Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,4

could breathe. She hadn’t called on him; he had simply known.

She didn’t have time to be shaken by the gods’ omnipresence. She struggled to her feet, her limbs trembling. The world spun dangerously, but it didn’t matter. Whatever that had been, it had come from a powerful mage. She scanned the courtyard and when she found him, her once-boiling blood froze.

Oh, she had made a horrible mistake.

I should have hidden.

Thirty paces away, at the entrance to the courtyard, stood a Tranavian with a bloodied piece of paper crumpled in his fist. A vicious scar slashed over his left eye. It started at his temple and ended just at his nose. He watched the violence with a slight sneer. Nadya didn’t need to notice the red epaulets and gold braiding of his uniform to recognize him.

There were whispers of the Tranavian High Prince throughout the monastery. A boy made general a mere six months after venturing to the front when he was sixteen years old. One who had used the war to fuel his already terrible grasp of blood magic. A monster.

Every doubt Nadya had pressed away crashed back on top of her. This couldn’t be real, not the High Prince; not him.

He was young, only a few years older than her, with the palest eyes she had ever seen. As if sensing her, those pale eyes met Nadya’s and his lips twisted into a wry smile, his gaze straying to the magic swirling like light at her palms.

She let out a stream of curses.

I need … I need something powerful, she prayed frantically. He’s going to come for me. He’s looking right at me.

“You risk injuring the faithful,” Marzenya replied.

The world tilted. Black tunneled Nadya’s vision at the corners. The courtyard was a nightmare. Crimson splattered snow, the bodies of those Nadya had lived, worked, prayed with, fallen and broken across the stones. It was a slaughter and it was her fault. The Tranavians wouldn’t be there if not for her. If she died, would that make this massacre worth it?

The prince started across the courtyard toward Nadya, and her panic blanked out everything else. If he took her, what would her blood give him? What could he do with the magic she had? There were so many Tranavians, they had so much magic, and everyone she knew was going to die.

Kostya shoved her back into the shadows. Her magic slipped away as her back slammed against the door.

“Nadya,” Kostya whispered, looking frantically over his shoulder. The prince was out of sight but he had so little space to cross. There was no time left. It was over. Kostya tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You have to go, Nadya, you have to run.”

She stared at him, horrified. Run? After everyone she loved had been cut down she was supposed to flee to safety? What would that make her, if she ran to save herself? The monastery was the only home Nadya had ever known.

“You have to go,” Kostya said. “If you fall to him the war will be lost. You have to live, Nadya.”

“Kos—”

He kissed her forehead, lips warm, slipping something cold and metallic against her palm. “You have to live,” he repeated with a rasp. Then he turned away to call out to Anna. Nadya dropped what he’d given her into her pocket without looking at it.

Anna fought a few paces away, bodies piling around her feet. Her head whipped up when she heard her name. Kostya jerked his head in Nadya’s direction and understanding cleared Anna’s features.

Kostya turned back toward Nadya, an expression on his face she had never seen before. He opened his mouth to speak only to violently jerk forward, his knee buckling out from underneath him. A crossbow bolt stuck out the back of his leg.

A scream ripped out of Nadya’s throat. “Kostya!”

“Time to go, Nadya.” Anna grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the path leading to the graveyard.

I can’t leave Kostya. Kostya who, when they’d first met, had considered her unusual gift with a serious expression before wisecracking that she could never do a single bad thing in her life, else the gods would know immediately. Kostya, who disregarded her status with the divine and cajoled her into all manner of pranks and mischief. Kostya, the boy who rolled apples to her during prayer. Kostya, her friend, her family.

He waved a hand at them to go, pain vivid in his face. Nadya struggled against Anna, but the priestess was