Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For many villages in the east, spring means the coming of warmth, the start of fieldwork, and the promise of festivities. In their village, it was much the same — except for one addition: once every thirty-three years, the season brought with it a shadow of fear.

Ajax would soon turn nineteen. He had been born after the last time the Serpent King had come, but on long dark evenings his mother often told him of her friend, who had not been hidden away in time by her parents and vanished one spring day into the forest. Hunters claimed they had heard her voice in the mountains once or twice, but afterward — no sign, no trace. The Serpent King, master of these lands since time immemorial, had chosen his bride.

And now, with this spring, everyone was preparing for his return. Mothers smeared soot on their grown daughters’ faces and hid them away, while fathers raised fences around the village. Ajax thought all these precautions needless for his family—after all, the Serpent did not take wives who were already married, nor did he touch children. Marishka and Lyuba were already betrothed, and Tone, at fifteen, was still far too small to become a bride for the Serpent King. The village elder only once reminded Ajax of the precautions and asked him to keep watch over his sisters — for if the Serpent King found no bride in the village, he would leave them be and return in another thirty-three years. As Ajax was leaving the elder’s house, he carelessly asked:

“Surely he won’t come crawling back next year to steal maidens again?”

The elder only laughed and shook his head. Like every leader before him, he kept a malachite casket, inside which lay the contract with the Serpent King, written long ago on calfskin. The Serpent King and his brood protected the village, and in return, once every thirty-three years, he took a beauty of his choosing. In time, the villagers discovered ways to save their daughters from this fate, and the Serpent did not contest it—he would simply return to the mountains, only to come back when the appointed time arrived.

“The Serpent King does not break his word. Thirty years and three, no more, no less. So guard your sisters, Ajax, lest he set his eyes upon them.”

Ajax nodded and ran home.

***

Once again, he missed. Ajax had mastered the sword quickly, but the bow had never come easy. Aiming at a squirrel, he loosed an arrow and struck a branch instead. The creature, tail flashing red, vanished into the fresh spring foliage.

Adjusting his shirt and shifting the bow into a more comfortable grip, Ajax pulled out the arrow and plunged deeper into the forest. Game no longer roamed near the village — frightened off by the men hammering fences around houses with young women inside. With little to eat in spring, Ajax had snatched a hunk of bread that morning and gone into the woods to bring down a grouse or two and check his traps.

One by one, the traps proved empty. The sun was already touching the tops of the trees, and steam was rising from the newly warmed earth. Patches of snow still lingered beneath the firs, yet Ajax, flushed from the hunt, wore only light clothes, as if daring the chill to touch him. Kneeling, he studied the tracks pressed into the mud, and, catching the scent of prey, followed the trail.

With every step the forest grew denser. Ajax glanced around warily, but pressed on. There were seven mouths at home to feed, even counting Marishka and Lyuba who had married and moved into their own cottages. He could not return empty-handed. Hazel branches struck his arms, grass clung to his boots as if to hold him back, but Ajax forced his way forward. Ahead, a break in the blue twilight of the undergrowth gleamed, and though the tracks had vanished, he pushed toward it. Each step grew harder, as though the forest itself wrapped around him, unwilling to let him reach the clearing bathed in golden sunlight. Yet stubborn Ajax burst through—and at once understood why the spirits had tried to stop him.

Dozens of snakes blanketed the clearing in a writhing mass. Their bodies glittered like gemstones in the sun, shifting and weaving themselves into living knots. Ajax stood frozen. From a distance the red, yellow, greenish, and black scales could have passed for veins of precious ore, not the skins of common serpents. They hissed softly, but paid him no heed.

Ajax stepped back—and pain seared his leg above the boot. He looked down in horror: he had trodden on a viper, and the snake had struck back. The knot of serpents stirred, heads lifting, movements quickening, until they poured toward him like a river of scales. Ajax stumbled back, terror rising, but before they reached him, they turned and slithered once more to the center. Just as he dared to exhale, he saw them—two jewel-bright yellow eyes with vertical pupils gleaming from the shadow at the far end of the glade.

The Serpent King.

Ajax all but hurled himself back into the woods, running blind, heedless of whipping branches and stinging shrubs. In his mind lingered the terrible vision: a serpent’s wedding feast, and the King of all serpents presiding over it. Only when he tripped on a stone and tumbled headlong did he notice the venom’s burn spreading through his leg. At last he dragged himself upright in a familiar part of the forest. His shirt was filthy, his bowstring snapped, his trousers streaked with blood. His left leg throbbed and cramped, and with teeth clenched he dropped onto a rotting stump, pressing a plantain leaf to the wound.

But the poison would not be drawn out. He would have to go to the elder’s daughter—Anya, trained in healing by her grandmother the witch, could treat viper venom. Rubbing his eyes with both hands, Ajax could still see the vision of the serpents’ wedding blazing before him.

The crack of branches broke the silence. Ajax looked up with a start—and saw a stranger in foreign clothes. The man leaned on a staff, his brown robes flowing, rings of gold and gemstone flashing on his fingers. Ajax stared at his long hair, sun-bleached at the tips, and narrow eyes that gleamed with golden flecks—eyes strangely like a serpent’s. Ajax froze. They reminded him of the Serpent King’s gaze, though that one had remained in the sunlit clearing.

“Ho there, good lad. Tell me—where might I find the village?”

The man’s voice was low, touched with a rasp. Ajax blinked stupidly, then pointed.

“Follow this path north. You’ll see it soon enough—half an hour’s walk, no more.” His leg flared with pain, and Ajax hissed, rubbing at the bite.

“And what’s happened to you, that you sit here on a rotten stump in the middle of the woods?”

The stranger’s gaze lingered on the wound, creasing fine lines around his eyes—lines sharp as if carved into stone. Embarrassed, Ajax pursed his lips but finally showed the bite.

“I stepped on a viper by mistake. She struck me. It hurts, you know. Their fangs carry venom—my leg’s going numb already.”

The man smiled faintly and reached for his satchel. Before Ajax could protest, he knelt, drew out a salve, and spread it in a golden sheen over the wound. His fingers were icy cold, but Ajax told himself it was just the medicine—strange things often happen to an injured limb. When the stranger had covered the bite completely, he nodded in satisfaction and stood.

“Wash it off this evening, and the poison will be gone. You needn’t worry.”

“Thank you, kind sir!” In a rush of gratitude, Ajax sprang to his feet—eye to eye now with those golden-flecked pupils. “How can I repay you?”

The man only smiled and shook his head.

“There’s no need, Ajax. Let us say I am paying an old debt.”

And as Ajax stood bewildered, trying to grasp his meaning, the stranger slipped away into the trees.

Chapter Text

Ajax scratched the bite before pulling on his boot. It had been not quite a week since that day in the forest, and he still could not fathom where the stranger had vanished, why the salve had purged the venom and healed the wound, what “debt” the man had spoken of, or, devil take it, how to find answers to his endless questions. He had asked the merchants if they had seen any foreign travelers, then questioned the elder’s daughter. Anya blushed, turned away, and then, with a look so full of tender longing, met his gaze again. Learning nothing from her, Ajax fled in haste to the river to check the nets.

Ajax never understood why it was so with him: while the other lads of the village were chasing after girls, he felt no such pull. It sorely vexed his father. When Vladimir drank one cup too many, he would ask why his middle son scorned women, especially Anya — clever, lovely, a most desirable bride, with a whole cottage in her dowry and the healing lore of her grandmother the witch. Ajax would mutter that he had not yet seen the world, that it was too soon for him to marry, that he must first teach his younger brothers, Teucer and Anton, to hunt, for their father’s sickly head often left him unfit for the task.

Stripping off his boots, the boy glanced once more at the bite, then smacked his freckled cheeks and rolled up his trousers. The men of the village had grumbled of leaving the nets in place — vipers were bathing in the river come morning. No one dared harm the creatures, lest they anger the Serpent King, but sharing the water with them was no pleasant task either. So Ajax had volunteered to check the nets himself.

He moved from one to another, skillfully untangling and casting ashore those that had caught fish, yet all the while he felt a pair of eyes fixed upon him. Uneasy, he finished with the last net and turned. Stepping from the water, he found the stranger seated by his boots.

“Good day to you, lad. How fares the leg — no pain now?”

At the man’s smile, something twisted tight in Ajax’s chest and stole his breath. The stranger’s gaze, narrow and intent, seemed even more serpent-like than before. A thought scratched at the back of Ajax’s mind, close to revelation, but he could not frame it. Drawing nearer, he pulled on his boots, still staring, and at last replied:

“And to you, good day. It truly is healed, thank you. Where did you come by such wondrous medicine?” He received only a satisfied smile in return.

For a moment, Ajax thought he glimpsed a flick of forked tongue between the stranger’s lips. He blinked, and told himself it was but the spring sun at its peak, making his head swim. The rye fields wavered in the heat, and, without pressing for an answer, he turned back to the nets. The fish were few — the snakes had scattered the catch at dawn. He shook them into sacks left by the fishermen, then spread the empty nets to dry, pinning them with stones. He had to be quick, lest he meet the Noonwraith that haunted fields when the sun stood high. Yet the stranger’s watchful gaze followed his every move, leaving Ajax flustered, stirred by a feeling he did not understand.

“Why have you come to us?” he asked at last, rinsing his face in the river. He noticed now the man’s hair was bound with a golden pin, like those worn by eastern guests passing through their village on the way to the port. “Do you go to the city?”

“I came to visit an old friend. But I was told she passed to the other side three years ago.” At the deep voice Ajax felt that same inner tightening, that same bewildering unease. “I shall stay here a few more days, then be on my way.”

Ajax lifted the sacks of fish. When the stranger offered his hand, Ajax shook his head, refusing. Yet he could not help but stare. The high collar of the man’s coat was embroidered in gold that shimmered like scales. The brown fabric was fitted and shone in the light as if woven of silk. Ajax recalled the silken dress in his mother’s chest, the one his father had brought her from his travels east, as a wedding gift.

“Where are you from, my lord?” Ajax asked, slinging a sack over his shoulder.

“Once I dwelt in the eastern lands, in a country called Zhongguo. But my thirst for wandering outgrew my desire for a settled life, and I became a weary traveler. Ten years ago, I came to your village and made a promise to Nastasya, the healer, that I would return. Too late, it seems.” He bowed his head, and Ajax realized he spoke of old Granny Nastya, the elder’s mother, who had perished in the forest gathering herbs. “Now I lodge with her daughter, Nina.”

