“Witch!” shouted the Bear, in the voice that men could hear.

“Witch, there is a witch there!” Heads began to turn; then his voice was cut off abruptly. Morozko had flung his knife at his brother’s throat; the Bear had slammed it aside and then the two were grappling like wolves, invisible in the dust.

Vasya fled, heart hammering in her throat, effacing herself in the shadow of buildings.

SHE TRIED NOT TO THINK of what was happening behind her; Sasha and Sergei set to distract Dmitrii, Morozko holding off the Bear.

The rest was up to her.

If it comes to it, I cannot keep him distracted forever, Morozko had said. Until sunset, not longer. And by sunset it won’t matter. He will have the dead, he will have the power of men’s fears, that rise in the dark. He must be bound by sunset, Vasya.

So she ran now, the sweat smarting in her eyes. The gazes of chyerti fell on her like a hail of stones, but she did not turn to see.

People went heavily about their business, gasping and sweat-soaked, holding sachets of dried flowers to ward off sickness, paying little heed to a single gawky boy. A dead man lay huddled in a corner between two buildings, flies in his open eyes. Vasya swallowed nausea and ran on. With every step she had to fight down panic at being in Moscow again, and alone. Every sound, every smell, every turn of the streets brought back paralyzing memories; she felt like a girl in a nightmare, trying to run through clinging mud.

The gates of the palace of Serpukhov had been reinforced and reinforced again; spikes of wood lined the top, and there were guards on the gate. She paused, still fighting that stomach-clenching dread, wondering how she was going to—

A voice spoke from the wall-top. She had to look three times before she saw the speaker. It was Olga’s dvorovoi. He reached his two hands down to her. “Come,” he whispered. “Hurry, hurry.”

When she caught the outstretched hands of the dvorovoi, she found them strangely solid. Olga’s house-spirits had been little more than mist, before. But now the chyert’s hands pulled strongly. Vasya scrabbled for purchase, got a hand up to the top of the wall and pulled herself over.

She dropped to the ground on the other side and found a brassy, silent dooryard, with only a few servants moving slowly. She breathed, groped for the forgetfulness that kept them from seeing her. She could barely manage it. Just there, Solovey had…

“I must speak to Varvara,” Vasya said to the dvorovoi, between clenched teeth.

But the dvorovoi had her by the hand, and was hustling her in the direction of the bathhouse. “You must see our lady,” he said.

SHE WAS LYING CURLED like a puppy in the bathhouse. It was not too hot inside. The bannik must be doing what he could for her, Vasya thought. All the house chyerti must be doing what they could for her.

Because she…

Marya sat up and Vasya was shocked when she saw the child’s face; her eyes set about with rings like bruising.

“Aunt!” Marya cried. “Aunt Vasya!” And she hurled herself sobbing into Vasya’s arms.

Vasya caught the child and held her. “Masha, love, tell me what has happened.”

Muffled explanations sounded from somewhere around Vasya’s breastbone. “You were gone. And Solovey was gone and the man in the oven said the Eater would send dead people into our houses if he could. So I talked to the chyerti and I gave them bread and I cut my hand and gave them blood like you said, and Mother kept us all home from church—”

“Yes,” Vasya said with pride, cutting into the flow of words. “You did so well, my brave girl.”

Marya straightened abruptly. “I am going to get Mother and Varvara.”

“That is a good idea,” said Vasya, mindful of the waning day. She didn’t like the idea of skulking in the bathhouse while Marya played messenger. But she dared not allow the servants to see her, and she was not enough in control of herself to rely on half-understood magic. Terror was still waiting to snatch her by the throat.

“The chyerti said you’d come back,” Marya said happily. “They said you’d come and we’d go to a place by the lake where it’s not hot and there are horses.”

“I hope so,” said Vasya fervently. “Now hurry, Masha.”

Marya ran off. When she had gone, Vasya took a few deep breaths, fighting to compose herself. She turned her head to the bannik. “I have wept for a nightingale,” she said. “But Marya—”

“Is your heir and your mirror,” returned the bannik. “She will have a horse and they will love each other as the left hand loves the right.

She will ride far and fast when she is grown.” He paused. “If you and she survive.”

“It is a good future,” said Vasya, and then bit her lip, remembering.

“The Bear scorns the house-chyerti, as tools of men,” said the bannik. “We will help you as we can. His votary is afraid of us.”

“His votary?”

“The priest with golden hair,” said the bannik. “The Bear took the priest as his own, and gave him the second sight that frightens him so, now. They are bound together.”

“Oh,” said Vasya. Much was suddenly obvious to her. “I am going to kill that priest.” It wasn’t even a vow. It was a statement of fact.

“Will it weaken the Bear?”

“Yes,” said the bannik. “But it might not be so easy. The Bear will protect him.”

Just then, Marya came running back into the dim bathhouse.

“They’re coming,” she said, and frowned. “I think they will be glad to see you.”

Olga and Varvara appeared in her wake. Olga looked not so much glad as shaken. “It seems you are destined to astonish me with sudden meetings, Vasya,” she said. Her voice was crisp, but she took Vasya’s hands and held them tightly.

“Sasha said you knew I survived.”

“Marya knew,” said Olga. “And Varvara. They told us. I had doubts but—” She broke off, searching her sister’s face. “How did you escape?”

“It doesn’t matter,” broke in Varvara. “You put us all in danger once, girl. Now you are doing it again. Did anyone see you?”

“No,” said Vasya. “They didn’t see me jumping off my own pyre either, and they will not see me now.”

Olga paled. “Vasya,” she began, “I am sorry—”

“It doesn’t matter. The Bear means to dethrone Dmitrii Ivanovich,” said Vasya. “To send this whole land into chaos. We must stop him.” She swallowed hard, but managed to say steadily, “I must get into Dmitrii Ivanovich’s palace.”

22.

The Princess and the Warrior

SASHA’S DIVERSION WORKED BETTER THAN he could have hoped.

Tuman, riled by the shouting and trained for war, reared, lashed out, reared again. More guards came, and more, until the three monks were at the center of a noisy throng.

“He is back.”