Belmary House Book Three (6 page)

Kostya groaned, fearing they expected too much of him. Expecting anything at all would surely lead to disappointment. As they walked, his fears were confirmed when everyone they saw gawked at him and looked away if he tried to nod a greeting.

“They act like they’re seeing a unicorn,” he said uncomfortably.

“You got out, Kostya. You’re the same as a mythical creature to us.”

His house rested at the end of an overgrown path, nestled in between two huge trees that overhung the roof and touched in the middle. Kostya had always thought of them as giants who protected his home, and now they seemed to nod at him as he picked his way through the nettles. At least he would be busy trying to get this place in order. Another flash of Serena’s smile crossed his mind and while he wouldn’t wish to damn her to this life, he wished she could be with him, brightening up the place.

The two room house was completely empty inside save for a pallet in the corner of the open bedroom. Sorin explained that the items had been dispersed over the years, and he’d brought in the mattress before they left to collect him. He promised to dig up bedding and some chairs and kitchen utensils, but for now he would have to take his meals at the pub or with whoever showed him kindness.

“Get some rest,” Sorin instructed. “I’ll be back to collect you after the sun sets.”

“What about Grandmother?” he asked, his stomach sinking the same as when he was young and had to face her.

“She hasn’t been well, and only sees people one day a week. The council has been meeting even less. I doubt she’ll want you to think you’re special enough to call an individual audience. And she’ll want you to stew while you wait, of course.”

Kostya nodded, and saw his cousin out. He tried to find some feeling of his parents left behind in the bare walls, but there was nothing, and not wanting to stew as Sorin said, he curled up on the bare mattress and fell asleep.

He was startled awake by a pounding on the door, and it took him several minutes to recall where he was. He’d been dreaming so vividly about roaming the hills of the Scotland estate that he had to sit and force himself to believe he was really back home in Moldavia. Home, he thought sourly. Surely not. He’d somehow find a way to get back to Serena and the life he’d always wanted.

He stumbled to the door and found himself facing a woman with light brown hair tucked under a pale grey scarf, wispy tendrils peeking out around her windburned cheeks.

He hurriedly invited her inside, surprised to see the weather had taken a turn for the worse. Rain battered the trees, and a biting wind gusted through the door before he could close it behind her. He looked up at the ceiling, surprised that the storm hadn’t awakened him, and it was suspiciously warm despite the lack of rugs, blankets, or window hangings. He frowned to himself for not noticing what had to have been Sorin’s handiwork.

If he kept going about not noticing spells he was going to get himself in trouble, no matter if they were benign or not. He didn’t want to undo the friendly hex and face how cold it would probably be in his old house, and quite honestly, he was afraid to try anything on his own after so many years of being out of practice.

The young woman stood nervously by the door, looking ready to flee, and he relaxed his face into a questioning greeting, noticing for the first time that she was holding a large, lumpy bundle.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said, bowing and taking what turned out to be a pile of bedding. “Thank you for this.” He placed the rough blankets on the pallet, and waited to see if she had a message for him. “My name is Konstantin,” he said awkwardly. He hadn’t recognized most of the people he’d seen so far, and it felt odd introducing himself to someone he might have known all his life.

She took his outstretched hand and dropped it after the slightest touch. “Natalia,” she said, and he realized she was the woman Sorin had his eye on to marry. He almost blurted it out, so delighted to meet her, but reined in his enthusiasm.

She looked around the empty room and he shrugged. “It’s been a long time.”

“Sorin is finding you some furniture,” she said. “In fact, you should have a table and chairs before the day is over. He wanted me to take these to you as soon as I could though, because of the weather.” She picked at her shawl. “It doesn’t seem cold in here, though.”

“I have Sorin to thank for that, I think,” he said, waving his hand around.

She looked alarmed and he wondered if it was against the rules. Sorin’s little hut had been riddled with various comforting hexes, probably all contraband. She reached behind her for the door handle, nodding her goodbye and escaping with such haste, Kostya felt the old familiar fear creep into his bones.

Yes, this was more like it, the constant worry about what might happen to you if you stepped out of line. He’d speak to Sorin about removing the spells when he saw him later. There was no point in risking the ire of the council for something so unnecessary. It angered him, though, wishing Natalia had stayed a bit longer so he could get to know her more. Finding himself alone in the empty house, with only memories and dread, brought the hopelessness back down around him.

Despite the rain, he decided to make his way to the pub, where there would be a fire and some food, hopefully someone who would speak to him. He met Sorin on the road, huddled under a cloak, which he swept open and offered to share with Kostya. Kostya was already soaked to the bone and shook his head.

Something about the stinging rain driving like tiny hard pellets into his skin cleared his thoughts and temporarily freed him from his anxiety about the future. The look on Sorin’s face slapped it right back at him. His cousin’s brow was furrowed with worry, and he hustled him toward his hut.

“We won’t be able to have a meeting tonight after all,” he said, gripping Kostya’s arm hard enough to make him wince. “Apparently you are special enough to warrant an individual audience with Grandmother. One of her guards should be collecting you soon.”

“Guards?” He stopped, but Sorin dragged him onward. Why would he need to be collected by guards? Surely one of the message boys would suffice.

“It’s just an intimidation tactic,” Sorin assured him, though not looking sure. “Come on, you’ll at least have time to meet everyone, and Tatiana brought food. You don’t want to meet Grandmother on an empty stomach.”

Kostya disagreed. The very thought of seeing her again after so long turned his stomach inside out and twisted it in knots. He reminded himself forcefully that he was a grown man and had done nothing wrong. It didn’t work.

“Listen, Sorin,” Kostya said as he was shoved into the hut. “Can you take off whatever hexes you put on my house? I don’t need to hear about that on top of everything else.”

