~ 5 ~
Did you ever let yourself grieve?
What a ridiculous question. Renata knocked back the dough she’d set out to rise the night before, kneading it a touch more before she began to shape the loaf. In the chilly air, it took a full day to bake her mother’s honeyed bread, but it was the only thing to do at Midwinter. She’d already chopped the dried fruit and nuts she’d sprinkle on top. She split the dough into three ropes, sprinkled more cinnamon, then began to braid.
Home is what we could have together, but you’re too afraid to build it.
She ignored the longing that twisted in her chest and thought about how she could get Maxim out of the house. Would it be too cold for him to sleep in the dairy barn? Probably. She didn’t have any fuel for the heaters out there. Conserving heat in a limited space was the only way she managed to survive on her own during the weeks around Midwinter. She had fuel and food, but only for herself. She would need to go hunting.
Or you could kick him out.
Impossible. Her traitor heart rebelled at the thought. Her traitor heart was the one who’d led her down the stairs the night before, longing for the comfort of Max’s arms. Her traitor heart would give the man everything if she let it.
She finished the loaf and put it in a long proofing basket. It would be ready to bake that night. Ready to eat in the days leading up to Midwinter.
Midwinter.
The night she’d finally lost everything.
Renata closed her eyes and clutched the edge of the counter. Why had he come? Hadn’t she hurt him enough? It was only going to get worse. She was weak and he knew it. If he pushed hard enough, she’d give him everything. Again.
And then what?
Force him to live a half-life with a broken mate? Unacceptable. Force her back into a world where all the rules she’d known were upended?
Renata was still coming to terms with the new order in the Irin world. Grigori—once their hated foes—had now proven that not all of them were murderous monsters. The Grigori Max had met so many years ago in Prague hadn’t been lying. Some Grigori even had sisters to protect, half-angelic daughters tormented by humanity’s soul voices because they had no control over their magic.
It wasn’t that she was unsympathetic. She had plenty of sympathy. For the women.
For the Grigori? How was she supposed to quash her instinctive, murderous impulses when she smelled the scent of sandalwood? Would their unnatural beauty ever cause her anything but cold rage? The scraping sound of their soul voices made her nauseous.
It might have been the mandate of the council that free Grigori who were living peaceful lives could be Irin allies, but no one had asked the Irina who survived their murderous rampage, had they? Was she supposed to forget two hundred years of training and go back to singing songs?
She wasn’t the woman she’d been. She never would be again. That girl had died with Balien. Maybe now that Max had found this haven and taken away her last hiding place, she would have to move on. Maybe it was better that she lose this sanctuary.
You keep looking for the same feeling you lost, but you won’t find it because it was never the building.
He was right. Max was right. She simply didn’t know where else to go.
Renata wiped her eyes and walked to the cold storage. There was cured sausage and cheese to eat, along with a loaf of bread she’d cooked yesterday. She’d eat a little bit and set out the rest for Max when he returned from exploring the caves. He was a curious man—it was one of the things she loved about him—and Renata suspected he could spend days just reading the spells along the walls. She didn’t need to read them. She’d spent two hundred years reading them and hoping they’d give her peace. They hadn’t. She doubted she’d ever find peace again.
Max returned from the caves while she was reading a book by the fire.
“There is food set out in the kitchen,” she said quietly, not looking up.
“Thank you.” He didn’t go to the kitchen. He crossed the living room and sprawled on the couch, forcing his head into her lap. “That library must have been remarkable.”
She put her book down, knowing he took pleasure in distracting her. “It was.”
“Has no one come back in over two hundred years? No one even came looking for the scrolls?”
“Maybe.” She combed her fingers through Max’s thick blond hair. It was wavy—almost curly—and shone gold in the firelight. “I didn’t return to this place for over one hundred years. Someone might have been back before that, but they would have seen everything gone.”
“Not everything.” He grabbed her hand. Kissed her palm. “I can still feel so much joy in that place. The magic in the walls is still vibrant.”
