Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,63
they did.”
I don’t have time for this, he thought. But he did. That was the thing. He was trapped here—doing nothing, knowing nothing. He could feel the jaws of the invisible beast closing over him but he was powerless to stop it.
“Do you think I can turn the court to my side?” he asked.
She blinked, straightening in her chair. “Serefin?”
“Oh, I’m sure he knows anyway,” Serefin said, waving a hand. “I just need to know how many steps ahead of me he is.”
“Your father—” She put emphasis on the word father as if it meant something to Serefin. Maybe once it had. Years ago when he thought he might win his father’s love. Not anymore.
“I found a cleric in Kalyazin. No one else seems to find that important. Doesn’t it strike you as a bit strange? They sent the Vultures after her, but she escaped.”
“The Vultures?”
“She escaped the Vultures. Why am I the only one troubled by this? What is Father planning that has made this a nonissue?”
Klarysa’s eyes narrowed and Serefin realized he had hit upon something she had not been expecting. “What … did you speak to Pelageya about?” she asked.
He scoffed. “She told me a lot of nonsense that sounded like prophecy.”
“Listen to her, Serefin. I know you don’t want to. I know you think her mad. But listen to her. She could be the only thing that saves you.”
“Saves me? Yes, I’m clearly trying not to die here, but I don’t think the witch is going to help.”
“Not from your father, from the Vultures. From the gods. From everything.”
“Mother?”
“Pelageya knows what she speaks of.” His mother was speaking quickly, her voice low. She knew whatever they said would return to the king. She cast a suspicious glance toward where the wall met the ceiling, the likeliest of locations for eavesdropping spells. “I can’t help you, Serefin, you know that.”
Serefin felt cold. “What has he done?”
Klarysa shook her head. There was fear in her eyes.
She can’t tell me, he realized. If she tells me, he’ll kill her, too. What did she know that he had yet to figure out?
“Give me something,” he pleaded.
“Your father has always been a monster,” she said. “But at least he had his own mind, his decisions were his own.” She shook her head. “I fear he too has been taken by the Vultures.”
She fell silent, but Serefin didn’t need any more to put the pieces together. The Vultures had gone from their own agendas to whispering in the king’s ear. The whispering had gone from suggestions to puppet strings.
It was altogether likely there was discord amongst the Vultures as well. That the Crimson Vulture was working apart from her own king, the Black Vulture. But who was holding the strings?
Serefin still had no answers.
18
NADEZHDA
LAPTEVA
Vaclav is rarely seen, rarely heard, and rarely worshiped. Dark forests and darker monsters heed his calls. His lands are vast and ancient and deadly and he is not kind. Truth is never kind.
—Codex of the Divine, 23:86
Nadya was the most surprised of everyone when her plan to get them across the border worked.
“Where’s your company, son?” The Tranavian who confronted them looked older than Malachiasz, and thought by that principle he outranked him.
Malachiasz drew himself straight, his posture betraying the air of someone who was used to having authority. He flicked his hair away from where it was covering the pins on his jacket. Now Nadya was doubly certain she didn’t want to know what they meant.
“Lost most of them to mercenaries hiding in the mountains,” he said. “Lost the rest somewhere in between.”
The soldier frowned at Malachiasz, but when he spoke again the condescension was gone. “Who are they, then?”
Malachiasz glanced back at the group. “The Akolans are fleeing Kalyazin, a wise decision. The girl is…” He faltered, convincingly. “Well, you understand.” He winked at the soldier.
It took everything Nadya had to keep her expression schooled.
“I’ll need you to come with me,” the soldier said, giving Malachiasz a hard once-over. He pulled a second soldier over and ordered her to make sure the rest of them didn’t go anywhere.
Nadya felt her heart speed up as Malachiasz followed the Tranavian into a shoddily constructed cabin. She glanced at Parijahan, whose expression was drawn and wary. The minutes Malachiasz was gone stretched on seemingly endlessly, but the soldier guarding them just looked bored.
Eventually Malachiasz stepped out of the cabin, his face pale. The other soldier followed behind him and waved a hand to the girl guarding them.