“Does everyone in the world know?” she asked sharply.
“You didn’t?”
She wanted to know things; she desperately barred her mother’s thoughts, that came at her this way and that, persistent as a snake after eggs.
She said, carefully, aloud, “No, I didn’t. It can’t be far along.”
“Mere days. Pyetr’s the father?”
“What do you know about him?”
“That he’s a common man. That he’s very kind to you, and very wise, and very handsome.”
That was not the response she had expected. Her father had never had a kind word for Pyetr, and that one of her parents finally agreed with her judgment tempted her to question all the things she had heard of Draga—but she must not be taken in that easily, dammit, no. Her mother had been spying on them, her mother had been sneaking about eavesdropping on their business.
“You’re afraid,” Draga said. “Here, don’t let the tea cool—sit down, sit. God, you’ve grown so beautiful.”
“I was murdered! I spent a hundred damned years as a ghost, mama, where in hell were you when I needed help?”
“Dear, I’ve had troubles, too.”
“You were sleeping with Kavi Chernevog. You sent him to our house, you sent him to rob papa, and to sleep with me, if he could—”
“That was Kavi’s idea.”
“He was a boy, mama, you were years and years older than he was!”
“A very charming, very dangerous boy. I wanted you, dear. I wanted you to come and live with me, and yes, I sent Kavi; your father would hardly have let me walk up to the door. Kavi wanted me to teach him certain things—I agreed if he’d go and get you away from your father, which of course took your cooperation. Yes, I thought he might try to win you for himself, you’re of an age; but Kavi had no intention of keeping his promises. He stayed to learn what he could from your father, he got caught where he had no business to be, and he still had a chance to have kept his promise to me. But he murdered you instead. Do you understand? He killed you because he’d told too many lies, and he knew how strong you were, and he knew you’d tell me too much. He knew if you ever got to me, the two of us would grow closer and closer, until he had no chance against us. So he killed you to keep you from me. And then he had to kill me before I found out what he’d done,”
“Did he?”
“He came very close to it. I was very weak, all but helpless. I knew what he was doing—I ‘d even have offered your rather my help, if I’d been able to, but I hadn’t the strength. Then—I found out later it was Kavi’s fall—something changed quite suddenly, and I could wish myself back, bit by bit.”
It was plausible. It was entirely plausible. Draga offered the tea, stood patiently with the tray in her hands, wanting her to take it, and for courtesy’s sake, and because her mother seemed disposed to stand there until she made up her mind, Eveshka took the cup from the tray, only to hold in her hands.
“No cake?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well, well—” Her mother took the other cup, set the tray on the mantel and sat down, patting the bench. “Do sit. God, after all these years. What a lovely young woman you are!”
Eveshka stayed on her feet. “Why didn’t you just tell me you wanted to see me?”
“Because I wasn’t sure you’d come, I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me—and because there’s more going on than you know.”
“Evidently everything’s going on that I don’t know! I’m having a baby and my dead mother’s hiding in the woods—”
“ Dear, dear, sit down. And drink the tea. It’s not poisoned.”
So finally her mother talked about things as they were. Eveshka sat down, coat and all, holding the teacup in her lap, and looked her mother in the eye, saying, “So what else don’t I know, that you think I should?”
“A great deal.”
“I’ve an hour or so in mind.”
“Aren’t you warm in that coat?”
“Let’s get to the point, mama.”
Draga sipped her tea. “Kavi Chernevog.”
“What about him?”
“He’s awake, he’s looking for you, and he has your husband and his friend prisoner.”
“That’s a lie!”
“I’d be very careful trying to bespeak young Alexander at the moment. You’re liable to get a very unpleasant answer. —Let me tell you, daughter, you’re a lovely, intelligent young woman with your father’s manners, my wits, and both our gifts in measure enough Kavi finds you very dangerous. I wanted you here. I would have wanted your husband and young Alexander with you, but that part of it your young friend prevented. At least Kavi doesn’t know about me yet and Kavi doesn’t believe you have any help now that the leshys have fallen asleep.”
That, she had not known. The rest of it—She threw one small item onto the pile, hoping it was harmless. She said, “Hwiuur’s loose. The vodyanoi.”
“I know him. Where is he?”
“In your woods, mama. Is he yours?”
“No, he’s not mine. Hwiuur belongs to whoever scares him. And since Kavi’s waked—I’ve no doubt whose he is. You say he was in my woods. Where?”
“You should know that, mama, you should know it, he was close enough. You knew I was there.”
“I saw you. I didn’t see him. I don’t like this at all.” Draga shut her eyes a torment, and wanted something. Of a sudden something large stirred beyond the curtains, claws clicked across the boards and a huge bear thrust a nose into the room—came shambling in as if it owned the place.
“His name is Brodyachi,” Draga said. “He is a bear.”
Brodyachi rocked from side to side, swinging his head and managing to look at Eveshka sullenly, eye to eye. He had a terrible scar across his head and other scars that looked like burns, about his shoulders.
“Trespassers, Brodyachi!” Draga went and opened the door.
Brodyachi got up and slouched out of the house into the night.
“I had him indoors tonight,” Draga said, “knowing you were very close. I’m afraid Brodyachi’s rather a sullen fellow. Be on your guard against him. —Would you like some tea to drink this time, dear? That cup must be cold by now.”
“This is fine.” She had an idea what Brodyachi was, and that it would be no easy thing to overcome the spells that protected him.
So her mother had her heart well protected. But she had hers in her, and there was nothing but her wishes to defend it.
Her mother said, “Won’t you take off the coat?”
They lay down to sleep, with the fire built up, their canvas tied between two rocks and the surviving wall of the bathhouse. It was dry, it was warm, it should have afforded them comfort. But the sight of Chernevog reading by firelight afforded none, and as for what had happened to him, Pyetr felt a decided queasiness about his stomach—not pain, not acute fear: he told himself that nothing substantial had happened, that he still had his own heart, whatever the substance of it was, and Chernevog’s could not be that well-used, however old it was.
Sasha touched his shoulder. He turned his head and saw the worry on Sasha’s face.
“This time it is my fault,” Sasha whispered, and wanted something, Pyetr had no idea what, except it upset his stomach further.
Sasha gave up whatever he was doing and looked thoroughly upset.
“Don’t believe him,” Sasha said. “Whatever you do, don’t start believing him.”
“Hell,” he whispered, “I have trouble enough believing in Babi.” He elbowed Sasha in the ribs, “Get some sleep. At least we don’t have to keep one ear awake for Snake tonight. We know damn well where he is.”
Bad joke. It was the best he could do. Sasha said, touching his brow— “Go to sleep, Pyetr.”