Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,3

into the sanctuary where she belonged.

Marzenya scoffed at her doubt.

I belong here, Nadya told herself.

Kostya stepped up beside her. He had abandoned his kitchen knife for a noven’ya—a staff with a long blade on one end. He leaned against it, watching the slope where the stairs dropped out of sight.

“Go,” he said. “It’s not too late.”

Nadya grinned at him. “It’s too late.”

As if agreeing with her, the bells cut off with a disconcertingly final ring. The air around the monastery was silent but for the steady sound of cannons, now pounding clearly at the base of the mountain.

If Rudnya fell, the monastery would be next. The city at the base of the mountains was well fortified, but they were in the heart of Kalyazin. No one had ever expected the war to push this far west. It was supposed to stay on the eastern border where Kalyazin and Tranavia met, just north of the border on Akola.

A crack trailed up the solid block of ice on the stairs like a spider web. It spread, forming a pattern of fractures before the whole thing shattered. Kostya pulled Nadya into the courtyard.

“We have the high ground,” she murmured.

She was holding a single voryen. Just one dagger.

We have the high ground.

There was a tremor in the silence and a sharp touch jabbed into the back of her skull.

“Blood magic,” Marzenya hissed.

Nadya’s heart lodged in her throat, doubt sliding cold tendrils down her spine. She felt her magic shivering, and without thinking, shoved Kostya aside just as something exploded near where he had once stood. A hard chunk of ice slammed into her back, pain ramming down to her toes. She was thrown onto Kostya and they both went crashing to the ground.

He was back on his feet before Nadya had even registered what happened. The courtyard became thick with magic and steel as soldiers swarmed up the stairs. She scrambled to her feet, keeping to Kostya’s side, his blade moving at a dizzying pace as he defended her against the Tranavian soldiers.

Children of a war-torn land were expected to know how to react when the enemy finally came calling. Kostya and Nadya had their strategy perfected. She was fast, he was strong, and they would do anything to protect each other. Unless she caused their downfall with her fraying nerves. Her limbs shook as more magic than she was used to swept through her body.

I have no idea what I’m doing.

Panicked prayers to the gods would only be met with more magic; Nadya had to decide for herself how it was used.

She ran her hand along the flat of her voryen. Pure, white light followed her touch and though she wasn’t entirely sure what it would do, she found out quickly enough when she sliced a Tranavian soldier. She only caught his arm, but like a poison, the light blackened his flesh at the point of contact. It spread up his arm to his face, choking his eyes with darkness before he toppled over, dead. She staggered back into Kostya. The urge to drop her voryen needled at her hand.

I killed him. I’ve never killed anyone.

Kostya’s hand dropped to brush against hers.

“Keep going,” Marzenya urged.

But there was so much magic swirling through the air and it was so powerful and Nadya was just one cleric. Fear consumed her for another long heartbeat until Marzenya jabbed the back of her head with a sharp, pointed pain.

Keep going.

Frost tipped her fingers and she ducked under a Tranavian’s blade, slamming her frostbitten hand against his chest. Like the last, blackened skin crept up his neck and onto his face before he fell, the light flickering out of his eyes.

Nadya’s chest constricted. She felt like throwing up and Marzenya’s bitter nudge of disgust at her weakness jolted her. There was no room here for misplaced sentiment. This was war. Death was inevitable. Necessary.

“Nadezhda!” Marzenya’s warning came too late. Flames engulfed her, licking underneath her skin, her blood boiling. Pain blackened her vision. She stumbled, and Kostya caught her, slipping them out of the fray right before she crashed to her knees in the shadows of the chapel doorway. She gritted her teeth, catching the inside of her lip; blood coated her mouth, metallic and sharp. She struggled to breathe. It was like being burned alive from the inside out.

Just when she thought she could take no more, Veceslav’s presence swept in, enveloping Nadya like a heavy blanket. He soothed out the magic, pushing it away until she