Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,66

ripped from her as soon as she stepped over the border. When she stretched she could brush against Marzenya’s touch, but it took effort. It would be difficult to cast magic. She felt utterly and completely alone.

The entire city was shrouded in a stifling fog. Nadya could feel the blood magic that had caused such an oppressive taint in the air. It was difficult to breathe. This was why she was here, though, to rip apart that veil, to draw the gods back into this heathen country.

Once they entered the city, Nadya was overwhelmed by the sounds and crowds. She stuck close to Parijahan, grabbing her arm at times to keep from being separated. Unlike the villages they had passed through where the people looked worn and half-starved, everyone in the city dressed in rich, colorful clothes. Most wore masks over their faces—fanciful adornments that hid their identities. They were all nothing more than faceless enemies.

The closer they got to the palace grounds, the more agitated Malachiasz became. Nadya could feel her own nervousness feeding off his. She grabbed his wrist when they were near the palace gates, pressing down hard at the base.

She lifted her eyebrows when he shot her a questioning look. The magic they had cast on each other was all that would keep them safe; they had to trust in it. Nadya had anchored her safety to him and he would have to do the same for her. It was clear he didn’t want to return to a place so near the Vultures, but he had to trust her spell would not falter. Finally he let out a long breath, the tension bleeding out of him. She let go of his wrist.

The guards at the palace gates went over Nadya’s paperwork so meticulously that she convinced herself they were going to be arrested on the spot. A bead of sweat dripped down her spine. Rashid didn’t appear concerned, but Nadya had learned the boy had a knack for calm in a similar way Parijahan did. She wondered what it was that allowed the Akolans to stare headlong into potential disaster without flinching.

After ten agonizing minutes, the guards waved her through the gates. Nadya wanted to collapse against Parijahan in relief, but she merely took the papers back from the guard and stepped past them.

Nadya felt Malachiasz tense when a massive black cathedral at the side of the grounds came into view. Its spires could be seen in the distance even past the overbearing palace with its glittering towers. She nudged the back of his hand, forcing his gaze away. He shot her a strained smile.

An attendant bustled out from the main palace doors, taking the steps with a grace that Nadya envied. Suddenly she was being swept through the doors and any chance she had to back out was gone.

* * *

“Your timing is impeccable, though we weren’t expecting anyone from your part of Tranavia to participate.” The attendant hadn’t stopped talking since they stepped into the palace.

Nadya kept up with the chattering man, only shooting the occasional panicked glance Parijahan’s way. A masked servant had taken Rashid to the servants’ wing, and Malachiasz had disappeared when Nadya wasn’t looking—he had warned her that he would probably be shunted off to the guard’s barracks so she wasn’t worried yet.

“?aszczów is admittedly a bit out of touch with the rest of Tranavia,” Nadya agreed. “But this opportunity was not to be missed.”

The attendant smiled. “Quite right.” The man wore a mask that looked like birds’ wings on either side of his face.

Nadya had only been wearing her mask for a day and already she was fantasizing about ripping it off. It was hot and uncomfortable and she didn’t want it on anymore.

The exterior of the palace was striking, with golden columns lining the entrance. Aged oak doors opened into the massive foyer. Marble floors were checkered in pale violets and blacks. Paintings of women in flowing gowns and soldiers in crisp military uniforms stretched across the vaulted ceilings.

As they wound their way through the palace, the paintings became darker in tone. The hallways closed in as the colors grew increasingly oppressive. Vultures—the birds and their human counterparts—their claws, and blood magic symbols scrawled by an artist whose frenzy could be felt.

Altogether opulent and terrifying, it was like a nightmare had bled its way into a nobleman’s dreams.

“Feeling left out happens when someone goes drinking without you, Ostyia, not when someone visits a mad—oh.” The droll voice that