Fate of the Demon

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Today was going to be perfect. It had to be.

Kaspian paced the length of the hall, chin cradled between thumb and forefinger. Servants flitted in and out of the kitchen doorway. Pots and pans clanged, drowning out the sharp commands of Cook as she directed the kitchen help. The intoxicating scent of roasting mackerel perfumed the air and clung to the clothes of bustling servants, making last-minute adjustments to linens and place settings. He shadowed them as they examined platters and cups for stray water spots, casting a critical eye on the alignment of forks and knives.

Everything had to go smoothly. Mere weeks had passed since his name had been cleared and he’d won the support of his people. It still felt tenuous. His older brother Henryk’s misdeeds—and the lengths to which Mama and Tata had gone to hide them—had been revealed. After all of it, the Wolski family owed far more to the people than could ever be repaid. But he would make it his life’s mission to do everything in his power for the village’s sake. Beginning with a bounteous feast, they could all reforge the kinship that had broken with Roksana’s murder and Julian’s evil.

The Kolęda festival was one of the rare occasions when the peasants and nobility mingled. In years past, it had been nothing but another of many formal obligations, but this year it was different. And it was also Brygida’s first.

Well, her first with the village. As they’d strolled through the winter woods, she’d told him of her family’s Kolęda traditions, rites under the moon, incantations and offerings made to Weles. Tonight, Brygida would be entering his world. It paled in comparison to the awe and majesty of the forest, but he just hoped it would live up to her expectations.

The corners of his mouth turned up, and he couldn’t help it; at the thought of her, they always did. For him, after years and years of observing the same traditions, the wonder of them had faded some. But the light in her eyes when she experienced something new, it cast a new glow on that faded wonder, awakening depths that had hidden even from himself. He wanted to show her Czarnobrzeg’s celebration of Kolęda, and he wanted to show her everything. Every single thing new or unknown to her, just to watch that light in her eyes again and again, as many times as he possibly could in this life, and by her side hope to feel even the barest glow of warmth to awaken those hidden depths of his own.

Outside, the frigid wind howled, like the lamenting cry of a wolf. It rattled shutters, trying to creep in through the cracks in the walls and roof.

Servants worked hard to keep the hall heated; hunched over by the fireplace, one prodded embers to life, and another worked the bellows, while a third fed fresh logs to the flames. Shadows danced over the stone hearth’s facade, and golden light illuminated the hall, catching on the silverware, sparkling like stars.

A single trickle of sweat rolled down his shoulder blades as he stopped, his back to the hearth, and eyed the table’s place settings. Four. Tata, Stryjek, Mama, and him.

No place for Brygida?

She was—

She… She wasn’t a noble, but she wasn’t a peasant either. To him, she…

Taking a drawn-out breath, he glared at the empty space beside his own. Clearly, Mama had tried to make a statement with this, and now she’d left him no choice but to meddle with seating arrangements, and plates and chairs and all the other minutiae he’d never given a passing thought to.

With a grunt, he strode toward the table—and collided with a serving woman carrying a stack of plates. It fell to the ground with a thunderous crash.

All heads in the hall swiveled toward the noise. Perun’s bright lightning, could nothing go according to plan today?

“My apologies, my lord.” The servant scrambled to gather up the plates. No doubt the household was no happier than he was about his interloping.

“Let me.” Kaspian bent down to help. “I should have been paying more attention,” he said, holding out the last plate. “If it’s not too much trouble, there’s a place setting missing at the head table. Could you set it for me?”

“Right away, my lord.” She bobbed her head before she carried her stack over to the head table.

“What are you doing wasting time, worrying about place settings?” A firm hand clapped him on the back. Stryjek Andrzej, his uncle, grinned at him.

Kaspian rubbed the nape of his neck. “I should be worried. This is the one night we open our doors to the peasantry, and I will be their lord after all, so I want to keep them happy.” After everything that had happened recently, he wanted to keep the people happy, both as their future lord and for Brygida’s sake. Tonight was the first step to bridging the gap between their worlds.

“Life is too short to fret over peasants,” Stryjek said as he picked at his nails, which were stained black from ink.

When Stryjek had shown up just after the first frost, Kaspian had hardly recognized him. Age had carved lines around his smiling mouth, and his once-blond hair had turned snowy white in the past eight years he’d been wandering the countryside.

As a scholar and poet, Stryjek traveled across the regions of Nizina, telling stories and doing the odd scholar’s work to earn his keep. And for the first time in Kaspian’s memory, he was joining them for Kolęda.

Perhaps if Stryjek had come at any other time, his visit could have been a happy one. Kaspian had fond memories of Stryjek’s stories and mischievous antics from when he was a boy. Now all he felt toward him was envy and the life that could have been his. But of course he could never say so. Just another limitation among many.

“You’re right. If you’ll excuse me, I have some preparations to oversee,” Kaspian said with a forced smile, and strode away, hands balled into fists.

Stryjek made it sound simple, but he’d never felt the burden of this responsibility, and he never would. Being born a second son, and third in line to inherit the lordship, Stryjek had done as he’d pleased, lived the life Kaspian had dreamed of before Henryk’s vile act had trapped him in this role.

And because of that fact, he had to do better, to make recompense for the sins of his family.

He grasped at his collar, stretching it to let a breath in. This coat, emerald green and made of a fine tiretaine wool, was too small, but finding something that wouldn’t make Brygida feel underdressed but also avoid upsetting his parents was a tall task. This would have to do; Brygida’s comfort meant more than his own. Considering the villagers still felt uneasy around her, she didn’t need any more distress, and this at least was something he could control. Outside of her duties to Mokosza, they were unused to seeing a witch among them. But he planned to change that.

