Vanya’s smile slipped from his lips in an instant. “Oh, no. No. I was just joking. I didn’t mean to suggest that if you’ve never kissed someone before...”

“I’ll have you know, I’ve kissed people before, Ivan,” Mikhail snapped.

“Who?” I asked, and his mouth puckered as though I’d left him with a bad taste.

“You shouldn’t ask people questions like that, Toma,” he muttered.

I winced. “Sorry.”

“Oh, come now, Misha,” Vanya encouraged. “Entertain us with all the court intrigue.”

“Fine, it was a few years ago,” Mikhail said after a long pause. “Aleksandra. She was the daughter of a visiting duchess. It, uh, it couldn’t have worked.”

I approached the statue and pressed my lips against its knuckles. The metal was cool and silken against my skin, and it came as a strange thrill to know that just mere moments before, Vanya’s lips had touched the same place.

Vanya clapped. “Another two years of luck.”

I laughed. This time, Mikhail didn’t comment, although he still looked mildly annoyed.

“What about you?” I asked Vanya, once I had wrangled myself back into my horse’s stirrups. “Was it Annushka?”

“No, actually, this was before she and I got together.” He chuckled. “She’s a nice kisser, but Ios’ka, he was a terrible one.”

Beside me, Mikhail tensed, his jaw tightening. He turned his horse forward and continued past me, muttering under his breath, “He truly has no shame.”

“Oh, pardon me, Misha,” Vanya called after him, climbing onto his own horse. “Did I offend your good sensibilities?”

As we continued through the village, I followed after, feeling mildly befuddled. So, it wasn’t a bad thing to lose your first kiss to a statue, but it was shameful to kiss more than one person? There was so much I didn’t know about the world. I felt like I’d never manage to catch up.

The day dragged on, and we headed deeper into the mountains. We didn’t come across any more villages, but occasionally I spotted lone log houses through the trees. They reminded me of my own izba and made me yearn for home.

As the sun began its slow descent, we stopped in a meadow off the road and ate an early dinner around the fire we built. Kasha, dense rye bread, pickled beef tongue garnished with horseradish. I rubbed my hips and back to ease my saddle-sore muscles, eager to unroll my bedroll and take a nap.

Vanya pointed to the river snaking through the valley below. “I once caught a trout there as big as my arm. People say rusalki live there, but I’ve never seen one. I hear they leave the water in search of husbands. They’re supposed to be beautiful.”

“Why don’t you jump in the river and find out?” Mikhail suggested.

“I’m not that desperate,” Vanya said.

I laughed. “I should hope not.”

Meeting my gaze, Vanya smiled. I had spent so much time among the dead that just looking into his eyes felt like a challenge, as intimate as a touch. I was the first to look away.