Page 27 of Her Blind Deception (The Dark Reflection #2)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

B aba Yaga didn’t emerge from the other room until the first stars were peeking their bleary eyes through the dusk, despite the amount of bashing and clanging I was sure to make throughout the afternoon while I scrubbed and mopped and dusted. I pushed my sweaty hair away from my face with a hand that was red and chapped as she swung the door open, stretching out her arms and cracking her back as she entered the room.

She looked around, casting her eyes over my handiwork, before huffing a ‘humph’ and shuffling towards the kitchen.

‘That’s it?’ I demanded, my voice strained. ‘I work myself to the bone all afternoon and you have nothing else to say?’

‘You should have started dinner by now if you want to eat before midnight,’ was her only reply as she began clattering around her larder. A strangled noise escaped my throat, something between a cry of disbelief and a screech of fury, as I threw down the cloth I’d been using to polish a window. Baba Yaga ignored me, thumping a whole chicken onto her kitchen bench and rolling up her sleeves. I cringed away as she began rigorously plucking the unfortunate creature, scattering feathers all over the floor I had just wrangled into cleanliness.

Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I sat in one of the rickety wooden chairs by the table and stretched my aching shoulders. ‘Was your nap… refreshing?’ I asked with forced cordiality.

‘Don’t mock, iaral,’ she said, clucking her tongue. ‘We would live in a better world if people only napped more. You especially should try it. You can’t make any far-reaching, inexcusable mistakes that threaten the stability of entire kingdoms while you are napping.’

My teeth were pressed so tightly against a retort I thought they might crack. I drummed my fingers against the table instead of speaking, taking out my frustration on the battered old wood, repeating I need her help in my head like a mantra. She suspended the chicken from her hand by its feet, inspecting it so closely her nose almost brushed the pimpled skin, before plonking it in the pot over the fire.

She looked over at me with narrowed eyes as she hobbled back to the kitchen, before barking, ‘What are you waiting for? The potatoes aren’t going to chop themselves.’

I stood so fast the chair fell backwards and clattered to the floor. ‘You have insulted me, ordered me around and used me to clean your house, and I won’t stand for it anymore. If you’re not going to help me, tell me now so I can go home and leave you to your miserable little life.’

Her expression turned sombre and her eyes seemed to blaze. She drew herself up, her spine losing its bent appearance, and she was taller than I would have guessed. The flames in the grate flickered and grew dim, the shadows lengthened, and the air was suddenly cold. ‘And a little life is always a miserable one, is it? Your fear has warped your perception, Rhiandra.’ She crouched behind the counter and reappeared with an armful of potatoes, which she dumped before me on the table, following shortly afterwards with a knife. ‘You’ve the power and the wealth you craved and yet you’re more afraid and vulnerable than you have ever been. Some would call that misery.’

Slowly, the flames in the grate lengthened and warmth returned to the air. I picked up the knife and began to cut potatoes, eyeing Baba Yaga as she sprinkled herbs into the pot, appearing once again to be just a stooped old woman preparing a meal. Maybe she would eat me after all.

I continued to chop whatever vegetables she dumped on the table, and she ferried the cut pieces away to her pot, and for a time we were each absorbed in our own tasks. There was something satisfying in doing things with my hands, I realised as the methodical rhythm of chopping soothed me. And there was liberation in the gentle ache in my muscles, in looking around and seeing the cabin clean. It had been a long time since I’d had to do any cleaning or food preparation myself, and even when I had, I’d always hated it. Unfortunately, it also gave me the chance to mull over her last words. I wasn’t vulnerable, nor was I afraid at court. Surely, I’d proved that by now. And being queen wasn’t without its problems, especially when I was always so worried about my lies and my crimes being discovered, but it beat starvation and being sold as a commodity at the Winking Nymph. Although, sometimes pandering to counsellors and courtiers didn’t feel overly different from charming customers. And I did miss the other girls. I missed the way we’d looked out for one another. The only person who looked out for me at court was Leela.

