Wilder Read Free Page A

you.” He offered his hand.
    She took it and sat up. “Good idea. And he was aiming at
you
.”
    “Probably, but these young Varinskis are not necessarily well trained in the art of shooting. When you landed, did you break a hip, woman?” His question was rough; his intent was not. He had been born a Varinski. He was strong, sturdy, long-lived.
    Zorana was younger than him, so much younger, but she was fragile, her bones were delicate, and as their age progressed he feared for her more each day.
    She knew it, too. She mocked his concern. “I’m fine. You rolled to protect me from the impact.” She looked at him out of the corners of her eyes. “Thank you, you old fool.”
    “You are the love of my life,” he said.
    “I know.” She leaned her head on his chest.
    Their adopted daughter, Firebird, crawled under the table with them. “Papa. Mama. You’re okay?” She saw the way they held each other. “Yes. You’re okay.” She patted their shoulders. “You need to come out. Show everyone you’re not hurt. And, Papa, you need to finish your speech.”
    Konstantine nodded.
    Zorana rose easily. No bones cracked, although she would be incredibly unhappy about the damage done to her clothes. She bought them from Nordstrom, and she took her clothing choices, especially for their picnic, very seriously. Konstantine felt sorry for his stupid Varinski cousin; the idiot had no idea the trouble she would serve up to him.
    Konstantine’s knees were not as good as they once were, so he allowed Firebird and Zorana to help him to his feet.
    The guests cheered.
    A quick glance proved his sons had hustled the Varinski into the house, and Konstantine knew he would be bound and gagged and locked in the root cellar, with one of the boys on guard at all times.
    The family would deal with him later.
    “What was I saying when we were so rudely interrupted?” Konstantine boomed.
    His guests laughed and clapped, reassured by his joke and his family’s apparent insouciance in the face of what looked like a shocking attack. Gradually they returned to their seats and cleaned up their overturned plates, while chattering over the clink of glasses.
    When most of their nervous murmurs had died down, the priest spoke in a clear voice. “If you were trying to show us a demonstration of the evil in the world today, Konstantine, you did a good job. Now, why don’t you tell us the rest of the legend about the Chosen Ones?”
    Konstantine slowly nodded. “As you request, Father, so I obey.” And once more, he spoke. “In the modern world, the Chosen Ones disguised themselves as the Gypsy Travel Agency, a corporate identity, and that’s when the current problems started. . . .”

    Late that night, when the people had all gone, when the children had been put to bed, when the bonfire had burned down to red coals and blue stars peered coldly from the midnight sky, Konstantine caught Zorana’s hand and raised it to his lips. “Are you ready?” he asked her.
    “I can’t wait,” she answered.
    He knew it was true. When he had met her, she was the wise woman of her tribe, the one to whom visions were given—and she had been only sixteen. Yet her elders were right: Zorana had always been wise, strong, intelligent, and courageous, and she truly anticipated this confrontation with the Varinski kept captive in their cellar.
    He nodded to his sons, then warned his family, “Keep to the shadows. He may be here for reconnaissance, and he doesn’t need to see exactly who watches him, and how many.”
    These children and grandchildren, he had trained them well. They might wish to be defiant, to challenge the Varinski themselves, but they understood strategy. They had heard the tales of the last Varinski attack; they understood what was at stake.
    Only Firebird remained on the periphery of the light. The women congregated at her back, and Zorana went to stand at her side. In this battle, Firebird had suffered the most, and like a bulwark of