“You need to understand, until now, it’s never been the politicians or bogatyri who get their hands dirty. They’re just the ones to point the finger.” Vanya sighed. “What I did yesterday, I just provided a respite. The people in the New Quarter are going to be a lot warier from now on, knowing we’ll fight back, but it’s only a matter of time before they attack again. And I’m not going to let that happen.”

“But Vanya, if you stay here, they’ll kill you,” I stammered. The truly frightening part was that it might not even be the villagers in the New Quarter. Remembering the priestess’s grim warning—His body will be dismembered, a stake driven through his back, and his mouth filled with moss—I realized there must be people in the Old Quarter who feared Vanya as well. Who saw him as a monster.

“I know they will.” His lips rose in a ghost of a smile. “That’s why I’m going to help you find Koschei.”

15

It was still dark when we set out on foot, and a dense fog choked the streets. Instead of going toward Kupalo’s gates, we headed deeper into the Old Quarter, crossing through alleyways and behind houses.

“This morning, I went down to the inn and made a few calls,” Vanya explained. “I know a shortcut through the mountains. It won’t be a comfortable journey, but it’ll be quick.”

Up ahead, an imposing brick building emerged from the darkness. Thin arched windows with segmented panes overlooked the riverfront.

“What’s that?” I asked, eying the structure’s metal chimneys and bud-domed cupolas.

“It looks like a mill,” Mikhail said.

Vanya nodded. “Flax. It’s how most people on this side of the river make our living.”

A guard loitered in front of the gate. As we approached, he stepped forward.

“Come to destroy this one, too, koldun?” the man asked, and just when I thought he was serious, a hint of a smile touched his lips.

“It’s hardly worth the effort,” Vanya said, stopping in front of him, smiling now as well. “Inga Elenovna should have called ahead to let you know we were coming.”

The guard nodded. “She did. The stable is in the back, next to the loading bay. They’re in the pen.”

“Inga Elenovna is my godmother and the woman our priestess was talking about last night,” Vanya explained as we walked to the stables. “She lives in Detskaya and owns the mill here. Even so, she won’t be making large deliveries from Kupalo anytime soon, not with the main roads being shelled, so she’s going to let me take three of her draft horses. Her main factory’s a short distance from Detskaya. We’ll drop them off there.”

Three horses waited in a pen outside the stable. They were brown, with long white fur on the lower halves of their legs as though they were wearing stockings.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to simply take a ferry down the Vesna?” Mikhail asked as Vanya tacked up a horse.