Once inside, he shook the water out of his hair and found himself faced with a group of people, their faces ranging from hesitant to downright disappointed. Yes, he was the prodigal son, the supposed hope of their little endeavor, and the first thing they’d heard out of his mouth was a plea for Sorin to remove a spell for him, showing his childish fear of his grandmother, and the fact that he couldn’t do it himself. He bowed an apologetic greeting, wanting to tell them to go home, they were all mistaken if they thought he was going to be any use to them.

Sorin laughed nervously and handed him a cloth to dry himself, ignoring his request and pretending everyone hadn’t heard it as well, jumping right into introductions.

The first was a couple, Felix and Tatiana. They appeared to be ten or so years older than Sorin and Kostya, sturdy and ruddy faced from working hard outdoors. Felix smiled kindly at him, seeming to have already forgiven his first faux pas, but Tatiana gave him a cold once-over, shaking her long black hair behind her shoulder.

“Are you that afraid of your grandmother?” she asked.

Kostya felt infinitely tired, despite his long nap. “Are you not?” he asked in return, sorry for his snippy tone, but unable to help it.

She laughed and her stern face softened, though not so far as to be called a smile. “You seem sensible at least.”

The little girl they’d met that morning was there, with her parents and older brother. Seraphim skipped forward and took his hand, saying proudly that she already met him. Her father, Gustin, was an import from a Swiss coven, a small group of witches who had little to show for themselves except a large stretch of fertile land. Tall and thin, he walked with a pronounced limp. Kostya recognized her mother right away. Irina was a year or two younger than him, and he remembered her following along behind them when they made their way to the forest to hunt. She could never keep up and would shout at them, tossing sticks at their backs until they promised to play with her later, promises they rarely kept. He was shocked to see how much she’d aged, her skin was grooved with lines around her mouth and eyes, and those eyes held a sadness he’d never seen before, no matter how many times Sorin and he’d disappointed her. They both briefly squeezed his hand in greeting before settling back, seeming to want to blend in with their surroundings. The brother, Daniel, looked around fifteen, and promised to be as tall as his father in another year or two. He boldly gripped Kostya’s hand, looking him straight in the eye.

“I’m proud to meet you, sir,” he said.

Tatiana snorted and Kostya’s heart sank at the boy’s exuberance. Why were there children here at all? It was far too dangerous as it was for their parents to be a part of this, risking everything. All because of him.

Irina led him to the table laden with food and urged him to eat something before he had to face the council. He was touched at the meal they’d obviously gone to great pains to set before him, but there clearly wasn’t enough for everyone to partake.

He divided it up as best he could and urged the children to have some. After only a brief hesitation, Seraphim’s mother let her take the plate he offered, but Daniel stoutly refused, saying he’d only just eaten and wasn’t hungry at all. Kostya could tell by the way his eyes followed Seraphim’s plate as she carried it away that he lied and was trying to show he was a man, not a child.

After taking a few polite bites, Kostya said he was too worn out from the journey to eat anymore, and it would only be wasted if he didn’t finish it. The lanky boy fell on the food like a bird of prey lunging in for its kill and Kostya’s anger grew, eager to have words with the council on the state of things.

A sharp knock at the door made everyone go silent and the urge to set things straight with his grandmother flew out of him as if he’d been punched in the chest. The guard who came to collect him was one of Sorin’s uncles, and he looked at the assembled group with first contempt and then boredom. If he cared at all about their little party, he didn’t act like it. Kostya nodded his thanks to everyone as he let the guard lead him away, not wanting to make a fuss.

“They were welcoming me back,” Kostya explained, praying they wouldn’t get in trouble. He ducked from the few remaining rain drops that still scattered from above. “I’m surprised you weren’t there,” he continued, hoping he could brazen it out without choking on his nerves. “Didn’t you miss me at all?”

He looked down at him and raised one corner of his lip in a snarl. “I’ve been crying myself to sleep all these years,” he said flatly.

Kostya couldn’t help but laugh. “At least there’s no water shortage, then.”

“At least,” the guard grunted.

They were nearing his grandmother’s compound. It was set far back behind the main part of the village, led up to by a long winding path lined with rose bushes that bloomed all year long, snow, sleet, hail, or drought. They were his grandmother’s favorite, and it had taken him a long time to be able to be in a room at the estate in Scotland with a vase full of the flowers, without being overcome with nausea. The showy yellow, pink, and red blooms hung low and heavy from the rain, and they couldn’t walk past without brushing against them.

Kostya gripped one of the stems, thinking to pluck one as a present for his grandmother after being away so long, but the thorns dug into his palms. He pulled his hand back and looked down at the red gashes with dismay.

“That was stupid,” the guard said.

“I suppose it was,” he agreed.

At the end of the long path, her sparkling white cottage sat engulfed in dark green ivy, and charming stone chimneys on either side put out welcoming puffs of smoke. He felt a pleasant warmth steal over him and smiled at the guard, reaching for the gleaming brass door knocker.

“Stupid,” the guard muttered.

***

Kostya sat in the plush armchair before a crackling fire, the sweet smell of chocolate in the air. A young girl brought him a cup of warm cider, keeping her head down so her long golden hair spilled across her cheeks, hiding her face. He thought he saw a hint of a smile as she made a quick curtsy and backed out of the room. He smiled back at the charming child, sipping the tangy cider. It had been ages since he’d had apple cider, and he didn’t know why that was. No one knew him like his grandmother.

A sharp pain hit him in the stomach, and another in his back. He crumpled to his knees on the floor and coughed, blood spattering the polished wood floor. Such luxury, when everyone else went without. He’d had to share one portion of food amongst seven people — how long ago had that been? As his pain subsided, he forgot all about it, climbing back onto the chair, wondering ruefully why he’d been on the floor at all. Perhaps he’d lost something?