hair was wavy, and slippery. The braid wasn’t as great as the ones he used to do for Valka, and he had nothing to tie it with, but it exposed those adorable goat-like ears.

Ryurikov dusted his fingers over them, stroking the soft fur. Dark with an umber whisper, like the fur on his legs. Awimak relaxed under the touch, so much his shoulders slumped and head tipped forward.

With a faint chuckle, Ryurikov deposited a kiss to a shoulder blade, then patted Awimak’s side. “Lie down.”

Awimak did as told, laying on his stomach.

“As much as I appreciate the quiet enthusiasm,” Ryurikov said, amused, “Not tonight. Lie on your side.”

If he was going to make love to him, he wanted to do it right and give Awimak the pleasure he deserved. For now, his demon would have to deal with being held. Ryurikov toed off his boots, then flopped down on the bed. He slid right up behind Awimak and wrapped a leg and arm over his side to hold him close.

Awimak shifted slightly, massive horn keeping his head off the pillow. YOU’LL BECOME TOO COLD LIKE THIS.

“It’s fine. I highly doubt I’ll get much sleep, anyway.”

YOU ARE WORRIED?

“I’m surrounded by hags who are less than fond of me,” Ryurikov muttered into the back of Awimak’s nape. “Even if I saved them from a miserable existence, there’s no guarantee they won’t come to skin me alive.”

He made a sound of disgust with a sudden realisation.

WHAT IS IT?

“I saved a bunch of hags.” How absolutely revolting.

AND THIS IS A PROBLEM?

“No, I just—I never liked—” He cut himself short when his head rattled with yet more understanding. He didn’t like hags much, but his experience with them had only ever been restricted to Radmila. And Jezibaba, more recently. Beyond those two though, he didn’t know any of them. There was no way for him to know if they were all horrendous. “I’m…not sure where my distaste for them came from.”

Awimak moved out from his hold, turning to pull Ryurikov against his chest instead. While he would have been happy enough to hold his demon, listening to the deep pulse of Awimak’s heart was equally satisfying. Something wet slithered across his temple, slicking his hair. A kiss.

REST, DRURY, KNOWING I WILL KEEP YOU SAFE.

“Fine. But if I have a good dream, you take it.”

Darkness laid like a pall when Ryurikov’s eyes fluttered open. The bedding, the canopy, the shade of the colossal trees outside—it all made for a very glum room. It was jarring, having grown accustomed to sunlit forests. He palmed his eyes and sat up, groggily glancing across at a blurry figure. Too short and slight to be Awimak, even though the spot beside him was empty.

“Who the fuck are you?” He reached for the dagger at his belt before his vision could even focus.

A startled whimper. “My deepest apologies, sir! I was only tending to the fire.”

An elderly man, dressed in all black, his greying hair lambent with orange from a fire that had, indeed, been resurrected.

“You’re a servant?” Ryurikov untangled himself from the sheets and swung his legs off the bed to put his boots back on. “You realise the Jarl is dead? You no longer have to serve.”

“Yes, sir.” The man bowed so far, Ryurikov thought he might never again straighten back up. “And you’re here to take his place.”

Said with such confidence, Ryurikov would’ve believed him if he were anyone other than the man who most definitely wasn’t taking the Jarl’s place.

“What gave you that idea?” He glanced around for Awimak, but his demon was nowhere. Not outside when he looked out the window, and not through the doorway leading to a bathing tub and chamberpot.

The servant straightened up, thankfully, his expression most sombre. “You returned to us from the dead, with your family and another witch, after freeing this town of Jarl Blann’s crushing grip. You have blessed us with treasures and enchanted trees that keep the eternal smoke out. You are also in the Jarl’s chambers. I am simply putting things together.”

Ryurikov narrowed his eyes. “All just a coincidence, I assure you.”

“Indeed, sir. Shall I prepare you a bath?”

“Sounds fine.” Ryurikov flattened his lips. “You’re under no obligation, you’re free to leave.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

“I can’t pay you,” Ryurikov said, headed for the door.

“Very well, sir.”

He groaned, turning back to the old man. “What will it take to get rid of you?”

“My home is here. I was never paid, but provided with room.”

“Fine, stay. I don’t give a shit. I won’t be here long, anyway.”

He found Awimak in the presence chamber. Along with Valka and Jezibaba, both looking worse for wear, and two of the other hags. Short-Haired was nowhere in sight. Awimak was bent over the fire and Ryurikov ran a hand along the small of his back, allowing his fingers to tease the edges of the fabric keeping his demon modest, just above the curve of his buttocks. Awimak’s eyes burned hot when he handed him a deep metal bowl.

I INTENDED TO brING THIS TO YOU.

Peering into it, Ryurikov kept his grimace to himself. Although the roasted vegetables didn’t look bad, there were no traces of meat. “I’m going to have to start eating those around me.”

“That’s what Blann and his sort did.”

