The Winter of the Witch (Winternight Trilogy #3) - Katherine Arden Page 0,133
winter-king, until she could read his face, even in the dark. And there was feeling there for her to read: anger, hunger, fear, even grief, his indifference torn to shreds.
Her anger left her. She took his hand. He let her have it, his fingers cool and light in hers. She said softly, “I called every power of this land to war, winter-king. It had to be done. We cannot fight amongst ourselves.”
“He killed your father,” said Morozko.
She swallowed. “I know. And now he is bound to help save my people.” She lifted her free hand, touched his cheek. She was close enough now to see him breathe. She framed his face with her fingers, drew his eyes back to her. The snow was falling faster from the sky. “Will you fight with us tomorrow?” she asked.
“I will be there for the dead,” he said. His glance strayed away from her, to the camp at large. She wondered how many would see the next day’s dusk. “You need not be there at all. It is not too late. You’ve done what you can; you’ve kept your word. You and your brother can—”
“It is too late,” she said. “Sasha would never leave Dmitrii now. And I—I too am pledged.”
“Pledged to your pride,” retorted Morozko. “You want the obedience of chyerti and the admiration of princes, so you are taking this mad risk alongside Dmitrii. But you have never seen a battle.”
“No, I haven’t,” she said, her voice gone as cold as his. She had dropped her hands, but she did not step back. “Though yes, I want Dmitrii’s admiration. I want a victory. I even want power, over princes and chyerti. I am allowed to want things, winter-king.”
They were near enough to breathe the other’s breath. “Vasya,” he said, low. “Think beyond this one battle. The world is safer if the Bear is in his clearing, and you must live; you cannot—”
She cut him off. “I already have. And I swore your brother wouldn’t have to go back. We understand each other, he and I. Sometimes it frightens me.”
“I am not surprised,” he said. “Spirit of sea and fire that you are; he is the worst parts of your own nature writ large.” His hands were on her shoulders now. “Vasya, he is a danger to you.”
“Then keep me safe.” She raised her eyes to his. “Pull me back, when he drags me too far down. There is a balance to be struck here too, Morozko, between him and you, between men and chyerti. I was born to be in between—do you think I don’t know it?”
His eyes were sad. “Yes,” he said. “I know.” He looked up at the Bear again, and this time the two brothers were silent, measuring each other. “It is your choice and not mine, Vasilisa Petrovna.”
Vasya heard the Bear exhale and realized that he really had been afraid.
She let her head fall forward an instant to the wool and fur of Morozko’s shoulder, felt his hands slide around her back and hold her there briefly, suspended between day and night, between order and chaos. Take me somewhere quiet, she wanted to say. I cannot bear the noise and the stink of men anymore.
But the time for that was past; she had chosen her course. She lifted her head and stepped back.
Morozko reached into his sleeve and drew out something small and shining.
“I brought this for you,” he said.
It was a green jewel on a cord, rougher than the formal perfection of the sapphire necklace she’d once worn. She did not touch it, but stared, wary. “Why?”
“I went far away,” said Morozko. “That is why I did not come to you, even dreaming, even when you plucked the Bear from his prison. I went south, through the snows of my own kingdom; I took the road to the sea. There, I called Chernomor, the sea-king, out of the water, who has not been seen for many lives of men.”
“Why did you go?”
Morozko hesitated. “I told him what he never knew, that the witch of the wood had borne him children.”
She stared. “Children? To the king of the sea?”
He nodded once. “Twins. And I told him that among his grandchildren’s children was one I loved. And so, the sea-king gave this to me. For you.” He almost smiled. “There is no magic in it now, and no binding. It is a gift.”
She still didn’t reach for the jewel. “How long have you known?”