Ajax listened, wide-eyed, entranced. Here before him stood the living image of his dreams — his longings for distant shores and strange lands. Flustered, nearly dropping the sack, he blurted:

“My lord—”

“Zhongli,” the stranger supplied, smiling, his hands folded behind his back.

“My lord Zhongli, tell me of the lands you have seen!”

Zhongli’s laughter rolled deep, like stones shifting in a mountain’s heart. With a graceful gesture, he swept back a sun-bleached lock, his jeweled rings chiming, and began his tale: of soaring cliffs and shadowed caverns, of fields where grain grew under water, of strange rites and customs unknown to Ajax. He told of Morpesok, where one might board a ship and in three weeks’ time step ashore in a jade port of a far eastern realm. Ajax burst out, heedless:

“How I long to see it all!”

Zhongli stopped. They had reached the first cottages of the village. Ajax looked at him with eyes bright as sapphires, and the stranger’s smile widened. From his pocket he drew a bracelet, green gems set in gold, gleaming in the noonday light.

“If you do not remove this bracelet within a month, I will show you the world—all the lands your heart desires. But—” Ajax had already reached for it, when Zhongli caught his hand in his cold fingers. “if you put it on and later turn away, then never again shall you leave this village.”

Again Ajax thought he saw a flick of tongue. In those golden-flecked eyes now glimmered a shadow of hunger. The more he weighed the terms, the more dreadful they seemed. Gently, he slipped his hand free of those clawed fingers and asked:

“If I take the bracelet, may I return home whenever I choose?”

“Yes,” Zhongli smiled, satisfied. “And you may leave the village whenever you choose. If you are not ready, you need not wear it this moment. In one month I shall return for your answer.”

“Very well. I understand!” Ajax took the trinket, studied it, and slipped it into his pocket. Zhongli’s sharp gaze followed the movement. “Then in a month, we shall decide.”

With a hasty farewell, Ajax ran off toward his friend Vanya’s house. Zhongli watched until the boy vanished behind the fence, then turned toward the cottage of Nina the healer.

***

That evening, warm lamplight filled the elder’s home. Anya sat by the rushlight, softly singing as she stitched a protective pattern onto a shirt — meant as a gift for Ajax, who had torn his own shirt while wandering in the forest. Struggling to hide her sighs, she glanced at the window. At Yuletide, Aunt Nina had foretold a swift proposal, yet Ajax seemed to avoid her. She could not fathom why — for all had said since childhood they would make a fine pair. Tall, with his curling red hair like the sun-god Yarilo himself. At such thoughts, her cheeks flushed, and she drifted so deeply into her reverie that she failed to notice the great serpent coiled in the corner until she turned. When she met its golden eyes, she shrank back on the bench, buried her head, and cried out.

Her father, Stepan, rushed in from the next room. He snatched up the iron poker, ready to strike. Again the golden eyes shone from the shadows — smaller now, but no less dreadful. Anya’s sobs broke off into silence.

“Peace, Stepan. I did not come for your daughter.”

The low voice bound them like a spell. The elder set down the poker. From the shadows stepped a tall man in a gold-embroidered coat, long hair flowing, the tips glowing like fire. Hard scales glinted along his sharp cheekbones. Stepan had seen him once before, when his mother had taken him to the mine as a boy, before he became elder. Now the Serpent King stood revealed, smiling with parted lips, a forked tongue flickering between. At the sight, Anya burst into tears again.

“I will not give you Anya,” Stepan declared, shielding his daughter. “Your serpents already took her mother, bit her to death. You have had enough.”

Zhongli shook his head, disappointed. From the darkness gleamed another pair of eyes, and Nina emerged into the rushlight. Wrapped in a silken gown, she smoothed her gray hair. Stepan’s jaw clenched. There had long been whispers: that their mother, Nastasya, had borne Nina by the Serpent King, and so in that year no maiden was claimed. With her witch-granny’s gift and her serpent father’s blood, Nina had mastered healing and divining rich gold veins, but became an outcast, dwelling on the village’s edge by the forest. Stepan had known his own father, yet never understood why the man, enthralled by Nina, had forced him to honor and aid her always.

“Nurtured a viper in my bosom,” he thought bitterly, stepping back to shield Anya.

“Aunt Nina…” Anya whimpered through her tears.

The witch only smiled and shook her head. She pushed Stepan aside, sat beside the girl, and soothed her. He would have dragged her away, but froze as Zhongli spoke:

“I have made my choice, and it is not your daughter.” Stepan started at the words. “In a month I will return to claim what is mine by right.”

“Whom have you chosen, Serpent?” the elder roared. All the parents’ efforts to guard their children from the fate of the Serpent’s Bride had failed. “Lyuba? Yara? The orphan Masha? Was it not enough that your snakes stole my mother, and that Katya bore you serpent-spawn?”

“I have chosen the greatest treasure this village holds. In a month, I shall return for it. As promised in the pact.”

Nina rose, kissed Anya’s hair, and left with her true father. They whispered together in a sibilant tongue. The door slammed, the rushlight died, and Stepan collapsed to his knees. He did not know how many centuries ago the pact with this fiend had been forged, but he knew now: whoever the Serpent King claimed, there would be no escaping that fate.

Chapter Text

They sat upon the ground, their modest meal laid out on a cloth that Anya had brought along. The sun was once again nearing its zenith, and only now had they finished clearing the hay and sweeping out the dirt. The headman’s daughter, brightened of late, chattered about the jesters soon to arrive from the city, promising that then a true fair could be held. Ajax chewed slowly on a crust of bread, paying little heed to her words. His hands still stung from the straw, and his new shirt, gifted by Anya the night before, itched at the seams. In his ears echoed his mother’s sighs over what a fine bride the girl would make.

“Ajax, Ajax!” called Anya, and at last he raised to her a hollow stare.
“Father wants you to join him hunting in the coming days. Go to him later, and the two of you can arrange it.”

Ajax swallowed hard. At once the air grew heavy with seriousness. Vanya, who had likewise caught the meaning behind the headman’s sudden interest in the young man, nudged him in the ribs and gave him a mischievous grin. Still in a daze, Ajax only nodded, and Anya, encouraged by his assent, hastily packed up the food, the empty jugs—leaving only the one her almost-betrothed had not touched—and fled.

Vanya scratched his nose as he watched her go.
“Why don’t you want to wed her?”

Ajax cast him a weary glance, and the boy laughed.
“No, truly. She’s such a pretty thing! I could just eat her up.”

Ajax knew well enough what Vanya meant—how often had he boasted of his trysts in the hayloft with village girls? The very thought made Ajax recoil: the headman’s daughter was to him as a younger sister, and to imagine otherwise felt as wrong as the shameful fact that his mind kept straying to the man with the golden eyes and the scales embroidered upon his coat.

“And look — her father asks you hunting. Surely he means to speak of marriage!”

“Oh, be off with you!”

Ajax waved him away, drained a long swallow of milk, and left the rest for Vanya as he made for the hay barn. The winter storms had gnawed at its door until the hinges failed; that morning he had taken it down entirely, and now it was time to mend it.

“I truly don’t see why you keep turning her aside,” Vanya pressed, trailing after.

Ajax fell back into his troubled thoughts: what was it in Anya that repelled him so? No answer came but the one he had always given—too soon, not yet, I must see the world first. Kneeling, he reached for his tools, and his gaze lingered on the glint of gold from the bracelet. A week had passed since he last saw Zhongli, and in that time Ajax had turned over and over in his mind the choice before him: to seek his freedom by his own hand, or to yield to the strange bargain. He ran a thumb over the stones before bending once more to his work.

“She holds no interest for me,” he said at last, unashamed before Vanya. Together they set the door back on its hinges. “She is as a sister. Yet everyone insists I wed her.”

Vanya nodded knowingly. For a fisherman’s son he was a thoughtful soul, and he accepted Ajax’s words without jest. Once, they had dreamed together of far-off journeys, but Vanya’s father had lost fingers, his mother had fallen ill, and even Ajax’s family had found themselves hard-pressed of late. Their great adventures had been put away like relics. Vanya himself had grown steady with Masha, the orphan, abandoning his wild ways for her sake.

When at last the door swung true, Ajax packed away the tools.

“I’ll fetch my father from the river,” Vanya called, and Ajax bade him farewell.

Draining the last of the milk and spilling a trickle on his chest, Ajax readied himself, checked the stalls for straying beasts, and set off across the gleaming fields. The rye was just sprouting, the tender shoots tickling his knees. On the hill, Lada tended her sheep and watched the cattle graze. The sun blazed, and the air wavered with heat. Ajax stopped to lift the jug again—only to see a figure before him.

A girl, pale as death, walked with a scythe though the rye was still green. Her white gown billowed though no wind stirred. The horizon shimmered in the heat until the houses vanished. Ajax stepped once, then again, but the maiden neither neared nor retreated.

“Name yourself! Speak, foul spirit!”

He shouted, yet his voice was swallowed by the burning air. The girl raised her scythe, and in an instant her blank white eyes were upon him. Ajax barely had time to fling himself to the ground as the blade whistled above him. He bolted for the river, the Noonwraith on his heels, the hiss of her scythe cleaving the air at his legs. He stumbled, crashed to the earth, and lay senseless in the rye.

The Noonwraith drew near, but a firm hand caught her wrist. The final stroke never fell. She turned, and met eyes of molten gold.

“Begone.”

With the hiss of a tongue, she dissolved into the noonday glare. Zhongli lingered where she had stood, forked tongue flickering between his lips. From the golden sleeve of his coat emerged a hand sheathed in gleaming scales. He turned Ajax over, brushed back the boy’s copper curls, and drank in the sight. Ajax lay unconscious, and would not wake until skilled hands broke the wraith’s spell.

The Serpent King’s tongue darted again. How he longed to coil himself around this unguarded prize, to bear him down into caverns lined with silks and down, to keep him pressed close through all the fleeting span of a mortal’s life. To watch Ajax melt beneath him, flushed and trembling. Yes—of all the treasures in this village, this boy was the rarest. For three-and-thirty years the Serpent had watched, and none had stirred him so.

Zhongli’s claws trailed the embroidered shirt, and he frowned. Ningguang had warned him that morning to make haste, lest the shrewd headman wed his daughter to Ajax before long. The new shirt reeked of the girl, covered in charms and wards. Soon, the match would be pressed. The Serpent must nudge the boy, remind him that time was waning—for without Ajax’s will, he could not yet claim him.