Ryurikov pivoted to the witches. He would have liked to curse them for spelling the joy out of his jest, but frankly, that was far too unsettling information. Not surprising, of course. Those who worshipped Goreldion were known for their peculiar…tastes.

“Rest assured, hideous hags, I am an excellent hunter.”

“You’ll have to make do, Ruri,” said Valka, coming to stand by the firepit. “Not a lot of animals around here to hunt, considering our neighbours.”

Ryurikov took the bowl, muttering his thanks, before facing Valka. “Why is everyone talking as if we’re staying here?”

“Was that not your intention when you killed the Jarl?” asked the one with severely matted hair.

“No. I killed him because he attacked me. Any luck in learning this water magic?” He regarded Jezibaba, continuing before she could open her mouth, “I’m not accepting ‘no’ for an answer.”

“I learned it, weedling,” Jezibaba snapped. Had her nose returned to its original position? “If you’re going to wield it, give it the respect it deserves by using the correct name.”

Ryurikov popped a chunk of squash into his mouth. “Water magic?”

“No, you blithering—”

“What happened to you, anyway?” he asked Valka, sitting beside Awimak on the bench furthest from the witches.

Valka tiredly rubbed her eyes. “Just nightmares.”

Ryurikov cast Awimak a sideways glance, certain his demon was smiling. With a quiet snort, he pressed a kiss to Awimak’s massive bicep. “We’ll head out and kill us some Skin Crawlers shortly, assuming the salamander has enough of a grasp on the water magic.”

“We?” Valka plopped down beside him, bench scooting and nearly sending him off it with her eagerness. “You’ll have me at your side?”

He shrugged. “I could use your blade. Anyway, people here will need sunlight, eventually. Are you able to move the trees if we can get the smoke to clear?”

There was a brief pause while Awimak regarded him. I CAN, MY LOVE.

An awful noise left Valka. A cross between a squeal and fuckness-knew-what. “My love?”

He ignored her.

As Ryurikov emerged from the palace, the townspeople were less insistent on crowding him this time. Perhaps being manipulated had taught them a lesson, not that he was willing to forgive Valka for the transgression. If he didn’t think that damned flute would come in handy at some point, he would have already snapped it in half.

Only a few ran up to him, bearing gifts and praise, none of which he accepted, swift to duck away from them. Ryurikov resisted the urge to use Awimak as a shield, figuring he must once again be invisible to everyone else. He missed his cloak. Missed hiding in the forest, away from prying gazes, he missed—

Ryurikov stopped in front of a boutique, a lantern inside permitting him to see what it offered past lattice windows. Tilting sideways, he peered in through the open door to better see, eyes locking onto one of the most stunning dark teal cloaks.

From where he stood, he couldn’t discern what type of fabric, but he pointed at it, and lovingly whispered, “I’m coming back for you.”

There was little point in a change of attire now, when they were headed out to face the Skin Crawlers.

“Are you able to enchant my arrows with water?” he asked the hag hobbling after him.

“I don’t know,” she grumbled. “They’ve taught me the art of Dowthera, but enchanting items with it is an entirely different pouch of seeds. I’ll need to figure it out. I might not even be able to do it.”

To which Ryurikov said, “Not an option.”

The hut was where they had left it, safely tucked away deeper in the forest, away from the smoke and fiery wastelands. As the trees parted and he walked up to the front door, Ryurikov felt strangely at ease. Like he had a purpose.

His demon moved around the hut’s side, and he followed. Valka and Jezibaba too, until they reached the tree-well. The chickens lingered nearby, clucking audible over the gurgling water.

An aged hand unfurled bony fingers. Jezibaba glared at Ryurikov. He scoffed, then grabbed an arrow from his quiver and handed it over. Crossing his arms, he leaned backward against Awimak, ignoring the prod of the quiver into his back in favour of focusing on the other thing pressing into his upper back. Ryurikov craned his neck to meet Awimak’s gaze and quirked an eyebrow. Fiery eyes rallied with vigour, bark-armoured arms snaked ’round his shoulders to hold him closer.

Ryurikov groaned at the exact moment Jezibaba had spelled water from the well to encircle the arrowhead. It held for as long as it took for a bird nearby to take a shit, then fell with a similar splat into the grass.

“Your resounding failure hurts me, Beldam.”

Jezibaba croaked gibberish, then screeched, “Get out of my hair! Leave me to focus, you oversexed beasts!”

“My pleasure.” Ryurikov snorted. “And I’m still the least of your problems, hag, what with all the beetles in your hair!”

DO YOU THINK YOU AND THE ENCHANTRESS WILL EVER SEE EYE TO EYE? Awimak asked, settling down in their den. Ryurikov was swift to join him, although inwardly chided himself for how eagerly he’d flopped into the demon’s open arms.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Awimak hummed, just as Valka came to a standstill near a vegetable patch. She adjusted her jerkin, patted away some imaginary dirt, fussed with her hair. Looked at Ryurikov, then away. Her shoulders dropped slightly, then she wandered up the back porch and into the hut.

