“Come on,” he whispered. “Come on—”
Lukasz readied for the attack. He didn’t have time to get out of the water. Not if it struck. But he was not going to die. Not in the shadow of this monster, and not in this forest.
But the Dragon did not attack. Instead, the slim head retreated back into the sky. And then, while he wondered whether it was dumb enough to fall for the old lighter trick, the Dragon began to lift away. Scarcely believing what he was seeing, Lukasz watched it rise above the trees. Its long throat curved up toward the sky, and a few scales tumbled down to earth as its tail clipped a tree.
The sky was empty.
The flames burned steadily. Lukasz realized suddenly that his heart was pounding. And he knew, looking at that shaking blade, that his left hand was no good. All because of his damn gloves! Lukasz swore and flung the sword onto the bank. It skidded a few inches along the grass, and then lay, even more blood chipping away, useless. He was useless.
He was shaking. Was this what his parents had seen, before they’d died? A black-toothed grin and golden flames? And his brothers . . . ? And Franciszek . . . Oh God, he thought. Franciszek. If only he’d listened. If only Franciszek hadn’t left. And if only he hadn’t gone after that damn Apofys.
If only he could still hold a sword.
Lukasz clasped his hands behind his head, trying to catch his breath. The air was hot, filled with the smell of burning trees and the crackle of flames. Around him, the forest burned gold, and more psotniki dropped like fireballs, hissing as they hit the water around him.
It was at that moment that someone touched his shoulder.
“My darling,” whispered a musical voice in his ear. “Let me help you.”
Lukasz turned and came face-to-face with the girl from the river.
4
FROM THE SHELTER OF THE trees, Ren watched.
The human didn’t see her. He was too focused on the Dragon, as it lifted away. Then he flung the sword on the bank, shouted a word Ren didn’t recognize. She squinted. She wasn’t used to humans, but this one seemed angry. Not realizing how stupid he was being, he took a few dazed steps deeper into the water. Ren had little sympathy, but she thought she recognized this look. Someone reeling after an unexpected escape. And yet . . .
He didn’t seem afraid of the Dragon.
Why not?
Ren quelled the growl that rose in her throat. And why am I afraid?
Logically speaking? Because she was smarter. Because she knew what it had done. Because she knew how dangerous the Dragon was. Because all humans were reckless and dangerous and because humans never looked at something without dreaming up a way to kill it.
Why had it let him live?
The river began to move. Ren blinked. Tiny eddies twisted and broke in white crests, as if just below the surface a creature was circling. The river went still.
Then it came.
Water broke smoothly over the female head, eyes fluttering as droplets showered the surface. At first, he didn’t notice it. The creature had slick wet hair, deep brown against skin so pale that it glimmered in the steel-blue water. She had sleek features, and when they finally opened, her eyes were green.
The creature straightened, and Ren’s heart dropped right out of her chest.
It looked just like her—no, it was her—it was Ren herself, standing in the water—
A rusalka.
Ren tried not to panic. Rusalki made strzygi look about as sweet-tempered as fawns. She’d heard they took their victims apart piece by piece, molding their skins to their own glistening bodies. Ren swallowed, realizing with a sickening feeling why this rusalka had chosen to resemble her.
The creature laid long-fingered hands on the human’s shoulders and whispered in his ear. The human turned to face it.
Reckless, thoughtless fool. Ren hesitated. Stupid, dangerous creature. But . . . but—
“STOP!” She galloped out of the trees, over the burning ground. “Get away from it—”
If he heard her, he ignored her. Maybe because she was an animal. Ren shook herself out, unfolding to her full human height.
“Get out of there,” she shouted. “It’s a rusalka—”
Over his shoulder, the rusalka caught her eye. It giggled, and even Ren could hear the music in it. The creature undulated out of the water and pressed itself into him. Bone-white skin against the wet black coat, it entwined those webbed fingers in his hair.
“I am the queen,” said Ren, with as much authority as she could. “And I command you to let him go. Now.”
She told herself it wasn’t out of pity. Or compassion. It was because the dragon had spared his life, and because she needed to know why.
The rusalka giggled again. She wrapped one arm around his neck and pulled herself up to whisper more quiet things in his ear. No . . . Ren corrected herself. Not a she. An it.
Ren could see its fingers flat across his back, gossamer-thin membranes sparkling between them. Maybe it looked like her. Maybe it looked like a dozen other girls. But nothing about that thing, right down to the broken, bloodstained nail, was human.
The light of the fire caught them both in flashing angles, and then the rusalka took its face out of his neck and looked Ren right in the eye.
“Let him go,” Ren repeated.
It smiled. Its perfect lips peeled back from stained teeth. They were square, but so chipped and crowded that they looked like fangs. Ren snarled back. She was the queen. She came second to no one.
But the rusalka just laughed. It didn’t take its eyes from her as it took his chin in a clawed hand and jerked him to face her. Eyes still locked on Ren, it kissed him. His arms came up, encircling it. And to Ren’s disgust, he kissed it back.
It had him. It had him, and it was keeping him. Ren watched, suddenly nauseated, as the rusalka closed its eyes, kissed him like it was starving, and together—forever—they slipped below the water’s surface. Water slid over, covered them. The river was still as glass.
Ren swallowed.
She stared into the water. She should leave. She knew that. But the Dragon . . . She glanced down at her feet, where the heavy sword lay in the grass. She reached down and touched the blade. Blood came away on her fingertips. And then, before she could react, her fingers began to tingle, and tiny sparks of flame leapt to life and then disappeared.
Ren jumped back, heart racing. She stared at the still water again.
Is that . . . Could it be . . . ?
She glanced up at the burning trees.
Dragon blood?
It was possible, she realized, that he knew about dragons. And it was possible, she reasoned, that he might even deserve better than death from a rusalka.
I won’t hurt you, he’d said.
He didn’t just look different. He’d looked at her differently. Without fear or anger. He’d looked at her like he wanted to help.
Ren shook her head. No, better not to think about that. She had seen what they’d done to Czarn. The humans called her a monster, but they’d been the ones to . . . to do that to him.
Ren gritted her teeth.
There was no point in trying to find good in them. Trying to find compassion, or kindness. She needed him alive for the same reason she had needed to bury those humans in the clearing: it was for her forest.
Nothing else.
Ren closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and dived into the water.
It was cold. Bone-chillingly cold.