Gavriel looked a little embarrassed and a little pleased that she’d remembered. “Yes,” he said softly, cool fingers resting against the skin of her bare shoulder, distracting her. “Ivan was merciful, and all the rest of the story is how he paid for it. Koschei kidnapped Marya Morevna and took her away to his own palace, leaving Ivan to chase after them. Three times he was able to find Marya Morevna and three times was able to run away with her, but Koschei had a magical horse faster than the wind. The first time Koschei caught Ivan, out of gratitude for the water he’d been given, he let Ivan go with a warning that if he was caught again, he’d be chopped into pieces. The second time Koschei caught Ivan, he let him go with the same fearsome warning.
“The third time Koschei caught Ivan, he made good on his threats. He chopped Ivan into thirteen pieces with his sword, put the pieces into a tarred barrel and threw the barrel into the sea. But the falcon, the eagle, and the raven who had married Ivan’s sisters fished it out again. They took the pieces of Ivan’s body and laid them on the ground, like a puzzle. Once they’d put him back together, they sprinkled his body with water and he woke up again, as from a deep sleep.”
“So he was undead?” Tana asked. “Like a vampire?”
“Something like that. He woke up smarter, too, because this time he went to the witch, Baba Yaga, and won a horse as fine and fast as Koschei’s. With it, he ran away with Marya Morevna one final time. Koschei chased them on his magical horse, but this time when he caught up, Ivan’s horse struck Koschei a mighty blow, smashing his skull. Then Ivan and Marya Morevna built a pyre and burnt Koschei until he was ash. And then they lived happily, visiting each of Ivan’s sisters and their bird-husbands, all of whom declared that Ivan did the right thing to risk so much for a woman as beautiful and fierce as Marya Morevna.”
“If she was so fierce, how come she didn’t just save herself?” Tana asked.
“But that’s the interesting thing about the story, don’t you think?” Gavriel asked with an intensity that belied it just being a story to him. “I loved it when I was a child, but as I got older I started to wonder—was it fair for Marya Morevna to lock away Koschei for ten long years without even water? And if it was fair for her, wasn’t it just as fair for him to spirit her away to his castle? But Ivan—he’s good. He’s kind. He’d give a prisoner water. And he might not know how to save his wife, but he manages to do the impossible purely by not giving up. He is the chaotic part of the story, because he doesn’t do what everyone expects of him.
“When I was a child, I thought of myself as like Ivan, but no—you are more like Ivan than I ever was. You expected me to be good, and because of you, I tried.” He closed his eyes. “In the end, though, we both know I will be Koschei in this story. And that’s why you should get away from me as fast as you can and keep going. Even my love is monstrous, Tana. I will keep on frightening you and—”
“You’re not some fairy tale character.” She caught his chin and turned his face toward her, so that when he opened his otherworldly eyes again, she could look into them without flinching. So she could show him she meant it. “And I’m not—I’m not even sure what I am. But I know you. Maybe I didn’t spend decades with you like Lucien did, but I bet I can make you laugh faster than he could.”
“Oh, really?” He tilted his head to one side, and it was hard for her not to stare too long at the softness of his mouth. She wanted to trace the swell of it.
She leaned close, heart hammering, and licked his cheek instead. For a moment, he looked startled and then he did laugh, real honest, helpless laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of what she’d done.
“You’re yourself,” Tana said, grinning. “More purely yourself than anyone I know. And if you can’t see who that is anymore, then see yourself the way I see you.”
Gavriel shook his head. “You can’t know what I am—”
She interrupted him, talking fast. “When I was about to turn fourteen, my dad sent me to sleepaway camp. Maybe you don’t know what that is, but it’s usually for a couple of weeks in the summer and you—”
He pressed his hand to his chest in mock affront. “I’ve been locked away for ten years, not ten thousand.”
“Fine, well okay,” she said. “Anyway, I had these ideas about who I was when I left. I had about a hundred stuffed animals that my grandparents had given me over the years, all of them piled up on my bed. And I had two best friends, Nicole and Amber. Amber lived down the street from me, and we’d been friends since basically forever. Nicole had moved to town later and gotten really close to Amber when I was in the hospital. So it was always the three of us, and we’d ride our bikes around town together and watch movies in one another’s rooms.
“In friendships, everybody has roles. I was the one who worried we’d get in trouble if we markered up the Macy’s bathroom in the mall or stole a pair of feather earrings from a Claire’s Boutique. The one who always did what she was told. The shy one. The scared one. The goody-goody. That was the way I’d been at nine and ten and eleven and twelve, so I never noticed that it wasn’t the way I was anymore at thirteen.”