With a sharp pang, I realised I’d started to think Draven did too. I realised how much it hurt to know he’d turned on me, even when I’d known he would. Maybe deep down, I’d started to hope that, even if he found out that I’d lied about Gwinellyn, he would stand by me. What a stupid fancy.

Finally, Baba Yaga pulled a few bunches of herbs down from the ceiling and sat across the table from me with a mortar and pestle.

‘So, the man you call Koschei,’ I began as I swept vegetable debris into a pile with my hand. ‘I don’t know him by that name.’

‘This is the problem with marrying people you know nothing about,’ she said, snapping at branches and feeding them into her mortar. ‘They have whole histories that can come and make a meal out of you.’

‘And what’s your part in that history?’

Her hands stilled and she gave me a long, solemn look. ‘You’d best be worrying about your own problems. You’ve many to keep you occupied. That boy already has enough of your attention.’

She began pounding with her pestle, filling the air with the pungent smell of the herbs and the relentless sound of stone-on-stone, choking off any more talk. I returned to my chopping, mulling over what she had said and what she hadn’t. I was sure she must know Draven personally somehow. There was too much bite in her talk of him to be a distant association. But I couldn’t pursue both her help with the apple and whatever information she had at the same time if she wasn’t willing to give either .

She ground her herbs, poured the powder into a jar and then began again. I finished chopping and sat watching her, waiting. The smell of the simmering chicken entwined with the herbs until my mouth was watering, my stomach aching. I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable with the feeling of hunger. Finally, Baba Yaga dropped the pestle and sat back, stretching her neck with a groan.

‘These arms aren’t what they were,’ she said. ‘You’ll know one day when you grow as old as me. If you don’t sell your soul for eternal youth, that is. I’m not convinced you won’t.’

‘Are you making an offer?’

She chortled, rubbing at her shoulder. ‘If I had that sort of magic, do you think I’d be hauling these old bones around?’ She rose from her seat, cracked her back and jabbed a finger towards the mortar. ‘Grind those. I’ll see to the chickens before a fox does. Or worse.’

She hobbled outside, and I picked up the pestle. If the old witch wanted obedience, then I was going to give it to her. I wouldn’t waste my afternoon of cleaning on a burst of smarting pride. As I pounded away at the seeds, I thought about the mirror hidden in a split tree. I couldn’t leave it there for much longer. What if something happened to it?

When Baba Yaga returned, she was carrying an armful of firewood. I dusted my hands off on my skirts and went to her, my arms outstretched, but she hissed at me, ignoring my offer of help, and hobbled over to the fireplace, where she gently fed the logs into the flames.

‘Bring bowls, child, and we’ll eat,’ she said. Again, I did as I was told, fetching a pair of clay bowls from where they were stacked on a countertop. When I brought them to her, she poked at the stew in the pot with a long-handled fork, breaking meat off the bones, before filling a bowl and handing it to me.

‘Thank you,’ I said as I accepted it. We sat and ate in silence. The stew tasted like warmth, like root vegetables and rich chicken and the fresh abundance of the forest. I picked the bowl clean.

She sighed and settled back in her chair when she’d finished, placing the bowl on the ground by her side, her hand one again occupied with rubbing at her shoulder. Watching her, it occurred to me that she was all alone out here. She would need to chop her own wood, find her own food, care for her chickens, maintain the house, all on her own. Why had she chosen such a life? Was it just as a way to avoid being burned for using magic, or did she like it this way? I padded over to her chair on quiet feet, and she jerked away when I put my fingers to her neck.

‘Stop it and hold still,’ I scolded. I worked my fingers into the knots of the old woman’s back, feeling her slowly relax under my touch, her breath hissing through her teeth whenever I found a particularly tight spot.

‘You’ve a skilled touch,’ she murmured as she wiggled her toes in the rug beneath her feet.

‘You do too much heavy work,’ I replied gently, kneading at the soft, powdery skin of her neck.

