she entered Malachiasz’s chambers. He jumped to his feet, wincing at the motion, but he relaxed when he saw it was her. She walked in slowly, taking in the lavish quarters. They didn’t appear like they had been lived in for some time.
Paintings covered every open wall space and were stacked in the corners of the room. Mostly landscapes, strangely dark, as if the artist was rendering a grim future. A few portraits that didn’t appear to be of anyone in particular that Nadya could tell. There was a bookcase that was overfull, books beginning to gather in piles around it.
“Oh,” she said. She shot Parijahan and Rashid a reluctant smile before stepping toward a door and opening it. She wanted to know everything about this strange, secretive boy. He was a liar and she wanted his truths.
Inside the room was a study befitting someone with Malachiasz’s title. More books were stacked in the corners. The desk was a mess of papers and razors and sharp tools that Nadya didn’t even want to consider. The room felt wrong, off, and Nadya shut the door quickly, feeling ill. The corridor off to the back led to his bedroom. Nadya hadn’t expected the rooms to all be so cluttered and messy. She moved back into the main sitting room.
“You lied to me,” she said flatly.
Parijahan pursed her lips. Rashid, at least, looked ashamed.
“What did you expect? It was enough that you knew he was one of them—”
“You don’t get to make that decision for me,” Nadya snapped.
Rashid touched Parijahan’s arm. “She’s allowed to be upset,” he said, voice soft.
“How did you find out?” Nadya asked.
“It’s Malachiasz. He hedges. He hedged too far one day and I put the pieces together,” Parijahan said.
“You trust him?”
“I trust him. He has questionable methods, he’s desperate, but he’s trying and that’s more than can be said for most people.”
It didn’t feel like enough to Nadya, but she didn’t know what would ever make it enough. But it didn’t seem to matter. She could wander in mental circles about how she shouldn’t trust him because he lied to her, but she would still follow him.
This was a battle she had lost. No amount of flipping back and forth was going to change how she needed him for this plan to work, that she cared about the anxious boy trying to correct a mistake, the boy she believed was not a lie. Even if he happened to be a monster.
“Where were you two?”
“Languishing in dungeons, trying to convince a rather keen guard that ‘No, Parijahan doesn’t look familiar, you just think all Akolans look the same.’”
Nadya’s eyes widened. “What?”
Parijahan waved a dismissive hand. “Could you see to his broken ribs?”
“Your what?”
Rashid smiled sheepishly, stretching out on the chaise with a pained groan.
“I think I’m dying.”
“He’s not dying,” Parijahan said.
Nadya drew her magic forth, hating every second she used it without contact from the gods. She whispered holy speech she didn’t understand under her breath as her fingertips heated. She carefully worked out which of Rashid’s ribs were broken and set to mending them.
Rashid squirmed underneath her hands like a child who refused to sit for the healer. Nadya had to restrain from smacking him. “Sit still.”
“Your hands are freezing.”
The door opened and closed with a slam. Malachiasz flopped face-first onto the remaining chaise. He let out a long, dramatic sigh and sat up.
“Rashid got his chest knocked in for trying to charm the guards?” he asked.
“You know me so well, Malachiasz,” Rashid said, his face wrenching as Nadya worked.
It took her an hour to heal him. When she finished she leaned back on her heels, staring at her hands. She was dimly aware of the others talking, finalizing plans, but all she could think about was how she had healed Rashid herself. It hadn’t been Zbyhneuska’s power, it had been her own.
Maybe Malachiasz had been right all along.
What did that mean for her? When all this ended—if she even survived—would the gods turn away because she had discovered her power wasn’t dependent on their whims? Was this true of every cleric in history or was this a flaw within herself?
She was jarred by Malachiasz moving to kneel on the floor beside her. He gently took her wrists and folded her hands between his. Tears burned at her eyes.
“We can’t always understand how magic chooses to flow,” he said softly. He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “This is freedom, Nadya, you don’t have to shy