I can help you break free.”
A surge of power rushed to my fingertips as I raised my hands, palms
out. “Be gone!”
He shook his head and took a step forward.
I lifted my chin. “Since you obviously
don’t understand words—” Fire
crackled in my hands. “Good bye,
Fool.”
He leapt out of the way of the blast, his movement so quick and fluid
that I couldn’t help but gape. Had he been tricking
me all this time? Was he a great warrior after all?
“Please, Marya,” he pleaded.
“All I want is talk.”
“You’ve talked
enough.”
The lack of fear on his face was hypnotizing, but not nearly as
unsettling as the touch of pity as he continued to look at me. He
showed no move to run away. He just stood there, waiting for my next
blast. And it was then, as I gathered all my energy to smite him to
dust, that I realized that this act would kill me too, that I simply
could not bear the thought of putting out the sunlight that emanated
from his eyes. Not like this.
I lowered my hands.
“Leave.”
“No.” He took another step toward
me.
My voice sank to a whisper. “Please. I am letting you
go. Run, before I change my mind.”
“Come with me.” He reached over,
and I felt my head spin as I realized that he would touch me again, and
that if I felt again the warmth of his hand, his smell, I would not
be able to resist him anymore. I shrank away from him as if he was a
snake.
He took another step. I stared at him, mesmerized. His eyes. His
touch—
And then his muscles went tense again as he spun around even before I
saw the movement out of the corner of my eye.
Relief and regret washed over me as the stately, black-clad figure
crossed the room in a few surefooted strides. His eyes burned like
coals in a pale face framed by long dark hair.
My father, Kashchey the Immortal.
Ivan
O nce he saw her up close, there was no going back. He was doomed, and he
knew it. Or perhaps the same doom had engulfed both of them, throwing
them into a turmoil from which there could be no escape.
She was so much more beautiful up close. And more. She was his soul
mate, a true part of him whose closeness was the only thing that could
make him feel complete. And she was trapped, helpless and powerful all
at the same time, an impossible combination that made him want to stay
by her side for the rest of his life, to look into her eyes, to cherish
and protect her as she deserved, as she was born to be.
Not to use her, like her father had been. She was so much more than an
exquisite tool to quench his dark, vile need.
And then Ivan realized it. His true quest was not to save this
year’s virgin, and every other virgin to come in her
wake. His true quest was to save Marya, Mistress of the Solstice.
When he came to this kingdom, he had been committed to fulfill his quest
or die. But now he knew: his soul would not rest until his quest was
accomplished.
If he failed, death would not absolve him.
His soul would be destroyed too.
Marya
M y father strode into the room keeping his eyes on Ivan, who stood so
still that he seemed like an exquisitely carved statue. I hurried over
to Father’s side, trembling with the released tension.
I had no idea how much this encounter had drained me.
“Who is this?” my father demanded.
“He calls himself Ivan, Father. A
tzar’s son from the Twelfth Kingdom. He seems daft, and
he is nicknamed a fool. Or so he told me.”
“He is a
fool,” my father agreed. “Only
fools allow themselves to get tangled in matters they
don’t understand. Tell me, who is pulling your strings,
puppet boy?”
A question formed on my lips, but I didn’t have time to
voice it, because at that moment Ivan the Fool darted sideways, to the
place on the shelf where stood my sewing box and inside it—
The Needle. My father’s Death.
As if dreaming, I saw a long narrow streak of silver gleam in the
boy’s fingers.
“Stay where you are, Kashchey!”
Ivan’s words rang like a bell through the
A surge of power rushed to my fingertips as I raised my hands, palms
out. “Be gone!”
He shook his head and took a step forward.
I lifted my chin. “Since you obviously
don’t understand words—” Fire
crackled in my hands. “Good bye,
Fool.”
He leapt out of the way of the blast, his movement so quick and fluid
that I couldn’t help but gape. Had he been tricking
me all this time? Was he a great warrior after all?
“Please, Marya,” he pleaded.
“All I want is talk.”
“You’ve talked
enough.”
The lack of fear on his face was hypnotizing, but not nearly as
unsettling as the touch of pity as he continued to look at me. He
showed no move to run away. He just stood there, waiting for my next
blast. And it was then, as I gathered all my energy to smite him to
dust, that I realized that this act would kill me too, that I simply
could not bear the thought of putting out the sunlight that emanated
from his eyes. Not like this.
I lowered my hands.
“Leave.”
“No.” He took another step toward
me.
My voice sank to a whisper. “Please. I am letting you
go. Run, before I change my mind.”
“Come with me.” He reached over,
and I felt my head spin as I realized that he would touch me again, and
that if I felt again the warmth of his hand, his smell, I would not
be able to resist him anymore. I shrank away from him as if he was a
snake.
He took another step. I stared at him, mesmerized. His eyes. His
touch—
And then his muscles went tense again as he spun around even before I
saw the movement out of the corner of my eye.
Relief and regret washed over me as the stately, black-clad figure
crossed the room in a few surefooted strides. His eyes burned like
coals in a pale face framed by long dark hair.
My father, Kashchey the Immortal.
Ivan
O nce he saw her up close, there was no going back. He was doomed, and he
knew it. Or perhaps the same doom had engulfed both of them, throwing
them into a turmoil from which there could be no escape.
She was so much more beautiful up close. And more. She was his soul
mate, a true part of him whose closeness was the only thing that could
make him feel complete. And she was trapped, helpless and powerful all
at the same time, an impossible combination that made him want to stay
by her side for the rest of his life, to look into her eyes, to cherish
and protect her as she deserved, as she was born to be.
Not to use her, like her father had been. She was so much more than an
exquisite tool to quench his dark, vile need.
And then Ivan realized it. His true quest was not to save this
year’s virgin, and every other virgin to come in her
wake. His true quest was to save Marya, Mistress of the Solstice.
When he came to this kingdom, he had been committed to fulfill his quest
or die. But now he knew: his soul would not rest until his quest was
accomplished.
If he failed, death would not absolve him.
His soul would be destroyed too.
Marya
M y father strode into the room keeping his eyes on Ivan, who stood so
still that he seemed like an exquisitely carved statue. I hurried over
to Father’s side, trembling with the released tension.
I had no idea how much this encounter had drained me.
“Who is this?” my father demanded.
“He calls himself Ivan, Father. A
tzar’s son from the Twelfth Kingdom. He seems daft, and
he is nicknamed a fool. Or so he told me.”
“He is a
fool,” my father agreed. “Only
fools allow themselves to get tangled in matters they
don’t understand. Tell me, who is pulling your strings,
puppet boy?”
A question formed on my lips, but I didn’t have time to
voice it, because at that moment Ivan the Fool darted sideways, to the
place on the shelf where stood my sewing box and inside it—
The Needle. My father’s Death.
As if dreaming, I saw a long narrow streak of silver gleam in the
boy’s fingers.
“Stay where you are, Kashchey!”
Ivan’s words rang like a bell through the
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