Gathering the youth into his arms, Zhongli carried him toward the hut at the forest’s edge. Who better than his dear little lizard, so eager to gain dominion of these mountains, to aid her beloved sire?

***

Ajax woke toward evening, head aching, a damp cloth cooling his brow. He groaned and tried to rise, but a woman’s hand pressed him down.

“Lie still, or you’ll be dead before long.”

Blinking, he focused at last upon Aunt Nina. For all her sixty years she seemed curiously young. Her narrowed crimson eyes studied him as she adjusted the jade pin in her silver hair.

“How many times must I say it? See the Noonwraith—run, and do not look back. Lucky for you there were snakes nearby; they frightened her off.” She hissed through her teeth and went to the hearth, where a brew bubbled. “You’ll drink this, then home with you.”

After five minutes she waved him impatiently up. The room was spare, its rafters hung with herbs. Ajax seldom came here save when his father’s pains grew too sharp, yet the witch always treated him with peculiar warmth, sharing secrets denied to others.

“Drink it down to the last drop!”

Rings more precious than a queen’s adorned her hands as she thrust him the steaming mug. Ajax blew gently, then swallowed all at once. Her medicines were always the bitterest, yet the truest.

“That’s my clever boy.” Ningguang — so she bade him call her — took the cup and pinched his cheek. “Has your brother come to speak of marriage yet?”

Ajax only shook his head. She smirked, tugged at his shirt with a claw.

“Ha! You’ll not fool me. Last night he was urging Anya to drag you to the altar herself. But listen — she is no match for you. Refuse Stepan, seek a love that will last you ages. Anya will weep, but she’ll recover. Best she learn her herbs and raise her babes, not bind herself to your dreams.”

Ajax bowed his head in shame. Years ago he had confessed to her his longing to see distant lands, to walk East and South. Since then she had turned her favor from the thought of making Anya his bride, and Ajax sometimes feared she despised him for it.

“Aunt Nina, I—”

“How oft must I say it? Call me Ningguang,” she hissed, ladling her potion into jugs for the menfolk. “My father may be a poor sire, but he gave me the right name, and I’ll be called by no other.”

“Very well — Ningguang,” Ajax tried the syllables with care. “I truly do not know how to refuse them. They all say it is right, and I cannot. But Anya is as a sister to me.”

“Then tell her so, and spare her the torment.” Her voice was sharp as flint. “Now go on home — they’ll be missing you.”

Adjusting his shirt and clutching his satchel, Ajax bowed twice and fled. The moonlit path gleamed silver, and he leapt easily over stones and pits. From the half-open door, a pair of crimson eyes watched—those of the Serpent Princess.

***

At dawn, Ajax met Stepan at the forest’s edge and went with him to hunt. The headman spoke of the village girls, muttered of the Serpent when they passed a viper, but Ajax only scowled, hacking at brush and loosing arrows at squirrels. At last Stepan fell silent, and Ajax, thinking they might finally hunt in peace, turned toward the deeper wood—only to be hailed again.

“Ajax, my boy.”

The youth sighed, rolling his eyes, already knowing what words would follow. Something clinked in his satchel, and he remembered the bracelet he still carried. Perhaps he should damn it all, and accept the stranger’s bargain…

“I know you are young,” Stepan said, studying the freckled face squinting in the sun. “But it is time you thought of family. Anya has been a maid long enough. It is time to wed.”

Ajax’s eyes dulled, lifeless as dust-clouded sapphires. He shook his head, turned on his heel, and strode into the thickets.

“I will not marry Anya.”

“How so?” Stepan stumbled after him, the pines blotting out the light. “She has waited for you all these years—you owe her!”

“Perhaps. But I do not wish it, and never have.” Ajax knelt, drew his bow, and loosed. The string thrummed, the arrow flew, and a grouse fell silent. “I mean to leave this village. Ningguang says my father’s pains are eased, and Teucer grows strong. Soon I’ll be able to journey to Morrypesk.”

Stepan halted, aghast, his brows knitted in fury. Ajax felt the weight of his stare but did not falter. He had thought long through the night, and now at last dared speak the truth.

“It will be better for Anya too,” he told himself as he bagged the bird.

“Again with these foolish fancies of voyages abroad!” Stepan kicked a stone so hard it rolled down, crushing grass and moss. “Enough of this madness! You’ll never be a hero of those tales your father loved! Give it up, settle down!”

Cursing, he seized Ajax by the shoulders and shook him, haunted by the tears he knew he’d see in his daughter’s eyes when she learned of the refusal.

But Ajax tore free, and Stepan tumbled into the bilberries.
“It is not for you to decide my life,” the boy snapped, tossing his copper curls. A glint of gold flashed on his wrist—the serpent’s bracelet. “If I wish to go, I will. If I wish to stay, I will. But I will not wed Anya.”

With that he strode off, leaving the headman stunned upon the earth.

Beyond the ravine’s stone, the Serpent King smiled, and the golden eyes narrowed in delight.

Chapter Text

Ajax wakes from the searing heat coursing through him and from the dampness spreading below. His lower belly twists, and before even opening his eyes he knows, with a sharp clarity, that he is painfully aroused. Forcing his eyelids apart, he stares up at the timbered ceiling, shoves a hand into his trousers, and strokes himself a few times, hoping the body will calm. Instead, golden eyes flare in his memory—the stranger’s gaze—and it only makes things worse. Squeezing his eyes shut, drawing a ragged breath, Ajax bolts from the bench. He snatches a shirt from the line, drags it over his head as he runs, grabs his boots by the door, and slips outside, careful not to slam it. The golden bracelet at his wrist rattles loudly; he glances at it and feels his cheeks and chest flush crimson. In his dream, Zhongli had filled his every thought, whispering in a sibilant hush of his wanderings. Ajax can hardly bear it. He flees into the misty fields toward the river. Rye stalks lash his calves, dew soaks his trousers. He sprints through patches of fog, ears catching wolf howls and serpentine hisses. The sun has only just risen, laying its first caresses upon the chilled earth, painting the gray world in molten gold. But Ajax sees none of it, lost in the strange fantasy now lodged deep in his head.

At the river he strips bare, skin prickling with gooseflesh, and plunges into the cold current. It scalds his body, scours away every trace of arousal. Here, in water, Ajax feels at home. He dives, holds his breath, and watches the reddened dawn sky through the clear depths. Fish dart past, ignoring him until they bump against his body. Slowly, his thoughts ease away. When at last he surfaces again, he gazes across the wide but shallow river, the dark woods on the far bank—and at his own clothes, where something gleams. Ashamed, he covers himself with a hand, steps out, and bends over the find: a golden earring, set with a red stone, lies on his shirt. Scanning the trees, he sees no one. Hastily dressing, he slips the jewel into his pocket. His bracelet jingles in bright delight, as if pleased.

***

Tonya huffs with great seriousness, intent on the task. Her dark-red hair cascades down her back in loose waves, like any girl not yet burdened with work, but to Ajax it looks charming. His sister is truly beautiful—huge brown eyes like their father’s, copper curls like their mother’s. He has often pulled her away from overeager lads at village dances, unwilling suitors she dismissed with cool disdain. Growing up with five brothers made her discerning. More than once she declared she’d rather travel northwest to the capital, to attend the Tsaritsa’s court, than marry any local boy. The most persistent suitor, Grishka, she had once sent on a fool’s errand for the Empress’s slippers, like in the tale of Vakula the blacksmith—but he returned empty-handed, despite begging spirits in the forest all Christmas Eve.

A sharp sting splits Ajax’s ear, snapping him back. He squeezes his eyes shut, hissing as he forces his head still. Tonya threads the hole with deft fingers. The idea had come on a whim: with nowhere else to hide the mysterious earring, they agreed it was best worn.

“Hold still,” she clucks, swabbing the wound with vodka. “Almost done.”

She secures the earring and sits back to admire her handiwork. Then she darts across the room, plucks their father’s saber from the wall, and lifts it before him. Ajax peers into the steel, seeing his reflection with the new jewel flashing red. The weight in his ear throbs with pain, yet the gleam of the stone feels right.

“Eh, I want earrings too,” Tonya mutters, tucking away the needle with her sewing kit. “Ning Guang gave me malachite studs for my name day, but the clasps broke. Father still hasn’t figured how to mend such fine work.” She sighs, cheeks in her hands.

Ajax ruffles her hair fondly, telling her she is the most beautiful girl he knows, earrings or no. Tonya bursts into laughter, loud enough to wake Teucer on the loft, and soon the cottage fills with merry chaos.

***

Each dawn Ajax wakes before sunrise with that deep, humming whisper in his mind. With every day it grows sharper, though he remembers no words. He runs to the river, or sometimes doesn’t make it that far, spilling himself in the fields, leaving milky drops across his hand. He plunges into icy water, which won’t warm until summer, and each time finds jewels tucked into his clothes. First three pairs of earrings—blue and green stones—he gives to Tonya, who beams with delight. Then a necklace, then a dagger with gem-set scabbard. Those he hides in his hunting bag, unable to explain them. Yet when he keeps a gift, younger brothers begin to “find” the stones instead.

“Ajax, look what I found!” Teucer runs up, palms cupped. Inside lie pieces of malachite, the most precious stone men ever unearthed in these mountains. “Aren’t they pretty?”

Ajax shudders. Mumbling excuses, he returns to repairing the miners’ cart. He feels eyes on his back—golden, watchful—and spends the rest of the day darting around the village, restless, hunted.

That night he cannot sleep. The swelling moon spills through the window, bathing the crowded room in silver. Tonya, Teucer, and Anton lie on the loft; Pavel snores on the bench after his return from the city. Their parents sleep in the next room. Ajax studies the ceiling shadows, lets his eyes droop—

“Ajax-sss.”

The hiss drifts from beneath the curtain shielding his corner. He stifles his breath, praying it is a dream. His stomach knots, his heart drops cold to his back. He dares not move. A golden gleam flickers through the fabric.

“Treasssure.”

Ning Guang said if a spirit dares into your house, ignore it. Wait for the domovoi—or the Serpent King—to chase it off. Ajax closes his eyes, breathes shallow. Then his blanket slips, and something cold coils around his legs. He clenches his teeth, still feigning sleep.

“My soul,” the enormous serpent hisses, winding higher. Its forked tongue flicks against his nose. Ajax flinches, eyes shut tight, while the scaled body enfolds him.

Breathing grows harder. A whimper breaks loose. Still he does not open his eyes. The serpent does not move, only presses heavy and real.

