Blessed Monsters (Something Dark and Holy #3) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,164
long past time to settle our grievances with the Kalyazi—I agree—but not here. Not today. Not like this. Today, we have something bigger to fight. Literally.”
Someone groaned. It might have been Kacper. He deserved that.
“Things have spiraled greater than this bloody war. What happened to our magic is terrifying. We’re desperate. But if this is our final stand, let it be against the beings that would seek our destruction, not the people who would also be destroyed.”
There was little reaction as Serefin clambered off the cart, hopping down. But then Jaska clasped him on the shoulder with a grin, and someone else ruffled his hair—which was not something he thought one did to their king—and suddenly there were a lot of voices talking to him at once and he had to be yanked out of the crowd by Malachiasz. Jaska regained control.
“Does the job,” Malachiasz noted.
High praise, coming from him. Katya drew a horse up in front of them, shoving a bundle off her saddle. It landed with a hard thud and groaned. The cultist.
“Look who I found,” she hissed. “Whispering his lies to my armies. No matter. My people will help.”
Ruslan glanced from Malachiasz to Serefin suspiciously, his eyes darting to where a god rumbled near, focused on a strange, birdlike creature across the ravine.
“This is Chyrnog’s will,” the boy muttered.
“Is it?” Malachiasz said. He pulled a ring from his pocket, flipping it between his fingers. Was he missing part of a finger? “How many more pieces of yourself are you willing to let him consume?”
Serefin glanced up at the blackened sun. That was Chyrnog’s will, he rather thought, all the rest was incidental.
Ruslan sneered. “As much as possible.”
“Now really isn’t the time to hold onto your ideals,” Serefin said. “This is the end of the world. If you’d like to die here, fine. I’ll throw you over that ravine and you can die knowing you’ve wasted your life on a being who doesn’t give a shit about whether you live or die. Chyrnog doesn’t give a shit about you. Do you want to live, boy? Or do you want to die with your life wasted in the mud?”
Ruslan’s mouth fell open slightly. Something flickered over his face. Malachiasz gave Serefin a slight nod, and then paled, his entire body tensing.
Giant limbs had begun crawling out of the ravine, dissonant screeches puncturing the air. Someone slammed into the spider’s body only to be flung right off.
“What is that?” Ruslan asked, horrified.
“An old god. Not quite what you imagined? Well, why don’t you have a go at killing it anyway.” Serefin said.
While we try to destroy the truly unkillable one, he thought wearily.
Ruslan looked to Katya, exhausted and beaten down. Her face was dirty. Her hair had fallen out of its braid.
“I’m not forgetting what side you were truly on,” she warned.
He smiled, smug. “I wouldn’t want you to.”
That was all they could do about Nyrokosha. Serefin had to hope it would be enough.
The ground had started moving, corroding, like something was tearing through it, eating through it. The graveyard looked strange, like the edges of it were being ripped, shredded imperfectly, caught by the wind, except the air had gone perfectly still.
“What is that?” Katya asked.
“That,” Malachiasz said, his expression darkening, “is Chyrnog.”
Serefin had expected Ruslan to be delighted. That was his god, after all. But there was only fear on the boy’s face. Reality striking.
“You know,” Ostyia said. “I expected it to be more … tangible.”
“You can’t fight that,” Katya added. “There’s nothing to fight.”
Malachiasz glanced at Katya. “Take the armies and deal with Nyrokosha. We’ll…” he faltered, his expression fracturing. “We’ll deal with Chyrnog.”
The giant spider was horrifying, to be sure, but it was something.
Serefin turned to Kacper. “Stay with Katya.”
“But—”
He grabbed Kacper’s face and kissed him hard. “Please,” he murmured against his lips. “I love you.”
This time it was potentially a goodbye.
Kacper’s dark eyes filled with tears. “Serefin.”
“It’ll be heroic, yeah? One for the history books.”
“There’s no glory in being another dead king.”
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he kissed Kacper’s cheek softly, and turned away, toward Malachiasz.
“Kill a god with a god,” Malachiasz said.
“That’s all well and good, but we decided it would be better not to go down that road,” Serefin said, following after the roiling chaos of his younger brother as he headed to where the field had started to look like shredded linen. “Surely he has a weakness?”