Renata closed her hand, curling her fingers into her palm. “I only feel pain. Loss.”
“There are both. Pain and joy. That is life. There’s something in the tunnels I want you to—”
“Don’t make me go back there.” She sighed. “Max, I know I can’t get rid of you, but can you just…”
“What?”
“Let me be.” She closed her eyes. “Just let me be. Ignore me. You are welcome to stay here and rest. Explore the library as much as you want. Eat my food. But let me be. If you need to, pretend I’m not here.”
He nipped the heel of her hand with his teeth. “Well, that would be idiotic.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t come here for a quiet mountain getaway, Reni. I didn’t come to explore a library. I came for you.”
“You came to prove you could find me. To prove that you’re a better tracker than I am.”
Max flipped, grabbed Renata by the waist, and pulled her under his body. The move was so fluid she blinked, and he was leaning over her, his shoulders so broad he blocked the light.
“You think you know why I came here?”
She couldn’t not react. He was too vital. Too desirable. Too much of everything she admired.
“We aren’t this,” she said. “We never were.”
He cocked his head. “Where have you been the past eighteen years?”
Running away from you.
“I’ve been living my life, Max. A life that you’ve only ever touched the edges of.”
“I know I don’t know everything about you. That’s what makes it fun. I don’t mind secrets, because I like finding answers.”
“Oh? And what happens when you find everything? You move on to the next challenge?”
“I might if I didn’t think the woman I was chasing didn’t have a thousand new ways to surprise me.” Max leaned down, his lips inches from hers. “Is this your argument, Reni? Is this the best you’ve got? Do you really think I’m going to get bored? That’s insulting to both of us. Is that the excuse you’ve been using all this time? That I have a short attention span?”
No. When Max was on a hunt, his failing was extreme focus, not short attention span.
Renata said, “I think you don’t know what it means to be in a relationship. It’s not all chases and excitement.”
“We have a relationship. Don’t fool yourself. And we did just fine in Vienna. It wasn’t all chases and excitement there. It was long days and frustrations and bitching about our bosses, as the humans say. Guess what? Still wasn’t bored, Renata. I still wanted more.”
Damn her heart. “You’re right. You should have more.” She gently shoved him to the side and stood. “I need to put the bread in the oven.”
She let him stay in her room that night. It would have been pointless to have him sleep downstairs when she’d end up beside him eventually. Max didn’t gloat. He simply moved his backpack up to her room and made himself at home, as if it was his right.
It was far too easy to fall into the familiar patterns they’d begun to establish in Vienna. She knew what side of the bed he liked and how affectionate he was in the morning. He dropped off to sleep quickly at the end of the day but would laze in bed every morning, given the chance. She knew he was fastidious about brushing his teeth and would wake at the slightest sound in the night, slide on his boots, and be halfway to the door before she opened her eyes.
He was sleeping with his arm around her waist, one leg thrown over hers as if trying to keep her in place. Renata was not sleeping at all. There’d been something in the caves earlier that had caught her attention, but she’d been too distracted by having Max there to pay attention.
“Bread.” She glanced at Max, but he didn’t wake.
The smell of fresh bread had been in the tunnels. She was sure of it. She’d dismissed it initially because she assumed what she’d caught a hint of was herself. She’d been baking so much that week it was an easy mistake to make. But the smell in the tunnels was too fresh. She hadn’t baked that morning, not until she’d left the caves.
Gently, she lifted Max’s arm and slid out from under his hold. He shifted, pressed his face into her pillow, then let out a long sigh. Renata walked to the door and opened it, grateful that the caretaker regularly oiled the hinges. She walked downstairs, wrapping a woolen shawl around her, and put on her boots before she made her way down the hall. She grabbed a flashlight this time. She didn’t want to use magic when she was trying to examine a scene.
Renata slowly walked through the reading room and down the hall, opening her senses to her surroundings.
Nothing. The library was as cold and lifeless as a grave.
Has no one come back?
