Page 67 of The Storm
Kyra leaned her elbow on the table. “I know what you are too.”
“A stubborn, narrow-minded old man?”
“My mate’s grandfather,” she said. “And… the monster in the night.”
Artis sat up straight. “We weren’t the monsters.”
Kyra shrugged. “My sisters and I didn’t know that. The only ones who protected us were our brothers. Sometimes they went out at night and didn’t come back because of the scribes. I didn’t know why. I only knew they were gone and it was because of the tattooed men.”
“Hmm.” Clearly Artis hadn’t thought of life from Grigori perspective. He peered at her from beneath bushy eyebrows. “Do histalesmfrighten you?”
“Leo’s?” Kyra was surprised. Artis was the first scribe to ever ask her that. Even Leo hadn’t thought of it. “At first they frightened me very much. All of them did. But not anymore. I love Leo, and histalesmare part of who he is.”
“As it should be.”
His gruff response belied the thoughtful look in his blue eyes. They were the same blue as Leo and Max’s. Vivid sky blue that always made Kyra feel as if she were sitting in sunshine when Leo looked at her.
“Leo and Max have your eyes.”
“Both my grandsons look very much like me.” Artis set down his milk. “Leo is broader like his father, and Max is thinner like his.”
Kyra thought of all the questions she and Renata had discussed between them when Leo and Max weren’t around. “Who was Max’s father? We know his name but not who he was.”
“He was a troublemaker!” Artis coughed out a laugh. “And wasn’t he the perfect match for my Stasya? I always wanted her to find a steady one like Lauma found with Peteris. Thought it might calm her down. But Ivo’s father ordered a sword from me and Ivo came to fetch it.” Artis’s hand slammed down on the table, making Kyra jump. “And that was that.Reshon. I could see it in the both of them the first time they met. Stasya and Ivo were both wild things. Wild for each other. Wild for life.”
Artis closed his eyes at the memory, and Kyra watched his face droop. The man who could be so vital when he spoke looked frail and ephemeral in silence.
“How long have you been fading?” Kyra asked.
Artis opened his eyes. “I stopped my longevity spells the day Leo and Max left for the academy.”
“A hundred years?”
He cleared his throat. “More.”
Once he had stopped his longevity spells, Artis had begun to fade just as Kyra’s Grigori brothers did. It made sense. Artis was old, but he still appeared in near-perfect health. His soul was aging, not his body. The truth was in his eyes.
Kyra decided to change the subject. “What about Leo? Were his parentsreshontoo?”
Artis shook his head. “I don’t know. They didn’t speak of it if they were. Peteris was so quiet. He was sent from Riga to apprentice with me. Did he tell you that?”
“No,” Kyra said. “He doesn’t speak much.”
“He doesn’t speak at all.” Renata walked in from the kitchen with her own plate. “Unless he’s talking about the farm or swords. Kyra, this bread is delicious.”
“Thank you for making the butter.”
“Eh.” Renata sat down. “I made Max do it. He was out of practice.”
The old man cackled.
“Don’t tell me you know how to churn butter, old man,” Renata said. “You were probably just like my father. Pathetic at household chores.”
“And you’re like my Stasya,” Artis reached over and pinched the air in front of her. “Bite, bite, bite. But I know how to make butter. I know how to do everything to keep young boys fed.”
Of course he did. There hadn’t been anyone else.
“Keep telling stories,” Renata said. “Heaven knows Max and Leo haven’t told us anything.”
