He’d moved a significant distance away from Nadya—oh. Serefin picked up a roll and tossed it to Malachiasz, who caught it, a grateful smile ghosting over his features.
“And you broke the connection with Velyos—” Nadya started.
“And Chyrnog—wait—” Serefin breathed. He turned to Katya. “It was you.”
Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry?”
“That altar. That was when I first spoke to Chyrnog. That was when he hitched a ride into the forest to be set free. What were you doing?”
She stared at him for a long moment before reaching over and pulling at the ties on his tunic.
“Please don’t disrobe him at the table,” Kacper said.
Malachiasz glanced at Nadya. She very pointedly did not meet his gaze.
“May I ask what you’re doing?” Serefin asked Katya serenely.
She tugged the neckline over to the scar on his chest. “It was … nothing, frankly. It was intended to scare you and give me a sense of why your eyes were so weird. It was minor magic. It wasn’t supposed to open the channels of communication between you and old gods. What is wrong with all of you?”
The scar on his chest was mostly healed. Katya, satisfied nothing eldritch was going to crawl out of Serefin’s skin—yet, anyway—leaned back.
“Bovilgy,” Malachiasz said.
“That’s what Pelageya said,” Serefin said.
“I don’t—it doesn’t make sense.”
“You’re literally a god, Malachiasz,” Nadya said dryly.
He waved a hand, dismissive. “We know by now it has nothing to do with divinity and everything to do with scope of power.”
Nadya rolled her eyes.
“And what is all of this but your gods getting antsy because magic has changed? She doesn’t use magic the way the Church wants,” he said, waving at Katya, who appeared reluctant to acknowledge Malachiasz was right. “You don’t, either.”
“You think that’s what this is about? A petty cling to power?”
“Sznecz.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“What about your soul?” Serefin asked.
Malachiasz’s face grayed. Probably not something Serefin should have shared like that. But if Malachiasz was going to be there, with them, the rest needed to know what they were up against, how far into impossibility they had walked. He knew Malachiasz, how antagonistic he could be, how any moment could be the one where he turned on them, but he also knew Malachiasz wanted to be free of Chyrnog’s hold and he would do anything to make it happen.
Parijahan blinked at Malachiasz, while Nadya let out a deeply weary sigh, resting her forehead against splayed fingers.
“Pelageya said I would need help. T-to get it back,” Malachiasz said. His voice quieted. “I don’t think we can do anything about Chyrnog unless I find the pieces.”
“How long do we have, Malachiasz?” Serefin asked.
He glanced at Nadya. “I don’t know … I took another. I don’t know how many he needs, but it’s not many more.”
Nadya finally lifted her head, meeting his gaze. Her hair had dried to pale white-gold waves around her shoulders. “What does that mean?”
“We’re dancing very neatly around the fact that he’s eaten people,” Katya said flatly, jamming the relic knife into the table. Malachiasz flinched. “We kill monsters. We don’t try to save them.”
Serefin put his hand on the hilt of the blade. Katya let him wrench it from the wood. He held it loosely in his palm. “You kill Malachiasz, you set Chyrnog free.”
“Every moment he is like this, he and Chyrnog become more indistinguishable,” Katya replied.
“So, we move faster.”
A muscle in Katya’s jaw fluttered.
They were getting nowhere. Serefin sighed. “All right,” he said, gently taking control of the situation away from Katya, who looked like she was in turns so bewildered and so furious she was going to sink underneath the table. “Let’s lay out what we know and see if it paints a coherent picture.”
But when they brought their individual pieces together, there were too many gaps. Malachiasz took out the book he’d gotten from Ruslan and set it on the table.
“Oh, I found so many in Komyazalov,” Nadya said, sounding disappointed.
“I brought them,” Anna said. “I got your stuff before we escaped.”
Nadya brightened considerably. She touched Malachiasz’s hand before darting from the room, returning with an armful of books after a short bit.
“Who were the four who bound the old gods the last time?” Nadya asked. “How did they manage that?”
“I have their names,” Malachiasz said, flipping through his book. He rattled them off, looking at Nadya hopefully.
“They sound vaguely familiar,” she said softly. “Wait, Sofka—abandoned by Marzenya.”
Katya lifted her eyebrows. “That would be significant.”
“Ruslan mentioned that his cult was in Komyazalov,” Malachiasz said. Rashid leaned across the table, taking two