26. Twenty-Six

Ryurikov hadn’t known pinecones could be threatening. Yet there he was, staring down the pointy end of one, a whisper away from his eyeball. Blue eyes stared at him, empty but for the madness turning them to steel.

“Fuck–ing–hell!”

He brought his knee up into a bare stomach, sending the skeletal thing flying off and across the room. The door banged open again to his side, and a panting Jezibaba hobbled in, her rasped swears incoherent.

“Can’t I leave you alone for five minutes?” she cried, coming to stand over the thin woman’s quivering frame. Nothing but skin and bones and—

Ryurikov yowled in dismay, raising both arms to shield his eyes as the woman flailed to get back on her feet. “Someone give her something to wear!”

The woman released a mongrel of a noise, a window-shattering shriek and manic laughter. Having seen far too much, Ryurikov scrambled to his feet but didn’t turn around, trusting Valka to have his back. A tussle behind him, a grunt, followed by a thump, and caterwauls of unwillingness.

“Calm down!” Valka shouted.

An abrupt silence followed. Then, “Who are you?”

Ryurikov dared a peek, relaxing at the sight of a frumpy umber blanket covering the scrawny form. She clutched it to her chest, now sitting on the floor, eyes wide and pinned on him. He had only seen her once, long ago, but thought he recognised what remained of Princess Mauvella. As fat as she had been in toad form, her face was now gaunt, the ripple of ribs visible along her side with every slight shift. Jezibaba grumbled under her breath, unintelligibly, but her annoyance was luculent.

“You’re Princess Mauvella, aren’t you?” asked Valka. She addressed Jezibaba, rather than the woman who had, apparently, been held captive for years by the witch.

“I had a reason,” said Jezibaba.

Ryurikov tensed his jaw, whirling on the crone, ready to tear her insides out. Then he took pause, gaze snagged by the blocks stacked on a shelf, crudely fashioned out of oak. And the blankets, ugly and clumsily knit, but made to keep little bodies warm on a winter’s night. His lips thinned into a line.

“Explain, then,” he said, moving to lean out of the doorway. “Everything’s fine, Awi.” Just in case his demon was listening in.

“I was asked to take her,” said Jezibaba while Valka helped Mauvella sit on a bed nearest the window. “She is mentally damaged and her mother told me to help. I…couldn’t. I’m sorry, child.”

Mauvella released a whimper, it bordered on manic. “It’s fine! It’s fine. I liked the flies. The flies were good.”

“Why the fuck turn her into a toad?” Ryurikov demanded.

“I grew tired of her attacking me.” Jezibaba met his gaze and held it.

He sighed. “Fair enough.”

The hag’s surprise was clear in a rise of silver brows. Aside from that, she gave nothing else in response, turning to rummage through a chest in the far corner. A bounty of clothing spilled free, mostly child-sized, and he hated spotting the mossy-looking thing he’d seen Jezibaba knit before. She brought over a shapeless frock, along with an orange sash. Ryurikov gave them some privacy, turning back only once he was sure it was safe to look.

“Are you hungry?” asked Valka.

Mauvella jumped up. “More flies? Yes!”

“No, no flies—”

A piercing cry.

Ryurikov’s only warning before Mauvella pounced, tearing down another wind chime on her way. Her weapon of choice this time was an acorn, and he was ill prepared to find it shoved up his nose. He swore, slammed his hands down on frail shoulders, and shoved her to her ass with minimal effort.

Removing the acorn proved more challenging.

“Turn her back!” Ryurikov shouted, flicking the oval nut away.

“I can’t, you nitwit, or I would’ve done it already!” Jezibaba stood to the side, glaring as Valka rushed to help Mauvella back up. “I take it you’re the idiot who decided to kiss a toad?”

“And it would have been amusing too, had this,” Ryurikov flapped his hand at the Princess, “not been…” He got his other hand involved. It seemed like a two-hand situation. “This.”

Sea-like eyes snapped up to him again, and it caused his hair to stand on end. He made a quick escape down the staircase, unwilling to find out where Mauvella would try to stuff the next object she found.

Awimak lurked by the steps below the raspberry bush, holding an arrow in a great claw. Ryurikov reached up for it to admire the fletching—vibrant green leaves. And the shaft, more like a branch, its wood similar to the trees now occupying Briarmour. Crystalline water swirled around the point, sparkling like fine jewellery in the sunlight.

“So, the hag’s done it.”

IT REQUIRED MY WOOD TO DO IT.

Ryurikov bit down an amused snort. “That’s not all your wood is good for.” A claw settled atop his head, and stayed there for a moment. “Now to test this out. Will one arrow be enough?”

UNLIKELY. Awimak gathered a wooden sword from the den. WE HAVE CREATED THIS FOR VALKA.

Similar to her sabre, with burls and streaks of bark, it too had a swirl of glimmering water encasing the blade.

