28. Twenty-Eight

Looks of fright and awe followed Ryurikov while he held Awimak’s claw, his stride steady along herringbone cobblestone roads despite the previous nights’ endeavours. He’d found nothing to wear but the late Jarl’s black clothes and, not wishing to be mistaken for anything, covered the embroidered image of Goreldion with a studded leather vest he’d taken off a soldier’s corpse. It even had a hood attached, and he’d immediately pulled it over his head, gleeful in the security its finely woven fabric provided.

White wisteria cascading the tavern’s front remained bright even in the gloom cast by colossal trees. Ryurikov ducked through the door, holding it open for Awimak while his demon figured out how to get his horns past the frame. Did they seem larger?

Gasps behind him had Ryurikov smiling, slyly. Because he’d requested his demon show himself. None of the townsfolk ran for their lives. Although after being oppressed by a cultish Jarl who demanded suffering as part of taxes, he supposed a tall demon wasn’t much of a concern.

It helped that the townsfolk saw Ryurikov as some kind of saviour. The thought still made him want to curl in on himself. He wouldn’t have gone out, but he was hungry. There was plenty of food at the palace, of course, prepared for him not only by servants, but the townspeople coming to pay their respects. Unfortunately, none of it contained meat. Not to mention he’d learned the servants hadn’t been fed in a while.

Hence, he needed to fend for himself now, more or less. Guiding Awimak through the door, he claimed a seat at the bar, pleased to see how well kept everything in the tavern was. Dark wood dominated, the stools were polished and clean, much like the bar itself. Even the flagstone floor was spotless.

Awimak carefully lowered onto a stool beside him. It creaked, threateningly. Lips twitching up into another smile, Ryurikov reached out to toy with Awimak’s claws. A wingbeat of nervousness awakened as their fingers touched, explored, then laced.

Thumping pulled his attention to the barkeep hobbling toward him, crutch in one hand, two tankards in the other. His gaze flicked from Ryurikov’s face up to Awimak. The intricacies of the deer’s skull were illuminated with a rising sun no one could see. There was a split second of fear, but the barkeep masked it quickly, and well.

Coming to stand before them, he set the tankards down. “My Jarl.”

“No, no. No.” Ryurikov ignored Awimak’s amused chuckle and released his hand. “I am not your Jarl, or your anything.”

“Not Prince Leonid Maksim either, who beshrew all land, here to steal what belongs to Monarch Mulgar?”

His expression must have darkened several shades to murder, since the barkeep immediately held up both hands. “Word travels, your highness. I meant nothing by it.”

“Not that, either,” Ryurikov snapped. “I just want something to eat that once frolicked on four legs! Is that too much to ask?”

What few patrons occupied the tavern fell silent, yet the barkeep’s look softened. “I’ll fetch you something.”

Ryurikov shook his head, watching the man retreat. “The sooner we get rid of those things outside the sooner we can get the fuck out of here.”

I WOULD BE INTERESTED TO KNOW WHO SPREAD THIS INFORMATION.

A baleful look at Awimak, who leaned in closer to nuzzle his temple. Blood encrusted his skull still, he hadn’t wanted to clean it off even after Ryurikov offered to do it for him.

“You mean you don’t know?”

I DO KNOW.

With a groan, Ryurikov rubbed his stiff neck. “The hags.”

Awimak’s face nudged him, ever so affectionate with the way he rubbed against his cheek, his neck. His shoulder. I BELIEVE THEIR AIM WAS TO INSTIL HOPE.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” Ryurikov muttered, petulantly. “It’s not my fault Mulgar is a piece of shit.”

GOLD DUSTED ORDURE, COMPARED TO YOUR PARENTS.

He tutted. “Witty.”

YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN THEM, MY LOVE.

Ryurikov groaned. “Not you, too.”

The door to the kitchens squeaked open and the barkeep emerged with a plate, which meant he could avoid further discussion of taking responsibility for something he didn’t want. The plate slid across highly polished wood toward him, and Ryurikov raised his eyebrows.

