30. Thirty

Days passed in a hazy blur and suddenly, two weeks had gone by. Valka had left for Enlumine’s Wish to hunt Shitty Theo down for information, leaving Ryurikov to deal with a string of newcomers who’d heard of what Briamour had become.

A haven for the unwanted. Or so the whispers claimed.

He stood in the deepest shade near a shop, Awimak at his side. Ryurikov watched a throng of newcomers nervously walking across the crooked bridge, pleased to see the two newly appointed guards on either side were paying attention.

His gaze flicked to a familiar form then, dressed in maroon and deep purple robes, trying to hide behind a hood. Unfortunately for Yavor, there was no hiding that round face, or the haircut that looked like someone had taken wet strips of hide and sewn them onto his head. Ryurikov cast Awimak a sly look. His demon’s amusement radiated like summer’s heat, roots springing from between cobblestone, festooning Yavor’s legs and trapping him. The man’s face paled as Ryurikov sauntered toward him.

“Bold of you to come here, monk.” He flicked his attention to the robes. “I recognise those colours.” Briefly, he cast for the name, then snapped his fingers before pointing at the monk. “Lakunna.”

“Ye–Yes!” Yavor squeaked. “G–Goddess of the Void!”

AT LEAST HIS CAPRICIOUSNESS IS CONSISTENT.

Ryurikov bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Ready to join Blann and his ilk by hanging from a hook through your neck?”

An idle threat, more or less, when their bodies had finally been removed and used as kindling. Including what was left of the two witch-prone daughters.

Yavor stammered, fruitlessly tugging at the ensnaring roots. “I had nothing to do with Jarl Blann’s orders to have you killed!”

Ryurikov crossed his arms, glad for the swift mending of his back’s injury. The hag’s balm had worked wonders and in turn, Awimak’s mirrored wound had healed, too. “I’m supposed to believe you didn’t squeal?”

“I swear it on the Void we all walk after death!” Yavor mopped sweat off his brow with a wide sleeve, dampening the deep purple. “Be-Besides, I was seeing stars—reason, perhaps—for most of it! You–You did hit me aw–awfully hard.”

Tilting his head from side to side, Ryurikov pursed his lips. “True.”

He would have enjoyed tormenting the monk further, but a commotion near the barrier drew his attention. Newcomers scattered away from the bridge, its planks slanting dangerously with each careless step of boot and sandal-clad feet. And at the parted curtain of rain stood Vasili.

Alone, with merely one hag in his clutches.

Unlike most hags, this one was plumper, younger, her silver hair a shimmer of dusk in the smoky skies above. One of the Monarch’s witches, no doubt, although she didn’t look particularly pleased, her frail wrist clutched with bruising force. Ryurikov could see that even from where he now approached.

“What the fuck,” he snarled. “You bring us only one?”

Vasili’s lip curled. “That’s all I could get Monarch Mulgar to agree to.”

“I see self-preservation isn’t at the top of their list.” Frustration burdened Ryurikov’s exhale. “Fucking moron. Fine. Bring her in, we’ll get her acquainted.” Vasili dragged the witch along, so roughly it had Ryurikov’s mouth twitching with a sneer. “She’s capable of walking on her own, you limp pike.”

Umber eyes darted to him, brows with dashes of grey quirking in askance. “Since when do you care about hags?” All the same, Vasili swung her forward and let go, nearly sending her to the ground.

“Why are you alone?” Ryurikov asked, falling in step with the staggering witch. He caught sight of her shoes, the leather scorched. Had they made her walk through the wasteland? He leaned sideways, and ever so quietly whispered, “You’ll be among friends here.”

Her bright orange eyes skipped to him in surprise, but she said nothing.

“I know all too well what those flames can do,” said Vasili. “I’m not risking my soldiers. I don’t care what the Monarch says.”

“Disobeying commands with such ease,” Ryurikov drawled, mockingly. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

A smile tugged at Vasili’s lip. It made Ryurikov’s skin crawl, and the urge to hit him right in the mouth nearly won out. Not a chance that foul brute was on his own, though. Where had he stashed those under his command, Ryurikov wondered. His focus slid to Awimak, and they exchanged a knowing look.

