“Vanya!” I scrambled forward, only to stop dead as one of the lieutenant’s underlings leveled his bayonet at me.

I sank back onto my knees and discreetly gathered my rushnyk against myself, protecting my vital organs. I wished Vanya and Mikhail hadn’t shifted out from under the tapestry. If it could protect me from a bogatyr’s magic, then maybe it would shield us from bullets as well.

“Give me one reason why we shouldn’t kill you where you sit,” Dronov said, pacing before us. His gaze lingered on Mikhail before shifting to me. He narrowed his eyes. “You, girl. You were on the train.”

“No, I...” I gulped. “You’re mistaken.”

“Is that so?”

“I wasn’t. I don’t even know what train you’re talking about.”

With a sneer, he glanced at his companions. “Notice anything strange here, boys?”

The other men just looked tired and irritated, although a few had a hungry glint in their eyes that I didn’t care for at all.

“She sounds different from the others, Lieutenant Dronov,” a blond-haired man said.

In the corner of my eye, I watched Vanya wheeze and grip the dirt in fistfuls. Grass grew from between his fingers in long, glossy fronds.

Using his rifle’s barrel, Lieutenant Dronov pointed at us each in turn.

Vanya. “The Edge. Strannik filth.”

Mikhail. “Somewhere to the north of here. The capital is my guess.”

Me. “And you sound like a damned Grozniy to me.”

“She doesn’t sound like a Grozniy,” Vanya broke in, his voice ragged. “She just—”

“They’re spies working for the Otzvuk. They were probably the ones who warned the bogatyri that the Premier was on the train.”

“Damn it, we’re not spies,” Mikhail snapped. “Have you even heard a Grozniy speak before?”

“Lucky for you three, we won’t kill you like the other Otzvuk stragglers we’ve come across tonight.” A dull smile touched Dronov’s thin, bloodless lips. “We’ll let Koschei decide your fates.”

31

The first ruby gash of dawn light burned on the horizon, backlighting the mountains that curled in a jagged backbone along the valley’s crest. Coils of fog sifted at our feet. Each time I inhaled, the damp vapors settled heavily in my lungs.

The Fraktsiya soldiers marched us down the road. Vanya was deep in conversation with two of his captors, making self-deprecating jokes and laughing uneasily while Mikhail ruminated in dark silence.

Lieutenant Dronov passed a flask around, and after the men had taken their fill, it made its way back to us. Vanya took a shuddering sip, sloshing half a mouthful on his shirt collar.

“Now this—this is a really funny one.” His voice clicked in his throat. “Do you know that the Goddess actually has four faces, not three?”

“Where’s the fourth one?” drawled the dark-haired soldier with watery blue eyes and a knotted scar splitting his face from brow to chin cleft.

“She keeps it shoved up her ass.” Vanya chuckled, but it was strained. The moment the men’s laughter died down, his gaze strayed away, and face went slack. He stared into the forest, but all I could see was the many-eyed trunks of the birch trees, their branches tangled overhead like a net of dismembered limbs.