“You’ve been busy.”

A crash sounded behind him. Ryurikov scampered to hide behind Awimak. He spun back around, prepared for another ambush. When none came, he asked, “Did you know the toad was a princess?”

I DID NOT. NEITHER DID I KNOW YOU ENJOY KISSING AMPHIBIANS.

Ryurikov gave pause. “Awi.”

His demon turned to him. MY APOLOGIES. I WAS NOT SPYING. I WAS—

“Making sure I was safe. I appreciate it. Hang on,” Ryurikov closed the distance between them, craning his neck to look up at his demon. “You’re not worried, are you?”

YOU WERE BETROTHED TO HER.

He laughed, unable to help it. “Were is right. For what it’s worth, I’d much rather be betrothed to you.”

The words cascaded with such ease from his lips, yet unspooled his mind so quickly it left Ryurikov feeling lightheaded. Awimak faced him in full, claws coming to cradle his head, to brush thumbs across his fire-hot cheeks. Thankfully, Awimak said nothing, silent in his acknowledgement.

They weren’t permitted to linger on it, anyway. Crunching behind his large demon jerked Ryurikov out of the touch.

“Big boy,” said Mauvella, shoving the core of an apple into her mouth. Her throat flexed around a gag.

“Sorry!” Valka hopped down the porch onto the wide stepping stones, boots kicking up a veil of dust. She smacked Mauvella across the back to help dislodge the core. It spilled from her mouth into the grass, chased by a string of saliva.

Ryurikov warily eyed the apple stem still pinched between Mauvella’s fingers. Anything could be a weapon in those hands.

Crunch.

Ryurikov’s sideways glance stopped on Mauvella, eating what had to be her fourth apple.

“Any more and you’ll get the shits.”

“Oooh! Wonder if I remember how to?”

He snorted, shifting his focus back to the burning lands ahead, his beautiful demon-crafted arrow already nocked. The scenery hadn’t changed, an endless stretch of blackened wastelands. With a last look over his shoulder at Awimak, whom he had expressly told to stay put, he and Valka moved forward. Mauvella tried to scuttle after them, her borrowed boots a touch too large, but Awimak’s claw shot out and grasped her hand.

“We’ll be back soon, Mauvie!” Valka called.

Ryurikov’s expression fell into a flat look. “Mauvie?”

Even under the gloom of thick smoke, Valka’s face darkened with a tinge of rose red. “I like her.”

“You’ve known her for the count of four apples!”

“She’s nicer than Nebujin!”

He stopped dead in his tracks, fire-thinned bones breaking under his boot. “Valka,” he said, acerbically. “You aren’t referring to the sky dragon?”

Valka’s eyes flicked past his shoulder. She signalled for him to duck. Swiftly, he moved behind molten stone that might have been a home once, dodging a stray flame feasting on crispened fur. Rabbit, perhaps.

“Valka,” Ryurikov said again.

“Where do you think I got the flute?”

He glanced at the damned thing on her hip, scrutinised its tooth-yellow tinge. “For fuck’s sake. Your girlfriend was a dragon?”

“Like you’re one to talk!”

“I’m not judging on what you decide to fuck—you know what, yes I am. Awimak’s not a dragon, for a start. How does that even work?”

Valka shrugged. “There were some logistics we had to figure out. Oh don’t look at me like that!”

“Sorry.” Ryurikov faltered. “It’s just—Nebujin!”

“Yeah?”

“She’s the size of an island!”

His sister clicked her tongue. “An exaggeration. More like a cay.”

She peered over the congealed wall, the crunch and crack of several puppets audible beyond it, and her hand tightened on the hilt of Awimak’s sword.

“Don’t waste it,” said Ryurikov. “Wait for them to pass.”

There were far too many. Only once the noise of dry bones breaking no longer reached them did he move away from the wall, skirting through thick layers of ash with Valka in tow. The screech of a Skin Crawler serrated the air, from a distance. Another screech followed as if in answer from elsewhere.

“I can’t tell where it’s coming from,” Valka said, hushed.

The hills were too wide and too open, with little to hide behind other than more molten stone. They would just need to figure it out, and Ryurikov said as much.

“I thought you might have a better plan than just running into this.”

“I died three times. Do I seem like someone who plans?”

“That reminds me.” Valka straightened from her crouch, causing him to squirm with the need to tug her back down. Although, other than hazy orange horizons and skies as murky as vegetable tea, there was little else to see. “Radojka told me about the stew. Why the hell would you eat something a witch gave you?”

Ryurikov settled a knee into ash as pliant as fresh snow. He met her gaze, but found he couldn’t hold it. There was little he could think to respond with. Admitting that deep down in the darkest, shittiest parts of himself he had a death wish seemed too upfront a response. One Valka was unlikely to understand. Calling himself a fool would not have been entirely accurate. Telling her that he thought it’d be safe would have been an outright lie.

