Page 12 of The Bone Doll
She shook her head. “That’s a terrible story: you don’t learn anything from it.”
“You learn to be brave and strong. And not give up hope when things get desperate.”
Syra opened her mouth to speak and then stopped herself. His color high, he was breathing hard – as though he were about to burst. She didn’tlikehim, but she didn’t want to fight with him. She took a gulp ofkvassto regroup. “Maybe I just didn’t understand your story,” she said half-heartedly.
“Knights arehonorable,” Viktor insisted. “They struggle, but they are good in the end.”
Syra frowned. Was he talking about Lyoshenka and Dobrynya anymore? Maybe she didn’t want to know. She was here to help him with aleshy. She didn’t need to know more about him. She dropped her gaze to her soup, signaling that she was done with this conversation. Viktor sighed, but Syra refused to acknowledge him.
Chapter 8
The World Unbalanced
Syra was certain she hatednothingmore than she hated Ruthenian rain. Yes, it rained on the tundra, but nothing like this. This was a deluge. Even protected by the trees, she felt like she was walking through a waterfall. Her reindeer hide clothes were heavy; and anything they didn’t cover was soaked. Underfoot, the road grew muddy and slick; and she wondered if they wouldn’t find quicksand soon.
Stuffing her hand into her coat, she gripped the Bone Doll. It was hot and dry. What she wouldn’t give to be back in hermyaand on the tundra, out of this mess.
Then, from the corner of her eye, she spotted it. It was little more than a few wooden boards leaned together with dead leaves piled atop, but it was a shelter very similar to what Sarnok hunters made when making multi-day treks. Making an incoherent noise at Viktor, she jogged towards the lean-to. Water streamed through a hole in the corner, but all-in-all, it was drier than outside. She crawled inside, and Viktor followed.
“I can’t believe you spotted this,” he said.
Syra sucked her teeth. The space wasverytight with two people. She was almost nose-to-nose with Viktor. And was that him that smelled like cinnamon? She shifted as far back as she could.
“There’s not much room,” he said, stating the obvious. “Let me help you get your pack off.”
Before she could tell him that she didn’t need his help, he was pulling the straps off. And even that small brush of his fingers made her throat constrict. She let him remove the straps from her arms. The pack slumped onto the ground behind her.
Doing everything she could not to touch Viktor, Syra turned to her pack and then groaned. Unlike her old reindeer hide pack, this one was made of wool and wasn’t waterproof. Everything was soaked. Including her bedroll. Her hands began to tremble. In the tundra, a wet bedroll could mean death by hypothermia, even in the summer months if the temperatures dipped low enough.
Viktor was rummaging behind her. And when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw him unfurl hisdrybedroll. She clenched her fists. She told herself that the world wasn’t conspiring against her. It was just bad luck. In her pocket, the Bone Doll twitched. She turned away.
She wished she was home.
She must have looked miserable because Viktor said, “You can take my bedroll.”
“My clothes are warm enough.” A cold gust rattled the shack. Syra sighed. It was going to be a long night.
She stiffened at the weight of his hand on her shoulder, an uncomfortable, liquid-like emotion pooling in her chest. Her fingers tightened around the Bone Doll, still secure in her pocket.
“I can’t let you sleep on the wet ground.”
She craned her neck to look at him. He was pale, his orangebush-colored hair plastered to his skull. He looked as miserable as she felt. “You’ll freeze to death in just your sodden woolens.”
“I can keep warm,” he said unconvincingly.
Syra winced. He sounded pathetic. But she probably sounded the same, trying to avoid using his bedroll. “Fine,” she acquiesced. “But only if you share it. I won’t have you dying of hypothermia before you can take me back home.”
Viktor turned red to the tips of his ears, but he nodded. “Fine.”
“Anddo nottouch me,” she warned, jerking her shoulder out of his grasp. “And don’t look either.”
His expression grave, he nodded.
Stripping off her coat and boots, Syra went first into the bedroll, covering herself with the top layer and turning her back to Viktor. For several moments, she waited, listening to him rustle about. But curiosity and impatience got the better of her. She peeked over her shoulder.
His back to her, the Ruthenian had removed his cloak and now was shrugging out of his caftan. Beneath, he wore a tunic with fine pleats. The thin and wet fabric clung to his shoulders. Hastily, he pulled the tunic off, revealing wiry muscle and skin that was unscarred by hunting accidents or even the simplest hazards Syra saw on the tundra. She had never seen skin so smooth. A coil deep and low inside her tightened.
Syra turned away, hugging herself. She shouldn’t have looked.
