Burning Bright (19 page)

Luka stepped forward, looming, hands at his side, ready and willing to start a fight. "What are you blathering about, fish?"

"She is saying that we remember the tales the Great Mother told us," Shinju replied quietly. "Of the nine gods, only the Dragons, the Firebird, and Holy Licht kept priests—avatars to be the bond and bridge between the gods and their children:  the Priest of Storms, also called the Eye of the Storm; the Priest of Ashes, Guardian of the Sacred Fires; the Priest of Night and Day, the most powerful Seer in the world. They were sorcerers of incredible power and, by all accounts, good friends."

Gleb shifted impatiently, fingers twitching where they loosely gripped the hilt of his daggers. "We didn't come here for a history lesson. We came here to skin a couple of fish."

"The Priest of Ashes was called Dym," Shinju snapped. "Don't you think that's a little strange?"

Ivan opened his mouth, but then closed it again. If he had been confused before, he was completely lost at that point. "I don't actually think it's all that strange for priests to name themselves after favorites, or even least favorites. You're trying to convince me that, what, the current High Priest is a reincarnation of the original Dym?"

"No, he is the original Dym."

Ivan and his men promptly burst out laughing, and even Ailill seemed mostly amused. "That isn't possible," Ailill said. "That he is a reincarnation and reborn now when the Vessel hunts are nearly at an end, I am willing to believe. But that he is the very same man from over nine hundred years ago? That is impossible; only the gods can grant immorality. The Priest of Ashes died back when Holy Zhar Ptitsa was killed. What does any of this have to do with anything?"

"We were sent by our father to protect the Vessels because there is someone who does not want the ceremony to reach completion. The Vessels must go to the Sacred Fires."

Karp unfolded his arms and stepped closer, joined by Maksim and Ferapont. "They're talking about whoever tried to curse you, I bet," Karp said. "We still don't know who it is."

"No, but the High Priest and Lord Krasny did," Ivan said. "I still don't see what these fish have to do with the matter."

"Forgiveness," Shinju said quietly. "We are earning forgiveness by protecting Zhar Ptitsa."

Ivan lifted one brow at that. "You're protecting Holy Zhar Ptitsa by ensuring he dies?"

Shio laughed mockingly and looked at all of them with contempt. "I am amazed at the stupidity of this country. Do you really think that throwing the pieces of a god of fire and rebirth into his own holy flames is going to kill him?"

It was the second time they'd said that, and as much as he hated it, Ivan had a hard time refuting their logic. "You think the High Priest is the original Priest of Ashes and that he is trying to bring Holy Zhar Ptitsa back to life."

"We don't think it, we know it," Shinju said. "But someone else is trying to prevent the sacrifices, and that would be a tragedy. We came to ensure that all goes as it should."

"This matter is entirely too hot for us to handle," Ivan said and signaled to his men. "We're not priests, we're not nobles, and we don't get involved with the affairs of gods. Give me one good reason I shouldn't slit your throats right now and leave you for your sisters to find and enjoy as a snack."

Shio met his gaze and said, "Raz would never forgive you if you killed us."

"You killed Pechal after tricking him into thinking you were helping. That is what baffles me the most. Why did you not turn them both over back in the Heart when the hunters were right there?"

The mermaids both flinched and looked away—looked guilty. "We—faltered," Shio admitted after the silence had stretched on. Looking up, she glared at him, eyes bright with what Ivan almost thought were real tears. "Whatever you think, we don't enjoy what we must do. We love Raz, and we loved Pechal. But we had to do it, because Holy Zhar Ptitsa matters more than us."

Ivan made a face and stepped back. "Well, stay away from RAz from here on. Whatever is going to happen, the choice belongs to Raz. If you try to hurt him, I
will
slit your throats."

He turned sharply on his heel and strode out, his men following him. "Luka, tell Mina to send someone to cut them loose in a few hours. Pay her."

"You got it, boss," Luka said as they reached the main floor, slipping away to speak with her.

Outside, back on the street, Ivan folded his arms across his chest and regarded his men. "Has anyone been able to find Raz or heard anything about him?"

"Some guards said they saw someone fitting his description leaving the city just after the gates opened this morning. Horseback, so probably traveling a good distance. Maybe back through the woods?"

