Page 44 of Devil’s Doom (Jaga and the Devil #2)

Chapter forty-four

Revelry

My hands grow numb. My heartbeat slows until it’s a low, uneven thud in my throat, and it’s as if my feet have grown roots. I can’t turn away. I can’t close my eyes. My heart shatters yet it demands I watch this scene with utmost attention. It feels crucial that I remember every detail. Every last second of his betrayal.

My vision is so sharp, so focused, I see the exact moment when he kisses her back, his tail flicking to wrap around her hip. His mouth is slow and ravenous on her full, smiling lips, and his eyes are open, looking right into mine when he draws a pleased moan from her lips.

That moan breaks my stupor. I turn right and start walking, not caring if my friends follow me. My steps are even. I don’t make a sound and I don’t slouch. I walk tall and proud while hurt deeper than I ever felt wells in my chest.

I ache. I suffer. But it doesn’t stop me from moving.

Someone’s fast breath follows me, but I don’t look to see who that is. My face flames with utter humiliation. Fury rises in my chest, choking me, and I grab Woland’s ring and tug. Agony races up my finger, the skin plowed open by the thorns, but I tug harder, until the ring comes off, lubricated with generous trickles of blood.

I fling it into the snow, a red splash over white. With a whispered spell, my finger heals. I can’t do anything about the pain in my heart, but I won’t let Woland hurt me in other ways. Not anymore.

“Jaga, wait!”

Rada’s breathless voice pierces through the worst of my wrath. I stop, letting her catch up. I’ve walked so fast, I left the others well behind, and as I glance at Rada, I spot Lech and Lutowa in the distance, talking quietly, their faces close together, features tense.

The wila catches my hand, her eyes big and scared, a tear frozen in the corner of one. I take a deep breath, pushing my own suffering down.

She is hurt, too. Maybe even more so than I.

“He is a shallow, stupid god, and the way you were created says nothing about you,” I say, my voice too harsh in my anger. I make an effort to soften it. “Rada, please, don’t let him get to you. I know plenty of people who were born from rape or their parents’ stupid decisions, and they turned out to be wonderful people, because the circumstances of their making didn’t define them. They don’t define you, either.”

She takes a shaky breath, closing her eyes. Gods, even hurting and humiliated, Rada is the most beautiful creature in the world. I may hate Strzybog for his careless cruelty, but I have to admit, he truly did what he intended. She is more beautiful than Mokosz, if only because Rada’s face never twists into an expression of loathing and scorn. The wila is too innocent for that.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, her eyes opening just when Lech and Lutowa reach us. “Do you think the goddess hates me now?”

My back crawls with unease as I remember the callous way Mokosz looked at Rada.

“You heard what he said. There is no competition ,” I bite out, because Woland’s words still ring in my head. Fucktoy. “She’s probably forgotten you already.”

Lech holds Rada, whispering comforting words in her ear, meanwhile Lutowa hesitates a moment before taking my hand awkwardly, her eyes serious when she looks at me.

“I shouldn’t tell you that, but you’re hurting, and it’s unpleasant to watch. She is vain and thrives on men’s adoration, which he knows. He’s cultivating her, Jaga. That’s all there is. I’m sure he’ll explain it to you when you’re alone, hm? Refrain from judging him until then.”

I hate the way my heart wrenches with hope. Gods, I would give anything to believe her, but I know Woland, and even if he has the most plausible explanation ready for me, I’ll still have trouble trusting him.

This all feels more and more like a horrible tangle, and I don’t know how to cut through the knots to free myself and see clearly. I wish I could be alone for a few days. Lock myself somewhere warm and dark, and just think.

Except, would that help? The source of the entanglement is my own heart, after all. I’d have to cut it out.

“Let’s go see Zlotomira,” Lech says, his lips pressed tight with determination. “Even if it’s busy, she’ll talk to us.”

Lutowa makes a weird face, something between a cringe and an impatient huff, but in the end, she nods.

“Well, at least it will be a distraction,” she mutters, tugging my hand.

“What do you mean?” I ask. “You saw an outing like this already, didn’t you? What do you think will happen at the milk bar?”

She shakes her head, her eyes drawn to a small bakery with fogged up windows. “You’ll see. Keep going, I’ll catch up with you. Just need to get some food.”

She enters the bakery to the sound of tinkling bells. I sigh and trudge after Lech and Rada, longing for my bed, yet hating that Woland has access to it. I’d rather not see him again. Should I just run? He was distressed the last time I did, and it would serve him right.

Yet, the sense of duty keeps me walking behind my friends. I shouldn’t be swayed by stupid emotions. I need to make a rational, unbiased choice, and so, I bury my heart and ignore its wounded weeping.

I’ll get the truth out of Woland, one way or another, and then I’ll finally make my choice.

“Lutowa was right,” Rada says with a small frown when we get closer to the milk bar, sounds of revelry coming through. “It looks very busy.”

