Sarwat Chadda - Dark Goddess

Billi laughed, trying to cover how unsettled she felt from the heat of his touch on her face. But she didn’t move. “Don’t follow me. I have a bad effect on people.”

“Do you know what it is to be a noble?” he said, more to himself than to her. He peered into the fire, the orange glow of the flames casting him in gold. “It is to have an ideal and to strive toward it. No matter what the cost. To believe in something more important than yourself.”

“I had a friend who thought the same.” A coarse, thick lump, a stifled sob, rose to Billi’s throat as she recalled Kay. Ivan was so like him, but so different. Tears rose, and she tried to stop them. What would Kay think, her being with Ivan? Ivan, the prince, the nobleman. Kay had been a noble man too.

Ivan moved his gaze away from the flames and looked at her. “What happened to him?” He moved his hand from her cheek, cupping her chin, and gently lifted her face.

Billi blinked, but the tears still fell. “He died.”

“I hope his killer suffered.”

“Yes.” Billi held it in by biting her lips. She had done what she’d had to do, but she’d regretted it ever since. Eyes closed, she tried to hold back the misery she’d fought down for the last three months. Kay’s death by her hand. “I suffer every day.”

“I am sorry,” said Ivan. He leaned closer, until she could hear him whisper. “Chekhov said to begin to live in the present, we must atone for our past. But we can only atone by suffering extraordinarily.” He drew her nearer, and as he spoke, Billi’s eyes were drawn to his lips. “But then the suffering has to end.”

Billi could hardly breathe as the distance between them slowly closed. She didn’t want to betray the memory of Kay; she never thought she’d meet anyone as good as him. But Ivan was good; he was like her-trapped in duty and responsibilities beyond his years-yet he still cared.

She paused-just for a second. Ivan waited, sensing her uncertainty. But Billi realized she didn’t want to move away. She leaned forward, grazing his mouth with hers ever so lightly. She felt dizzy with the sensation. With his arm around her, supporting her, Ivan kissed her, and for that moment Billi forgot everything else.

Now was the time to look to the living-to Ivan.

Billi held Ivan’s hand as they walked back to the car, silent. There wasn’t anything to say now. They knew how they felt-but she was leaving tomorrow. Billi felt the calluses along his fingers, which, like hers, he’d gained through years of sword practice. One indent on the forefinger she didn’t have: trigger time. He’d spent as long on the firing range as he had on the dueling deck.

His grip was firm and secure, warm and soft.

Then his fingers tightened.

A woman stepped out from the cover of the trees. The flames swayed in the large steel drum in front of her. She wore a paisley scarf over her hair. Billi recognized her. She was the Polenitsy woman they’d helped escape out of the apartment block earlier that day.

Three other women stalked the darkness on the edge of the firelight, moving like the wolves they truly were.

Billi shot a look at the car and saw Dimitri lying on the ground, a heavily bearded man leaning on his back, knife to his throat. Her hand dropped to her hip, feeling the edge of her kukri strapped to her belt.

“We come under a flag of truce,” said the woman with the scarf. She kept her distance and held her hands open.

“What do you want?” asked Ivan, backing away from the four approaching women, keeping Billi behind him.

“To thank you for allowing us to escape.” She looked up at Billi, eyes narrowed. “And to deliver a message from our pack leader, Olga.”

Old Gray. The fact that they hadn’t been torn to pieces already boded well. Billi moved to Ivan’s side. His fist trembled as he struggled to control his rage. He flipped back the corner of his coat, and a moment later his pistol was in his hand.

“Olga killed my father.” He whispered it, his grip tightening on the pistol.

“He died well, young Romanov. She honored him with single combat, after Koshchey had abandoned him.”

“You are wrong,” hissed Ivan. “He was trapped, betrayed. I was told so.”

The woman shrugged. “He was, as you say, betrayed, but not by the Polenitsy.”

“What do you mean?”

The paisley woman glanced down at Ivan’s gun, then spoke. “People have been disappearing, Tsarevich. Your father knew. We had information regarding who was behind these disappearances. We had agreed to meet. He would allow us to live in the cities, provided we did not hunt humans, and we would tell him who was responsible for the missing people. I’m sure it will come as no shock to you to know who this man is.”

“Koshchey,” Ivan croaked.

Paisley nodded. “Your father trusted him. That was a mistake. He told Koshchey of the meeting, and Koshchey followed secretly. We discovered this and thought your father had planned a double-cross, so he was killed. Just what Koshchey wanted.” She shrugged. “Only too late did we discover we had been used. We regret your father’s death. He was a noble man.”

Ivan stared dumbly at them. But it all made sense. He closed his eyes, and Billi watched the rage build in him. He pressed his fists against his head, teeth clenched together as he held in the anger, letting it swell.

“ Nyet, nyet, nyet ,” he repeated. Billi touched his hand, and a cracked sob came from deep in his chest.

“Who knew?” asked Ivan.

“Many of the Bogatyrs. We have watched how Koshchey has built his army of loyal followers. Once he controlled your father’s wealth, he bought all the men he needed. Many have become rich with your father’s demise.”

“What is the message you’ve brought?” Billi snapped.

“Go home, Templar. The Spring Child is where she should be. Olga warns you to come no farther: she would be honor-bound to fight you, and that is something she does not wish.”

“And what of Fimbulwinter?” Billi asked. “Wolves freeze as well as men.”

“Fimbulwinter?” repeated Ivan, looking at her, confused. She’d kept this from him, and now Billi realized she’d made a mistake; she should have trusted him. She had a lot of explaining to do.

The woman scowled. “That is a lie. The goddess has promised usa great spring. She would not betray the wolves, who have served her loyally since the earliest times.”

“It is not like the gods to care for mortals,” said Billi. She’d seen enough horror from Michael, and knew that lesser beings were always sacrificed to the ambitions of the divine. “Fimbulwinter is coming, and Baba Yaga won’t care if the packs starve. The Spring Child learned this directly from your goddess.”

“She is mistaken, and afraid. Her death will be a glorious sacrifice-far better than what Koshchey has planned for her.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ivan. “If what you say is true, why is Koshchey even helping the Knights Templar find the Spring Child? Saving her serves no purpose. There is no profit in it for him.”

“You are wrong. There is profit.” The woman turned away. “We can show you what he has planned for the Spring Child.”

“F OLLOW US,” SAID PAISLEY

The man with the big beard let Dimitri get to his feet, and tucked away his knife.

The Polenitsy got into their own car, a nondescript white Volvo. Paisley motioned to them to follow as they started the engine.

“And what else have you been hiding?” snapped Ivan the moment he sat down.

“Please, Ivan, we need their help.”

Ivan crossed his arms. “Tell me. Everything.”

“I will. But let’s go.” The Polenitsy car rolled away into the light traffic.