"He could be trying for a different city along the coast," Isidor said thoughtfully, idly scratching one scruffy cheek. "Any ship still floating is heading up or down the coast, depending on size of the ship and room available. I'd put my money on the sea."

Ivan made a face. "We'll split up. Maksim, Gleb, you go south. Isidor, Ferapont, north. Someone tell Luka to remain here as our center. I'll go through the woods."

"I'll come with you," Ailill said.

"Shouldn't you be going home?" Ivan asked, surprised but more pleased than he wanted to admit even to himself.

Ailill shrugged. "I'm curious now as to what is really going on here, and I have time enough to get home. Shall we journey through the woods then?"

"We shall," Ivan said and turned back to his men. "Fire warm and guide you. We meet back here in three days. Contact Luka if you'll be longer."

"Fire warm and guide, boss," Gleb replied before they parted ways and went in search of Raz.

"Holiness! Holiness!"

"What?" Dym said as he sat up in bed, woken by the sound of the main door to his chamber slamming open. "What is wrong?"

"Princess Sonya says you must come at once."

Dym did not bother to ask why. Princess Sonya would not have told the priest why, but nobody needed to ask why she would summon him in the dead of night.

Heavy-hearted, Dym climbed out of bed and pulled on his black dressing rob, belting it shut and sliding the keys he'd tucked beneath his pillow into one pocket. "Wait in the sanctuary," he told the priest. "Or go back to bed, if you prefer. I will return in due course."

Not waiting for a reply, he shoved his feet into slippers and made his way quickly out of the cathedral and through the palace to the royal chambers. When he entered, Sonya was sitting on the sofa in the sitting room, sobbing. Krasny stood by the window nearby with his back to the room.

Zholty was nowhere to be seen, which meant he was probably still on his way. Dym left Sonya and Krasny alone for the moment and crossed the sitting room to slip into the bedroom. Inside, the room was dark save for a lamp on the bedside table, but that little light was all he needed to confirm what he had already known.

Crossing to the bed, Dym lightly touched the Tsar's face, his cheeks, his eyes, and then bent and kissed his forehead. "From fire born and to fire given to be born again. Fire warm your soul and guide it to the next life, Zarya."

Nodding to the guards set to watch over the Tsar's body, Dym returned to the sitting room and sat beside Sonya, holding her tightly when she fell into his arms and cried. Across the room, sitting at a table where Dym had once shared many meals with Sonya and the Tsar, the witnesses to the marriage quietly cried. One of them caught Dym's eye, mouth taking on a grim set, and Dym only nodded. They all knew the trouble that was about to arrive.

As though realizing Dym's thoughts, the door opened and Zholty stepped in. Dym could not help but note that where the rest of them were dressed casually—even Sonya wore only a heavy, modest dressing robe over her sleeping gown and Krasny was in little more than breeches, stockings, and shirt—Zholty was completely dressed. He looked almost as though he were about to go to dinner.

For someone whose ambitions had carried him to the threshold of Tsar, Zholty was remarkably stupid. He strode toward the sofa. "So it's true?" he asked Dym. Dym just stared at him coldly.

At the window, Krasny turned, and Dym wondered what it cost him to maintain that cold demeanor when he must have been in even more agony than Sonya. "Zholty. Good of you to show up already dressed for the funeral. Have you had that attire set out, just waiting for this moment?"

"Do not be absurd."

"I promise you I am not," Krasny replied, voice the most frigid Dym had ever heard it. "Could you not even extend your scorching condolences before you said or did anything else? Could you not have at least had the decency to show up within seconds of being summoned?"

"Stop it!" Sonya said, pushing away from Dym. "My brother is dead and you're both fighting? Stop it, or I will throw you both out."

Krasny turned away to face the window again. Zholty knelt in front of Sonya and took her hands. "I am sorry, my dear. Of course I extend my condolences. I am sorry you must go through this."

Sonya nodded and indicated Zholty should sit next to her. Dym surrendered his seat, not wanting to overcrowd them, and joined Krasny at the window. Krasny glanced at him, gave the barest nod of thanks, and then resumed staring out at the night.