As we get closer, the doors blast open. Two kobolds drag a screaming mamuna out of the bar. It’s Kata, the young, blue-eyed one I met yesterday. Her breast is bleeding, and her dress is torn. She holds it around her hips, tears rolling down her face.

“What the fuck?” I mutter, launching into a run.

My cold, fierce anger won’t be suppressed anymore. It’s ready to cut like a blade.

One kobold presses his muzzle to Kata’s breast, drinking with a lusty grunt, while the other tries to get between her legs. She kicks and struggles, screaming for help. I send a sharp, cutting spell into the kobold trying to rape her, and he jumps away with a curse, whirling toward me.

Sleep , I think, sending the other kobold into a deep slumber. He topples to the ground, his teeth sliding away from Kata’s breast. I realize why she’s bleeding. Kobold muzzles aren’t built for suckling mamuna breasts.

The kobold I wounded charges at me with a low growl.

“Don’t attack the consort!” Lech screams out a warning, but I don’t need his help. I gather the cold from the air around me and send it flying to the kobold’s joints, freezing them. He bellows in pain, his paws sliding from under him until he sprawls on the ground, unable to move.

“Help me up,” he demands, his voice filled with pain.

“Help yourself,” I spit, turning to Kata. “Are you all right?”

She shakes her head, cradling her bleeding breast. But when I lean in to heal her, she turns away.

“Go inside! Help the others!”

Indeed, the bar is loud with screams and laughter, but it’s not the normal noise of a drunk company. I growl with understanding when I realize the scene we just saw isn’t an isolated incident. The same thing must be happening inside.

“So I was right,” Lutowa says around a bite of honeyed bun. “It’s busy.”

I turn to her, watching my friend with utter disbelief. She seems amused, not a flicker of worry crossing her emaciated face.

“Did you know this would happen?” I ask, my voice low with fury. “How can you be so calm? This is outrageous!”

She gives me a mean little smile, one I saw many times on her face before, yet never in response to my friends’ suffering.

“Well, rebels spend most of their lives fighting for these stupid people’s freedom, and what do we get in return? Banishment and scorn! It’s time they sacrificed something, too, don’t you think? At the very least, we deserve payment for risking our lives.”

She takes another bite, completely unconcerned. I look at the enormous bag of baked goods she sports. Somehow, I know with complete certainty she didn’t pay for them.

And just like this, it’s as if a veil lifts from my eyes. I understand what Woland’s rebellion is. It’s not a company of noble outcasts, fighting for freedom in the land, like I believed. They are mean, hardened little people who follow the god who offers them ways to hurt, rape, and take what they want without laws or consequences.

Gods. If this is the way Woland soothes them after a defeat, I tremble to think what a victory feast would look like. His rebellion is rotten from the inside out, and how could it not?

He is at the heart of it.

It’s revolting to think I was about to give away my life, my freedom, and future for this corrupt cause. I was so blind and stupid.

“I don’t know you,” I hiss at Lutowa, the hurt of this betrayal rivaling what I felt when Woland kissed Mokosz.

I turn to go in, my heart calming with the certainty of my path. I am going to stop the rebels and protect this place, my only home in Slawa. Even if that means killing Woland’s people.

“Jaga, stop! You’ll get hurt,” Rada calls out, but I ignore her.

Nothing in there can hurt me more than the pain I was already dealt today.

Inside the milk bar, it’s chaos. Around a dozen rebels accost mamunas. Some of them let the rebels drink their milk, resigned, but some fight. I see an old mamuna, who has almost no teeth, bashing a strzyga on the head. Despite the numerous blows, the strzyga doesn’t unlatch from a crying mamuna with thick, gold braids. An upir woman jumps at the old mamuna, sinking her fangs in her neck.

Zlotomira stands behind the bar, her lips pressed together in helpless anger, her eyes filled with thunder. She holds a hammer, but her white-knuckled hands shake too much to use it.

I move fast while everyone’s distracted. Invisible ropes burst out of my palms, their aim guided with magic. I don’t care about being efficient right now. I only care about protecting my friends, and every spell I launch releases some of the rage trapped in my gut.

Thump! A kobold lands on all fours, a tight leash dragging him out the door. Smash! A strzyga falls back onto a table, her wrists tied together. Clang! The upir drinking from the mamuna is thrown right on top of a bucket filled with empty bottles.

Before the rebels realize what’s happening, I bind and throw out each and every one of them. When the bar is finally empty of intruders, the only sounds the sobs and wails of the mamunas, Zlotomira comes over and squeezes my hand.

“Thank you, dear,” she says gravely. “Will you be safe after doing this?”

I bare my teeth in a grin, breathing hard from exertion. I’ve spent a large chunk of my magic, but I still want to spend more, until I’m utterly empty. Until I go numb.

“I am the devil’s consort,” I say with a disdainful snort. “I’ll be fine. Do you need more help?”

