“Are you saying you mean to marry this witch-girl, this slut who paraded about Moscow in boy’s clothes?” Vasya asked acidly. “I don’t believe you.”
“So untrusting, for a maiden,” he returned cheerfully. “It is unbecoming. You won my heart with your little masquerade, Vasya. I loved your spirit from the first. How the others did not suspect, I cannot think. I will marry you and take you to Bashnya Kostei. I tried to tell you as much this morning. All this could have been avoided, you know…but no matter. When we are wed, I will see that your brother is freed—to return to the Lavra, as is proper, to live out his days in peace.” His face soured. “Politicking is not the work of a monk, anyway.”
Vasya made no reply.
His eye found hers; he leaned forward and added, more softly, “Olga Vladimirova may live out her days in her tower with her children. Safe as walls can make her.”
“You think our marriage will calm the Grand Prince?” Vasya returned.
Kasyan laughed. “Leave Dmitrii Ivanovich to me,” he said, eyes gleaming beneath lowered lids.
“You paid the bandit-captain to pass himself as the ambassador,” Vasya said, watching his face. “Why? Did you pay him to burn your own villages, too?”
He grinned at her, but she thought she saw something harden in his eyes. “Find out for yourself. You are a clever child. Where is the pleasure otherwise?” He leaned nearer. “Were you to wed me, Vasilisa Petrovna, there would be lies and tricks aplenty, and passion—such passion.” Kasyan reached out and stroked a finger down the side of her face.
She drew away and said nothing.
He sat back. “Come, girl,” he said, brisk now. “I do not see you getting any better offers.”
She could hardly breathe. “Give me a day to think.”
“Absolutely not. You might not love your siblings enough; you might bolt, and leave them in the lurch. And leave me, too, for I am quite overcome with passion.” He said this composedly. “I am not such a fool as that, vedma.”
She stiffened.
“Ah,” he said, reading her face before the question formed. “Our wise girl with her magic horse; she has never learned who she is, has she? Well, you might learn that as well, if you were to marry me.” He sat back and looked at her expectantly.
She thought of the ghost’s warning, and Morozko’s.
But—what about Sasha, and Olya? What about Masha? Masha who sees things as I do, Masha who will be branded a witch herself if the women discover her secret.
“I will marry you,” she said. “If my brother and sister are kept safe.” Perhaps later she could devise her escape.
His face broke into a glittering smile. “Excellent, excellent, my sweet little liar,” he said caressingly. “You won’t regret it, I promise you.” He paused. “Well, you might regret it. But your life will never be boring. And that is what you fear, is it not? The gilded cage of the Russian maiden?”
“I have agreed,” Vasya said only. “My thoughts are my own.” She was on her feet. “I am going now.”
He did not stir from his chair. “Not so fast. You belong to me now, and I do not give you leave to go.”
She stood still. “You have not bought me yet. I named a price and you have not met it.”
“That is true,” he said, leaning back in his chair and putting together his fingertips. “And yet, if you are disobedient, I can still toss you back.”
She stayed where she was.
“Come here,” he said, very softly.
Her feet carried her to a spot beside his bench, though she was scarcely aware of it, so angry was she. Yesterday a lord’s son, and nobody’s dog, today she was meat for this schemer. She fought to keep her thoughts from her face.
He must have seen her inward struggle, for he said, “Good, that is good. I like a little fight. Now kneel.” She stilled and he said, “Here—between my feet.”
She did so, brusquely, stiff-limbed as a doll. The bewildering, scathing sweetness of a frost-demon in the moonlight had in no wise prepared her for the dusty, animal smell of this man’s perfumed skin, his half-choked laughter. He cupped her jaw, traced the bones of her face with his fingers. “Just alike,” he murmured, voice gone rough. “Just like the other. You’ll do.”
“Who?” asked Vasya.
Kasyan didn’t answer. He pulled something from a pouch. It gleamed between his heavy fingers. She looked and saw it was a necklace, made of thick gold, hung with a red stone.
“A bride-gift,” he murmured, almost laughing, breathing into her mouth. “Kiss me.”
“No.”
He lifted a languid brow and pinched her earlobe so that her eyes watered. “I will not tolerate a third disobedience, Vasochka.” The childish nickname lay ugly on his tongue. “There are biddable maidens in Moscow who would be happy to be my bride.” He leaned forward again and murmured, “Perhaps if I ask, the Grand Prince will have you all three burned together—so cozy, the children of Pyotr Vladimirovich—while your niece and nephew look on.”
Her stomach roiled, but she leaned forward. He was smiling. With her kneeling, their faces were on a level.
She put her mouth to his.
His hand shot up, seizing her behind her head, at the base of her plait. She jerked back instinctively, breath coming short in disgust, but he only tightened his grip and, leisurely, put his tongue in her mouth. She controlled herself, barely; she did not bite it off. The necklace sparkled in his other hand. He was going to drop it over her head. Vasya jerked away a second time, full of a new fear that she didn’t understand. The golden thing swung heavily from his fist. He wrenched her head back—
But then Kasyan swore, and the jewel in his hand clattered to the floor. Breathing fast, he dragged out Vasya’s sapphire talisman. The stone was glowing faintly; it threw blue light between them.
Kasyan hissed, dropped her charm, and cuffed her across the face. Her vision filled with red sparks and she tumbled back onto the floor. “Bitch!” he snarled, on his feet. “Idiot! You of all people—”
Vasya scrambled upright, shaking her head. Kasyan’s would-be gift lay like a snake on the ground. Kasyan gathered it up tenderly, frowning, and stood. “I suppose you let him do it,” he said. His eyes were bright with malice now, though somewhere, lurking deep down, she thought she saw fear. “I suppose he persuaded you to wear it, with his blue eyes. I’m surprised, girl, truly, that you would allow that monster to enslave you.”
“I am no one’s slave,” Vasya snapped. “That jewel was a gift from my father.”
Kasyan laughed. “Who told you that?” he asked. “Him?” The laughter disappeared from his face. “Ask him, fool. Ask him why a death-god befriends a country girl. See what he answers.”
Vasya was afraid in ways she could not understand. “The death-god told me you have another name,” she said. “What is your true name, Kasyan Lutovich?”
Kasyan smiled a little, but he made no answer. His eyes were quick and dark with thought. Abruptly he strode forward, caught her by the shoulder, crowded her against the wall, and kissed her again. His open mouth ate at her leisurely and one hand closed painfully on her breast.