Yi

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" And I remember thinking,

'Are we out of the woods yet?'

'Are we out of the woods yet?'

'Are we out of the woods yet?'

Are we out of the woods?  "


LIKE SOME KIND of sick fever dream, the doors crash open so hard I'm certain they're going to shatter like pieces of glass as weak and helpless as I feel. I snap to my feet as Alina does, warily eyeing the rifles in the guards' hands, the black clips gleaming in the firelight like beasts of their own sickening volition.

"Clear the room," the Apparat barks.

The Priestguards usher all the cooks out, ignoring confused protests like machines built to do one thing blindly and without any other thought.

I almost grimace at how it reminds me of the nichevo'ya, those mindless beings who only exist to serve one master who is just as much of a monster as them.

I reach out to the steel pans in the kitchen and they come flying into my hands, melding into a large, sloppy blade.

"What is this?" Alina demands.

"Alina Starkov and Yizhi Kir-Taban," the Apparat bellows gravely, "you are in danger."

"Danger from what?" the Sun Summoner asks incredulously. "Lunch?"

"Conspiracy!" the Apparat yells, jabbing a finger towards Genya. My grip tightens on the hilt of my makeshift blade. "Those who claim your friendship seek to destroy you."

Genya gasps when she sees David get yanked harshly into the room, and Alina places a hand on her arm to stop her from rushing forward.

Then Nadia and Zoya are pulled in, wrists bound together as though they've committed some kind of treasonous crime that deserves such harsh treatment. I grit my teeth to prevent myself from snapping at the old priest in his dirty old robes.

Said priest raises his arms dramatically, oversized sleeves flapping like wings of a too-large chicken. "Lock the doors," he orders grimly. "We will have this sad business done in private."

The Kettle's doors slam shut, a powerful gust of wind washing over us and giving me a moment of coolness before the warmth of the hearth reaches my skin once more, like the gentle graze of the sea washing over sand, cleansing and relaxing.

✵ SWEETER THAN HONEY ― nikolai lantsov ✵Where stories live. Discover now