“In one week, I’ll take you,” the Poloz murmurs, voice low and thick. The tone matches those in Ajax’s most shameful dreams. “I’ll take you, and none shall have you, none shall see you unless I allow it. One week more, my treasure, and we shall meet.”

Tears prick his eyes. He cannot move. Enchanted, he slackens, drifts into sleep, bound in the serpent’s embrace.

***

At dawn Stepan arrives, finding Ajax home for the first time since their last hunt. The boy lies on the bench, staring at the ceiling, unresponsive. Before Stepan can scold him for insolence, Vladimir enters, nods curtly, and leads his old friend outside.

“Your son refused my Anya!”

“My son may love whom he chooses,” Vladimir retorts. “I won’t force him. Can’t you see? Since your meddling, he’s half-dead. Rising at dawn, bathing in the river, working for the whole village, yet heartsick all the while.”

Ajax drifts from their words, ignoring siblings, ignoring even Pavel’s concern. All day he lies heavy with the serpent’s mark, until at last, at sunset, he leaps up, dresses quickly.

“My dear, where are you going?” his mother cries, rushing to him. He doesn’t answer. He bolts, the earring flashing fire in the evening light.

Through the village he runs—dodging Vanya on his way to fish, brushing past Anya and her friends without a glance. Their laughter rings behind him, but Ajax hears nothing. Only one desire drives him.

He takes the forest path, turns beneath an oak, plunges into thickets toward the eastern barrow. Behind it looms the mountain—the Poloz’s lair. Owls hoot, branches lash, grasses clutch his legs. He bursts at last into the clearing bathed in full moonlight, where vipers wed only weeks before.

“Hey, Poloz! Show yourself!”

His cry splits the night. Shadows surge, cloaking pine and aspen. Gasping, Ajax strides into the clearing’s heart, the moon straight overhead. Wind rises, hissing—and in it he hears the whisper.

“Come out, Serpent King!” he roars, hand on his chest, head whipping about. “Is it only from the dark you dare to strangle me? You wanted to claim me? Here I stand!”

Fury floods him, a burning in his chest. He spreads his arms, bathed in silver, searching the shadows for those golden eyes. The hissing swells. Vipers gather at the edges like glittering bracelets. Ajax draws breath to shout again—

Cold arms seize him from behind, a hard body presses against his back. All courage shatters.

“Well met, my treasure,” the Poloz purrs, smiling.

Ajax stares, entranced, into narrow golden eyes, into features carved from stone by a master’s hand. At last the truth dawns. Turning, still captive in the Serpent King’s hold, he faces Zhongli. Swallowing hard, he feels the forked tongue brush his nose—and then, in a rush, the Poloz claims his lips with a kiss.

Chapter Text

“Ajax? Are you even listening to me?”

Ajax isn’t listening. Anya pouts, frowns, and, with a flick of her braid, walks back to her friends. They whisper among themselves and exchange knowing looks — silent advice for Anya to give up, because such a fool isn’t worth her time.

And Ajax really is a fool.

Because now, sitting by the great bonfire and watching the dancing circles, he doesn’t join them. Doesn’t laugh with the girls. Doesn’t drink with the boys. He even ignores Vanya, who, after a few failed attempts to engage him, leaves to make yet another pass at Masha.

Ajax remembers strong hands gripping his sides, golden eyes, and a long tongue slipping down his throat. How he had choked on that kiss — and then torn himself away, running off in panic, terrified either of the Serpent King or of his own reaction to him. How he’d spent the rest of that night by the river, unable to find peace. It’s been three days since, yet Ajax still remembers how the cold waves licked at his bare heels, and how the mermaid humming softly to herself dove out of sight the moment his golden bracelet chimed.

The Serpent’s betrothed.

In four days, the Serpent King will claim him, taking him down into the depths of the Copper Mountain — and Ajax will leave his family forever. He’ll never see Anton and Teucer grow up. Never see Tonya depart for the Empress’s court. Never meet the bride his brother Pasha will bring home from the city. A thousand regrets and doubts gnaw at his mind, like the fevered whispers of the Noonwraith, and Ajax cannot shake them off.

The girls’ singing around the fire grows brighter, louder. Anya dances, lifting her skirt slightly, twirling her head so her blonde braid strikes her back. Ajax watches the dance with a distant stare, his hunter’s habit still making him track that everyone’s safe. He takes a sip of mead — the flask Vanya had pressed into his hand when Ajax refused to answer him earlier. Without tasting it, he drinks again, and again, until the vessel is empty. Rising unsteadily, he staggers toward the boys and grabs another, downing the brew in greedy gulps. Thought leaves him; the world spins like a wagon wheel. They talk, he answers at random, and their laughter fills the air. The full moon hangs above the fire, and entranced, Ajax drops to the ground, staring at its mottled glow. The grass prickles his bare ankles; the chatter fades as the celebration dies down. The earth cools his flushed skin. His eyes half-close—when warm hands touch him.

Someone straddles his hips, traces his cheeks, and Ajax forces his heavy lids open, fighting the drunken haze. Anya’s face, rosy from dancing and drink, is suddenly too close; her soft lips brush his.

It's not right.

Anya whispers something, her fingers sliding along his shoulders — but Ajax finally gathers the strength to push her off. She tumbles onto the grass with a startled cry, then begins to wail. The boy only rises, swaying, and stumbles into the forest. The darkness swallows him whole, muffling her cries behind him. The moon follows, trailing silver light across his copper hair and flushed skin. Cold wraps him like a serpent’s coil, and the path begins to twist always left, as if guiding him away. When he emerges by a forest lake, he’s no longer surprised to see the tall figure waiting.

The woods spit him out before their master, to whom he never truly resisted. The Serpent turns, golden eyes gleaming in the dark, studying him.

Something in Ajax’s mind clears then — the wind blows away the haze of mead. Looking at the Serpent King, he cannot decide what he wants more: to run toward the one who will soon claim him, or to flee from the coils closing around him.

“My treasure”, hissed the low, rough voice. “Did you lose your way?”

And still, he wants to come closer. Hearing that voice, Ajax cannot resist the strange pull. One step, then another, until he’s standing before him, chest tight with both fear and anticipation. He must be going mad over this creature. Old Nastya had always said the unclean lead men by the nose — and what is the Serpent if not unclean?

All thoughts vanish as cold fingers with sharp nails touch his skin. Anya’s hands had been soft, weightless. Zhongli’s — heavy, commanding. Under their touch, Ajax’s back arches instinctively, especially when the Serpent draws his red curls aside, baring his neck.

The bite at the base of his throat draws both blood and tears. The moon reflects in Ajax’s blank eyes — until even that pale light is eclipsed by the gold of serpentine gaze. The kiss tastes of iron, and in reckless defiance, the boy claws back, sliding his hands under the serpent’s coat, marking his back with crimson scratches. Zhongli hisses against his lips, lifts him by the thighs, and Ajax locks his legs around the Serpent’s waist to steady himself. The serpent breaks the kiss, looks upon his flushed, breathless betrothed — red against white linen, silver light tangled in his copper hair. Zhongli would have coiled around him and taken him right there, but the golden bracelet on Ajax’s wrist jingles softly — a reminder of their pact. The month isn’t yet over; and the Serpent King never breaks his own contracts.

But Ajax clearly has his own plans. Displeased by the pause, he kisses Zhongli again with youthful fervor, testing the limits of what’s allowed. The Serpent, summoning what remains of his restraint, pries him off, clinging to reason by a thread. The boy smells of mead and salt, a sea-born scent intoxicating as any wine. He wants to taste him whole — but forces himself to hold back, repeating inwardly: the contract, the contract.

“My treasure, wait”, when Ajax reaches for another kiss, Zhongli gently sets him down, the sudden motion confusing the drunken boy. “What is it you want to do?”

Ajax blinks drowsily, his kiss-bruised lips parted. Swaying, he tilts his head to glance up at the moon. Zhongli studies his neck, already imagining what sort of necklace would suit it, when the boy suddenly murmurs:

“Will I never see my family again?” His voice trembles, on the verge of tears.

Zhongli frowns, his mouth parting slightly to show sharp fangs. Thoughts flash like lightning through his mind: What have these villagers filled his head with? What tales of fear? But he says none of this. Instead, he softens his expression and presses a calming kiss to Ajax’s cheek.

“You’re free to do as you wish. Do you remember Nastya?”

Ajax nods, and the Serpent brushes away a tear with his lips.

She didn’t wish to stay with me, and she’s lived peacefully in the village ever since. Katya — the one before her — came to me thirty years ago, traded a single week in my realm for the chance to leave her village and start anew in the city.”

“Katya? The elder’s former bride-to-be?” Ajax sniffles, surprised. Zhongli sits down on the sand, pulling the boy into his lap. “Mother said she vanished in the mountains…”

“She didn’t want to marry that fool and asked for my help. I agreed. Later, Ningguang introduced her to a merchant, and she married well. If someone wishes to stay with me, I grant that too.”

Ajax winds his arms and legs around him, pressing closer to the cold body of the Serpent King. While Zhongli quietly tells him about his past brides, tracing his nose along the boy’s neck, Ajax, exhausted from the night, drifts into sleep. On the edge of dreams, he feels the coils encircle him — but finds nothing threatening in their embrace.

***

Ajax woke in an impossibly soft bed. These downy mattresses and pillows shamed his own straw-stuffed pallet; to even remember it while lying here felt disgraceful. His back ached faintly from the unfamiliar luxury, and a strange weight lay across his chest and stomach. Forcing his eyelids open, Ajax realized it was the Serpent King’s tail, coiled around him. He turned his head and met the gaze of narrow-pupiled golden eyes.

“Hello, my t-t-treas-s-sure.”

His head spun, and a wave of nausea washed over him. He blinked several times, trying to comprehend his surroundings, then bolted upright in bed, causing the soft blanket to slide down. Sparks ignited above his head: golden veins lit up within the malachite walls, illuminating the room. Opposite the stone bed, heaped with down, stood a table carved from some different ore. The youth was mesmerized, looking around the Serpent King's abode with keen interest.

“All that is mine is yours-s-s. Take what you wis-sh.” The Serpent King spoke, barely opening his maw, only his forked tongue flickering.

Ajax turned to him, studying the Poloz's true form intently. Golden-brown scales, seeming to glow from within. Golden eyes outlined in scarlet. On the serpent's elongated head were protrusions reminiscent of horns. Reaching out, Ajax ran his fingers over them, and the Serpent King hissed, coiling a loop around his waist. The pressure made everything in his groin tighten, and the boy let out a ragged exhale.