“Minktoad,” he said, flatly.

“Four legs and frolics. Or used to, that one.” The barkeep grinned. It was annoyingly jovial. “They’re fine to eat. We have to make do.”

“Well, if it’s good enough for you.” He picked up a leg to give it a careful nibble. It wasn’t all that bad. Mild like chicken, and well seasoned.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what your companion prefers,” said the barkeep, regarding Awimak again.

DREAMS. I WILL COME FOR YOURS WHEN THEY ARE HAPPY.

Ryurikov snorted with laughter. The barkeep looked rightfully worried, and hastened away—as much as he could, being one leg down.

YOUR SISTER IS LOOKING FOR YOU, said Awimak then, and Ryurikov hurried to clear his plate before she could find him and steal what little meat there was.

Not two mouthfuls later and she burst through the door, completely winded. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“I said I was going out.”

Lantern light transformed her hair into a fiery mess as she darted to him. “We figured out why the magic didn’t work—ooh, what did you have to eat?”

“Vegetables.”

Valka shrugged. “I told you, they don’t have livestock here aside from a few pigs.”

“Pigs?” Ryurikov slammed his feet down on the ground in a hurry to leave. “Where? I’ll gut one myself.”

“Focus!”

“Right, right. Jezibaba’s magic is limp-dicked.”

“Not impotent, just not combined with the right material. We need silver.”

He rubbed his face with both hands, already tired. He hadn’t stopped being tired. “Should I ask why?”

“Like you care.” Valka walked back to the door, signalling for him to follow with a jerk of her head. He really didn’t want to.

“You’re right, I don’t. Get me something that works and I’ll use it. Until then, I’d like to be left alone.”

“We need to find a blacksmith who can work with the right kind of silver.” Valka crossed her brawny arms. “Apparently, not everyone can.”

“I have a silver bow. That’ll do the trick, I’d wager?”

“I know. It’s exactly what we need. And I’d like a blade of the same silver. You need silver arrows too, I think.”

“No.” Ryurikov pivoted, walking past Awimak to look for a back door. Regrettably, no matter how hard he slapped the wall’s dark panels, no door appeared.

“Ruri!”

“I know what that means and I’m not going back there.” He faced Valka, who ran to block his path to the only exit. In a hiss, he added, “I killed way too many people there. And I’m pretty sure I gave the owner of the silver bow a bit of head trauma.”

“Gods. Yes, I know, Ruri. Rumours of the shitfest you left behind has already reached the drakes.” Valka’s lips thinned into a line, and fuck, she reminded him too much of himself just then. “You won’t have to go, I will.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You want to go after Vasili.”

“That’d just be a bonus. You’re still recovering, especially after you made it worse.”

If the heat that rose to his face was visible, Valka didn’t acknowledge it.

I DO NOT THINK EITHER OF YOU WILL NEED TO LEAVE FOR THAT.

They both looked at Awimak, whose attention was pinned to a wall. Tension claimed those glorious shoulders, his claws digging into the counter, notching pristine wood.

HE IS HERE, WAITING BEYOND THE BARRIER WITH ENFORCERS.

“Fuck,” Ryurikov breathed, while Valka said, “Good. I’m going to cut his head off.”

Ryurikov rolled his shoulders against the strain in them and wincing when it aggravated his injury. He was too fucking tired for this. All the same, he marched out of the tavern, waited for Awimak to free himself from its doorway, then motioned at the palace.

“Go inform the hags,” he said to Valka. “Then gather what people can fight in case we need to defend this place. Don’t argue.”

She gave him a petulant look, but spun on her heel and stomped away. He supposed it was a good thing they hadn’t yet gotten rid of all Blann’s dead soldiers. Their gear would arm the townsfolk sufficiently.

Awimak grasped his hand, holding it tight as they made their way to the bridge. The ancient trees rustled in a wind that didn’t reach them below, as if in agitation. Past the stream on the other side of the bridge, the blurred crimson and yellow images of enforcers loomed. And based on Awimak’s low growl, Ryurikov guessed Vasili was at the forefront on horseback.

