A desire gripped her to pretend she had nothing to be ashamed of, not the state of her clothes or getting lost in the woods. With a lift of her chin, she raised her eyes to meet his. “Just making my way to the village, your illustrious highness,” she said.
“I thought as much,” he said, and the starlight danced across his cheeks and the bridge of his sharp nose. “My dear Katerina sent me to look after you.” He shook the reins, and his horse trotted forward, closing the distance between them. “She knew you would be in the forest somewhere, despite her advice never to enter this dangerous place.”
Nadya sighed. Of course Katerina would send someone to look for her. “Katerina worries more about the forest than I do,” said Nadya, hoping it made her sound brave.
The tsar chuckled. “In that, Katerina and I are the same. It is why I have planned the great hunt for the day after our wedding.” His black horse shifted its balance, as though the tsar’s words made it uneasy. “The forest must be tamed.”
She had already heard him brag before about the hunt, in one of his visits to Katerina since the announcement of their upcoming wedding. “The greatest hunt anyone has ever seen,” he’d called it, then vowed, “I will burn back the forest that has crept ever closer to the castle these many years.” Nadya clenched and unclenched her jaw. She didn’t like the sound of it at all, but she also knew the tsar would never change his mind just because she disliked it.
Tsar Aleksander extended a hand toward her from his towering position in his saddle. His black sleeves shimmered with gold-threaded embroidery. “Come, little one,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Nadya winced at “little one,” but said nothing.
He swung her up behind him in the hard leather saddle, the fur of his cloak cushioning her against his back. She wrinkled her nose. The tsar thought that hunting animals made him a conqueror of the forest. But he didn’t know the forest like she did. Even if she had gotten lost just this one time.
Together they rode back, the tsar following some invisible path. Nadya tried to remember the turns they took, and each unusual rock or tree they passed, so she could add them to her map. At last, the trees thinned and the village opened out before them, a series of crooked wooden houses fighting to stand upright among a lumpy chain of hills.
The orphanage stood closest to the edge of the forest, no welcoming warmth drifting from the stone oven in the kitchen at the back, no laughter or music flowing through the cracks in the wooden walls. Only thin blankets and stringy stew that could barely fill a hungry belly. For a moment Nadya enjoyed the warmth that came from riding behind the tsar. Katerina was going somewhere she’d never be cold or hungry, or so tired after a day’s chores that she nearly fell asleep while trudging up the stairs to bed.
After the tsar had helped her down from the horse, Nadya turned to bow at him as he dismounted. There was a rustle of skirts and a soft footstep that could only mean one thing. “Nadya, you know better than to go wandering off into the forest by yourself. If Baba Yaga found you for her dinner, you would have no one to blame but yourself….”
Nadya turned to face Katerina, quick to hide her injured hands in the folds of her skirts.
In the soft moonlight Katerina seemed even more beautiful than usual. Though her blue sarafan and headdress were as plain as the clothes of all the orphans, Katerina’s were cleaner and crisper than Nadya’s. Somehow Katerina always managed to avoid getting any dirt on her at all. It was no wonder the tsar had chosen her to become his tsaritsa—it was a fairy-tale story of the orphan girl from the woods becoming royalty that would be told by firelight for years. The tsar held to an old forest tradition that anyone who gave him a gift that he deemed worthy would be honored with a royal favor. When he visited the village, Katerina offered him one of her beautifully woven cloaks, soft as a feather and more intricate than a spider’s web. In return he named her to be his bride.
Katerina knelt so that her eyes were level with Nadya’s. The smooth expression broke with a crease across her forehead as her large eyes bored into Nadya’s. “Who will look after you when I go away?” she said, and Nadya couldn’t miss the hint of true concern that weighed down her words. “Mrs. Orlova can’t watch after you like I do.” She glanced at their mistress, watching them with a frown from the doorway. The old woman didn’t dare to snap at Nadya in the tsar’s presence.
Ignoring the warmth of Katerina’s hands on her arms, Nadya said, “I’ll be fine. I don’t need anyone.” But that was a lie. She didn’t want to be alone; it was just her only option.
The soft, searching look in Katerina’s eyes continued for another moment before she stood and said, “And, dear, what have you done to get your dress so filthy?”
There it was. Perfect Katerina once more.
Nadya looked away toward the forest, dark tree branches beckoning her with long twig fingers.
From the shadows, a single glowing eye stared back at her.
Baba Yaga wove through the trees in her stone bowl like a leaf carried on a stream. Behind her she dragged branches to sweep away the track left by the drifting and dragging of her stone mortar and pestle through the dirt. The ancient bowl didn’t navigate as smoothly as it once did, and she had to keep her legs tucked in so they wouldn’t knock into the trees.
It was no wonder she avoided leaving her hut any more than she could help it.
A bear paused in tearing at brambles to watch her fly past. His paws flexed and she urged the mortar to fly faster. She had no time for him.
The mortar gave a shudder, as though asking her which way to turn.
The witch lifted her nose into the air, sniffing. The smell of magic had always guided her, the delicious scent of earth and moonlight forming a path through the forest. But her nose could not find the smell. She sniffed again, searching for the flowers and feathers that floated on the breeze. For the blood of humans, the most pungent scent of all.
Nothing.
She would have to find her way through memory alone. Her thin fingers were sharp as they rubbed her eyes and nose while the mortar continued to fly. She was getting old. Her senses weren’t what they used to be. Her eyes were simply tired, but her nose—it seemed to have lost its use entirely.
Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d smelled death, or even anything at all.
The thunder of Grom’s heavy paws signaled his approach. Relief lit his face as he saw Zima, but it was quickly replaced by a frown. What happened? his voice thundered at Zima. Where is the human?
Leto arrived, just in time to hear Grom’s question. He stood close behind their brother, his sides expanding with deep breaths after his run, waiting for Zima’s answer.