Chapter 17

Anya woke at dawn and looked blearily around the room. Her head pounded painfully when she tried to sit up, so she sagged back down again with a groan. After a few minutes, the door opened, and Yvan appeared carrying a food tray.

"Good morning," he said, placing the tray on the edge of the bed. Anya groaned in reply. "Here, drink this, and you"ll feel better." He waved a small cup of black coffee under her nose. Anya sat up slowly, resting her back against the wall. The coffee seared her mouth and throat before flooding her stomach with warmth.

"God, that"s hot," she said, screwing her face up.

"It will give you an appetite." Yvan smiled and drank his own.

Anya looked at the dark circles under his eyes and his messy morning hair. "You look terrible, Yvan. Didn"t you sleep at all?"

"A wooden chair isn"t the most comfortable thing to sleep on."

"You could"ve pushed me over the other side of the bed," Anya said, the coffee finally starting to wake her up.

Yvan shrugged his big shoulders. "It would"ve been inappropriate, and a gentleman would never presume to fall asleep beside a lady without her permission."

Anya grinned. "Ah, those princely manners are coming through. I"m hardly a lady, Yvan."

"True, but I am a gentleman. Eat something. I"ve found a seamstress in town. We need to get some supplies, including clothes to blend in and gear to camp. It"s at least a two-day walk between here and Trajan"s place."

Anya pulled a face. "Yay, more camping."

"You"ll get used to it," Yvan said.

Anya doubted it. The alternative was waiting around for Vasilli to catch them, so camping it was.

Outside, the pre-dawn morning was chilly and damp. Yvan led the way to the goods store on the other side of the village. The seamstress was waiting for them with more cups of steaming coffee.

"It isn"t often we get strangers visiting," she said, narrowing her black eyes. Her round, creased face looked grim, wrapped in a gray scarf.

"We"re just passing through. Thank you for opening so early for us," Yvan said with a charming smile Anya had never seen before.

"Call me Un?," the woman said bluntly. She looked Anya over and grunted. "You need another woman"s guiding hand, child. You come with Un?. She will look after you." She linked Anya"s arm over hers and led her through the store. Yvan made to follow, but Un? held up a hand.

"You stay. Women"s business," she snapped.

"Fine. I"ll get my own gear, but we don"t have time to dawdle and gossip," Yvan said, shooting Anya a meaningful look.

"Yah, we know, hero," Un? muttered. Un? seemed to have a matriarchal authority about her that Anya didn"t dare disobey.

"Now, where are you going, and what will you need?" Un? questioned with her hands on her generous hips.

Anya had new clothes within twenty minutes, a haircut, and a new knife that Un? swore would hit any target she threw at. She had watched her hair burn in the fire, and her clothes were dumped into a bin. Seeing her old life burn like the rest of it had felt like a strange relief.

Anya now wore a soft maroon cotton shirt with delicate black embroidery around its collar and bell sleeves. A dark brown vest went over the top and was buttoned tightly, but it wasn"t uncomfortable. She also wore dark brown pants and boots made from reindeer leather and fur. The only thing she kept was Eikki"s coat, which she wouldn"t ever part with. When Anya was dressed and her hair braided, Un? showed her to a mirror.

I barely recognize myself, she realized numbly.

Un? studied her thoughtfully. There was something familiar about the woman, but Anya couldn"t put her finger on it. She reminded her of the grandmothers in the village who used to cross themselves whenever Anya walked past because they thought she was cursed. Maybe they were right.

"Come, let"s find the hero," said Un?, leading her away from the stranger in the mirror.

Anya wasn"t the only one who had gone through a radical transformation. Dressed in clothes that fit and his hair combed and ordered, Yvan looked like he could be the imposing prince of legend. His eyes swept over her, a small smile appearing on his face.

"You look like you belong here," he said approvingly.

"So, hero, you have organized yourself without my help. That is good. I could not have been bothered."

"I"m no hero," Yvan said, handing her a small leather pouch.

"So you say, but you have the look of one," Un? said, tipping the bag up and smiling as pearls flooded her soft palm. "This seems to be a lot for what you have taken. Was there something else you wanted?"

"Your silence. People may come looking for us, and we were never here. Understand?" Yvan said.

Un? rolled her eyes. "Heroes! So dramatic. It will be done."

"We have to go. We"ve got a long day and night ahead of us," he said. Anya shoved her new knife down the side of her boot.

"Thank you for all of your help," she said to Un? as Yvan held the door for her. The old woman looked Yvan over with a warning glare.

"You watch this girl. There"s more to her than you can imagine."

"I will," Yvan promised, and Anya couldn"t help but smile. It was a good feeling to have a friend again.

"Where to now?" Anya asked as they cleared the village and entered the forest beyond it.

"South," he said, his eyes nervously scanning the trees.

"What"s wrong? And where did you get those pearls to pay for all these clothes?"

"Nothing"s wrong. Just being cautious. We need to travel fast to get a head start on Vasilli. The pearls are from the firebird, if you must know," he replied.

Anya screwed up her face. "Did he lay them?"

"No. Don"t you know any of the old stories? Firebird tears turn into pearls. While you were sleeping last night, I transformed, and when I returned to being myself, there they were."

"What? Like you just cried a whole bunch, and there were pearls."

"Yes."

"Huh. Well, it supposes it"s more comfortable than laying them," she said. Yvan"s mouth twitched as he tried not to smile. Anya beamed at him. She would win the grumpy bastard over if it was the last thing she did.

The old woman,Un?, hummed as she walked back through the store where she had cut Anya"s hair. The girl had been wise to burn it, but one perfect platinum strand remained in the groove of the wooden floorboards.

Un? bent down, picked the strand up with her fingers, and cackled with glee. She pulled a small black box from her apron and placed the hair on the satin lining. When it was tucked safely in the folds of her clothes, she did a bandy-legged dance, her glamour melting away until she was Baba Yaga again.

She had placed a charm on the knife, so when thrown, it would always fly true. On the bottom of the boots, she had carved the sign of protection so Anya wouldn"t fall when running. And she had placed a tracking spell on both of them. She wanted to know precisely where the brat went.

Baba Yaga stepped through the shop"s back door and headed for the forest. She would be keeping her inner eye close on Yanka"s blood. She needed Anya to return to her of her own free will, and there was time yet to wait her out.

As she stepped into the trees, she felt Vasilli"s power cross over her borders, and she scowled. Just what she needed.

Baba Yaga climbed into her enchanted pestle and mortar and flew swiftly through the forest, determined to get back to her cottage and make life as miserable for the bastard.