Katherine Arden

A dull flush crept across Konstantin’s cheekbones. His hand fumbled among his paints. “I have a task, Vasilisa Petrovna. I must save you from yourselves. God has punishments for those who stray.”

“A self-appointed task,” said Vasya, “in service of your own pride. Why is it for you to say what God wants? The people would never revere you so, if you had not made them afraid.”

“God gave me a task.” He bit off each word, almost spitting.

“We are men and women,” she retorted. “We are not a task.

Soon the old autumn sun would bed down in cloud blankets, and there would be weeks of gray rain before it finally decided to snow