YAGA | ✓

TWELVE

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THE LAST THING that her father had ever told her was that she was no daughter of his, that she was the devil's child.

The last thing that her mother had ever told her was that she had never loved her, regretted her from the day that Milena had been born.

That was when her arms had been tied around the stake, just before the flames had been ignited from beneath her bare feet. It had been a cruel winter, and she'd been stripped of all but a shawl.

A shawl, to protect an eight-year-old from the brutal cold. It hadn't even kept her remotely warm. At least they'd had the decency to tie a cloth around her groin to preserve her modesty. When they threw the match into the logs, she'd sobbed.

Begged them to stop, to show some mercy. But they were too busy trying to appease their false gods, to Saints that never listened, to see what they were doing. Because they were blind, blinded with hatred, doing everything that they stood against so zealously.

She pleaded like she had on the banks of the Blackwater, where her own father threw her to the ground and denounced all his care for her. Milena saw her father's face in the crowd that had gathered around the tsarkva, holding flimsy merchandise of their gods.

He was scared, scared of his own child. That was all she was - a child. One that was desperately lonely, one that cried herself to sleep every night while monsters pawed at her from the shadowy corners of her room.

Milena took a shuddering breath, as the young man took her hand, teeth chattering. Using her other hand to tuck a lock of newly-golden hair behind her ear, she moaned with pain. But beneath it, she was trying to mask her fury. This wound, which would undoubtedly scar, wouldn't heal.

Blood trickled into her eye, though she was already working at trying to fix it without him noticing.

But it was deep and awful.

And Yaga had been sure of that, so unlike the burns on her legs, she wouldn't be able to shift before anyone saw. No, because it was jagged and deep and on her beautiful face. The face that she'd made perfect, now tarnished almost immediately.

Two men there in the tent, the one she supposed was Dimitri comforting her while - who was it? - Kazimir, perhaps, was securing ropes all around Yaga's hands to stop any movement at all. She, too, was injured, though the bruises on her neck and arms were nothing compared to the hideous stab Milena had received to the face.

Dimitri was easily recognisable, though age had sharpened the boyish sweetness of his face, casting dark shadows over it. With furs heaped on his already evidently broad shoulders, Milena swallowed tentatively, releasing how firm his grip was.

Blocking out the pain, she pressed her sleeve against the left side of her face.

While he pulled her outside, a flood of people rushed into the tent. Recoiling as she heard Yaga scream, the cry of a hunted animal, she stared at what was left of the camp. A part of her felt guilty, but another thirsted for the opportunities that arose.

With all of them gone, she could finally live the life she'd always dreamed of, with no cards, no predicted futures - just the future that she would create. It was hers to mould, hers to choose. And amidst all the horror and darkness, it was a burst of light.

For once, it gave her hope.

She took a gulp of night air as Dimitri bound her hands, a trickle of blood passing over her lips. Some of it landed inside her mouth.

"Can't say I didn't expect it."

Her voice was low and seductive. Not like her own gritty tone - something richer, more purring. She wanted to sound beautiful, if she couldn't reach the charm and luxury of Yaga's infuriating ring.

Dimitri raised an eyebrow. "Now, tell me the truth. Are you one of them?" He drew closer. "Are you a witch?" he hissed into her ear.

His grip was steel.

Milena shook her head. "I-I..." she broke off, looking up at him with false tears in her working eye. "She kidnapped me in a hunting party -- I was alone in my tent and she broke in. She put a knife to my throat and carried me away. I've been here ever since, trapped by her."

"And how long have you been here?"

"Nearly two months. How long since she escaped you?"

"Two months. Was anyone else here, with you?"

Milena thought quickly. If she told them about Nikolai, and he was gone, it would spark a manhunt. But if she kept quiet, and they found him, they would kill her for not telling them. Taking a deep breath, she hoped that he'd made it far away.

"No. No-one, no-one that's alive, at least."

"Very well, then we leave at sunrise."

"Aren't you going to -" Milena looked down at her wrists, shaking her hand. "You know?"

Drip.

"Arrest you? No. That's for when we get back. Since our recent -" he gestured, "events, we have a trial all strangers will face. If you're innocent, then it will only take a moment - nothing too long or patience-enduring. You see, our town, it has a trade that no merchant can boast about. We, we trade in myths. In legends. In stories."

His eyes gleamed fervently in the moonlight that filtered into the clearing, and Milena restrained the urge to laugh. If she was a heretic, then what was he? A madman? His words were hilariously crazed.

"And with these stories, we nurture them. And we know people's stories."

She nodded half-heartedly, laughing inwardly at the irony of his words.

If only you knew my story, Dimitri.

If only.

"Has anyone else been found?" she asked eventually. Dimitri sheathed his dagger, shaking his head.

"No. My apologies, I missed your name, lady."

"I never threw it," Milena said drily. "Nevena. Nevena-" she rolled her tongue around in her mouth, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Lada Katarinova."

"Well, Miss Katarinova," he kissed her knuckles. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I should've sent you to the medic earlier. Just got held up in conversation."

Grinning deviously, he nodded at a small group of people a few paces away, just out of earshot. "Tell them that Dimitri sent you."

Milena had forgotten about the cloth pressed against her face, lost in the feelings that she'd long forgotten. But now, they were back with a roaring vengeance.

It felt surprisingly good to finally feel something after so many years of being numb.

Numb when she'd filled Johana's lungs with water, numb when she was a thief of faces.

She smiled, thoughts drilling into her skull.

"Very well. Thank you."

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