She didn’t want this place filled with voices again. Didn’t want new songs to fill the hall. It would have seemed as irreverent as a feast on a grave.
Renata walked back to the children’s tunnels and paused at the entrance, sure she didn’t want to follow through but certain this was the place where she’d caught the scent earlier in the day. It was gone now, but she could swear she heard the stomp of running feet and the sound of childish laughter.
Relentless curiosity won out over the ghosts.
She walked back, carefully examining each room with the clinical eye of an investigator. By the time she reached the end, she was certain someone had been in the caves. There was little dust and the air wasn’t stale.
She turned to the last door on the left and hesitated. Images of empty clothes and abandoned shoes filled her mind. Gold dust in the air and blood spattering the walls.
With a scream trapped in her heart, she walked in. She kept her eyes from the corner opposite the door and swept her flashlight along the far wall. It was empty. No clothes. No shoes. No blood. Mala had been the one to clear this room. Renata hadn’t had the courage.
Her flashlight stopped on the table. Paper and colored pencils. Mala was an artist, but these didn’t look like her work. These drawings could only have been made by a child.
Renata walked closer and slid them across the table. Most were animals. A cow with a bright bell around its neck. A lion. A well-rendered stag and a flock of sheep on a mountainside. The last one was a bright red fox with his head lifted in a howl, the artist dropping the brown colored pencil in the middle of a stroke, as if she had been interrupted.
What was this?
There had been nothing left like this after the Rending. The colored pencils were new. Modern. She’d seen that brand in the shops in the village.
She lifted her flashlight and turned it around the room. When her flashlight illuminated the mural, she froze.
Mala had cleaned the room, but she’d done something more. The painting filled a wall that had been covered in blood and little handprints. The wall was warped by Renata’s scream when she’d discovered it. The surface had buckled with her magic, like a body absorbing the force of a blow. What once had been smooth had become rippled and jagged.
But Mala had transformed that wall. She’d smoothed the cracks into gentle ripples and covered the blood with bright paint. She’d turned the room of horrors into a place of peace by capturing the beauty of the mountains around them. She’d filled it with creation instead of death. The children and animals sprang to life in the dark cave, so vibrant they’d inspired a small artist to copy small pieces of them with childish hands.
Renata’s emotions ricocheted between anger and wonder.
Who had invaded this place?
The mural was so beautiful. So peaceful.
Was it a child? How had a child gotten into the caves?
She needed to thank Mala, but thanks wasn’t enough.
Did one of the renters—
“We really do make the best team,” Max said quietly from the door.
Renata lifted her eyes to him and he blocked the glare of her flashlight. He was wearing a pair of linen pants and nothing else. She dropped the beam to his feet and ignored the instant surge of lust his exposed body provoked. Her emotions were running high.
“Did you see this earlier?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s what I wanted to show you.”
“You should have insisted.”
“I would have, but you were in full avoidance mode. I thought it would be better to wait.”
She left it alone because he was right and she didn’t want to admit it.
“Bread,” Renata said. “It smelled like bread in the corridor.”
“I noticed it too.” Max stepped into the room and set a lamp on the table. The low light illuminated the room, bringing harsh shadows to soft light. “Did Mala paint this?”
“She must have.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Renata didn’t look at the mural again. If she looked at it, her heart would break open and she didn’t—couldn’t—do that again. Her grief would bury her. Bury them. “Do you think one of the renters might have broken in?”
“Possibly.” Max looked around. “These tunnels are too well ventilated not to have some network of side passages.”
“They do. There’s an extensive network of caverns, but I thought we’d blocked the entrances.”
“Perhaps a child could still fit through.”
“And the scent of bread?”
Max shrugged. “Renata, you know as much as I do. It’s the middle of the night and it’s snowing again. If anyone is in these caverns tonight, they must desperately need shelter. Why don’t we go to bed and we’ll look more in the morning?”
“I won’t be able to sleep.”
Max held out his hand. “Come with me.”