“It smelled nice and I was hungry.”

The silence that followed suggested Valka didn’t believe him. Thankfully, she didn’t push the subject, only groaned in frustration. “Where are those things?”

Ryurikov shrugged. “They found me easily enough in another town, like they sensed I was there.” He jerked at a sudden holler, eyes widening in disbelief. “Valka! What the fuck?”

She lowered her hands from her face, her call still echoing. “What? I’m bored.”

A screech responded. It was swiftly followed by dull clack-clack-clacks.

Ryurikov swore, pivoting to ready his bow, unsure where the noise came from. Until he saw a dense cloud of ash in the wake of a Skin Crawler, barrelling forward. Fully fledged—older. Twice the size of those in Eastcairn. Valka’s feet appeared to have grown roots beside him while Ryurikov aimed for the demon’s thin chest. He cast the arrow, muscle memory taking over even as his heart threatened to beat itself out of his ribcage.

He didn’t wait to find out if he hit it, grabbing Valka by the scruff and yanking her out of the way of a flailing scythe. Her bulky frame hit the ground. Right behind them, the muffled thud of a scythe connecting with the earth had Valka kicking through ash to get away from it. Ryurikov nocked a second dousing arrow, aimed, then loudly cursed.

The magic had gone from its tip.

“Run, Valka!”

She didn’t need telling, already tripping over her own feet to flee. Ryurikov spun to grasp the enchanted sword from her hip, its wooden blade sliding from the leather harness with ease. He whirled again, the demon now above him, so tall its underside brushed the top of his head. The arrow stuck dead-centre from its bony chest, otiose. With an upward swing, Ryurikov thrust the blade into its belly, surprised to feel the flesh give with such ease, sending blood spilling.

It ignited across his forearm. He yanked the blade free and fled out from under the demon, its shrill caw echoing as it staggered. Ryurikov tore the once-white tunic off him, flinging it aside, but the flames had sunk their teeth into his skin. Panicking, he ran the flat of the sword over his arm. Crystalline water trickled off the blade to swirl around his limb, dousing the flames before evaporating with a hiss.

“Ruri!”

A second Skin Crawler scuttled up the incline, whirling cinders and smoke in its wake. This one had to be young, freshly hatched from someone’s corpse, skin and shattered bone stretched over its limbs like ill-fitted clothing, bleeding fire.

Valka’s feet had set anchor again. Ryurikov darted forward, snagging her by the jerkin. She cried something about where they were headed, but he could barely catch his breath from the searing pain in his arm, let alone respond. The two Skin Crawlers followed so close behind, charcoal flicked his back.

A scythe arced high above his shoulder. He shoved Valka out of the way. They both stumbled sideways, struggling to find their feet in pliant debris.

Through the smouldering miasma, the ancient trees of Briarmour fell into view. Ryurikov pushed against Valka’s back, urging her to run faster. She was heavy on her feet, too slow—something caught him in the back, digging into his bare skin. He cried out, flailed, unable to free himself from the hook the eldest Skin Crawler had on him. Ryurikov fell to his knees, ash shrouding his vision, drawing into his mouth with each sharp intake of breath.

“Go!” he rasped through clenched teeth, reaching behind him to grip the scythe scraping across bone.

“Fuck that!”

Valka unsheathed her sword, stomping toward him. Lacklustre light snaked along the blade as it swept over Ryurikov’s head, the steel axing into bone. With a grunt, she planted her foot against the limb, dislodging it from his back. Her gloved hand came ’round his underarm, effortlessly hoisting him up. He stumbled forward, feeling the hot cascade of blood across his skin. His own hand came around the inside of Valka’s elbow, but she moved out of his grip, steadying her blade as the Skin Crawler snapped its skull-beak at her.

“Princess Valka,”it gasped.

“No,” said Valka, surer than he had ever heard her speak. “Not anymore.” She took her stance, holding the blade low. “It’s Piper of the Drakes.”

The demon chirmed, canting its head, empty orbits focused on her. The younger one advanced, trailing fire, clicking its skin-coated beak with famished eagerness. Ryurikov took hold of both his daggers, Awimak’s sword now lost.

“We can’t take these on,” he hissed. “Can’t you use the flute?”

“Nope,” said Valka calmly, so unlike the sister he’d known. “It doesn’t work on demons. It’s fine, Ruri. You get away. I’ve got this.”

“Fuck that.”

If they were going to die, they would do so together.

Then his thoughts flickered to Awimak, gutting him with the realisation that he couldn’t allow himself, or his sister, to die. Unfortunately, they were too far away from the town, there was nowhere to hide, and the persistent trickle of blood down his back had yet to cease.

“But if you don’t mind,” Ryurikov continued in a strain, “fuck dying, too.”

