it struck. But he was not going to die. Not in the shadow of this monster, and not in this forest.
But the Dragon did not attack. Instead, the slim head retreated back into the sky. And then, while he wondered whether it was dumb enough to fall for the old lighter trick, the Dragon began to lift away. Scarcely believing what he was seeing, Lukasz watched it rise above the trees. Its long throat curved up toward the sky, and a few scales tumbled down to earth as its tail clipped a tree.
The sky was empty.
The flames burned steadily. Lukasz realized suddenly that his heart was pounding. And he knew, looking at that shaking blade, that his left hand was no good. All because of his damn gloves! Lukasz swore and flung the sword onto the bank. It skidded a few inches along the grass, and then lay, even more blood chipping away, useless. He was useless.
He was shaking. Was this what his parents had seen, before they’d died? A black-toothed grin and golden flames? And his brothers . . . ? And Franciszek . . . Oh God, he thought. Franciszek. If only he’d listened. If only Franciszek hadn’t left. And if only he hadn’t gone after that damn Apofys.
If only he could still hold a sword.
Lukasz clasped his hands behind his head, trying to catch his breath. The air was hot, filled with the smell of burning trees and the crackle of flames. Around him, the forest burned gold, and more psotniki dropped like fireballs, hissing as they hit the water around him.
It was at that moment that someone touched his shoulder.
“My darling,” whispered a musical voice in his ear. “Let me help you.”
Lukasz turned and came face-to-face with the girl from the river.
4
FROM THE SHELTER OF THE trees, Ren watched.
The human didn’t see her. He was too focused on the Dragon, as it lifted away. Then he flung the sword on the bank, shouted a word Ren didn’t recognize. She squinted. She wasn’t used to humans, but this one seemed angry. Not realizing how stupid he was being, he took a few dazed steps deeper into the water. Ren had little sympathy, but she thought she recognized this look. Someone reeling after an unexpected escape. And yet . . .
He didn’t seem afraid of the Dragon.
Why not?
Ren quelled the growl that rose in her throat. And why am I afraid?
Logically speaking? Because she was smarter. Because she knew what it had done. Because she knew how dangerous the Dragon was. Because all humans were reckless and dangerous and because humans never looked at something without dreaming up a way to kill it.
Why had it let him live?
The river began to move. Ren blinked. Tiny eddies twisted and broke in white crests, as if just below the surface a creature was circling. The river went still.
Then it came.
Water broke smoothly over the female head, eyes fluttering as droplets showered the surface. At first, he didn’t notice it. The creature had slick wet hair, deep brown against skin so pale that it glimmered in the steel-blue water. She had sleek features, and when they finally opened, her eyes were green.
The creature straightened, and Ren’s heart dropped right out of her chest.
It looked just like her—no, it was her—it was Ren herself, standing in the water—
A rusalka.
Ren tried not to panic. Rusalki made strzygi look about as sweet-tempered as fawns. She’d heard they took their victims apart piece by piece, molding their skins to their own glistening bodies. Ren swallowed, realizing with a sickening feeling why this rusalka had chosen to resemble her.
The creature laid long-fingered hands on the human’s shoulders and whispered in his ear. The human turned to face it.
Reckless, thoughtless fool. Ren hesitated. Stupid, dangerous creature. But . . . but—
“STOP!” She galloped out of the trees, over the burning ground. “Get away from it—”
If he heard her, he ignored her. Maybe because she was an animal. Ren shook herself out, unfolding to her full human height.
“Get out of there,” she shouted. “It’s a rusalka—”
Over his shoulder, the rusalka caught her eye. It giggled, and even Ren could hear the music in it. The creature undulated out of the water and pressed itself into him. Bone-white skin against the wet black coat, it entwined those webbed fingers in his hair.
“I am the queen,” said Ren, with as much authority as she could. “And I command you to let him go. Now.”
She told herself it wasn’t out of