He helped Chernevog up behind him, he all but lost his stomach when Chernevog took his hand and his arm and used him for a ladder—himself leaning far over the other way and Volkhi shifting under him. He said, between his teeth, “Do me a favor. Sit back, keep your hands off, and don’t be wishing at me.”
“All I want is your help.”
“Stop it, dammit!” he cried, and, drawing a calmer breath, reminded himself how he had had to teach Sasha manners at the first.
He hurt the way he had hurt when an old man’s sword had gone through him—only shock at the first, seeing the blade shorter than it ought to be up against his side. He could not even say what had hit him tonight, but he was like that. When he had gotten the old boyar’s sword through his side he had gotten quite a ways afterward before the pain had set in—being an ordinary man, and dull as dirt. He patted Volkhi’s neck, said, as Volkhi started to move, “I’m sorry, lad.”
Chernevog said, “I assure you, I can keep the horse safe. It’s not harming him. Nothing I’m doing is harming him.”
“What about my wife?” he asked between his teeth. “What about Sasha, dammit?”
Chernevog said, equally short, “One thing at a time. One damn thing at a time!”
So Volkhi and whatever else Chernevog was doing was all Chernevog could manage.
Chernevog had said himself… that magic was resisting him.
25
Don’t wish, dear, Draga said, don’t wish yet…
Whatever you do, dear, don’t do anything short-sighted, make any decision until you know the height and the width of it.
Chase away the straying thoughts, chase everything away. This is the simplest wish you’ll ever make. It must be the simplest.
“There’s not forever, dear. Not if you sit too long.”
Eveshka sat with her chin on her knees, staring desperately into the hearthfire Draga tended through the night.
Wish nothing until you’re sure.
But Papa said—kept running through her mind. Papa had said, It’s a damned fool who wishes more magic than he’s born with…
Papa had been with her on the boat, she truly believed that had been no shapeshifter—she had thought about it and thought about it and she had resolved that doubt in her mind. Papa had not been able to stop her from coming here, papa was dead and his presence in the world had grown very faint, but papa had stayed with her and, changed by his death and being again the kind man of her earliest childhood, had feared for her, had watched over her on the river, had wished—
Wished her asleep, most of the time.
Why?
To wish things for her and her baby she would not remember?
To wish things against her mother?
“Your father’s dead,” Draga said, feeding more twigs into the fire, a fistful of herbs, that flew up on the draft, all sparks, into the red-smoked dark. “The dead don’t always tell the truth. Your father didn’t want you out of his hands either. Don’t deal with him. You might be his bridge back to the world. Your child might be. Don’t think about him. Forget him. The dead have to be forgotten. Think of what truly matters.”
She thought about Pyetr, but that led at once to thoughts of Kavi holding him prisoner, doing hateful things, spiteful, terrible things to him. Her mother said, quickly,
Don’t! Think of flowers. Blue flowers, dear, blue and white—
… Spells stitched in hems, spells against too much memory, spells to keep the ghosts at bay.
Spells for forgetting the dark, one stitch and the next, blue thread, green thread, colors the dead could recall but never, ever see.
That was what it was to be dead, and she never wanted to die again, she never wanted anything she loved to die…
“Flowers!” her mother said. “Be careful, daughter!”
She thought of the garden at home, careful rows, thought of her own front porch and the fireside in the evenings, the three of them happy and snug in that house…
“Sasha’s coming here,” her mother murmured, stirring the embers. The smoke smelled of papaver, and hemp, and strong and dangerous herbs, making her nose sting and her chest burn and her eyes swim. “I know that he is. He’s running here for help. But he’s dealt with Kavi. He’s compromised himself already. I know that, too.”
“I don’t!” Eveshka protested, and for a moment thoughts went scattering and wild. “He’d deal with him only as he had to.”
“Kavi asks a great deal. Your young friend has afforded Kavi a foothold. That’s all Kavi asks. You know that, dear. That’s all Kavi’s ever needed. I don’t know this young man—you do. But older and wiser wizards than he have made that mistake, haven’t they? Deal with Kavi—when your husband’s life is in the balance? Kavi seems so reasonable when he wants you to do him favors. He wouldn’t hurt your husband, no, the whole world treats Kavi ill, he’s only seemed to be a villain—forget he murdered you: he was young, then; he’d not really harm Pyetr. No matter that he’s bestowed his heart on him—”
“Oh, god!”
“It’s true,” Draga said. “It is true, dear. I’m sorry to tell you so. Owl is dead. He flew at Pyetr’s sword.” Draga wished her calm, wished her to listen and be very calm.”Kavi tricked your young friend, got your husband alone for only a moment within a magical boundary—that was all it needed.”
“How do you know these things?” Eveshka cried.
“Hush, be calm, dear, be calm. I know, that’s all. That’s what magic does for you. I know—and so far my magic is keeping my workings secret, but your young friend is about to brail through that veil, soon, now, very soon. He’s coming here because he believes he’s no match for Kavi and he hopes for your help. What will you be able to give him?”
“Why didn’t you tell me, dammit? What other secrets are you keeping?”
“Dear, you weren’t so sure of me—”
“I’m still not!”
“—and I wanted no wishes that might make things worse Now at least you have your wits about you. Use them! Your friend is making mistakes. He’s unable to rescue your husband getting himself away was not a coward’s choice: you know how Kavi loves an audience.”
She was shaking. She remembered the house… Pyetr in Kavi’s hands…
“But it wasn’t the only choice young Sasha might have made He might have fought Kavi. Instead he’s running for your help, he’s thinking of wishing magic for himself to get here—and that’s nothing to do alone, god, no, it isn’t. Your young friend is making dangerous mistakes, one after the other. He’s young. he’s inexperienced even in using what he has, he’s trusting your father’s advice, and he’s already put your husband in terrible danger—”
“Stop it, mama!”
“He’s coming here, I’m telling you, and he might do anything. Kavi’s right on his heels—Kavi has your husband with him, do you understand me, ’Veshka? You know Kavi’s going to use him to get your attention.”
She looked into her mother’s eyes—blue, lucent as glass by firelight,
“’Believe me,” Draga said.
“Don’t do that, mother!”
“You’d better believe something, daughter. Doubt is your enemy. Fear is your enemy. Love can destroy you and your husband… most terribly. All your life’s been if-I-dared and someday. Someday’s come, ’Veshka. The sun’s rising on it. What will you do, ’Veshka—and when will you know your own mind, ’Veshka? Only for regrets?”