Valka glanced at him. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

She launched forward. Ryurikov drifted to the side, both dodging the rapid swipes of a bone-scythe. They flanked the eldest. Valka brought her blade down against a forelimb, it stumbled forward. Ryurikov drove his long dagger into a hindleg. Used it for leverage to hoist himself atop it, momentarily sliding against gossamer-thin skin flaking away under his grip. The Skin Crawler bucked, and he rammed the serrated dagger into its spine, twisting it.

The youngling scampered up the side and flailed to reach him. It missed his leg by a leaf, so did the flames flaring up from where he had his dagger in the spine. He jerked his hand away, sliding off the Skin Crawler’s back and landing on his feet. Pivoting, he jammed the long dagger into a hindquarter, repeatedly, until its bony wound bled, and he needed to move on. Valka had adopted a similar tactic, dodging every gush and spurt of fire-blood as they worked on the large demon, avoiding the youngling scattering flames fieldwide.

“We need to move!” Ryurikov called when his foot nearly caught a line of flames left in the youngling’s wake. “Run, I’m right behind you!”

He darted back to the larger demon, scaling its crumpling form again after Valka yanked her blade out of its throat. With a few hard tugs, he retrieved his serrated dagger, slid forward and jumped, nailing the blade directly into the nape on his way down. Ryurikov ran after Valka, vaulting over ruins, soon catching up.

A glimpse behind him—the demon struggled to chase, youngling ambling by its side. Giant trees drew nearer with each frantic fall of their feet. Ryurikov reached out for his sister’s hand as they ran. She took it, clenching tight. He stumbled, his vision blurring.

“No, you don’t!”

Valka slowed to curl her arms under him and scooped him up, cradling Ryurikov against her chest. Were it not for the fierce draw in her brows, he would have been convinced he weighed nothing at all. Her biceps shifted into his back, painfully, but he wrapped his arm around her neck, keeping his eyes glued to the Skin Crawlers slowly fading into the haze.

They hadn’t yet reached Briarmour, and Valka lost steam, soon forced to lower him back down. He wobbled, clamping a hand around her shoulder to support her as much as himself while they tried to catch their breath. She coughed against the inhale of ash and smoke, her hazel eyes meeting his. He failed to smile, could only grimace. They were closer to Briarmour now, but his strength drained from him faster than he could count.

DRURY!

Enormous claws lifted Ryurikov by the hips, raising him against a solid chest. He wrapped his left arm around Awimak’s neck and uttered a swear against grey skin, which he shortly kissed, vision bouncing while Awimak walked.

“Red, red! Was it me? Did I do that?”

Ryurikov peeled an eye open to glance at Mauvella over Awimak’s shoulder, shuffling through charred grass beside a sweaty, panting Valka.

“I’m afraid not,” he muttered. “Maybe next time.”

TOUCH HIM AND I WILL UPROOT YOUR VERY EXISTENCE, MAUVELLA.

Did Awimak sound angry? Ryurikov would have commented, but he was exhausted.

Curtains of rain parted. Planks of wood groaned under Awimak’s weight. Ryurikov leaned his head against the broad chest, breathing in the scent of forest and soil, and tried not to grimace at the clamour springing up around him. He was more exposed than he cared to be, in a state he didn’t appreciate.

He must have faded, since the next thing Ryurikov knew, he was on his stomach in a bed. Voices carried over him, a pair of warm hands working something into his wounds, easing the pain in his arm and back. Awimak crouched low by his side, fiery eyes flickering. He was angry, still.

“What is it, Awi?” Ryurikov slurred. He reached out to brush his fingertips through soft hair trailing over pronounced clavicles. Awimak snorted, breath flaring before him, scalding enough that Ryurikov needed to withdraw his hand.

I SHOULD NOT HAVE LET YOU GO ALONE.

“Hey, do I count for nothing?” Valka grumbled from somewhere.

Ryurikov pushed air past his lips. “You couldn’t have gone. I prefer you uncooked.”

WE WILL DISCUSS THIS,Awimak said. AFTER YOU REST.

He’d gotten so used to Awimak’s wraith-like voice, it no longer perturbed him, but there was a sharpness to it he hadn’t heard before. He would have responded, were it not for someone jostling him.

“Fucking ouch,” Ryurikov snapped, yet his tone was nothing to the snarl of fury erupting from Awimak. Long nails dug into the bedding, as if he had to restrain himself from lashing out. Fuck, they were going to need to have a conversation.

“I’m so sorry,” whimpered a feminine voice Ryurikov didn’t recognise. “I–I haven’t practised in so long!”

“Move over, child.”

He groaned at Jezibaba’s croak, dead-cold fingers grazing his feverish skin, applying dressing to his back. Murmured instructions accompanied by Awimak’s hot breath across his face lulled him into a sleep he tried to fight.

A battle lost.