Page 21 of The Bone Doll (The Ruthenian Chronicle #1)

What the Forest Wants

For a long time, Syra clung to Viktor and he to her.

She didn’t know what to feel. She hated him for lying, for taking her away from her family, for putting her in danger like this.

She loved him for caring for her on the road, for offering to lay his own life down for her, for offering pleading apologies to her unconscious form.

Finally, she eased her grip. “Viktor, I–”

“I’m sorry, Syra,” he said. “I’m sorry I lied. That I brought you all the way here. That I put you in danger.”

“I know,” she said, unsure if she could forgive him. “But I’m glad you came back.”

“I’m glad I did too.”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. Her emotions tangled inside her. She wished she could be angry or relieved – not both and a hundred other emotions besides.

“The Bone Doll.” It sat beside them, glowing faintly as though in reminder. “A sky spirit is trapped in there.”

“I promised to free it,” Viktor said. “But I don’t know how.”

“I don’t either. But if I don’t free it, it’ll continue to curse whoever is nearby.” Gnawing her lip, she picked the figurine up and turned it over in her hands. “And maybe it’s right to do so. No one wants to be caged.”

“What will you do?”

“I will think about it,” she said, finally untangling from him. “There must be something my grandfather taught me. I just have to remember it.”

“Will you let me take you home?” Viktor was covered in leaves and small twigs, and Syra thought he was still handsome, though she did not quite trust him.

She nodded wordlessly and then, standing, offered him her hand.

He pressed her knuckles to his cheek, as though he knew that kissing them was too much right now. “First, if you’ll let me, I promised the leshy that I would become the Lord of Zoldrovya.”

She felt a sharp pang in her chest at the thought of Viktor becoming the lord, like his father. “Your father is a cruel man.”

“They’re all cruel,” he murmured, letting her hand drop.

“You are not,” she said. “Do not become like them.”

He gave a sad smile. “I won’t.”

They walked solemnly back to the manor, which was covered from base to apex in thick ivy.

New saplings had sprouted at its foundation; in time, they would bring the house down on itself.

When they reached the door, they had to cut down vines in order to open it.

Syra’s pulse quickened. There would be no manor for Viktor to rule.

Inside, the leshy’s fury grew more apparent.

The vines had smashed in the windows and now climbed down the walls and across the floor.

The manor had already been quiet, but now it was terrifyingly so. And dark.

They found Igor Sviatopolkovich in his study, his face a red and mottled mess.

“What have you done?” the lord bellowed, coming around the desk like an orca hunting seal. “You fucking idiot! I told you to control it, not–”

Syra drew her knife, but Viktor caught his father’s wrist before the man could land a blow. “The leshy is the lord of the golden wood,” Viktor said. “And it doesn’t want you here.”

“What do I fucking–?” Igor pulled back, but Viktor held on. “Let go, moy mudak, or I’ll break your legs again.”

Her lips curled in disgust. Again? She pressed her blade against Igor Sviatopolkovich’s ribs. “Listen to your son.”

“Tell your bitch not to bite,” snarled the lord.

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Viktor shoved his father back, sending the man into the desk. “I was saying, the leshy doesn’t want you here. If you don’t want to be strung up on one of its vines, I suggest you leave.”

“I am the Lord of Zoldrovya!” protested Igor.

“Not anymore,” murmured Viktor.

Then, the vines on the floor began to writhe.

Even Viktor scrambled back, putting an arm out to shield Syra.

But the forest didn’t want either of them.

They curled around Igor, slithering and hissing almost like snakes.

The lord roared for his son to help him, but Syra held Viktor’s arm.

The forest wanted Igor, and she would not win against the forest. And she didn’t want to lose Viktor to it.

Slowly, the vines dragged Igor across the floor and then through the window, the windowframe cracking as the lord’s body broke through.

Syra squeezed Viktor’s arm as he stared at the hole in the wall.

“I’m th-the Lord of Zoldrovya,” he murmured. “I’m a boyar.”

Her stomach sank.

“My mother,” he said. “My sisters.”

Syra stopped him. “What will you do?”

He glanced around as though looking for an answer. Finally, he said, “I’ll send them away. Irina is engaged; and my mother and Anna can go to my uncle’s estate.”

Syra nodded, stepping back. As pale as winter snow, Viktor looked exhausted and broken. Part of her wanted to hold him and whisper sweet words into his orange hair. But her heart still ached from his lies. And no matter how much he might need her comfort now, she couldn’t give it.

This would be a long night.