Suddenly, the pressure eased, and a golden mist enveloped the Serpent. As it dissipated, the Poloz's human form stood before Ajax. Zhongli's hair cascaded over his shoulders, his body covered by a robe of eastern silk. The youth stared, enchanted, at the man's sharp collarbones, where golden scales shimmered. The Serpent King slid closer, looked into his eyes, and, raising a hand, asked:

“May I?”

Ajax didn't understand precisely what he meant, but he answered without fear:

“Yes.”

Zhongli kissed him. First briefly—too brief, making Ajax immediately pull him closer, fingers clutching the fabric of his robe. Then deeply, filling all the space, stealing his air. His forked tongue entered Ajax's mouth, and the boy moaned, his whole body jolting, not knowing how to control himself. When the kiss ended, the youth fell back onto the down, trying to catch his breath, and Zhongli began to nibble at his shoulders. Yesterday's wound stung, but Ajax quickly forgot it as his own arousal intensified.

“Please…” Escaped his lips, and he himself didn't know what he was asking for, but the Poloz understood everything without words.

Cold hands pulled the shirt, stained with blood and drops of home-brew, over his head, and it fell to the stone floor. Zhongli, smiling with satisfaction, ran his fingers over the youth's chest, brushed his nipples, and Ajax suddenly jerked and began to whimper. When those fingers neared his stomach and the waistband of his trousers, the boy's breathing quickened. Ajax reached for him as if to intercept, covered in charming red blotches, his copper curls splayed across the white bedding. Leaving a trail of kisses over his cheeks, his freckled nose, and his flushed lips, Zhongli carefully drew the trousers from the youth's legs. He ran his now-warmed hands over Ajax's member for the first time, and the boy, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, hit a note even higher than before. A repetition of the motion brought a fascinating result: within just a few strokes, the youth was so aroused he arched his back, and his voice began to echo through the cavern, merging into a single melody with that of its master. He reminded the Poloz of the Firebird — just as melodious, vivid, with a blazing red mane. Smiling, Zhongli moved lower, and when Ajax noticed the pleasant motion of the hand had ceased and cast a dazed look at the Serpent, he ran his tongue along the shaft and caught the head with his lips. The youth gasped, twitched, but the Poloz held him in place, accidentally leaving small marks from his nails on his thighs. Carefully taking the length into his mouth, feeling his treasure arch from overstimulation, he began to move, gradually increasing the pace. For Zhongli, who had walked this earth for no less than two millennia, such practices held no novelty, but Ajax, inexperienced in the pleasures of love, was another matter. He thrashed, broke into a sweat, crumpled the sheets. Finally finding something to hold onto, he buried his fingers in Zhongli's hair, but only uselessly tangled them in the strands as the Poloz took him even deeper. The temperature inside the Serpent's mouth grew hotter, and Ajax felt it as clearly as he felt the tongue exploring his length, the lips, the wetness. With a long, half-strangled moan, he spilled over, seeing colorful spots before his eyes.

Zhongli wiped the white drops from his lips, and Ajax watched from beneath half-closed lids. His strength had left him abruptly, and he breathed raggedly, coming back to himself. Not a single touch of his own hand, not a single fumbled caress from the village girls during Rusalka Week, was anything like this. He pushed himself up, reached for the Poloz to try and return what had been given to him, but the Serpent gently held him back. Seeing the confusion on the youth's face, he explained at once:

“No, Ajax, not now. I am not human, and my rut lasts far longer than the fleeting pleasures of mortals.” Ajax didn't understand what 'rut' meant, but the main point quickly became clear. “In four days, I will come to the village and take you. Until then, live with your family. Try to explain it to them. If you cannot, I will speak with them. Do we have an agreement?”

“Y-yes…” The youth realized with surprise that he was trembling all over, and this drew a smile from the Poloz. “You'll help me get back to the village?”

“Of course, my t-treas-s-sure.”

Zhongli leaned down and left a brief kiss on his crown, then clapped his hands. A hissing sound followed immediately, and Ajax saw several vipers and lizards crawl into the room, carrying a folded green shirt. The Poloz handed it to him, and the languid youth clumsily pulled the garments on. Slipping on his shoes—surprisingly clean, not covered in the mud from his wanderings in the forest—Ajax, under the Serpent King's watchful gaze, drank water from a tall golden goblet studded with gemstones, then hurried after him. Zhongli took his hand, tapped on the wall of the nest, and a passageway opened within it. The malachite and granite walls shone in the dark as if enchanted, veins of flowing gold flickering here and there. The wealth of the Poloz's kingdom would be enough to feed the entire country for centuries to come, but it was unlikely he would ever share his treasures with humans without a contract. Ajax swallowed, understanding—now he, too, was one of his treasures.

They walked for a long time. Lizards darted and snakes slithered past. One of the creatures, a green lizard with white scales on its head, jumped onto Zhongli's shoulder and began hissing into his ear. He only shook his head and said:

“No, Ningguang. Out of the question.”

Ajax stared wide-eyed at Ningguang, who had taken the form of a lizard, and she looked back at him, sticking out her forked tongue. Hastily nodding, the youth waited for a reciprocal gesture — so strange — and tried not to eavesdrop on the hissing whispers between father and daughter thereafter. He didn't know how long they walked, but eventually a glimmer of sunlight appeared, and the Poloz led him out to the foot of the Copper Mountain. The village was a stone's throw away, and to the right ran the path where Ajax and Zhongli had first met.

The lizard immediately vanished into the foliage of the nearest trees, and the Serpent, following her path with his eyes, finally returned his gaze to the youth. Ajax stood there, not pulling his hand away, and watched as the Poloz kissed his knuckles.

“Farewell, my treasure.”

Emboldened, Ajax quickly pecked Zhongli on the lips and ran off towards the village. When he looked back, neither the passage nor the Serpent King was visible — he had vanished from prying eyes, hidden within his native depths. His spirits lifting as he watched the sun rising over the settlement, Ajax hurried home.

The village streets were nearly empty — some were toiling in the fields, others had gone to work in the mines. Baba Sonya and her daughter were carrying buckets of water to the barns. Ajax gave them a curt greeting, and the old woman persuaded him to help with the buckets. Having quickly dealt with the task, the youth ran off towards his home.

A strange commotion was unfolding near the hut. Stepan and Anyuta stood at the threshold, and the elder was shouting in a terrible voice at Ajax's pale mother. Varvara stood with her legs planted wide and her arms crossed over her chest. Catching sight of Ajax from the corner of her eye, she subtly shook her head as if loosening her neck, but he quickly understood and ducked into the bushes to circle the house and enter through the back door.

By the door near the shed, he was met by Tonya and his older sister, Marishka. His older sister shot him a thunderous look, but her anger immediately redirected towards the elder, who had begun shouting even louder. Marishka was holding a pitchfork, but Tonya, grabbing her hands at every impulse to rush into a fight and deal with Stepan, begged her not to interfere.

“Girls, I'm here”, Ajax said, hopping over the low fence from the shed side. Marishka gave him a stern look and again made a move to solve the problem with her pitchfork.  “What happened?”

“That fool showed up here and said that Anya saw the Serpent King leading you away. Called you his whore, said you're a traitor to the village. Mother chased him out of the house herself while Father is hunting, so he started yelling on the doorstep.” Marishka turned, furrowed her brows, and fixed her gaze on the new green shirt. “And where did you get that?..”

Ajax flinched at her stern tone: Marishka was the first child, the one who had looked after all the younger ones until she finally married the village blacksmith. Smart and observant, she had learned to read and write from Ningguang and often used her knowledge to get a better price for her husband's goods or to buy necessities for the family. And her fighting spirit had been forged by five brothers in the house. Lying was the last thing Ajax could bring himself to do, so, gathering his courage, he answered honestly:

“Well, it's not that Anya is wrong about the Serpent King…” Tonya gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, while Marishka narrowed her eyes, waiting for an explanation. “Anyway, this year, I'm the Serpent King's bride.”

“Has he taken a liking to men now?” She snorted, adjusting her richly embroidered headscarf. “Oh, you reckless boy! Who ever leaves the Serpent King happy? Well, at least you're not a woman, won't have to carry his snakelets.”

Having pragmatically noted something Ajax hadn't even considered in all this time, Marishka cut short Tonya's impulse to bombard her brother with questions and handed him the pitchfork.

“We can't wait for Father like this. Come on, let's get this fool away from here.”

Leaving the younger sister behind, they moved through the raspberry bushes towards the main entrance. Ajax could hear his mother breaking into a shout, driven by the desire to protect her beloved son. Anyuta was the first to notice them, immediately blushing and looking away. Then Stepan too turned his head as soon as the youth leveled the pitchfork at him.

“Get away from my house.”

Marishka didn't even have time to open her mouth to unleash an angry tirade before Ajax spoke the words. The elder first paled, then turned red and swung his arm, causing Anya to recoil from him. Her face was shadowed with gray, as if she hadn't slept. Children were peering from the windows of the neighboring house.

“You milksop, how dare you?” Stepan roared, taking a step forward, but found himself stopped by the pitchfork's tines.

“I told you to get away from my house and leave my mother alone. Is something unclear?”

“How dare a serpent's whore like you talk back to me?!”

More people appeared on the road, neighbors streaming towards the site of the argument, but Ajax stood his ground. Without driving the weapon into the elder's chest, but not lowering it either, he was prepared to defend himself at any moment. Tonya appeared, Marishka stepped out from behind his back and pulled Anya away from the quarrel. Varvara continued to block the door, not letting any outsiders into the house. Her ample figure and the formidable strength for which she was known throughout the village instilled fear in those around them. Ajax knew he had inherited no small measure of it, and so he felt no anxiety: let him be a traitor, the Serpent King's whore, or whatever else, he would not let his family be harmed.

Stepan yelled, spewing insults on his exhale that made Anya cover Tonya's ears. He felt sorriest for her — she could have found a worthy suitor long ago, but because of her infatuation and her father's idea of marrying her to a specific man, she had kept running after him, as if it would somehow make him love her back. And now she stood, exhausted and weary, and flinched whenever Stepan shouted another foul word.