“What happens if anyone touches the barrier?” he asked in a whisper. “Does it prevent people from entering?”

NO. IT WILL ONLY DISTURB THE FLOW OF MAGIC AND THE SKIN CRAWLERS WILL SEE IT AS AN INVITATION.

“Let’s hope Vasili doesn’t know that.” Stopping just shy of the unstable bridge, Ryurikov squirmed free of Awimak’s grasp to clench his fingers around the hafts his daggers at the belt. “What the fuck do you want, Vasili?” He spat the name like a malediction.

“You’ve claimed land you have no right to, Prince of the fallen Thuidal Kingdom!” Vasili’s horse snorted, restlessly pawing the ground. A beautiful roan with white socks and a dark mane.

“I claimed fuck all.” Ryurikov stepped forward, his demon following so closely, Awimak’s chill encapsulated his back.

“Then you’ll have no issues leaving this town.”

“A town the Monarch left to the Skin Crawlers,” Ryurikov said. “You’re only here because it wasn’t destroyed and you want what stopped it. Mulgar left these people to die.”

Vasili laughed. An ugly, bitter sound. “A bit like you did your people?”

Ryurikov gnashed his teeth. The words cut him worse than a blade to the stomach, and he hated it. He would have liked to counter with insults, but the ancient trees shifted and swayed. Those nearest bowed, branches fluid in their sway, disturbing the barrier of rain as they whipped out, narrowly missing Vasili and the enforcers.

“Don’t threaten me, demon,” the bastard shouted, nudging his horse forward. “You do not belong here, either. Get back to the woods you were banished to!”

A frown tugged at Ryurikov’s brows, but the claw coming to rest on his shoulder settled it. “Talk to him like that again and I’ll wreak meticulous havoc on every inch of your body.”

“Part the barrier,” Vasili edged closer to the bridge still, “or I will run it through and leave this town to the Skin Crawlers.”

Panic snaked its hold around Ryurikov’s heart and squeezed. He didn’t want to leave these people to the mercy of either Mulgar or Skin Crawlers, especially not when he still needed the hags and their magic. They would likely be the only ones who knew how to fight against the Crawlers.

He slid out from Awimak’s touch, crossed the bridge halfway to stop by the barrier. Vasili took it as an invitation, for he dismounted his horse and approached. His face remained blurry, mostly, but looking at him again, a deep seated anger roiled Ryurikov’s stomach. His hand clenched more tightly around the long dagger, itching to draw it.

“We can stop them,” he ground out. “I know how to kill the Skin Crawlers, but I can’t do that without this place, without the hags tied to it. I’m taking responsibility, Vasili.”

“That’d be a first.”

The urge to slam his fist into Vasili’s nose was overwhelmingly powerful.

“But I can see your use, now,” said Vasili, and Ryurikov stayed his hand. For now. “Let me through and we’ll discuss this. I might even be able to convince Monarch Mulgar not to let you hang.”

“Last I heard, Mulgar was more an appreciator of the Brazen Bull.”

Vasili chuckled, the sound void of humour. “They are. So what will it be? Cooperate, or doom this town and face a slow, burning death? It’d be a fitting end for you.”

Ryurikov released his dagger long enough to run his thumb along his index finger. He couldn’t permit the barrier to be compromised, but what hell would he invite into Briarmour by allowing Mulgar’s enforcers inside?

“Some conditions,” he said at length.

“I’m not sure you’re in a position to make any demands.”

“I’ll gut you before you can step away. Do you value your life, the lives of those under your command? I’ve heard you already lost a few of them.”

“Fuck you, Ruri.”

“Fuck you too, Keeper.”

They glared at each other. Ryurikov flexed his fingers around his daggers again, his hair standing on end, body tight with tension. A hot trickle ran down his back, the injury throbbing.

Then, finally, “What are your conditions?”

“Your clots of dung stay outside. Only you enter. We’ll discuss the means of defeating the Skin Crawlers, and when that’s accomplished, you leave this town to me.”

