Page 58 of The Maiden and Her Monster

When Malka returned, Chaia and Danya were huddled on the floor playing a game of split tooth. She caught them in the middle of a round, the ball still high from its bounce, both of them cupping their hands to draw close the rabbit teeth.

“Who’s winning?” Malka asked, settling a hand on her stomach. The nausea from the rooting spell had yet to cease; Nimrah was not here. Nonsensically, Malka’s eyes still searched for her.

Danya counted the teeth she had collected before the ball hit the ground again. She stared defeatedly at Chaia’s pile and sighed. “Chaia, of course.”

“You won last round!” Chaia countered, pooling the teeth to the center again.

“Yes, but you won the three rounds before.”

Malka couldn’t hide her smile. Danya had seen what no one should have seen. Had witnessed a terror that would make even grown men crumble. Hadar’s loss clung to her, but she was glad Danya was here, alive, playing a child’s game with Chaia.

“Danya, can I have a word with Chaia?”

“Of course, Malka. Anyway, it would be an embarrassment to lose again.” She lingered at the doorframe. “I am so glad you are both alive and well.”

Malka smiled, eyes glazing. “Me too, Achoti. ”

It had been so long since Malka endeared her with that name as she did Hadar.

The meaning of it so simple in their ancient holy language: my sister.

As their personalities clashed and drove them apart in recent years, it had felt too intimate to use.

Malka would not let that happen any longer. They were all each other had.

Danya smiled the way she always did—subtly and not touching her eyes, but Malka knew it was true. “I’m not upset that Abba ran. We are better without him.”

He had been a good father once. But they had lost him to Mavetéh. Not his body, but his spirit. His kindness.

“We are,” Malka agreed, though still she ached, betraying herself.

When Danya was gone, Malka settled herself on the floor next to Chaia. She was collecting the rabbit teeth and placing them back in their pouch.

“What do you think they have in store for her—Imma—at the Lé ? rey celebration?”

“Nothing good,” Chaia responded. “They’re on high alert since the Maharal’s escape, especially now that they know Nimrah is back.”

“I need her back, Chaia.” Malka choked back tears.

Chaia cupped her cheek. “I know, Yedid Nefesh. We will free her.”

Malka pressed her hand against Chaia’s. “I want a part in this plan to kill Sévren. I thought I could take the cards the Church dealt me and play them cunningly. But it is a losing game. If you say this duke can open new doors for the people of Ordobav, I want to help.”

A smile tugged at Chaia’s lips. “You are different than when I left.”

Malka was different. As an older sister in Eskravé, there were things she was not allowed to be.

She could not be angry. Anger was for Danya, who always spoke her mind.

She would fight with Imma, fight with Malka.

But Malka could not be angry, too. Someone needed to be there to absorb her sister’s heat.

She could not have been afraid, either. Afraid had been for Hadar when she awoke from nightmares, drenched with sweat and tears in her eyes. Malka had had to comfort her, holding her sister to her chest until her breath evened and her tears subsided.

But now, Malka was both angry and afraid. She would not cower from her emotions this time. She’d lean into them. Let them wrap around her like armor. She’d command them the way the Maharal had commanded the earth to create the golem. They would be hers to feel and use to her advantage.

The anger would drive her. The fear would remind her what was at stake.

But Malka felt a third emotion as fiercely as the others.

It was one she had nurtured unknowingly, from the soft moments in Eskravé with her family.

The nights under the stars with Chaia. When Amnon volunteered to come with Malka into Mavetéh, not sure whether they would come out alive.

When she had danced with Nimrah at Chaia’s wedding.

It was hope.

Hope that even in the darkest of moments, she could see the etrog plant poking through the earth, encouraging her to put one foot in front of the other.

And now, it was hope, fear, and anger that drove her to play a part in Ordobav’s regime change. If change for her people would not come peacefully, she would take it violently.

Chaia began to play with her ring, her smile faltering. “Malka, there’s something I must admit.”

Dread crawled across her skin. “What?”

“When you left the Qehillah meeting room to speak with Amnon, Katarina and I proposed a plan to Nimrah. We asked… well, we asked if she would be willing to assassinate Sévren at the Lé ? rey celebration. Originally, we had planned to hire a Revac. But while Sigmund’s silence is guaranteed, the Revac’s was not.

We knew we ran the risk of having him divulge his hiring to the highest bidder.

Nimrah was a blessing for us. She could do it quietly. Quickly.”