The crowd buzzed in surprise when Ajax, with a deft movement of the pitchfork's shaft, shoved the advancing elder back. Leveling the weapon before him again, the youth crouched slightly to stabilize his stance. Stepan was breathing heavily and made to lunge again, but the crowd's murmurs swelled, only to die down completely the next second. A deathly silence fell over the village, and the faces of the people reflected something akin to fear and awe. Ajax slowly turned to see the cause.

And met the interested gaze of eyes like glacial ice.

Chapter Text

Run-run-run.

Pain lances through her stomach. She stumbles, feeling as if a knife is being twisted inside her, her dress snagging on grass and bushes. She falls, scraping her legs bloody, but keeps running. She must get away before he finds out. Beyond the river churning in the distance, the Serpent King's domain ends, and he cannot reach her there. The spirits will save her, people will find her. She will endure, she will reach the shore, shimmering blue in the distance, and everything will be alright.

And so she must run.

The moon, with its cold face, accompanies the serpent's bride as she flees into the thicket, hiding from the Poloz. The frosty breath of November nips at her legs, creeping under the thin dress. She would trade the expensive embroidery for a pair of warm boots, the gold fallen into the withered grass for a fox-fur coat. Once, she had a bow and sturdy arrows, a leather coat trimmed with fur, and she ran freely through the undergrowth, tracking birds and shooting hares. The pelts—for sale and for gloves for her sisters. The meat—for soup. In her family, there were no boys, so everyone, from the youngest to the oldest, learned to hunt.

From the youngest to the oldest—red-haired, blue-eyed, slender as reeds. The most beautiful girls in the region, enviable brides. She understands why the Serpent King chose her sister. And she understands that Vasilisa would have had no chance to escape.

So Elena, holding her swollen stomach, clambers over a log reeking of damp and rot, stops for a few seconds as the pain, searing and sharp, burns through her veins, then still rises, and, breathing through her teeth, begins to run again.

The pain grows brighter, her movements slower. She whimpers through clenched jaws, cries from helplessness, and stops more and more often, sometimes dragging her feet. She feels something warm running down her thighs and grimaces, remembering how the Poloz's claws dug into her legs. He said the dark cave would become her home. Elena, squeezing her eyes shut, wished for death.

When she reaches the noisy riverbank, the pain becomes unbearable. She falls to her knees, then onto the cold, wet pebbles right at the edge of the churning water, whimpering piteously and drawing her legs close. Then, gritting her teeth and breathing with effort, she reaches a hand under her skirt—and it comes away black with blood. Thrashing, trying to gather herself to stand, she rolls onto her side, then her back, unable to suppress sharp cries. Her whole body is expelling the snakelet; the silence and the cold are driving her mad; it feels like bush branches have been thrust into her skull, scratching her from the inside. Spreading her legs, Elena begins to pray and bites the fabric of her sleeve, trying to muffle her own scream.

The child comes slowly; the blood slicks her legs and congeals on her white knees. The breathing the midwife taught her doesn't help. The gold and precious stones on her embroidery glitter heartlessly, watching her agony, and the moon mournfully caresses the girl's face, as if trying to ease her pain. As Elena writhes on the cold stones, clouds gather, and it grows colder still. She is shaking all over but doesn't realize it, for the fever of the contractions consumes her mind.

When the first raindrops fall on the girl's face and lightning splits the sky, Elena sees a stranger's face above her. A woman with bird feathers looks down at her torment, impassive, then bends down as if to help, but Elena, taking one last deep breath and feeling her body expel the rest of the child, rasps quietly:

“Kill me.”

“Are you a fool?” The bird-woman's voice is like the rumble of thunder, and purple sparks seem to flicker in her eyes, but she freezes, waiting for some sign. “The child won't live, but you could still…”

“Set me free.”

The Bird asks no more. She bends over the splayed legs of the serpent's bride, calmly takes the silent, trembling bundle of the suffocating infant. The bloodied umbilical cord is wrapped around its thin neck, so it cannot take its first breath, only slowly pales. With her last strength, Elena stretches out a hand, and the Bird places her son upon her chest. She hasn't the strength to look at him; tears stream from her eyes. Pain cuts through her stomach, her legs, her womb. The cold eats at her chest beneath the thin dress. Steel flashes as the Bird raises her sword. And Elena, hearing her child's heart stop beating, hearing the whoosh of the weapon cutting through the air, realizes that what she truly wishes is to see the Serpent King's head rolling on the cold earth strewn with wet pebbles, and she softly, very softly, hums the lullaby she knew from childhood:

“I am the blue grass, that sings by night and day, that shatters iron and st—”

The sword falls upon the young body, blood sprays in all directions. The singing is cut short, replaced by a cry and a gurgle, the sound of blood in the throat—and the first Bride of the Serpent King shudgers and dies. The black river murmurs sadly, washing over her, and Reginleif, driving the sword deeper to be sure, listens to the crunch of bone and frowns.

In the morning, fishermen from a nearby village would find a few jewels on the shore, as the Copper Mountain was shaken by the Serpent King's furious roar. And from the lone grave of Elena and her son the following spring, a few slender blue flowers would grow, so caustic that no one could pick them, which is why they would be called Razryv-Trava, the Shatter-Herb.

***

Lady Burga surveyed the villagers with mild haughtiness, tossing a strand of pale hair so elegantly that no one could doubt she was the personal assistant and friend of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa herself. She primly pursed her lips, accepted a scroll from the girl accompanying her, and beckoned the elder. Stepan glanced back at Ajax, who lowered his pitchfork. Part of him wanted to continue the fight—he was known for a quick temper, after all, and half the village lads had had their noses broken by his fists at one time or another. As if sensing something, Lady Burga looked at him again with her icy eyes and declared, her tone final:

“Regina, my dear, I do not care for noise.”

The assistant was instantly in front of Ajax, striking his arm in such a way that the pitchfork clattered to the ground. Before anyone could protest, the girl's booming voice carried through the street:

“Good people, no loitering, disperse! The sun is leaning towards noon, surely you don't wish to be in the fields when the Noonwraith appears?”

Her dark curls bounced in time with her words, and on her white-and-purple uniform was the insignia of the Special Company. Ajax had met them last year when he went with Pavel for the whale cull in Morepesok. Struggling to suppress a smile at the pleasant encounter, Ajax gave a slight bow to the commander:

“Her Majesty's Disfavor!”

Regina turned to him and beamed joyfully. The commander of the Special Company was one of the storm spirits who had come from the far western lands. Ajax remembered that Regina had spoken of her family in the northeast, so he wasn't surprised to see her here. Marishka, seeing their exchanged glances and quickly catching on, pulled Tonya and Anya towards the house, and the girls disappeared behind the door.

“Has Her Majesty's Disfavor come here because of me?” Ajax wondered, picking up the pitchfork from the ground and leaning it against the wall. His mother peered out from the house, beckoning him, but he demonstratively busied himself, trying to buy time and see a little more. The villagers gradually dispersed—some to their homes, others to the square, or back to the fields. No one would get any proper work done today, for the residents would be far too busy discussing both his person and the important guests from the Palace.

Noticing his dawdling, the Stormbringer snorted and beckoned Ajax with her hand. The youth approached, and she, boldly hooking her arm under his elbow, pulled him towards Lady Burga. A scent of thunderstorm spread around Regina, making the hair on Ajax's head stand on end and his arm feel as if pricked by a thousand tiny lightnings.

“Rosalina! Ajax can lead us to the Poloz.” The woman merely nodded and continued her conversation with Stepan, but from her movements Ajax understood she was paying more attention to him than to the elder. He was seeing Burga for the first time, but this stately woman sent a chill down his spine. “Shall I go straight to the snake in the forest? I have the documents with me.”

“Go, for the Tsaritsa's sake. But no thunderstorms — the Poloz does not care for such displays.”

An elegant wave of a hand in a long glove — and Regina, spinning sharply on her heel and dragging Ajax along, began pulling him into the forest. Soon the youth managed to free his arm, which was growing numb from her touch, but a brief glance from the Stormbringer quashed even the slightest thought of escape. Not that he wanted to, and he quickly fell into step beside the commander.

They walked along the main road through the village, catching curious stares from the inhabitants, and in the square everyone shied away from Her Majesty's Disfavor, recognizing if not the commander herself, then her uniform. Ajax followed, saying nothing and trying not to look at his neighbors. The insults Stepan had shouted still buzzed in his head. Who knew—perhaps when Zhongli took him, he would no longer be welcome in the village, considered a disgrace to their settlement? They would say that instead of a normal family and children, he had spread his legs for the Poloz. Use him to scare youngsters who wandered carelessly in the woods. Just as Katya, who had refused to become the elder's wife, had become a scary story about the Serpent King. What would become of him?

“How will Her Majesty the Tsaritsa react to my failure?” he finally asked himself the main question, staring at the Stormbringer's back. The realization crashed down on him that he had stumbled and seemed to have fallen into an abyss. That he had disappointed those who had believed in him, but nothing could be undone now, nor did he want to run from Zhongli. The thought of the Serpent made a heat burn under his ribs, and that feeling seemed more important to him than all the gossip and rumors in the village, and all the instructions, tasks, and covenants.

“Why are you and Lady Burga here?” Ajax ventured to ask, and the Stormbringer, who had strode ahead, turned on her heels to look him over. Amused sparks seemed to flicker in her purple eyes, and her face looked too young and innocent, as if it weren't she who was famous throughout the land for her cruelty in dealing with the Tsaritsa's enemies. Ajax grew afraid, and he suddenly understood that Regina was looking at him — not the Ajax everyone saw, but the Ajax who had stood in the throne room and kissed the Polar Star during his oath.

“You don't know?” She batted her eyelashes, as if genuinely surprised, and let out a rolling laugh. “Morax signed a contract with the Tsaritsa when he left Zhongguo and settled here. According to their agreement, every hundred years they must renew the treaty, and every hundred years Rosalina and I have to drag ourselves here to avoid accidentally starting a war between the snake and the ice statue.”

The offensive nicknames for the Tsaritsa and the Poloz grated on his ears, but Ajax only frowned, unsure how to object. A threat radiated from Regina—it saturated the grass, trees, and stones around them. The air crackled, as if a storm truly was about to begin. His skin prickled again, his hair stood on end, and the clouds above gathered into heavy masses. The Stormbringer was deeply angry. Ajax swallowed, knowing he was the cause, suddenly grasping the full scale of the consequences of his failure. It was as if a veil of lovesick delirium had been lifted from him for a second—and he saw that he had erred by failing to recognize the Poloz in the foreign traveler. But before he could fall to his knees in repentance, and before the first lightning bolt could split the sky, someone cleared their throat delicately.

