Maris let out a sigh, silently glad it was all over. Now they could return home and—
Maris blinked and looked down, saw the arrow head that had come through his armor into his back and straight through his body. He dropped to his knees, unable to really breathe, as he saw his brother Praetorians taken out with arrows from the trees.
Gaius spun around, sword raised, eyes wide in shock. No arrows hit him, though.
“King Gaius,” a human woman said from behind him.
Gaius turned, his sword ready, but he didn’t strike. She was beautiful despite her missing eyes, sensuous, and clearly human in her white gown. She suddenly leaned forward and placed a gold torc around the king’s neck and he, like Maris, dropped to his knees, the power drained out of him immediately. The gladius fell from his hand and he desperately pawed at the torc he now wore, trying to yank it off.
Blindly, the woman stared down at the king, head tilting to one side as if she could still see him without her eyes. Perhaps she could. “She said you wouldn’t strike down an unarmed human woman,” she said softly. “She was right.”
Another arrow tore through Maris’s chest, this time hitting his heart, and he fell forward, never knowing whether the king ever said anything to the beautiful eyeless woman or whether he died in that moment.
But it no longer mattered.... Maris’s ancestors were waiting for him, waving him forward....
Chapter Three
They traveled for days in silence. Even the normally chatty Zoya didn’t speak.
By the fifth evening, as they waited for Ivan to finish cooking the boar Kachka had taken down earlier in the day, they sat on boulders and stumps, in a circle, in a thickly wooded forest deep in Annaig Valley. It was a risk to travel through this area, but as Daughters of the Steppes, they could slip through easily enough. Duke Salebiri’s men often gave them a wide berth. At least for now. Perhaps, the more power Salebiri obtained, the more difficult it would become. But, so far, no one had bothered them.
Silently, they watched the boar turn on the spit as Ivan cleaned potatoes. His sister had started to help him, but when they all stared at her, wondering what she could possibly be thinking, she stopped.
Then, suddenly, Nina Chechneva closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. At first, Kachka assumed she was scenting the boar. Ivan had seasoned it nicely. But then the strange female slowly got to her feet and her body began to . . . undulate in a manner that made Kachka entirely uncomfortable.
Nina lifted her head, sniffing the air like one of Dagmar Reinholdt’s dogs.
“I smell,” she whispered, “fresh, untainted souls. Tortured. In pain. And oh-so-ripe,” she panted out. “Ripe for the taking.”
Marina Aleksandrovna leaned over and muttered to Kachka, “Are we going to have to put up with this sort of thing all the time? Because that does not work for me.”
Kachka gave a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry, comrade. I will handle this.” She focused on Nina Chechneva and, after a brief moment, punched the air-grinding female in the leg.
“Ow!” the witch screeched, turning on Kachka, black eyes flashing. “You vicious goat!”
“Whatever you’re doing, fiend, stop it. You’re making everyone uncomfortable!”
“Not me,” Zoya happily argued. “Let the demoness dance to her dark gods! Everyone should do what they love!”
Marina glared at Zoya for a moment, green eyes twitching, until she snarled, “Shut up.”
Nina sat back on her tree stump. “I was just telling you that there are people over there.”
“In the future, find a better way to do that.”
“She is right,” Zoya Kolesova said, her stomach grumbling like an angry bear. “I can hear them. There are people, maybe a mile or so, over there. I hear weapons.”
“You hear weapons a mile away?”
“I am Kolesova. We always know when there are men around . . . fresh for the plucking.”
Ivan snapped his fingers, and he and his sister switched places so that Yelena sat closer to Zoya.
“Why did you say they were in pain?” Tatyana asked. Always inquisitive, that one. She simply couldn’t leave well enough alone.
“Because they are,” Nina replied. “I feel their despair. Their misery. They cry out to be . . . helped.” She shrugged. “My guess . . . probably slaves being taken to market.”
“Slaves?” Zoya asked. She abruptly stood to her mighty, towering height. “Then we must go!”
“We don’t need to go anywhere,” Kachka replied.
“There might be a boy or two who would be good for my daughters.”
“We don’t have time to buy slaves.”
“Not buy, Kachka Shestakova. Rescue.”
“We don’t have time to rescue slaves either. Do you not understand what we’re doing?”
“Actually,” Marina cut in, “none of us understands what we’re doing. You haven’t told us.”
Kachka frowned. “I haven’t?”
“No.”