Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,55
his pockets. “It builds over time, magic does. Especially blood magic. It’s so accessible. You don’t have to have a true affinity for it to use it in small spells; you just need to know how to channel your own blood through the written conduits. After enough years pass, it becomes routine—fishermen cast spells to keep lines from breaking, bakers cast to keep their bread rising, the like—removing it would fundamentally destroy what has built the country up.”
Nadya frowned. Her frown deepened when he handed her a slim razor. “Sew that into the sleeve of your coat. Cutting the palm of your hand and fingers hurts more than cutting the back. The razor is treated so the cuts won’t scar.”
She thought of the scarred plain of his forearms. If the scars weren’t from his magic, then what?
* * *
Scattered along the mountain paths and wider roads were wayside shrines that Nadya would quietly attend to whenever they passed. It only ever took her a short while to brush dirt off the statues or pillars and remove the dead flowers before catching up to the others. After the third one they passed, Malachiasz stopped to wait for Nadya while the others walked on ahead.
She could feel his gaze on her as she worked. This shrine was dedicated to Vaclav so Nadya was taking extra time to ensure it was spotless when she left it. Vaclav was a darker god, chaotic and strong-willed, and Nadya was careful to stay on his good side.
“I don’t understand,” she heard him say quietly, an odd, agonized note in his voice. Like he was trying so hard to comprehend her strange, pagan ways but simply couldn’t.
She leaned back on her heels and looked over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s a carving on the side of the road. Your cleaning it doesn’t make a difference,” he said.
“The gods like when their altars are tended.”
He shot her a look. “It’s just junk.”
“It’s a place of holiness and you should treat it with a modicum of respect,” Nadya replied, returning to her work.
She heard Malachiasz scoff. “So, your power and this are both holy?”
“What does my power have to do with anything?”
“If it’s all holy.” He waved a hand vaguely.
“I don’t think you’re in any position to say what’s holy or not,” she said, voice hot. “Besides, it’s not like you can deny my power exists.”
“Having power granted to you, and acknowledging that beings of power exist, isn’t the same as acknowledging that those beings are benevolent or even sentient.”
“But you’re acknowledging they exist.”
“Not in the capacity you do. You’re saying your every choice is dictated by these beings. Everything you do is on their behalf and at their whim, so you have no free choice at all.”
“I absolutely have a choice.”
“Do you?”
“You’re still alive.”
He immediately fell silent. She half-expected him to leave—they were near where they were planning to camp so Nadya was in no hurry—but instead he moved so he was standing beside the altar, facing her, a puzzled frown still on his face.
“They talk to me, you know,” she said as she used her sleeve to scrub a patch of lichen off the statue. “They all have their own quirks and desires. Some of them talk to me regularly: Marzenya—my patron—Veceslav, Zvonimira. Others only give me magic when I ask. Some regularly deny my requests. They’re not mere concepts.”
He didn’t look convinced; she didn’t understand what was so hard to comprehend.
“How do you explain my power, then?” she said. “Since you clearly know everything.”
He ignored her barb completely, which was infuriating in its own right. “It’s the concept of gods that I don’t accept,” he said. He idly gathered his long hair back, tying it with the strip of leather he kept around his wrist. “You believe they care about your well-being. I don’t think that’s true. I don’t…” he trailed off, quiet as he searched for words. “It’s what we tie to the word ‘god,’ I think, that bothers me. This idea that these beings are so much more than we could ever be so they deserve our worship. Kalyazi”—he gave her an almost apologetic look—“pin everything on the gods. Creation, morality, day-to-day interactions, their own thoughts. But who’s to say that the gods care at all what individual people think or feel or do? How do you know that you’re interacting with … well, gods and not just beings who have attained a higher standing than mortals?”