“Lady Regina, I must ask you to refrain from such vivid displays of power within my domain.”

At the edge of the forest stood Zhongli — stately, in foreign clothes of brown, with gold embroidery on the sleeves and hem of his long coat. Horns, reminiscent of those in his serpent form, were visible amidst his hair. Ajax looked him over, mesmerized, not daring to approach closer, then, blushing, averted his gaze — the image of the Poloz wiping his lips flashed before his eyes. The Stormbringer laughed again, as if she understood what he was thinking, and waved her hand, causing the impending storm to dissipate.

“My apologies, Lord Morax. You know how it is — us Stormbringers have storms and blizzards in our blood,” she pulled a scroll from an inner pocket and handed it to the Serpent. “And your little bridegroom here is rather skittish and belligerent, almost impaled a villager on a pitchfork. Wanted to see what he's made of.”

Regina smiled wider, baring her teeth, and Ajax understood that while the Stormbringer was angry, she didn't seek to destroy everything. Quelling the anger risen from the taunt and his fear, Ajax gave a short bow. The Stormbringer returned the gesture, removing her white fur hat and bending at the waist. The brief exchange of pleasantries was interrupted when the Poloz coughed slightly demonstratively, reclaiming their attention, and beckoned Ajax to him. The moment the youth approached, Zhongli wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him against his cold side. A blatantly possessive gesture; it seemed strange to Ajax, but he guessed the Serpent was drawing a clear boundary. He swallowed, seeing the lightning flicker in the commander's eyes.

“Burga will come for the document tomorrow afternoon,” Regina said with a smile, retreating several steps, as the first rumble of a spring thunderclap sounded in the sky.

A fog crept up to the Stormbringer's feet, and she dissolved into it in grey swirls, leaving behind the scent of wet earth and lightning. The fingers on Ajax's side squeezed tighter than before, and he carefully extricated himself from the grip. The Poloz's gaze showed bewilderment — he clearly hadn't expected this — but the youth only smiled.

“I need to go home. I still haven't explained things to my mother, and I must make sure Stepan doesn't show up at our door again.”

The Serpent nodded, and Ajax ran back towards the village, feeling the golden bracelet tap against the bone of his wrist, with Zhongli watching him go. Truth be told, he wanted to be alone, to clear his head, to process it all. He remembered again the time remaining before the Poloz would take him forever.

“He did say plainly that I would be free to do as I wish, but if he keeps his promise to show me distant lands — wouldn't that mean separation? And how… what about my oath?” — a pang shot through his chest, and the youth sped up. He wouldn't go to the forest for the next few days, not until the Poloz came for him himself. He needed to memorize the faces of his family, etch them into his mind, so his yearning heart wouldn't lose its love for them, wouldn't shed it, just as the sky shed tears after the Stormbringer's disappearance. Soaked through by the pouring rain that had begun, Ajax stopped in the middle of the deserted square.

Absorbing the storm, he stood still, head raised to the sky. His red hair darkened with water, plastered to his head, and the freckles disappeared from his pale skin. Savouring the drumming of the raindrops, he remained like that until all the strange thoughts finally vanished from his mind.

***

“So, the Serpent King chose as his consort this time… you?”

His head throbbed from the conversation with his parents, but Ajax held firm, sitting straight-backed before his father. Some thought or other darted in the brown eyes, the color of tree bark, but the youth couldn't decipher it. His mother kept sighing—her stately, ample figure shuddered at such moments as if she were already mourning her middle son. Ajax had told them everything: about the deal with the Poloz, and that he wouldn't be forced to stay. Just one week—and if Ajax wished it, he would be free. Free of the bracelet binding his wrist, and free of any obligations to the Serpent King. Only the Tsaritsa would not free him, but Ajax had already decided he would beg her mercy for a life with the Poloz, if he chose to stay. But would he want to?

“My dear, are you sure you want to stay with him? What if he…” Varvara hesitated and looked away, remembering all the rumors that the Poloz devoured his lovers. “You're a grown lad, of course, and the village's pact with the Poloz gives us little choice, I understand that, but perhaps you could ask to return later? Look, Granny Nastasya, may the earth rest lightly upon her, left the Serpent, raised two children. About Nina, for as long as I can remember, people have said all sorts of things, but what can you expect — a witch's lot is a hard one.”

“Don't worry, Mother,” he took her hands, folded like a boat, in his and looked into her eyes. “For now, I'm here with you, and after I've spent the week with him, we'll decide what to do. I won't abandon you, I'll visit for certain. Who else will braid Tonya's hair?” The woman laughed, wiping away tears. “Father, I've already agreed. My word cannot be taken back.”

He nodded with difficulty. The light from the splinter thickened the shadows, making Vladimir's face seem terribly old. The first grey hairs glinted in his locks, and Ajax sank back into his thoughts. Was it so absolutely necessary for him to leave? Perhaps after he spent this… 'rut' with Zhongli, he would leave him? What if his father didn't live to see his return from his travels?

Sniffling, Ajax suddenly realized tears were streaming down his cheeks. His father interpreted this differently and, though he preferred not to do so with his adult children, drew his son to him for an embrace. Ajax sobbed into his shoulder, feeling his chest constrict with fear for them. In these parts, thanks to the Poloz's protection, people lived long lives, but how could he be sure nothing would happen?

“My dear, now, now,” his mother muttered, ruffling the hair on his crown. “Why are you so upset?”

Choking on his attempt to get a single word out, Ajax just stretched out his hands and clenched his father's shirt tighter in his fingers, as if trying to express complex feelings with such a simple gesture. His strength failed him, and, after his cry, he fell asleep right there on the bench, wrapped in the consolation of his weary parents. They exchanged glances, bitterness in their eyes.

They knew they could do nothing to help him, but they had little choice.

***

Ningguang's house was noisy, dark, and pungent with the smell of herbs. Ajax, squeezing his eyes shut, inhaled the sharp scent of wormwood and coughed, then turned at the sound of the creaking door. Seeing no one, he turned his gaze back to the stove. Aunt Nina had spent the whole morning telling him about the Poloz's rut, what it was, what would be done to him, and he was terrified. She had used up the entire morning on it, then left for the forest to gather fresh herbs. And now he was stuck here, waiting for something, feeling fear constrict his chest, his knees trembling, his lungs turning cold. He felt slightly nauseous, and his skin prickled. Ajax was afraid—and he awaited his sentence, knowing retribution would come.

The retribution landed on his shoulders in the form of calloused, girlish hands. The Stormbringer leaned down and, snorting in her terribly brazen manner, began to whisper:

“So how does it feel, living as a traitor?”

“I did not betray anyone.”

“Not yet.”

Ajax turned and recoiled, wanting to stand, but strong hands pinned him to the bench. Regina looked at him with horror, searching his face for something, and then, suddenly spotting what she sought, fell to her knees, clasped her hands, and began to plead:

“Don't do this, please,” her resonant whisper filled the hut, the fire crackled, and in the semi-darkness her bird-like silhouette seemed to tremble. “Refuse. You can, I will protect you. I'll take you to the Palace, we'll wait it out, the Poloz will calm down. Do you hear me?”

“I…” Ajax let out a ragged sigh and shut his eyes.

He had thought of this all night. He remembered how a year ago he had gone to the whaling grounds and saved the Stormbringer and her daughter, and how she had brought him to the Palace—where Ajax was awarded the rank of Oprichnik. How he had kissed the Polar Star before the Tsaritsa, sworn an oath of allegiance upon accepting the rank. How he had received his first and only assignment there—to find the Poloz and report back.

And how he had failed to recognize the Serpent in the mysterious stranger, and had instead fallen in love.

Looking at the Stormbringer's face, he trembled with horror and grief. A chill seized him, the world spun. Ajax, breathing deeply, lowered his head and pulled at his hair with his fingers, listening to the commander's comforting chatter but suddenly understanding there was no way out. Feeling torn apart by his burning love and the knowledge of his own betrayal, he listened in terror to every word she uttered:

“Tomorrow… tomorrow, when he takes you, he will be vulnerable. A hairpin will be enough for you to kill him.” pulling back, she drew a slender silver hairpin from an inner pocket and held it out to him. Ajax, pursing his lips, looked at Regina, and she sighed. “It is tempered with Shatter-Herb. It will be enough for the Poloz.”

“But…” Ajax wanted to argue, to finally beg for the Sovereign's mercy, but the girl only shook her head.

“An oath cannot be taken back,” guessing his thoughts, she took his hands and placed the delicate ornament in them, pushing aside the jingling bracelet with her fingers. “And I do not want you to die because of it. So do not try to cheat laws beyond your power. Either you kill him, or you will suffer yourself.” Listening to these words, Ajax began to feel the metal. It wasn't cold, but hot; the scent of herbs seemed to intensify, and the youth felt a stinging sensation, as if being burned. His fingers reddened, and he hurriedly put the hairpin into his pocket. “It is better to save you, and all the brides who will follow you, than to believe that monster will ever be sated.”

“He is not a monster,” Ajax shuddered, whether from horror or anger, and nearly cried out, but the Stormbringer darkened and narrowed her eyes. He clarified: “What?..”

Taking a deep breath and exhaling, the Bird closed her eyes. In the darkness of the hut, lightning danced over her hair, and her voice rumbled with a bitter resonance as she spoke:

“Any little bird that enters a serpent's cage dies,” Ajax wanted to argue, but couldn't when he heard the next words: “I buried the first one when I was not yet a Court Jester with a Sword. I buried the last one, Katerina, and I can find her grave. And I do not wish to bury you.”

She wasn't lying — Ajax knew it for certain. He looked at her face, at the prominent cheekbones under the thin skin of the northern bird. His heart hammered in terror, cold consuming his veins. Gasping for air, Ajax slowly stood and rasped:

“I… I will handle it.”

The Stormbringer grimaced, then also rose and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in farewell, then took a step and vanished in a draft. And Ajax remained standing, staring at the sunlight streaming outside the hut, straining not to fall.

Because he suddenly fully realized that he was lost.

***

“You know, Lord Morax, you have dreadful taste. You could have, since you disliked ruling Northern Zhongguo, settled at the Tsaritsa's court, lived in comfort. And instead, you sit here surrounded by villagers, despite the rich mountains around you. Perhaps you should take your little bridegroom and move in with us?” Burga tossed a strand of hair over her shoulder.