“You realise I can’t make any promises.”

Ryurikov scoffed. “I’m sure you’ve sucked your way up to Mulgar’s favour.” Was Vasili narrowing his eyes in anger? He smirked. “You said the Skin Crawlers might be the end of Vale. We have the possibility of doing something about it and increase the chances of success by joining forces with Mulgar’s hags. What’s there to lose, a bit of land? Mulgar was happy enough to abandon it. It can’t be that valuable.”

Vasili crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. “I forgot how sharp you could be. All those years of scheming have served you well.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Ruri. I will pass on whatever we come up to the Monarch.”

He tried not to squirm at the softened familiarity, how Vasili now spoke to him like they were friends. He hesitated, then waved at the barrier. Even though Ryurikov didn’t know how it worked, the receding raindrops parted.

It gave him a clear view of the man who had been responsible for keeping his life safe since birth, who had betrayed his trust only yesterday, for what it felt like.

Vasili ducked inside, stepped too close, and Ryurikov staggered away in sudden panic. He hadn’t meant to, neither had he meant for Awimak to see, who was by his side that instant. Vasili’s umber eyes widened at the sight of the tree-tall demon. Bark scraped Ryurikov’s leather vest, Awimak’s arm wrapping around his shoulders and across his chest, pulling him out of reach and against his powerful front.

MINE.

A dangerous snarl, loud enough to hurt his ears, to make Vasili question his decision to enter alone. His startled gaze flicked from Awimak to Ryurikov’s face, then back up. Sudden disdainful realisation replaced his expression of shock.

“Did you blood-swear yourself to this thing?” Another laugh at Ryurikov’s look of confusion, hollow and cruel. “I nearly believed you when you said you’re not into power imbalances.”

Indignation boiled his insides, both at the accusation and the increasing sense Awimak wasn’t telling him something—several things. He twisted out of the hold, jumped over thick roots, heading for the palace while his head whirled.

Blood-swear. He’d done no such thing. Had Awimak? He froze mid-step, his foot hovering over displaced cobblestone.

The refusal to wipe the blood from his skull.

I AM ABLE TO EXPLAIN.

He jumped. Awimak’s sudden appearance beside him had Ryurikov glowering. “You better, Awi. But not now.”

PLEASE, LET ME EXPLAIN.

Said with such aching desperation, Ryurikov paused, forcing himself to relax the angry expression that pulled his face tight. “It’s okay.” He exhaled, slowly. Vasili was only a few feet away. It made his skin crawl. “I know you’d never do anything against my will.”

NEVER.

He had to ignore Vasili’s jeering laugh. It was either ignore it or eviscerate him. “You’ll tell me more later.” His tone was soft, but it wasn’t a request. Awimak seemed to understand, for he nodded.

Only Short-Haired and Jezibaba were inside the presence chamber, both looking lethally acrimonious, like he’d just interrupted an argument. He strained a smirk, refusing to give into the fretting his mind wanted to indulge. Valka was thankfully nowhere in sight, but Mauvella was and much like she’d done that morning, instantly lunged for him.

Ryurikov sidestepped her, waving Awimak down when his demon caught her by the wrist and looked ready to fling her across the chamber.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She cackled, kicking her ineffectual feet against muscular legs until Awimak set her down. “I found something.”

“Can it wait?”

Mauvella furiously shook her head. She dove a hand into the pocket of her frock, pulled it back out, knuckles pronounced as she held out her fist. “You said you wanted meat!”

Ryurikov eyed her, then the naked tail protruding from between her thin fingers. “Ah. No, thank you.”

“Princess Mauvella? It can’t be!” Vasili gave Awimak a wide berth, making the grave mistake of approaching her.

Ryurikov could practically see Mauvella throw her hackles up. She hunched her shoulders, flashed her teeth and hissed, spittle flying from her mouth to pelt Vasili’s cheek. He backed up even as she scuttled away, mouse still in hand. She jumped out through the broken window, her footfalls soon retreating. Ryurikov wondered if he ought to give chase.