WHAT ABOUT YOUR SISTER?

Ryurikov made himself comfortable in Awimak’s lap. Despite his cock knocking against the inside of his trousers, demanding to be let out, they couldn’t very well fuck with the hag just around the corner. He didn’t exactly trust Valka not to spy on him out of boredom, either. A nap was in order, and maybe he could satiate Awimak with a dream or two.

“What about her?” he muttered at length. When his demon said nothing, he peered out of one eye. “You’re trying to get me to talk to her, now?”

Awimak appeared to smile. YOU KNOW ME WELL.

“I know your heart.” He groaned. “Very well. If it’ll please you.”

After a firm lick across his forehead that slicked his hair, Ryurikov pushed out of Awimak’s lap with a grunt and stumbled out of the den into the hut. She wasn’t in the kitchen, or the area beyond it. She wasn’t anywhere on the second floor, either.

He found her in the children’s room, and couldn’t help grimacing at the sight of all the toys. Valka sat on the ledge by the window, a leg drawn up to her chest, flute and sabre resting on the floor by her foot.

Ryurikov sauntered inside and dropped into a different bed to the one he had awoken in. “Don’t suppose you know what this room is about?” The look Valka gave him was so wretched, Ryurikov needed to do a double take. “Are you crying?”

“No,” snapped Valka, her features hardening. “Of course I know what this room is. I helped build it! And the toys, and the beds.”

He cocked his head to the side, scouring what was, apparently, Valka’s work. “I didn’t realise you were that good with your hands. Hang on—”

“Radojka doesn’t eat children.”

“You read my mind.” Ryurikov grinned, but Valka’s look turned so miserable again, he sobered up. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know where those rumours even came from. I’m the one who took them.”

“Valka, you better explain yourself.”

“Not on purpose, not at first. I was just trying out the flute my then-girlfriend gave to me.” She lowered her leg to reach for the instrument, tracing its delicate engravings with a fingertip. “Didn’t know what it could do, and it ended up luring kids to me.”

“There are less dubious ways to obtain children,” Ryurikov said, trying very hard to keep his scorn to himself, and failing. “I hear birthing them can be effective.”

Valka gave him a look. “I didn’t want any of the children, but they… They weren’t well.”

Ryurikov slowly raised a hand to tap his forehead, questioningly.

“No! They were ill and left abandoned. I thought I could help them. That we could help them. Make them happy and give them a home.”

Darkness settled in the pit of Ryurikov’s stomach, gnawing his insides. He looked around the room again, devoid of young life. “Fuck.”

A loud sob. Valka hid her face in gloved hands, contorting Ryurikov’s heart to the point it hurt. Before he could stop himself, he was beside her on the window’s ledge, an arm around her solid shoulders and pulling her head against his chest to run his fingers over braided hair.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” she said between the spill of tears. “Radojka said we were giving them better lives, but none of them ever survived! How is that better?”

Ryurikov kicked aside his instinct to insult the witch, instead took a moment to ponder what Awimak would say. Fuck, he wished Awimak was here, he’d know exactly what to say. Should he offer Valka go embrace his demon? His earthy chill always made Ryurikov feel better.

“I’m sorry.” He grimaced. “I…” Had no idea? That was fucking obvious. He propped his chin atop Valka’s head while she blubbered into his chest. “You did your best?”

Valka sniffed, then pushed away with a limp-wristed smack against his chest. “You’re terrible at this.”

“I know.” He chased after Valka with a hand, brushing freckled cheeks dry.

Another loud sniff, then she gathered her composure. “Anyway, you don’t have to comfort me. I should be the one to—”

“I forgive you.”

Hazel eyes brightened with surprise. “Ruri, you know you’re not obligated to.”

“I know.”

“But I killed you.”

“No,” he held up a finger to forestall her arguing, “blades did that before the poison could. So I forgive you for trying.”

If Valka had anything else to argue with, it fell away with a creak of the door. Ryurikov grimaced again at the sight of the rotund toad waddling in, rubbing its belly. “Fucking thing. I don’t know how it keeps finding me.”

Valka laughed, thickly. “Radojka named it Mauvella.”

A snort, and he got up to approach the toad. It eagerly croaked when he picked it up, slapping splotchy feet around his fingers.

“You are one fat fuck of a toad,” Ryurikov muttered, holding it up at eye level. “This thing’s a giant, look at it.” Easily the size of Awimak’s ballsack.

Valka’s smile was slight, but sweet, and it egged him on, as it always had. So he pressed his lips to the toad’s, needing to see her cheer in full.

The next thing he knew, he squinched up at the ceiling, head throbbing from where he must have hit it on the floor. His ears rang. Vaguely, he recalled some kind of explosion of orange dust.

He groaned, pushed to his feet and caught sight of a woman lunging for him. She screeched, brown hair a mess, and her scrawny frame entirely nude.