This was a trap of some kind.

“We’re not ready yet, so you’ll need to wait,” said Ryurikov as they approached the palace. “And we’re taking out the neighbouring Skin Crawlers first. Then we’ll see about doing your Monarch any favours.“ He pointedly glared at Vasili. “Maybe we’ll kill just one Skin Crawler, for the one hag they’ve provided. Reciprocation, and all that.”

“You haven’t changed one bit, Ruri.”

Said so fondly, it made Ryurikov’s blood boil.

“Neither have you.” He spat the words with all the hatred he had in his soul for the man, having congealed to a lethal venom ever since he dared lay a hand on him. “And I mean that in the worst possible way.” Just in case there was any confusion.

Vasili harrumphed in response, although said nothing else.

Permitting him to enter the palace felt like a violation. Each step Vasili took over roots pushing through the floor, every time he carelessly stomped through the beginnings of verdure peering out from the stone flooring, had Ryurikov tighten his hold on the long dagger. His grip on the haft turned sweaty, and the gritting of his teeth became painful.

MY DRURY.

He started and came to a stop just before the presence chamber, which Vasili had already invaded, the hag in reluctant tow. Awimak held his massive claw out for him. Ryurikov didn’t hesitate taking it, letting his own gloved fingers slide across the palm, its size forever a surprise.

Without warning, his surroundings shifted, yellow-hued light sweeping through blurred shadows. Ryurikov glanced around, taking note of the indistinct forms within the presence chamber and the two guards he’d stationed just outside of it.

“What is it?”

LISTEN.

Ryurikov cocked his head and strained his ears.

“We’ll need to find another source to tap into soon if that rogue prince can’t find more of us.” One of the hags. The braided one, he thought, her voice as loud as though she shouted right into his ear.

“When’s supper, Dad? I’m hungry.” Ryurikov had no idea who that was. A child, based on the prepubescent squeak.

An audible smack to the back of someone’s hand. “This isn’t for you. It’s for our prince.”

“I think one of the pigs is sick.” That was Dracus, he thought.

“Sit down with the other hags, or I’ll cut your feet out from under you.” And the toad-fucker.

“I hear everything,” said Ryurikov, his own voice an odd, drawn-out echo.

INDEED, MY LOVE. WHAT DON’T YOU HEAR? Awimak paused, waiting for a response he must have realised wouldn’t come. HIS ENFORCERS AREN’T PRESENT.

Ryurikov’s brows knotted with concern. “Not a chance he didn’t squirrel them away somewhere. The other forest, maybe?”

I WOULD NEED TO DRAW CLOSER TO FIND OUT.

He shook his head. “Don’t…leave my side. We’ll deal with them when the time comes.”

“Come on, Mauvie! Stop touching Theo’s head.”

“So pretty! Tap, tap, tap. I want that little flame. Can I have it?”

“That would kill me,” buzzed Shitty Theo dryly.

“Valka’s back,” Ryurikov said. “Would you mind detouring her? She’ll lose her shit if she sees that asshole. Oh, and free Yavor, if you please.”

Awimak squeezed his hand. Their surroundings shifted from blurry, shadowy shapes back to dark stone and people in focus. A lingering, languid lick across his wrist, a section of it exposed between glove and black sleeve, and Ryurikov was tempted to drag his demon off into a private chamber. Shame they had things to deal with. Reluctantly, he released Awimak and watched him gallop away before turning back to the issue at hand.

Vasili. That limp-dicked dilberry.

Invading his space, his town. His fucking region, if Ryurikov were but a fraction more ambitious.

Maybe he ought to be.

Chin up, he strode into the presence chamber like he owned the place. He nudged a wayward youngster over, claiming a seat on the bench across from Vasili.

“Why are there so many people here?” Vasili asked.

“They are my people, and they are welcome wherever they wish to be.”