Before he indulged the impulse to go and change—again—he stalked the perimeter of the hall to the head table and confirmed that the extra place had been set. Brygida would sit by his side, a symbol of his endorsement of the witches, and an opportunity for the people to grow accustomed to her presence. Even if the servants were opposed, or even the entire village, he would make sure this night would be a memorable one for her.

Besides, everything would be fine. This was Brygida after all, a woman who could drain the blood from a man with a touch and a thought—he shuddered thinking of it. Given her exceptional capabilities, she could certainly handle a few surly villagers, especially together with him.

A decanter of wine had been set out, along with a goblet. He filled it to the brim before taking a large swig. There was nothing for her to fear in his home. And even if the peasants whispered behind her back, he wouldn’t allow their wagging tongues to affect her. Tonight would go exactly as planned. They would dance as they should’ve during the Feast of the Mother...

The night Roksana had been murdered.

He drained the goblet and set it down to refill it again.

“You’re drinking already? The guests haven’t even arrived,” Mama scolded. Her blond hair, now heavily streaked with white, was coiffed on top of her head in a myriad of looping braids bound with crimson linen ribbons, which she always wore at this time of year. She surveyed the busy hall like a queen overlooking her court.

His gut twisted, and he set the goblet back down with a thump. It was time to play the game he and his parents had been at for weeks, in which they acted as though they’d never thought him a r****t and a murderer, and he painted on a forced smile.

“Is there something I can help you with?” He kept his gaze on Iskra, Mama’s dog, hovering at her hip. The deep chocolate-brown eyes of his mother’s faithful companion held no judgment, no secrets. Unlike her master.

“I’m glad you asked. Lord Granat has just arrived. He’ll sit beside you tonight, so keep him company. You should start making connections now...”

Kaspian’s head jerked up. “What is he doing here?”

He cleared his throat and pulled at his too-tight collar. It had been weeks since he’d looked Mama in the eye. She’d hidden the truth about Henryk. She’d believed him capable of r****g and murdering Roksana. Although he wanted to mend their broken relationship, the wounds felt too raw to even attempt it.

Memories of the Kolęda feasts of his youth crystallized in his chest, jagged shards that only cut. When he’d been little, Mama used to sneak him candies even though he’d already eaten enough to make him sick. Then the entire village would gather before the bonfire to dance all night. Her face would be ruddy from the exertion of overseeing the festivities, and yet she’d continued smiling and laughing, giving in to his childish demands to keep dancing.

But the halcyon days of his youth were gone, leaving behind only shattered remains that reflected how easily she’d lied to him, how easily she’d presumed him capable of utter depravity.

“Lord Granat was passing through on his way to Bursztyn and decided to join us for the feast.”

He now knew better than to trust those kind eyes. She was a charming manipulator, and he wouldn’t keep falling for her lies. Even with her husband’s quickly declining health and strained family bonds, all she could think about was politics.

For as long as he could remember, Lord Granat had been a looming threat over Rubin, wanting it for his own. Once he’d arranged the marriage of his son and heir to the daughter of Lord Bursztyn, it was apparent he would use that consolidated power to consume the much smaller Rubin.

Wolves surrounded their region, ready to devour them alive, and Mama had been integral in keeping them appeased. Lord Granat wouldn’t have traveled in the dead of winter without good reason. Was he coming to make threats? Had spies revealed how sick Tata was?

There was something Mama wasn’t telling him. Something more. Before, he would have pressed her and gladly offered his assistance. But once Tata died, all of this would fall on his shoulders.

Couldn’t he have one night to pretend that Tata’s death didn’t cast a pall over him, that he wouldn’t soon have to grieve that loss, all the while taking on power he wasn’t prepared for?

Another servant approached with an extra place setting. Her gaze flickered to the plate Kaspian had set. “My lady, where should I put this?”

“We seem to have too many places set.” Mama laughed high and false.

The hall had been crammed with oaken tables and benches. At the head, the most honored guests and family sat, facing outward. He wouldn’t leave Brygida to sit amongst the crowd—she was his savior, Roksana’s avenger, and she deserved a place of honor.

Kaspian took the plate from the servant and set it on the far end of the bench. “Lord Granat can sit beside you.” He met his mother’s gaze, where thunderbolts flashed in her livid eyes.

The servant glanced to Mama.

She lowered her chin with a slight shake of her head. The servant backed away, leaving them alone once more.

“I’m only trying to do what’s best for you,” Mama said quietly.

He wouldn’t abandon Brygida to the wolves of the manor just so Mama could move him, not so long ago her presumed r****t-murderer son, like a pawn around the dinner table. It was clear she wanted to keep him occupied, and away from what she deemed unsuitable company.

“I can’t entertain Lord Granat. I have other plans.” He snatched up his goblet and took a step before Mama grasped him by the elbow.

“Kaspian,” she breathed, her eyes wide. Did it really come as a shock that after she’d believed him a villain, he wasn’t so keen to obey?

“Don’t fear, Mama. I’ll try my best not to murder anyone,” he added icily.

Her face froze. “You are the future Lord of Rubin.”

Repeating it didn’t change the fact that when he’d been falsely accused and a mob had raised torches and pitchforks against him, thirsted for his blood, even his own mother hadn’t believed in him.

He pulled his arm away from her, none too gently. “That’s right—future lord. Tonight, I am my own man.”