I couldn’t save anyone. Not Vanya, nor Mikhail, nor Galina.

I was no koldunia. I was simply powerless.

Why had I ever thought I could change that?

I turned and retreated up the slope in a daze. Now that all hope was gone, the wrenching grief that filled its place was so immense, I could barely breathe. It felt like something had been torn from me, ripped free, and left in ruins like Vanya’s body. The Fraktsiya soldiers had taken more than his life, more than his ability to make change and the beautiful impact he had on the world. They had also stolen the sole tie I had to my heritage and the newfound family Vanya and Mikhail had given me.

Cloth rustled. Leaves crackled. I froze, terrified to look behind me. If I turned around and Vanya was where I had left him, it would destroy me. He wasn’t going to return. I knew it in my heart. When I looked back, he would still be lifeless and unmoving.

Better if I kept going. Just put down one foot after another and continue walking. At least then I would never have to know if he was dead or alive.

“Toma,” a voice said quietly.

38

My heart broke as I turned around, confronting a pair of green eyes glowing almost as intensely as the reflection of the sun on the river. A sob of relief welled up in my throat as I rushed to his side.

“Toma,” Vanya repeated, his voice trembling. He drew his arms around his naked chest, shuddering fingers tracing the sutures lining his stomach, his wrists, his forearms. “Something happened to me. Something. Something happened.”

I fell to my knees in front of him, my eyes flooding with tears. I clasped his upper arm, touching warm skin that moments before had been as cold as the mud we sat in.

“You’re safe now.” My voice trembled violently. “Nobody’s going to hurt you again.”

As he looked down at his hands, a low moan tore from his throat. “What...”

“Don’t be afraid. It’s okay. You’re okay.” I took his hand, staring into his eyes as I did it. A part of me feared that if I looked down at his wounds, they would suddenly begin bleeding again. And he would be as dead as before.

“I remember. The darkness. I remember. It was black. It was so wet and dark and there was, there was nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing. There was nothing, and I was sinking, and then something was touching me.” His voice grew hoarse with despair, each word as empty and hollow as the thudding of distant artillery blasts. He shielded his face with his hands, diluted blood oozing from the suture lines. Moments later, when he began sobbing uncontrollably, so did I, as if our hearts were conjoined by the same thread that garlanded his limbs.

Grief, relief, rage, love. As he buried his face against my shoulder, the storm of feelings roaring through me lost their distinction and became raw noise and moisture. Weeping, I clung to him, as though if I let go, I’d drift away.