"We will not announce it to the kingdom until morning," Sonya eventually said into the heavy silence. "Kolya, did you want to do it, or shall I? We will hold the crowning ceremony the day after, unless you think we should do it sooner."

Zholty frowned. "I think there is no point in a crowning until after the wedding, don't you think? It would be in extremely poor taste to marry before the mourning period had ended."

"She doesn't mean you," Krasny said, turning around and moving to stand in front of the sofa. He held out his right hand, which had not been visible until that moment. Lamplight glinted off the dark rubi ring on his second finger:  the ring of the Tsar. As Zarya's cousin, there was royal blood in his veins which meant that Krasny was fit to become Tsar rather than merely consort.

Dym joined him, keeping spells at the edge of his mind, ready to use them in a moment should Zholty try something stupid. "What in the scorching Fires!" Zholty demanded, surging to his feet. "What are you doing with the Tsar's ring?"

"He gave it to me when he married me," Krasny said, and if anyone noticed the way his voice broke slightly when he spoke, no one remarked upon it

"Married you," Zholty said scathingly. "What game are you playing at Krasny? Everyone in this country knows you despise him. You would not even speak to him."

"I was with him when he died!" Krasny snarled, voice breaking again. "He married me three days ago. The High Priest performed the ceremony; Sonya and those three there stood as witness. The paperwork is filed and binding. Sit down, Zholty, you're upsetting Sonya."

"You scheming bastard," Zholty hissed.

"That is an interesting accusation coming from you," Krasny said coldly. "Sit down or I will be more than happy to strip you of everything you own, Minister."

Zholty sat, hate pouring off of him in waves. Beside him, Sonya was crying again, but quietly, which somehow seemed worse than her loud sobs from earlier. Dym did not relax, keeping his eyes on Zholty even when the door opened, and he heard the royal healer's voice. "My apologies for being late," he murmured. Dym did not hear the rest of his explanation, only noted that Krasny did not seem upset about it.

Krasny withdrew to join the healer while he examined the Tsar's body.

"Did he really marry the Tsar?" Zholty demanded. "They hated each other."

"No, they loved each other," Dym said softly. "Sometimes, however, that just isn't enough." Raising his voice, he looked to Sonya and asked, "Princess, shall I call for tea for you?"

Sonya looked at him gratefully. "Yes, please. I certainly shall not be sleeping tonight."

Dym nodded and summoned one of the guards standing by the main door. "Rouse a servant and see that tea and refreshment is brought for everyone in the room. Do not gossip."

"Yes, Holiness," the guard said, and he bowed low before slipping from the room. Silence fell again, and Dym moved to stand by the window, knowing that if he continued to loom Zholty would only grow increasingly hostile. He glanced out the window, noting that the sky had turned the barest hazy gray around the edges. Dawn was approaching far too swiftly.

The door to the bed chamber opened, and they all turned. Krasny looked at Sonya, looked at Dym, and gestured ever so faintly with his head, ordering them into the room. Dym obediently went, giving Sonya his arm. She took it gratefully, offering him a wobbly smile.

Krasny closed the bedroom door behind them, and then locked it. "Come look at this," he said quietly and led the way to the bed. The lamp had been turned up, and the other three in the room had been turned on as well. Dym immediately saw the problem:  the healer had made a small cut to draw blood to do a final test for poison. It was standard practice when a Tsar died.

No test would be needed, however, because the Tsar's blood was black—completely, unmistakably black. "It was not black a few days ago," the healer said. "I drew blood to test yet again because I thought eventually something must show. But this—I have never heard of this!" He was pale, hand trembling, and it was not hard for Dym to quietly move him out of the way and take his place. He touched his finger to the black blood, rubbed finger and thumb together, and smelled it.

"I do not suppose you know something?" Krasny asked.

"No," Dym replied quietly. "I have seen a great deal and read or heard about still more, but I know nothing about blood turning black in death. Definitely poison, however. I do not think any illness would do this."

Sonya sobbed, and then choked it off. "My brother was murdered, after all. We always suspected, but we could never find a trace! What sort of horrible poison gave him a slow death and did that to him in the end? What did—" She cut herself off, recalling the healer.

Krasny dismissed him, unlocking the door and locking it again when he had gone. Leaning against it, he folded his arms over his chest. "We need to do something about Zholty."