Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,110
monsters. A will to break. That was what he was supposed to see.
Not stars, not moths, not songs.
“Meddling with Izak Meleski’s plans from beyond the grave,” Serefin said aloud to the moth on his finger. At least, he thought he spoke aloud; he wasn’t entirely sure in this place what that meant.
The moth fluttered its wings in acknowledgment.
His sight tunneled …
A world burning. Grazyk in rubble. The Tranavian lakelands filled with blood and death. Scorched Kalyazi mountains. Punched-in onion domes of the Silver Court, smoking. A world broken, a world starved. Blood falling from the sky like rain.
A future that could not—would not—be stopped. A future that had already been set into motion.
Serefin woke up.
32
NADEZHDA
LAPTEVA
Svoyatova Serafima Zyomina: Little is known about Svoyatova Serafima Zyomina. Though a cleric, she was blessed with a strange magic that never seemed to work the same way twice. If one was an enemy, seeing her on a battlefield meant a slow and agonizing death, for she was a cleric of Marzenya and both were cruel.
—Vasiliev’s Book of Saints
The rain from the night before grew steadily worse, turning into a massive storm. Lightning flashed every few minutes, casting the sanctuary into stark black and white. It made the room feel violent, angry, a place of death—fitting for a king of monsters.
Malachiasz melded into his role seamlessly. He was wearing a hood in the shape of a vulture’s head. It shadowed half his face with its vicious beak. A cloak of black feathers fell heavy over his shoulders. He was flanked on either side by Vultures in banded iron masks that covered most of their faces. He sat on the throne in a way that was casual, comfortably arrogant. One leg was kicked over the armrest, his tattooed fingers steepled over his chest.
A boy made king of monsters for a kingdom of the damned.
Something itched in the back of Nadya’s head. A shifting. It was uncomfortable. Something had changed. She couldn’t put a name to it; she wrote it off as nerves.
When the king arrived he was flanked by only a few guards. Such blind trust in Malachiasz. Such desperation for a power so abominable.
Malachiasz pushed the hood back to hang over his shoulders. His nails were iron, held at a length just long enough to appear as visible claws. His eyes were rimmed with kohl and more gold beads were knotted into his long, black hair.
He looks like a king … Nadya realized, feeling her stomach drop. How had he fooled her into believing he was insignificant?
Feral and wild with his hair in braids and knots. A smile glinted at his mouth, his teeth iron, his incisors too sharp. A little further and those incisors would be fangs in his mouth.
Her heart pounded in her throat. She was wearing an intricate white mask of pearls and lace. Her hair woven into a complicated mess of braids. They had taken the glamour off her face and stripped her hair of the dye as well, and though she had long since stopped noticing Malachiasz’s magic on her skin, she could feel its absence. Her old voryens were strapped to her forearms, their solid weight a comfort.
Izak Meleski, the king of Tranavia, paused in front of Malachiasz’s Carrion Throne. He did not bow, but a smile stretched his lips.
“We heard rumors of the flight of one of your Vultures, Your Excellency,” the king said. “Imagine our surprise when the truth came to light!”
Nadya tensed at hearing an honorific from the king’s lips.
“Mere exaggerations,” Malachiasz said. “I did spend some time in Kalyazin for”—he paused, thinking—“academic purposes. I must offer my condolences, Your Majesty. His Highness was a testament to Tranavian magic; he will be missed.” Chaos and madness were carefully cultivated threads in his voice.
“What?” Nadya whispered; her hand reached out and landed on Rashid’s forearm.
He frowned, uncertainty apparent in his features.
Nadya felt as if she were scrambling for purchase amidst a landslide. No, they were supposed to save Serefin, not kill him. Malachiasz knew, he’d agreed. Letting Serefin fall to harm was putting the king one step closer to his goal.
What if that was his intention all along?
She watched Malachiasz, not the king as she should, searching for an indication that he hadn’t meant for Serefin to die. There was only the cool expression of a monster.
The king carefully folded his hands behind his back. Nadya noticed ?aneta at his side, looking pale and withdrawn. She didn’t see Ostyia or Kacper in the hall, either.