“Anyway,” he said, hovering near an empty bench by the firepit to take a moment and gather himself, to calm the flurry of thoughts. He eased down, and Awimak immediately positioned himself behind, close enough that the dupion tickled his back.

“The knowledge of dousing magic can be passed onto other witches. So unlike healing, it’s not an inherent trait.” Ryurikov inclined his head at Vasili across from him, who clearly had a hag capable of healing, either working for him or the Monarch. Awimak had broken several of his bones in Enlumine’s Wish, without a doubt. “Just think of what we can accomplish if we combine all crones across the land.”

Jezibaba cast Ryurikov a look of surprise, but said nothing.

“We might very well stop the Skin Crawlers entirely.” Vasili traced an idle finger along his lips, toying with the edges of his moustache. “They’ve been edging closer to Midwood Marsh.”

Closer to the Monarch, then. No wonder Vasili was willing to entertain him. Ryurikov stopped himself from scoffing. “Then you and Mulgar have everything to gain by this.”

“And what of you?” Vasili kicked out a leg and leaned back, watching him. “You set the Skin Crawlers on this world, you should be held—”

“It wasn’t me, you toad fucker,” Ryurikov snarled. “It was Radmila.”

Vasili’s watchful gaze turned into a cold stare. Something worked in his mind, Ryurikov could see the shit-coated waterwheel turn. Then he stood, brushed himself off, visibly keeping his composure. “I need to get back to my enforcers.”

“Hang on.” Ryurikov quickly moved to stand in front of Vasili, keeping a wide distance but blocking his path. “What is it?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“Twenty-two years I’ve known you, I know when something has your balls in a twist. Out with it.”

Vasili’s look turned uglier than it already was. “Radmila is currently under the employ of Monarch Mulgar.”

Ryurikov had to actively force himself not to splutter. He turned on Jezibaba. “I thought she was dead!”

“Nobody said she was,” said the hag.

Then, he turned to Short-Haired, who shrugged like it meant nothing. Ryurikov swore, under his breath, then loudly enough to draw Awimak up to his full height in alarm. “Fuck off and take care of it then, Vasili. Come back with whatever other hags you can.”

“No.” The asshole’s gloved fist creaked when it tightened around the hilt of his sword. “You’re coming to us.”

“We need the water well that’s here, specifically, or it won’t work.” Ryurikov hoped to fuck Vasili was still shit at reading his bluff. “Besides, I won’t doom this town—my fucking town. It’s mine and Awimak’s now, do you hear me? If Mulgar wants it, they can come and take it back themselves.”

Vasili narrowed his eyes, his body stiff, a foot sliding back across the stone floor.

Ryurikov watched his past Keeper ready to attack him on behalf of Mulgar, someone they once deemed their enemy. Fury and loathing seared his chest, he barely remembered how to breathe.

He launched at Vasili, bringing one hand around his throat, the other fisting the collar of his fancy crimson surcoat. Their faces so close, he could spit down Vasili’s throat and hit the inside of his asshole.

“Don’t fucking test me,” he snarled. “I will kill you. I will kill all your soldiers while you bleed out and watch. I will lure every fucking Skin Crawler to Mulgar and slit their throat before they can so much as shake a breast or cock at me.”

With a growl, Vasili grabbed him around the biceps, his jaw jutting forward in defiance. Ryurikov squeezed his throat harder, until pale skin turned red, veins bulged, and the resistance in those umber eyes relented. Once that hold on his arms slackened, he shoved Vasili away to look at him with everlasting, incurable contempt.

“Fuck. Off. Now.”

Vasili’s receding footsteps no longer echoed through the presence chamber, and only then did Ryurikov dare to breathe again. And when he inhaled, it was with difficulty. When he exhaled, his breath shook. He raised his hand to tuck into his hair. He stared at the tremble in it.

A hoof scraped across stone. He knew Awimak would try to comfort him.

“Not now.” Ryurikov didn’t think he could take it. “Please, just make sure that fucker leaves.”

AS YOU WISH, DRURY.