Mistress of the Solstice Read Online Free Page B

could see nothing
except the cornflower eyes, could hear nothing except his soft voice,
which sent shivers through my body: “beautiful,
beautiful, beautiful…”
    “How dare he!” I whispered.
“How dare he tell me I am
beautiful!”
    “Because you are beautiful, Marya,”
Raven replied in a hoarse whisper. “The most
beautiful maiden in the world.”
    “I am not a
maiden!” I retorted. Maidens are virgins, and by my
father’s Death I was not a virgin! I will not be caught by those
bonds!
    I wished I could see Father, draw strength from his pale, handsome face;
let the light in his hawk-like eyes drive the memory of silly
cornflowers right out of my head. I wanted to go to him, to touch his
hand, to hear his calming voice. But I didn’t dare. I
didn’t want to show him my weakness.
    I knew what I had to do.

 
    Ivan

    H er eyes…
    Their green was like water, deep and treacherous, with silky weeds at
the bottom that could hold you to your death in their sweet embrace.
They were the eyes of a sorceress, powerful and merciless; the eyes of
the most beautiful woman in the world. And so much more…
    He saw a vulnerability inside her eyes that held him tighter than her
beauty, stronger than her commanding power. Behind her mask of cold
detachment, he saw a pure, innocent soul, trapped like a bird beating
in its tight impenetrable cage. It called to him, and in his heart he
gave it a promise, which he was now bound to keep, just like his
promise to Wolf, just like his silent oath to the fathers and brothers
of the virgins sacrificed every year in the Solstice rites.
    He had no choice now.
    He had to save her too.

    “No more talking with her , I
hope,” Wolf said.
    Ivan raised his arm and looked at the crimson whip mark that creased his
skin from wrist to elbow. “Gleb was right. So were
you.”
    Wolf edged forward and paused just short of touching, his muzzle very
close to Ivan’s ear. “She is like
that, you know. She never allows herself to care for anything or
anyone. This is what makes her so powerful.”
    “Right.” Ivan slowly got to his
feet and shook off bits of the forest debris.
    Wolf watched him intently.
“Ready?”
    “Always.” Ivan’s
smile seemed forgotten on his face. The way he stared into the darkness
of the firs made Wolf doubt the boy was seeing their prickly fingers
barring his way.
    Not a good frame of mind for Leshy’s deadly game.
    “Are you sure?” Wolf asked.
“I can’t guess these riddles for you,
you know. And if you lose—”
    “I will become a
kikimora . Yes, I know.”
    “Kikimoras are not just swamp spirits. They remember
who they used to be. They have full awareness of what they lost. And
when you hear that hysterical laughter…they’re not
laughing for joy.”
    As if in response, a wail rose in the distance—a gurgling, sick
laughter, interlaced with such pain and anguish that Wolf saw goose
flesh rise on Ivan’s arms.
    “I think I get the idea,” Ivan
said.
    “Good. You do remember what I taught you,
right?”
    “For the moment.” Ivan raised his
arms in front of his face to protect it from the drooping fir branches
and dove into their dark shelter, disappearing from view.
    “Good luck,” Wolf called out.
    There was a crackle and a muffled curse.
    “Thanks!” Ivan’s
voice said eventually. It sounded faint, coming from a distance.
    The boy knew how to move fast when he wanted to. He was good. Wolf hoped
he was good enough.

    The swamp looked eerie in the waning light. Ivan crept forward,
painfully aware of the smacking sound his feet made on the wet grass.
Among the deadly stillness of the gnarled trees draped by the curtains
of the long lichen beards, his footsteps rang as loud as the church
bells on a clear summer day.
    Not that he had hoped to creep up on Leshy unawares.
    He came to a small grass-covered clearing where the ground seemed
firmer, a little island in the outskirts of the swamp. This had to be a
good place.
    Ivan settled on a fallen