She shakes her head. “We will bar the door and lick our wounds. Come back when it’s safe, and we will talk again. And if you ever need help from me, any kind, I’ll be happy to repay my debt.”

What debt? I want to ask as I leave the bar, shooting scornful looks at the few rebels who remained, still struggling with the ropes. Lutowa watches them with amusement, munching on her rolls.

There is no debt to repay, I think as I kick a kobold viciously in the back, the same one who tried to rape Kata. These were my people who assaulted the milk bar. It might as well have been me, and I hate that.

“Where else is this happening?” I ask Lutowa, turning to her with a snarl.

She shrugs, swallowing a large bite. “Everywhere? But if you want the best show, the Wila Garden is the place.”

My gut plummets with foreboding. The brothel. Of course.

Rada makes a muffled sound of distress, probably thinking about her wila friends who still work there. I look at Lech, who has his arms around her. His face is tight, eyes watchful. I can tell he’s surprised, but not enough to act.

He didn’t try to help the mamunas even though he lived above the bar longer than I. He is on the side of the rebellion. Even now. After what he saw.

“Take her home, wherever that is for you,” I growl at him, pointing my chin at Rada. “This isn’t safe.”

He nods once and turns away. Maybe his loyalty to Rada is strong, at least.

“And you’ll come with me and help,” I tell Lutowa. “It’s the least you can do.”

She shrugs, popping another bite in her mouth. “I got my fix. We can brawl. After all, everything that happens on the surface, stays on the surface. Unofficial rebel law.”

I clench my jaw when she grins shamelessly. I’m unsure whether she doesn’t see my anger or doesn’t treat it seriously. That’s fine. After this is all over, I’ll explain why she’ll never have my friendship again.

The Wila Garden is only a few streets away from the milk bar. We go up the narrow alleys, passing two more taverns overrun with rebels, but I don’t bother going in. I don’t have enough magic to stop everyone tonight, and the wilas must be dealing with the worst of this.

The brothel is a tall, elegant building with fragrant ramblers crawling up the stone walls even in the dead of winter. It’s brightly lit with pink orbs, a beacon of expensive pleasure. I know it’s purely a wila establishment, and my gut squeezes with disgust. It’s just as Woland said—this world values wilas for one thing only.

“What are you planning?” Lutowa asks, fishing another treat out of her bag. “You know you can’t just barge in there and start shooting spells. You don’t have enough magic for that.”

I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. For all her faults, Lutowa is right. But as a frantic scream comes out through a smashed window on the ground floor, I throw all caution away and head for the front door.

I’ll deal with the problems as they come up.

But I don’t even make it inside. A hunched creature bundled in a black cloak surges out through the door, a wailing baby in their arms. Behind them runs out a half-naked wila.

“Help!” she screams, her voice high-pitched and panicked. “She said she’ll eat my baby!”

“You‘re fucking kidding me,” I growl under my breath, launching into a chase. I’ve heard that threat before, and I know exactly who took the child. “Wera, stop!”

The strzyga keeps running. I send a spell her way, but she has a shield up protecting her back. This is bad. I’ve never managed to defeat Wera in a duel. Lutowa jogs behind us, but she’s far back and not in a hurry.

“Stop!” I yell, the fresh snowfall crunching under my feet.

We reach a small square with a covered well in the middle. Wera turns, and it’s indeed her. The baby keeps crying. Good. It means it’s alive.

“Go back to your friends, consort,” she says with clear scorn. “And I’ll go my way. No one will miss one more dragon bastard.”

“Its mother will miss it,” I say, readying my magic until it hums under my skin like a threat. “It’s not yours to take. Give it back now.”

Wera grins. Raises the baby. I throw a spell, my gut twisting, and it sizzles out against her invisible shield. She sinks her teeth in the baby’s arm, biting off a pudgy chunk of meat and skin.

The baby’s wails turn so desperate, it’s blue in the face. If it doesn’t stop, it will suffocate.

I rain stones on Wera, aiming with magic so she’s the only target. Her shield doesn’t cover her from above, and the first stone glances off her temple, leaving behind a bloody gash. She snarls and throws the baby aside. I just manage to catch it with my magic, making sure it lands softly.

But that moment costs me. A dozen cutting spells fly my way, and even though I have a shield up, it’s flimsy. The first few cuts fizzle out, but the rest comes through. My legs and stomach bloom with pain. Blood soaks the snow under my feet.

“I’ll get someone,” I think Lutowa says, but her words fly right over my head. I’m too busy crafting a curse with my fingers, one I don’t mind spending my remaining magic on. Wera will finally get what’s coming.

She sends another swarm of cutting spells my way, and I twist aside, putting up shield after shield for the spells to crush against. When she sends another series, opening herself, I let my curse fly.

It’s a flame. An inextinguishable one. And it lands right where I want it.