“But…” Malka’s brow furrowed. “We weren’t supposed to be here during the Lé ? rey celebration. We were supposed to be back in Eskravé.” Malka’s face blanched. “Before your wedding, this plan was made?”

Chaia nodded solemnly.

Betrayal stung like a slap across the face. It wasn’t until the wedding that plans had changed. Before then, the bargain they had struck was still in motion. Nimrah coming back to Eskravé, pleading guilty to Father Bro ? ek.

Chaia had known that. So had Nimrah. Yet they had agreed on the plan anyway. Chaia, her friend since birth. Nimrah, someone she…

“You proposed this knowing what Nimrah had agreed to do for Imma?”

“I’m sorry, Malka.”

“Sorry?” Malka stood. She felt hot, dizzy. “What has happened to you in your year away? Or perhaps you have always been this selfish, and I had not seen it through my love for you. Maybe I was blind to how easily you could betray someone if it meant furthering your political goals.”

“Malka—”

“That was my mistake.”

Chaia stood, too, her face red. “You can’t tell me you actually thought Father Bro ? ek would keep his promise to you in the first place?

If I thought there was the slightest chance Nimrah could save your mother through that deal, I wouldn’t have suggested it to her.

But I knew his promise was just a ploy. Just a game. The same kind that Sévren plays.”

Malka wrapped her hands around herself, tears blurring the edges of her vision. “That wasn’t for you to decide!”

Chaia drew her hands into fists. “I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t been so naive in the first place!”

Malka stepped back, shock slackening her jaw.

Chaia’s hand flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry, Malka, I didn’t mean—”

“Save it,” Malka choked, and ran out the door.

The wind bit hard, pressing into her skin like the cut of a knife. She tugged the hood of her cloak more tightly around her face, blinking at the tears that had collected in her eyes.

Chaia was not the only one who had betrayed her.

What a fool Malka was for thinking Nimrah would so easily sacrifice herself. That she would pay for Mavetéh’s crimes with her life.

You don’t want this, Nimrah had said in the alley, breath tangling with hers. You’ll hate me.

Perhaps Nimrah was warning her of her betrayal, and she had ignored it.

But Nimrah had kissed her all the same.

I will make it right, Nimrah had said to the Maharal. Only, Malka had thought she meant trading her life for Imma’s. Now, she was not so naive.

She was the Foxwit again, believing the lies whispered into her ear as she searched the wrong hiding places.

Malka should have known she was bound to lose the game.

The doors of the shul Bachta glowed warm around their rims, inviting Malka inside from the torrential downpour.

As she approached them, drenched and shaking with cold, a fervent sensation seized her.

The rooting spell’s nausea gave way to that maddening sense of awareness.

Nimrah had to be close, perhaps inside the synagogue.

The realization pierced her with anger. She would not let Nimrah’s presence stop her from seeking comfort in this place of worship. She refused.

She rolled her shoulders and stepped inside.

Malka reveled in the beauty of the synagogue as it was, no longer decorated for Chaia’s wedding.

Iron grills guarded the windows and chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, spilling their light across the room.

Malka missed Eskravé’s shul. The one she had grown up in, where she had learned the shapes of the holy language and spoken them aloud for all to hear.

It was all gone. Malka imagined it as ruined as the shul Amichati left hidden away in Mavetéh.

It gave her comfort, knowing that one day her synagogue, too, would rise again. She would make sure of it.

“Malka?” The Maharal waved as he approached.

“Rav,” Malka greeted, doing her best to keep her voice even. “Have I missed evening services?”

“You’re in time,” the Maharal replied. “Even a bit early, as you can see.”

He motioned to the empty synagogue, where only a few people hovered, prepping for the service. They bent low, lighting the candles lining the pews.

The Maharal’s gaze fell to the hem of Malka’s cloak, which had dripped water into a puddle on the floor near her feet.

Malka resisted the urge to cower with embarrassment. “The rain caught me off guard.”

“It’s no problem, Malka. We keep a few spare towels in the attic if you’d like to dry off before the service. Though with the heavy rain, I doubt you will be the only one sporting damp attire tonight.”

The Maharal’s light tone eased Malka’s shame. “Thank you, Rav.”

“Be sure to take a candle, it’s dark up there.”

Malka collected her sopping cloak in her hand as she neared the spiral staircase, stopping first to grab a candle from the entrance table.

There was only one door at the top of the stairs, so Malka twisted the handle and slipped inside.