She didn’t want to leave, but she knew staying in the mural room would only break her open. And that did not need to happen. Especially not with Max around. She took his hand, and Max picked up the lamp, guiding them out of the corridor and through the library. He secured the iron lock when they made it back to the house, then handed her the lamp.
“Hold this.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer, just walked into the music room without her. He returned carrying an old guitar.
“Do you play?” Renata was shocked. She hadn’t known that about him.
“A little. I only know a few songs. You can’t sleep? I’ll see if my bad playing can make you drift off from boredom.”
She doubted that. Renata loved music, but she didn’t like to admit it. The thought of Maxim playing…
“You’re thoughtful,” she said. “That should bore me in no time.”
“I aim to please.”
He played, but it wasn’t boring or amateurish. It was beautiful.
“You’ve played a long time.”
“No. Yes.” He shook his head. “I played a long time ago. My grandfather taught me. It was the only thing he taught me other than how to throw an ax.”
“He raised you.”
“He fed us. Protected us. But… he was quite shattered by his daughters’ deaths. My mother and Leo’s were twin sisters and his only children. He thought we’d all died for a long time.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We were only babies during the Rending. Both of us were born the same summer. When our village was attacked, everyone died. Or so the scribe house in Riga thought. We were gone for two years after the Rending, and then… we weren’t. Someone left us at the scribe house, and my grandfather was notified. Leo’s father returned from Russia a few years later—we’d all thought he died too—but he never really spoke again. He taught us to fight. He was… frightening. As frightening as Leo is gentle. But my grandfather stayed with us. Sometimes I think he was afraid of what my uncle would do if he wasn’t there.”
“There were no Irina?”
Max shook his head and began plucking the strings in a delicate tune.
“What is that?” she asked.
“A Russian folk song.”
“It’s beautiful.”
The ghost of a smile on his face. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Your mother and your aunt? You don’t remember anything? Where were you for two years? Who took care of you?”
“I remember someone playing guitar.” He smiled. “But after the Rending? I remember a little. Or I think I do. I’m not certain.”
“What do you remember?”
“Fear.” He stopped playing. “Screaming. Then silence. A lot of silence. Leo and I were in a dark place. I think someone must have hidden us somewhere. I remember the cold. It was cold at night, even in the summer. I dream about a boy with silver hair and gold eyes. I don’t know if they’re memories or dreams. Or visions. Wolves in the snow and a boy with gold eyes sitting by a fire, feeding us milk.”
“Gold eyes could mean—”
“Kareshta?” He started playing again. “I thought of that after I learned of their existence. Kareshta would have been able to care for us without hurting themselves like humans would, but I’m quite certain it’s a boy in my dreams. So I don’t know what to think.”
Renata’s mind whirled with the possibilities.
“I don’t have many distinct memories of my childhood after that. We were raised in the scribe house because there was no other place to keep us. So we were always around warriors with my grandfather and my uncle. Neither of them are talkative men. I know next to nothing about my mother or my aunt.”
Max started playing again, and Renata watched him silently. The song was a low, aching ballad. His fingers plucked the strings delicately, matching the mournful, crying wind of the storm. He’d never put a shirt back on, so her eyes feasted on him as he played. He was a banquet of rippling muscle and smooth skin turned gold in the lamplight. His eyes were closed as he played, and his top teeth gripped his bottom lip in concentration.
He was so beautiful it made her heart ache.
What would it be like to remember so little? To carry an empty pack through your life? Would it be a light journey or a lonely one?
Max paused. “I think what I’m most afraid of in this life is that I will get to the end of it—die in battle or just from exhaustion—and have no memories of home.”
Renata’s voice was hardly a whisper. “I have memories, but they bring me no joy.”
His voice hardened. “Is that why I’m so angry with you, Reni? You know what home is, and you reject it. You played for years—showing me peeks of a life with you—then you passed judgment. You told me what we had wasn’t good enough. ‘Move on, Maxim. You’ll never compare to what I lost.’”