YAGA | ✓

SIXTEEN

•••

IT TOOK an agonisingly long time for her wounds to heal, the worst part being that Yaga knew she could've done it herself. Most of the scarring, too, would've been avoided, but she knew, deep down, that no number of treatments would gouge out the pain now forever nestled in her spine. With the pain, however, something new had arrived. Though the physical pain was dull and constant, the pain of knowing that the people who had whipped her so were people she'd once considered friends, was far, far, worse. That pain would never truly leave, rather it would only get worse.

There were no more tears left for her to cry, and the meagre amounts of water, cruel compared to the downpours of rain that battered all of Southern Lyova. Salovo was unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire, drenching the crops and causing a fine layer of ice to settle across the winter fields. Yaga could even see icicles dangling from the window frames as she sat in the carriage, tantalisingly mirroring the last time she'd taken such a ride. That had been before everything, when Veles had been kind and her prayers had always been answered.

Now, their backs were turned, leaving her to choke on the dust left by their neglect. She took a deep, rattling breath, testing the strength of the ropes binding her arms. Gospozica Arelova had told her that even when she'd been unconscious, Dimitri had fought to keep her tied up - it had needed a Doktor to convince him after endless hours of bickering that Yaga needed to be resting to enable a recovery. Though he'd never admit it, Arelova said, everyone knew that though he may've wanted her disfigured, even he knew better than to cripple her.

It made Yaga laugh to think that the boy even cared in the slightest. He was only doing it to save his own sorry ass, trying to paint himself as some sort of saviour, all while he bowed to the Chernobog when the candles were blown out. She wondered if the Blackwater rushed the same way as it had before, or whether the water had been tainted with the blood contained within it. The answer was one that she yearned to know, though she knew that it would only turn her into even more of a bloodthirsty monster than she was already.

She found that she no longer cared.

Her train of thought was interrupted when the wheels ceased their rumbling on the cobblestones, leading to the opening of the polished wooden doors and outside that, the fierce winds that would've toppled her over had she been outside. Dimitri cleared his throat, and Yaga looked up from the window.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, keeping her voice level, balancing the weight that pressed down on her.

His lips flickered into a grim smile. "Why do you ask when you already know the answer?"

Dimitri was right - she knew exactly where they were, because it brought back so many terrible memories of that night. Nothing about Baba Jana's house had changed - from the slithering instability of it, looking as if it were to collapse any moment, or the rotting wood that lay beneath every window and made up the door, the rusted metal of the doorknob that always squeaked desperately no matter how slowly and carefully you turned it. It was painstakingly ironic that that was the only thing that had stayed the same after the fall of Salovo and the rise of the witchhunters.

He pulled her arm into the crook of his elbow, winter cloak heavy on her weary body. Yaga felt like a glass figurine, too delicate and frail to touch. Or perhaps a piece of porcelain that had fallen one too many times, the chips falling to deeper crevices that shattered it from the outside in. His lips almost touched her ear, causing goosebumps to erupt all over her body. The feeling of his warm breath made her sick to her stomach.

"Tell no lies and she will tell you nothing but truth," Dimitri murmured.

Yaga jerked her hands away, laughing bitterly. "And what if I never wanted the truth in the first place, Dimitri, dearest?"