set it in a sconce on the wall. She shut the door.
“I thought the king was dealing with this,” she said. “I thought Malachiasz was getting what he deserved.”
Nadya sighed. She sat down on the bed, suddenly exhausted. Not that she would sleep here. “The situation changed.”
?ywia folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the closed door. She wore a crimson tunic, the sleeves long and tattered, over a pair of black breeches.
Nadya’s hand grasped for the hilt of the bone dagger at her belt.
?ywia rolled her eyes. “I struggle to believe you’ve had a sudden change of heart.”
This wasn’t about Nadya’s feelings. This was about being pragmatic. If she was going to figure out what was eating away at her hand—if she was going to fix anything—she needed Malachiasz.
“That is precisely what has happened.”
The Vulture regarded her with a frown, rubbing her thumb down the tattoos on her chin.
“It all leads to the same end,” Nadya pointed out.
?ywia’s gaze grew distant. “What he is now is all we’re made to be. But he is so scattered, his brilliance dimmed by the chaos he’s caught in. And I selfishly miss my friend.”
“A monster can do that?”
“We monsters can do a lot of things.”
“But you don’t think I’ll succeed.” Nadya didn’t think she would, either, frankly, but she had to try.
“I don’t know. He knew what he was doing. I’m glad you’re willing. And I’ll see what I can do about ?aneta, though I give no promises. It’s his call whether she stays or goes.”
“Thank you, that is unexpectedly kind.”
“It’s not kindness,” ?ywia said. “You’re Kalyazi, dear, and this will surely spell disaster for you. But I will go get you some food. That will be a kindness.”
“Then thank you for that.”
* * *
She found herself wandering blearily through the darkened halls the next day, aware the choice could very easily end in her death, yet unable to wait until ?ywia fetched her.
“Tell me—” He appeared out of the darkness, startling Nadya so badly that she drew her voryen. He gave it an amused, dismissive glance, his features settling on Malachiasz’s for a split second as he nudged the blade easily to the side.
She slowly sheathed her blade and waited for him to continue. Instead, he started walking down an adjacent hallway.
Nadya let out an exhausted sigh. “Tell you what?” she asked, jogging after him.
“Why would a cleric think herself safe to walk these halls?”
Suddenly her back hit the wall, her hand trembling as it reached for her voryen, knowing it would be useless if he struck. Her heart pounded wildly, her breath hostage in her lungs.
He braced a hand beside her head. She could hear the scratch of his iron claws against the stone. His other hand tipped her chin up.
“I’m not safe here,” she whispered. “You don’t need to remind me.”
The heat of his body surrounded her. She would only have to shift slightly for their bodies to touch. She stared at his mouth, at the black veins of poison that settled underneath his skin. In a split second his mood could change and she could be impaled. But there was a curious glint in his eyes as he pinned her to the wall.
“If I kill you,” he said contemplatively, “would that be it? Would that be the end?” He trailed one of his claws down her cheek.
“It would be for me, yes,” she said, unable to resist the dry quip.
She did not expect the twitch of a smile at his mouth, or the amused puzzlement that played over his face. He touched one of the silver epaulets on her jacket, a frown tugging at the tattoos on his forehead. She had forgotten she was wearing his damn coat. An eye blinked open on his jaw, dripping blood.
After a long silence, he pulled back, immediately turning on his heels and continuing down the hall.
He is literally just as insufferable as always, she thought as she took a shaky step forward, giving herself a heartbeat to catch her breath. He was still infuriating and condescending and overly convinced of his own self-importance. He hadn’t been consumed yet.
Nadya caught up to him, tried to ignore the little half glance he cast back at her that was, again, too much like Malachiasz. She had to keep her hope in perspective. The pieces of the boy she loved were only that, scattered pieces.
The boy she should not love.
But Nadya could only think of the boy leaning against a boat railing beside