Andrei

My room was almost exactly as I’d left it. Almost, only because it was dustier than I'd ever let it get. Meager possessions still organized. An uncomfortable bed, meticulously made. Returning to the church was dangerous, but I needed to complete the preparations for Emerich Bach’s burial, and I needed to be alone. I wasn’t prepared to fight the Commander’s battle against Lidia at the Vonsinfonie ruins later that night. There was no telling the numbers we’d face, how many allies she may have accumulated over centuries. Speculation varied from dozens to hundreds, but the thought of there being hundreds of Anima consorting beneath the village seemed absurd. Oskari would have ceased to exist. Its people—their victims—driven mad if not altogether extinguished. Then again, perhaps it was only a matter of time.

Moreover, I was convinced Sinclair was keeping something from me. I wasn’t concerned about the stability of our affection. I knew with every bone in my body that I would love her forever, and I never once doubted she felt the same. The reality is, we sometimes hide things from those we love because we love them, and sometimes, it’s best to let our loved ones have their secrets. I sat on the edge of the bed, considering whether or not to approach her.

I couldn’t tell you how much time had passed before I heard her voice.

“She’s going to kill you,” she said.

I wondered how long Lidia Ruza had been watching me from the doorway.

“Did you hear me?” she asked. “She’s going to kill you. First that rogue priest, and now she’s after the bard, did you know? She killed her own father, and you’re up next. She knows you plan to leave it all behind, and despite what she wants people to think, she’s loyal to one thing and one thing only—her job. They were all defects and aberrations, just like you. All numbers, and dates, and pretty pictures for her sick little book. I'm really sorry.”

It was an inspired approach, but it was futile. “Are you not exhausted?” I asked. “Playing the same game for centuries?”

“It can be different this time. I want to help you.”

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“No, I don’t think you do.”

“What is it about her, anyway?” Lidia darted forward with enough force to land me flat on my back. She lifted her skirts and straddled me.

Several urges followed. First, the urge to run, and then the urge to separate her conniving head from her body. I doubted if either of those urges were the ones she was hoping for.

“Is it the eyes?” She brought her face closer to mine. “They’re captivating, aren’t they?”

Even as I looked away, I saw Sinclair’s eyes as clearly as I’d last seen them. Confident and unashamed. So much resolve hidden behind a wall of indifference.

“Is it the body? So tiny. Does she make you feel big and strong, Andrei Strauss?”

“You’re disturbed,” I wanted to say. But there was only Sinclair. Lean, muscled, thin white scars forming a walking tapestry for the life she’d lived. Her lips against mine. Traveling fingers, more forceful than I remembered, grasping at my robes, pulling me further and further into the illusion. For a moment, I wavered between reality and dream—all things designed to be perfect, but not quite. The kiss was too desperate, the touch too experienced.

I sucked in a deep breath, pulling the air from my assailant’s lungs into my own. The devastating exhale I unleashed next sent her sprawling across the room.

Seizing the opportunity, I retreated from my chambers.

But all I’d managed to do was poke the hive. Lidia was fast, and strong, and absolutely raging. What were gusts of wind against her?

I’d barely made it down the corridor when she came at me in a blaze of fury. I turned around just in time, catching her right across the midsection, and after flinging her back down the hallway, I bolted for the auditorium. I didn’t wait around to see her crash into the wall, but the sound was sickening. It wouldn’t stop her for long.

The bile that was building in my gut erupted into into my throat, and I swallowed it down as I raced for the front doors. But it was too late.

Lidia Ruza’s smile was the last thing I remember before the pain, and it was the variety of pain that ceases your stomach and plays with your balance. Her face and the distinct scent of wildflowers and burnt wood were replaced by darkness and the smell of blood. Thick and metallic upon my lips, still warm when I pawed my face in horror. There was laughter—gleeful and childlike—muted only by the pounding in my ears. It felt as though the room spun circles under my feet, while my knees gave out and my stomach gave in. Faster, and faster, and faster, and then…

Nothing.