Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,7
felt like a punch in the stomach.
Black clouds of smoke billowed up from a point high in the summit. It filled the sky as though to swallow it completely. Nadya’s knees gave out from underneath her and she dropped down into the snow.
Kostya was gone.
Everything was gone. It was as if there were a gaping wound where Nadya’s heart should be, a void in her chest that had sucked everything away leaving her with absolutely nothing. She had nothing.
She dug a fingernail into her palm, letting the sharp pain clear her head just long enough to blink away her tears. Tears were useless. There wasn’t time to mourn, even though she wanted to. They couldn’t win this war; the Tranavians were going to take everything and burn Kalyazin to ash. Fighting felt useless.
Why didn’t the gods stop this? She refused to believe this destruction was the will of the gods. They couldn’t have wanted this.
Nadya startled as Anna slipped her hand into hers.
“Iron must be tested,” Anna said, quoting the Codex. “We cannot know the gods’ intentions.”
Intentions were not always kind nor just.
As if conjured, Marzenya’s warm presence slipped over Nadya like a cloak, but the goddess did not speak. Nadya was grateful for the silence. Any words would only ring hollow to her mere mortal ears.
Giving up now would mean everyone in the monastery had died for nothing and Nadya couldn’t allow that. She rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a small pendant on a delicate, silver chain. Drawing it closer, she found numerous spirals all swirling into each other and disappearing in the center of the pendant. She had never seen it before, and she made a study of knowing every symbol of the gods.
What had Kostya given her?
“Do you know what this means?” She held out the chain to Anna, whose eyes narrowed as she took the pendant.
She shook her head slowly, handing it back. Nadya slipped it over her head, letting the cool metal settle against her skin underneath her clothes. It didn’t really matter what it meant. It mattered because it was from Kostya. Because he had looked at her with an expression that could only be described as longing, he had kissed her forehead, and he had died so she could escape.
This wasn’t fair. War wasn’t fair.
Nadya turned away from her burning home. She would escape so Kostya wouldn’t have died for nothing. That had to be enough, for now.
They would have to travel all night to put enough distance between them and the Tranavians.
“We need to head to Tvir,” Anna said.
Nadya frowned, tugging her hat down over her ears. Tvir was to the east. East was Tranavia. East was the front. “Wouldn’t Kazatov be wiser?”
Anna messed with the scarf over her hair, adjusting the headband and temple rings. “We need to get you to the closest camp and Kazatov is too far north. Your safety is my top priority. The king would have our heads if anything happened to you.”
“Well, the Tranavians have the heads of everyone in the monastery already.”
Anna winced, shooting her a wounded look. “General Golovhka can decide what we do from there,” she said slowly.
Nadya didn’t like it. She didn’t want to be tugged around, endlessly shuttled to safety only so others could die in her stead. She should be fighting. But if Tvir was the closest camp, then to Tvir they would go.
Anna glanced at her, sympathy in her long, dark eyes. She looked over her shoulder, expression fracturing. Nadya couldn’t look back. She had seen enough destruction and if she looked back again it would break her completely.
“Let’s worry about finding shelter first, yes? There’s an abandoned chapel nearby. We can reach it within a day or so. We’ll figure out what to do from there.”
Nadya nodded wearily. She was too tired to fight or panic about her seemingly inevitable capture by the single person who should never have access to her power, who never should have known she even existed.
All she could do was put one foot in front of the other, pretend it wasn’t so cold she could feel frost icing her lashes, and pray. At least she was good at prayer.
3
SEREFIN
MELESKI
Svoyatovi Ilya Golubkin: Born a farmer’s son, Ilya was struck with a disease that prevented him from walking. Healed by a cleric of Zbyhneuska, he was imbued with superhuman strength and went on to become a warrior monk. Ilya single-handedly protected the city of Korovgrod against invaders from across the sea.