I kissed him again. “Let’s see if I can get a brace of grouse for Polina, shall we?”
He accompanied me as I walked along the piney woods that lined the meadow, an arrow nocked loosely. It took half an hour before I flushed a lone grouse, rising out of the underbrush with a startling clatter of wings.
That bird, I missed; and it took us another half hour to find the arrow I’d loosed. But after that, I flushed and shot two birds in quick succession, wringing their necks swiftly so that they did not suffer. By then it was late enough in the afternoon that we decided to return to the inn.
“It’s passing strange,” Aleksei mused as we rode. “In Riva, you seemed so very different to me.”
“One of the many Moirins,” I said lightly.
“No, it’s not just that. I saw you as I was taught to see you,” he said. “When you were angry and bitter and resentful, I thought it was the badness in you, Naamah’s curse, the unclean spirit fighting against God’s efforts to redeem it. Even when I gave you my mother’s book to read, it was because I hoped you would respond better to a message of love and compassion.”
“You weren’t wrong,” I murmured.
“No, but… seeing you now, in your own element, I realize you were angry for the exact reason you said.” Aleksei glanced at me. “You were a wild creature meant to live free, and we cast you in chains.”
I raised my brows. “You’re only just now realizing this?”
“Day by day, I realize it more.” He smiled wryly. “Today, I am realizing that you would have every right to hate me for the role I played in your captivity.” He paused. “Do you? At least a little?”
“No.” I drew rein and leaned over in the saddle to touch his arm. “You were in a cage, too, Aleksei, only you could not even see the bars. I don’t hate you. Even in my worst moments, I never hated you.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Moirin. I’ve never said it, have I? I should have said it days ago. I’m sorry for what my uncle did to you. I’m sorry for what you have suffered. I’m sorry for being a part of it. I’m sorry we took you away from…” His voice faltered, then continued. “From that Bao you spoke of, and your soul-spark he carries. No matter what I may wish, I can tell that you love him and fear for him.” His blue eyes shone, guileless and remorseful. “I’m very, very sorry.”
It touched me more than I could have reckoned. Until Aleksei gave me one, I hadn’t known part of me yearned for an apology, any apology.
“Thank you,” I said simply.
Aleksei nodded. “You’re welcome. For all the many kindnesses you have shown me…” His color rose. “I owe you a great deal more than an apology.”
I smiled. “Oh, I have enjoyed the kindnesses, sweet boy. Do not think I haven’t.”
“I don’t.” He smiled back at me. “You’ve taught me that much. But do not think I am not grateful for them, or for the generosity and forbearance you have shown me.”
“I don’t,” I assured him. “You have a good heart, Aleksei.”
Thus in accord, we resumed our journey back into Udinsk. Passing the Tatar encampment, I caught sight of Vachir’s wife, Arigh, milking a goat and waved to her, hoisting the brace of grouse that she might see I’d put her bow to good use. She smiled and raised a hand in reply.
We entered the city proper, our stalwart horses jogging steadily beneath us. I bowed my head and touched the thoughts of my mount lightly, stroking her withers, trying to think of a name that might suit her now that we had spent an entire day together. The squinty-eyed trader hadn’t bothered to name his wares.
Something calm, I thought, something hardy.
Somewhere, someone shouted.
My head came up sharply.
“Moirin…” Aleksei’s voice shook. He pointed ahead of us.
There were men in the city square-too many men. Armed and mounted men, not merchants and traders. I recognized the wide-set figure and grizzled beard of the Duke of Vralsturm, and the attire of his soldiers.
And beside him…
I swore under my breath at the sight of the Patriarch of Riva, wearing black robes, seated astride a rather good-looking chestnut saddle-horse-swore and reached for my bow, glad that I’d forgotten to give it back to Aleksei for appearances’ sake.
“Moirin, no!”
I ignored Aleksei, nocking an arrow. The Duke’s men rode forward slowly, fanning out to create a semicircle. I willed my mount to be still, and she stood like a statue beneath me. Beside the Duke of Vralsturm, Pyotr Rostov smiled his creamy smile, raising one hand to stroke his beard in a thoughtful gesture.
“Moirin mac Fainche,” he said in a deep, resonant voice.
I leveled my arrow at his chest. “One and the same, my lord. How did you find us?”
His smile broadened. “A suspicious smith offered an unusual set of chains for sale made certain inquiries. Pity about the chains, but that’s a moot point now.”
Ah, gods! It was the fellow at that second smithy, the one who had asked too many questions. I glanced around the square. Some folk were pelting off in different directions, spreading the news of the brewing confrontation. Others gathered at a safe distance to watch, curiosity written in their faces.
All too well, I knew how quickly it could turn to hostility.
Even now, the Patriarch was addressing them in Vralian, and I’d learned enough to grasp that he was explaining that I was a sinful witch possessed by unclean spirits, that I was sentenced to death, and that the Duke and his men had come to take me into custody and administer the sentence.
“That’s not true!” Aleksei raised his voice, speaking slowly and distinctly in Vralian so that I could follow. “Uncle, I know Moirin. She has unusual gifts, yes, but there is no unclean spirit in her!”
“You are bewitched, boy,” his uncle replied, his brows drawing together in a scowl. “We will pray together.”
Aleksei shook his head stubbornly. “I’m telling the truth. I would stake my life on it!”
The Patriarch’s voice dropped to a low rumble. “And you just might if you insist on this course. You’ve been like a son to me, Aleksei, but I cannot protect you if you will not renounce the witch.”
Aleksei blanched.
“He can’t,” I said quickly. “You are right. I bewitched him so thoroughly he does not know it himself.”
“She’s lying!” Aleksei shouted. “She’s trying to protect me! Moirin, I won’t let you. I won’t lie.” There were tears in his blue eyes. “I felt Naamah’s blessing myself. It is real, it is true and beautiful, and there is no curse in it. None!”
The Duke of Vralsturm gestured curtly to his men. “Take them both.”
“Hold!” I drew the bowstring back two more inches to its fullest extension, keeping my arrow trained on Pyotr Rostov’s chest, and my gaze fixed on his face. No one moved. “Let us go, or I will kill him.”
“Moirin, don’t!” Aleksei murmured. “Please, don’t do this. You’re not a killer.”
“I have killed men before,” I said with a calmness I did not feel. “And I will kill your uncle if he does not recant his order.”
The Patriarch returned my gaze steadily. He had courage, I’d grant him that. Courage, ambition, and a fanatic’s belief in the rightness of his cause. It was all written in his face. And I saw, too, that he believed in his heart that I was bluffing. I saw a vision of a future unspooling between us, a future in which my corruption of his golden nephew Aleksei became a rallying point for the Church of Yeshua Ascendant. Here in this square, Aleksei would be slain for the sin of loving me, martyred for his uncle’s cause-and my death would be but the first in a long crusade against the sinful D’Angelines and the unnatural bear-witches of the Maghuin Dhonn.
A future of banners and bloodshed, preparing the world with fire and steel for Yeshua ben Yosef’s return; and in the center of it all, the Patriarch of Riva stoking the fires with his splendid rhetoric, causing it all to happen.