of the courtyard. “There was music. And…” he trailed off.
“Moths.”
And thousands of glittering, dusty wings exploded around him.
34
NADEZHDA
LAPTEVA
Svoyatova Raya Astafyeva: It was said that stars trailed Svoyatova Raya Astafyeva wherever she went. A path of flickering light amidst the darkness of war.
—Vasiliev’s Book of Saints
Nadya watched as the rain spattering the windows of the cathedral became thick and red. Blood. It was blood.
There was blood raining from the sky.
Parijahan followed Nadya’s gaze and her lips tightened. This was all happening in the wrong order.
Nadya let her magic trickle out from where she stood, hidden in the shadows of a marble pillar. No one would notice her there. A pale slip of a girl wouldn’t be seen while the king of Tranavia turned the skies to blood and toyed with more power than any mortal should ever possess.
All that power could bring Kalyazin to its knees in moments. All they had by way of magic was one seventeen-year-old cleric. And while her power was significant, it was nothing compared to this. Not while the gods were out of her reach.
But not all of the gods, not quite. She rubbed her thumb over the pendant in her hand. Some gods require blood.
She was already so far past what she had thought was truth. There was nothing stopping her from going further, not if it was going to save them all. She might live to regret this but she also might not live at all and that was enough to make her decision for her. She had power now, power of her own, and while she couldn’t press against that veil of magic before, perhaps that too had changed.
She let one of her blades fall into her hand. Praying under her breath, she tugged the mask off her face and dropped it. She cut a careful spiral into her palm, the same pattern that was on the pendant, then pressed the cold metal into her fist.
Blood it is, then, if that’s what it takes.
She could feel the oppressive weight of the veil cast over Tranavia bearing down on her. She pushed her power against it, a single point of light against an expanse of darkness. There was the smallest splinter. The king’s head snapped up as he felt it too. Malachiasz stiffened, fingers fluttering in an odd way as his hand moved to press over his heart. He looked up at the ceiling, a puzzled frown passing over his features.
Blood was dripping between her fingers and down her hand as she clenched her fist.
Malachiasz gave a lopsided grin and it was another spike through Nadya’s heart. He stepped away from the king, folding his hands behind his back. The king’s attention locked onto her.
There was no warning when the king’s power moved against her. A heartbeat and the stones of the floor were rippling like water, the floor soon gone from underneath Nadya’s feet. A blink and she slammed to the ground in front of him, her voryen flying out of her hand and clattering across the floor.
“What is this?” The king of Tranavia grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head up.
She bit back a cry of pain and shoved her magic harder up at the veil. If this was when she died, then fine. Fine. She would tear this veil down first and bring the gods back to Tranavia with her dying breath.
There was no chance to respond to the king’s question, no time for even a clever quip; the king slammed his hand against the side of her face and this time she screamed.
Lances of white heat drove through her skull. Everything splintered—black and white and red and black again—and she nearly passed out. The king dropped her.
She caught herself on one hand. Her stomach churned, threatening to upheave its contents onto the grotesque floor of bleached bones.
“Well, child, you’re in a rough spot now, aren’t you?”
Hello, Velyos. It felt good to be able to commune with a god once more, even if Velyos was something else. Something not quite a god. But something with power Nadya could harness nonetheless. Her vision was blurry when she opened her eyes, and blood dripped from her nose. She felt a shift of power, saw the king’s hand move down toward her. A killing blow.
She caught the power against her own. It rattled her to her bones, her elbow buckling underneath her. She couldn’t stop it. It was too much, too strong, all she could do was hold it off for