The Winter of the Witch (Winternight Trilogy #3) - Katherine Arden Page 0,123
your own people to this fight—Knyazhna?”
The word—princess—stirred Sasha strangely.
“Greedy for more men, Dmitrii Ivanovich?” Vasya asked. A little color had come into her face.
“Yes,” he said. “I need every beast, every man, every creature, if we are to win.”
Sasha had never seen the likeness between Dmitrii Ivanovich and his sister. But he saw it now. Passion, cleverness, restless ambition. She said, “I have paid my debt to Moscow. Are you asking me to gather my own people now, and bring them to your battle? Your priests might call them devils.”
“Yes, I am asking,” said Dmitrii after the faintest pause. “What do you want of me in exchange?”
She was silent. Dmitrii waited. Sasha watched the light on the grass where the golden mare grazed and wondered at the look on his sister’s face.
Slowly, Vasya said, “I want a promise. But not just from you. From Father Sergei as well.”
Puzzled but not unwilling, Dmitrii said, “Then we will go to him in the morning.”
Vasya shook her head. “I am sorry—I would spare his years—but it must be here. And quickly.”
“Why here?” Dmitrii asked sharply. “And why now?”
“Because,” said Vasya, “it is midnight, there is no time to waste, and I am not the only one who must hear what he says.”
* * *
SASHA WENT, GALLOPING ON his gray Tuman, and not long after he led Father Sergei into the clearing. The moon hung strange and still in the sky. Vasya, waiting for her brother, wondered if Sasha knew that she had caught the four of them in Midnight until she chose to ride on—or go to sleep. But there was no sleep for her yet, that night. While they waited for Sasha, she and Dmitrii sat around her sinking fire, passing a skin back and forth, talking low-voiced.
“Where do you get your fine horses?” Dmitrii asked her. “First the bay and now this one.” He was eyeing Pozhar covetously. The golden mare laid back her ears and sidled away.
Vasya said drily, “She understands you, Gosudar. I didn’t get her from anywhere; she chose to bear me. If you want to win the allegiance of a horse like her, you would have to go questing through darkness, across three times nine realms; I suggest you concern yourself with your own beleaguered country first.”
Dmitrii looked undeterred. He had his mouth open on more questions. Vasya rose hastily when the monks appeared, and crossed herself. “Father bless,” she said.
“May the Lord bless you,” said the old monk.
Vasya took a deep breath and told them what she wanted.
Sergei was silent for a long time afterward, and Sasha and the prince watched him, frowning.
“They are wicked,” said Sergei at last. “They are the unclean forces of the earth.”
“Men are also wicked,” Vasya returned passionately. “And good, and everything in between. Chyerti are, just as men are, just as the earth herself is. Chyerti are sometimes wise and sometimes foolish, sometimes good and sometimes cruel. God rules the next world, but what of this one? Men may seek salvation in heaven and also make offerings to their hearth-spirits, to keep their house safe from evil. Did not God make chyerti, as He made everything else in heaven and earth?”
She spread her hands. “This is the price of my aid: Swear to me you will not condemn witches to burn. Swear to me you will not condemn those who leave offerings in their oven-mouths. Let our people have both their faiths.”
She faced Dmitrii. “So long as you or your descendants sit on the throne of Muscovy. And”—to Sergei—“your monks are establishing monasteries, building churches and hanging bells. Tell them also to let the people have their two faiths. For your promises, I will go into the night now, and I will bring the rest of Rus’ to your aid.”
No one spoke for a long time.
Vasya stood silent, straight and severe, and she waited. Sergei had his head bowed, his lips moving in silent prayer.
Dmitrii said, “If we do not agree?”
“Then,” said Vasya, “I will leave tonight. I will spend my days trying to protect what I can for as long as I can. You both will do the same, and we will both be the weaker.”
“If we agree, and we win this fight, what happens then?” asked Dmitrii. “If I have need of you again, will you come?”
“If you will do as I ask now,” said Vasya, “then as long as your reign lasts, when you call, I will come.”