a great distance away. He looked strangely dusty, tinted with gray. It was almost like he had been covered with a misty veil.
Lukasz realized why.
The creature was covered in cobwebs. They trailed on the ground, hung between its spread fingers. Suspended on a thread, a spider dangled from one elbow. And its hands were covered in thick silver fur.
Lukasz rubbed the tears off his cheeks and, feeling stupider than ever, said, “You’re the domowik.”
The creature bowed, revealing two silver horns in its long hair. Its movements were stiff, as if its bones had not moved in years. At its feet, insects scattered across the carpet.
The domowik regarded him seriously, while another spider scuttled across its shoulders.
“You smell like death,” it said.
Lukasz rubbed the back of his neck. It was unnerving, looking into the eyes of his dead father, ensconced in this dusty, creaking body.
“You’re not the first person to tell me that.”
The domowik blinked slowly. The gesture was overpoweringly reminiscent of Ren.
“I am not a person,” it said.
“Right,” said Lukasz, not quite sure how to respond.
The domowik seemed to freeze in position every time it moved. It had none of the spark of life that lay beneath human movement. None of the heartbeat, none of the pulse. It moved, stopped. Became a statue. He supposed that was what happened when you spent twenty years alone under the floorboards.
“Not long now,” it said.
Lukasz’s mouth went dry.
“Please,” he said. “Where—how—what happened to my brother?”
The domowik became very still, statuesque once more.
“You could have asked the Leszy this question,” said the domowik. “But instead you asked how to kill the Dragon. Nine brothers before you sat at that table. None of them asked that question.”
Lukasz tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace.
“None of them had a cross, as far as I remember.”
“For a man who has insisted he does not want to kill the Dragon,” said the domowik, “you have sacrificed much in its pursuit.”
“How did you know that?”
“I am the guardian of this household,” said the domowik. “I know you very well.”
Lukasz bit his lip, looked away for a moment. Nine brothers gone. Up in smoke, fading into memory, getting darker and fainter and threatening to disappear for good. And soon . . . soon he would join them.
His eyes flickered to Ren, still deeply asleep on the bed. In fact, she looked so still, so perfect, that he half wondered if the domowik had placed some enchantment on her.
Even if Lukasz didn’t survive, it didn’t mean she had to die with him. It didn’t mean her forest had to die. And the domowik was right; he had asked the Leszy to help her, when he could have very easily asked it to help him.
He’d promised. He’d shaken hands.
“Just because I die,” he said, “it doesn’t mean the Dragon can’t be slain.”
In a way, he thought, it would be easier. It would all be easier. Ren could fight her Dragon, avenge her brother, return to her beloved forest. And he could join his brothers. As a human. Not as anything else.
“I will show her the sword,” said the domowik at last.
“What about the Mountain?” asked Lukasz.
Downy with dust, the domowik’s eyelashes flickered. Its expression was unreadable, but Lukasz was aware of his shoulder pulsing, twisting. He could feel the poison at work. Feel it in his skull, pounding through his heart.
Then the domowik spoke.
“There was one who may help,” said the domowik. “She is more ancient than any of these hills. She is more terrible than any of their demons. She alone wields the power of life or death over that Dragon. Her price will be great.”
“I’ll pay it,” said Lukasz.
The domowik looked unfathomably sad. “It will be your life, Lukasz.”
For some reason, this hit harder. It was one thing to go kicking and screaming; it was another to lie down and die.
Or maybe a small part of him had thought—had hoped—that he might one day return here, he might one day catch fireflies, he might one day spin a dark-haired queen around the great stone kitchens while children watched them from the stairs. Maybe, he realized suddenly, that part of him had not been very small at all.
A thousand years of Wolf-Lords, and this was how it ended?
Lukasz sank onto the bed. Ren stirred, gave a small, very feline stretch. He rested his hand, the ruined one, on her hair. He had thought he was used to it. Thought he was used to the melted flesh. The missing nails.