The Poloz didn't even look at her, his narrowed golden eyes still searching for Ajax. The youth was busy with his younger brothers, letting them dirty him and roll him on the ground. The sight of the boy's happy face awoke something in the Serpent's cold chest that he had forgotten since being forced to leave his eastern domains.

They sat at the forest's edge, perched on a fallen tree. The Poloz had cast a glamour, as he always did when observing the locals. They would not be seen or heard unless he willed it, allowing him and Burga to freely discuss the terms of the new contract in a convenient spot. The wood was slightly damp from yesterday's prolonged thunderstorm, but the Stormbringer, whose head Morax would gladly twist off, had not shown herself again in his domain. He had detested that bird-breed since the war five hundred years ago, but Regina seemed to have deliberately volunteered to accompany Rosalina on these trips, continuing to drench these lands with storms right during the peak of the serpents' weddings. His included, and his mood soured rapidly, just like the weather on the horizon.

“Could you not restrain your companion?” Zhongli asked, ignoring the question, and nodded towards the clouds. “She will ruin all the peasants' crops.”

“Don't count on it.”

A first flash, a new thunderclap, and a girl with dark bird-like wings landed before them. She bared her teeth seeing the Serpent's angry gaze and addressed Burga:

“Ningguang will arrive in a few minutes, and we can discuss the new contract terms in more detail. She did not dare to teleport with me,” the Stormbringer laughed boisterously, adjusting her white uniform. “Have you become so enamored with that boy that you've finally decided to leave the Copper Mountain to your daughter? I haven't heard anything like it in a long time.”

“I fear, Lady Stormbringer, the terms of my contract with the Tsaritsa are the leassst of your concernsss,” Morax nearly hissed, sharply losing human features, but, collecting himself in time, turned to Burga. “How long will Lady Belial require to finalize the new agreement?”

“No more than a week,” Burga stated elegantly, smoothing her fur skirt. “If you still plan to leave Snezhnaya, the contract will reach you in time. Generally, the main economic aspects remain unchanged, so there should be no issues with ratification.”

Zhongli nodded and returned his gaze to Ajax, ignoring Ningguang's arrival. He had long since discussed all the details with her — his daughter had been trying to get her hands on power over the Copper Mountain for decades. And yesterday they had finally confirmed: all negotiations would remain with her, and the execution of the main duties, with Morax remaining the legal owner, would fall to her.

“How dreadfully sssentimental, Father. Have you lost all ability to think clearly from being in love?'” she had smirked yesterday, crafting new malachite earrings for her niece. His little lizard was right. He no longer wanted to do anything but be with Ajax; his thoughts drifted towards the nest and the copper curls splayed across the sheets. Three more days—and he would be his. For a week, a month, a lifetime. Even if Ajax left—he would retrieve him again. Find him, take him to the deepest depths. After Gui Zhong's death, he hadn't thought he would ever feel this way again, but the brazen youth who had stumbled upon the serpent's wedding had awoken something forgotten in Zhongli. And he never wanted to lose this feeling, or its source, ever again.

“Do I understand correctly, Lord Morax, that you are fully transferring the duties of ore extraction and protection of this territory to Ningguang?” Burga clarified, just in case, while the Stormbringer standing beside her grinned.

“That is correct. As I recall, the Tsaritsa sent a request to replace the gold in the Copper Mountain with malachite formations — Ningguang will provide you with the required amount. In accordance with your agreements and natural limits, of course.”

Rosalina nodded and made an additional note in the papers. Regina leaned over to look at the notes, and Burga was already beginning to gather her things when Ningguang suddenly declared:

“I have one more request.”

“What is it?” Rosalina, slightly surprised by this turn, lifted her head and peered into the lizard's red eyes.

“During Rusalka Week, there will be a bride viewing at the Tsaritsa's Palace. I wish to propose two candidates. The girls are clever and beautiful, I taught them much myself. Even if they don't suit anyone, perhaps they can find places in someone's retinue?”

Burga frowned, shook her head, causing her pale locks to slide over her shoulders. Then, sighing, she adjusted her fur mantle and replied:

“I take it you want to recommend the elder's daughter? Very well, the girl is indeed pretty. Who is the second?”

“Ajax's sister, Antonina. She learned her letters from me, embroiders beautifully, but she is proud.”

Morax raised his eyebrows, but his daughter shot him a look telling him not to interfere. Ningguang indeed had the right to make such requests, he knew that, but if this was Ajax's sister…

“O-oh, I spoke with her yesterday!” Regina blurted out and laughed for some reason. “Rosalina, let's take them. If the suitors don't like them, I'll take them to my people. Anything is better than village fools.”

The women briefly discussed the terms of this arrangement, and jealousy flared in Morax. If the Stormbringer could, she would take Ajax for herself; she clearly liked him, had even staged a thunderstorm to show off for him.

“I will not let the Bird look at him any longer,” he thought, and rose from the log. Warmed by the sun, Zhongli stretched his shoulders and, with a brief farewell, withdrew into the depths of the Copper Mountain.

***

From the very morning, his mother fussed about, trying to make him presentable. After washing quickly, Ajax donned a red shirt embroidered with golden threads, against which his skin looked even paler from a terrible lack of sleep. His sister flitted around, adjusting the clothing on his shoulders and ensuring the pattern was correct. Upon learning that Ajax had become the Serpent King's bridegroom, she had spent three days at Ningguang's, making this wedding attire for him. Once, the Stormbringer had sat beside Tonya for several hours, complaining that no one would make such beautiful uniforms for her company, and Pavel, who had stumbled upon the scene, had volunteered to escort his younger sister daily to ensure Regina didn't whisk her away to the Palace, “as had happened with some.” The “some” obviously implied Ajax, on whose wrist a golden bracelet with green stones jingled.

“Here, try this on!” Suddenly something heavy descended onto his head. Ajax only had time to adjust the hat before he realized Marishka had, as a joke, placed a kika on him. “So you'll have many children, and all of them healthy!”

Ajax snorted irritably, but under his sister's stern gaze, before he could say anything, he was showered with similar well-wishes from Pavel and even the laughing Tonya. His mother watched from her corner with a touch of sadness but did not interfere. His father would return soon to meet the bridegroom, but earlier that morning he had whispered in Ajax's ear that if he wanted, he would take his saber and chop the Serpent's head off.

In the polished mirror, which Tonya had dragged from Ningguang's house the previous evening, Ajax inspected himself. The red shirt draped elegantly over his shoulders; the golden patterns wove together Snezhnayan protective charms and eastern motifs. The white volosnik and the matching white fur ears set off his copper curls, making Ajax look almost somewhat feminine. The scarlet gem of his earring blossomed like a drop of blood on his fair skin. The youth shook his head, but when Marishka asked with a laugh, “What, don't you like it?” he only snorted. He did like it.

“What should I do?” he asked himself and could find no answer. His fingers clutched at the bracelet, then at the hairpin in his pocket. Grabbing its tip, he pulled out the slender metal stick and squinted at it, then whispered:

“Tonya!”

His sister, who had been wiping her hands on a towel, set it aside and ran over, all nervous, as if it were she who was being married off. Trying to look natural, Ajax pressed the hairpin into her hand and muttered quietly:

“Pin it so it's hidden.”

“Huh? But why, your hair is short… and where did you get this?” his sister asked warily, but Ajax only shook his head.

“Pin it.”

Squinting, Tonya studied him for a long time. The blue hollows under his eyes, the pallor, the stern expression. Then, sighing, she lifted the volosnik and the kika, slipped the hairpin under a seam, fussed with it for a while—and soon it was hidden, slightly burning his scalp.

Slapping his cheeks, Ajax made his decision. He reached out and squeezed Tonya's hand one last time, then ran outside. He inhaled the cool, damp air, and as he did, noticed movement from the corner of his eye and turned.

His father was looking at him with bewilderment, clearly not understanding how a woman's headdress had ended up on his son's head. Zhongli, standing beside him, was also looking, but differently.

With greed. Impatience. Adoration.

As if before him was the most precious treasure in his collection.

Ajax slowly blushed, covered in blotches the color of his shirt, while inside he felt a chill. Marishka, who had run up to him, bowed and greeted the Poloz, adjusted the volosnik but didn't remove it, seemingly fiddling on purpose. She threw merry glances at Ajax—likely remembering the teasing he and Pavel had subjected her to at her wedding to the blacksmith. Blinking, his father finally approached to remove the headdress, but his older brother appeared and slung an arm around Ajax's shoulders.

“Oh, come on, Pa. Ajax is our little bride, the kika suits him just fine,” he and Marishka laughed, as if unaware of the horned adornment's second meaning. “Am I right, Lord Poloz?”

“Undoubtedly.”

The Serpent King looked at him with his narrow golden eyes and did not look away, even when addressed directly. His lips moved with difficulty, and from how tense his body seemed, Ajax understood—he was restraining himself. Waiting for the moment he could pounce. His heart sank into his stomach, all the color drained from his face, yet the youth felt himself burning. The Poloz's cold fingers tightened around his wrist, and Ajax broke out in a sweat all over. He was left without words, without thoughts, only a steady hum in his head. His family gathered around him: his father gave some instructions to the Poloz, repeatedly hinting that he wanted to see his son as often as possible; his mother supported him with vigorous nods. Tonya ducked in for a hug, and the younger ones did the same. Anton frowned at first, as if he were already grown and didn't need to show all this emotion, but in the end, he gave in and squeezed Ajax's waist.

“Okay, that's enough, that's enough, my dears,” Tonya suddenly let out a couple of sobs, and he began to stroke her head. “It's not forever. Everything will be fine, you know me!”

He was a terrible liar, and his sister, trembling in his arms, confirmed it, but he couldn't do otherwise.

The long farewells seemed to pass him by, yet the youth understood that every word from his family remained in his heart. The whole family walked with him to the edge of the village, seeing off the newlyweds. Other villagers peered out too, but were too afraid to follow the procession and the Serpent King's wedding.

The forest greeted them with damp foliage and the green shoots of grass breaking through the earth. Birds chirped peacefully, content with the sun that had emerged. The wind rustled, tangled in the branches, and its wailing was drowned out only by the family's short, final goodbyes to Ajax. Zhongli waited obediently as Varvara showered the youth with last kisses, smoothed his volosnik, scolded the older children for their joke, and finally let her son go. The moment the family was distracted—the Ajax who had just been standing there cried out and, with a terrible rumble, vanished through the earth, only a flash of white fabric billowing up and the glimpse of a golden serpent's tail.

***