Ryurikov tried his damndest to ignore that same youngster now climbing onto his back, her sticky hands finding his throat for support. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop the glottal noise that tore free when she all but strangled him in her attempt to scale his shoulders. Mercifully, her mother noticed, simple grey frock swishing in her rush to gather the child into her arms and away from him.

“I beg you, please, forgive us,” she gasped, dark eyes stricken with a panic that didn’t entirely surprise Ryurikov.

“It’s fine,” he murmured. It wasn’t fine, he now had to resist the urge to bathe, just to get the weird mix of sand and tackiness off his skin, but held his tongue on the matter. “In any case—”

As he regarded Vasili again, the man’s eyes held an awful gleam. Awful in the sense that it was admiring, mixed with longing. Ryurikov sneered.

“What are your policies then, in regards to accepting newcomers?” asked Vasili.

“You aren’t welcome here.”

The man tutted. “Shame. I’d like it here. Now tell me about this dousing magic, if you please, yourhighness.”

It didn’t take long to explain when it boiled down to throwing water onto a fire.

“And you need a consistent source?” Vasili helped himself to wine from a pitcher someone had abandoned on the table behind him. Ryurikov hoped it was laced with poison.

“Only answer I could come up with, when there’s a time limit to how long the magic exists without a source.”

“If the well here can’t be moved, then what is your plan?”

Ryurikov glanced at Jezibaba and her wrinkled mouth pursed. They would have no choice but to bring her hut out into the wasteland, something he hadn’t yet discussed with her. He opened his mouth to do just that, but then she gave him the subtlest of nods.

“...I have that part already figured out,” Ryurikov said instead, ignoring yet another toddler crawling its way toward him. “The only thing you need to worry about is staying the fuck out of my way.”

“You understand, I’m coming with you to fight them.”

Instinct urged him to tell Vasili to get fucked. His head, however, suggested that maybe it wasn’t the worst idea. At best, he would have another hand to kill the Crawlers. And at best, again, Vasili would die in the process.

“If you insist,” Ryurikov said, then rose as smoothly as possible while he had a child latched onto his shins. He shook the thing off, unbothered by the look of distraught. “Stay here while I deal with things.”

He found Valka in the tavern, impatiently tapping her fingers across the bar while Mauvella hovered around the Candescent at a table, adorned in a dress of pale green silk. Their head turned in his direction when he entered, squeaking lightly.

“Shitty Theo,” Ryurikov said in greeting. “Why have you brought me this one, when we need a blacksmith?”

“You’re looking at ’em.” Valka heaved a great sigh. “I would’ve been back a lot sooner, but it took some convincing before Theo told us what we wanted to know.” His gaze lowered to the flute still at Valka’s hips. “I had to use it, I’m sorry Ruri. I know you don’t approve.”

Ryurikov shook his head in an attempt to dismiss the surge of discomfort. “Where’s Awi?”

“You’re obsessed.” Valka smiled. “He said to tell you he’s tending to a pig. I didn’t question it.”

“Fair enough. And I’m not obsessed.”

Just in love. The memory of those blurted words made him want to shrivel up. Too late to take them back now. Besides, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to take them back.

“Right,” he continued, “Frida is Briamour’s blacksmith and an absolute delight.” She wasn’t. An old woman more crotchety than Jezibaba and all her kind combined. “I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to accommodate your needs.”

“You tried to kill me,” Theo buzzed, three thick metal fingers clanking atop the table. A seam of silver glinted in the overhead light, where the arrow had been lodged in the top of the lantern. “You stole my bow. I won’t be doing you any favours.”

“It’s not a favour to me,” Ryurikov said. “You’d be doing everyone on Vale a service. With silver weapons we can fight and most likely kill the Skin Crawlers.”

Theo’s pale flame flickered, the white dots of their eyes shifting between him and Valka. “You did not tell me this.”

“Oh, I guess that would’ve been…helpful.” Valka ducked under Ryurikov’s glare. “Sorry!”

“So, you’ll help?” Ryurikov asked, already knowing the answer.

“Provide me with the tools and material, and I am.”

“Great.” He strode back to the door. Before leaving, over his shoulder he tossed a casual, “I’m keeping the bow.”