We were quiet for a long time, listening to the crackling of the fire and the rushing of the wind outside the hut as she sank deeper into her chair and the knots in her back became fewer and farther between. Her breathing deepened, and when finally she began a low, huffing snore, I lifted my hands from her, stretching my fingers and arms with a sigh. I moved to the window and looked out at a brewing storm, the wind bending the trees, a flash of lightning above, contemplating the journey back to the palace. Contemplating how Draven would greet me when I arrived.

‘I’ll help you, girl.’ Baba Yaga’s voice was barely a whisper in the dark, and I turned back to find her watching me with her sharp eyes. ‘For the woman you will be, I will help you. But there will be a cost.’

I knew she would ask a boon in return but having expected it didn’t make me any more eager to hear what it would be. ‘Name your price.’

‘You’ve lessened me of some of my burdens today. But I’ve another to lay on you.’ she said as she stretched her neck and shoulders, seeming satisfied to find her pain eased. ‘You will return and relieve me of it.’

I blinked at her a few times as I processed this. ‘What sort of burden?’

‘You’ll know it when you return for it.’

I chewed my lip. That was… vague. ‘Will you trap me here somehow?’

‘You think I want you skulking around in my house? No. It’ll not take long.’

‘I’d prefer to know exactly what it is that you’ll want me to do before I accept.’

Her stare became a scowl, scoring her weathered face, turning her strange and vicious. ‘You are used to making murky deals,’ she said. ‘You’ll not subject me to scrutiny that Koschei didn’t endure just because I don’t stoke your ovaries to fog your head.’

When I didn’t reply immediately, she heaved herself to her feet and began to shuffle towards her bedroom .

‘Wait, please, just let me think a moment,’ I called after her, reaching my hand out as though to take hold of her.

‘I do not offer help lightly. Perchance I’ve already changed my mind,’ she growled.

‘How will you help me? Will you break the magic that ties me to my deal?’ I asked, desperate to know more before saddling myself with yet another magical debt.

She barked a laugh. ‘Do you fear for your lovely face? You’ll see out your deal, reckless child. No, you must deliver the apple to Princess Gwinellyn, as you promised. But she’ll not meet death for it, merely a death-like sleep. One she can be woken from.’

I was silent, my mind turning over. ‘Woken how?’

‘Oh, ‘tis no difficult thing. A kiss will do it. You can manage that, can’t you?’

‘Are you making fun of me?’

A sly smile crept across her face. ‘I wouldn’t dream of doing that.’

A kiss to break an enchanted sleep? It wasn’t anymore preposterous than stealing a throne with a few magic apples I supposed. But what if I couldn’t wake her?

‘So I’ll still need to give her the apple?’ I asked, my heart sinking with the realisation. ‘But I don’t even know where she is and I don’t know how much time I have before Draven… before he comes looking for me.’

‘She’s with the Yoxvese,’ she said simply, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. When I just stared at her blankly, she huffed in disgust. ‘You’re married to a man you don’t know and rule a country you don’t understand. The Yoxvese are the folk who live deep in the Yawn. You’re lucky, really. You’ll be able to hand over the apple and run without worrying that she’ll be in danger while she sleeps. They’ll take good care of her until she needs to be woken. I can show you how to find them.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, glum at the thought of more walking ahead. And then the ultimate challenge: getting Gwinellyn to eat the apple when she believed I’d already tried to kill her and stolen her throne.

Baba Yaga frowned. ‘But don’t imagine that you can walk into the Living Valley wearing that magic mask of yours.’

‘I don’t understand why you’re so offended by my glamour,’ I said, heat seeping into my tone as my calm obedience finally started to crack. ‘It’s given me everything I have.’

‘Do not feed me that horse shit, iaral.’ She flicked her fingers through the air, as though she was swatting my words away. ‘If you’re stupid enough to believe your face is your only power, then you deserve to be fooled. But whether it offends me is beside the point. If the Yoxvese see you wearing that magic, they’ll not react prettily. They have history with that husband of yours.’

‘And I suppose you won’t tell me about that, either?’

Her yellow eyes gleamed. ‘Not tonight.’