Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,72

Divine, 17:24

My magic doesn’t feel right. That was the first thought to cross Nadya’s mind as the girl across the arena cut her arm and power whipped through the air like crossbow bolts. In comparison her magic felt weak, as if she was reaching through mud to grasp at mere threads. Her prayers were answered by magic only, no words, no touch of the gods. Just raw spells, cold power, and nothing more.

She slid the back of her hand over the razor in her sleeve, wincing as it cut, forgetting she wasn’t supposed to react. Blood mages didn’t react.

The girl—Felicíja—tossed a glass bottle onto the arena floor and poison sprayed out in an arc in front of her.

It got on Nadya’s clothes and the fabric sizzled as it burned. She fought the urge to brush the droplets off.

She let ice form at her fingertips, grasping for Marzenya’s power because she could form it to look the most like blood magic. The goddess was distant, her touch far away. Nadya’s prayers felt like nothing more than pleas to empty air.

Then power. Claws of ice on her fingers shot off her hands. She didn’t have time to see if they landed as she tore pages out of the spell book and crumpled them in a bloody fist.

She slammed the pages onto the ground and drew a circle of flames up from the dirt. The flames sparked underneath her boots and surrounded Felicíja. The girl staggered back as flames caught up her split skirt. She snarled, her fingers yanking out pages of her spell book.

Nadya was struck by a bolt of magic that sent her staggering back to the edge of the arena.

This isn’t working. Using the spell book and pulling at threads of power at the same time was slowing her down. She had to end this fast or everything would unravel.

She raked bloody claws of ice over a spell book page, realizing seconds later it hadn’t been blank. Panic slammed into her chest.

The flow of power she channeled shifted and became something dark.

This power was not hers to use. It wasn’t hers at all.

She had no word for it but wrong. It was the only word running through her head. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.

Seething and black and powerful—so powerful—and in a different way than her magic was powerful because where hers was clarity this was madness.

There was something else, too. A needling that Nadya realized was a spell Felicíja was attempting to cast on her, but it felt so weak by comparison that she barely noticed. Felicíja tried again, and again, tearing out page after page, but her spells were only glimmers, bare brushes of magic against Nadya and this power that tore through her, threatening to rip her apart.

Blood dripped down her nose. She had to get rid of the magic. The taste of copper bloomed in her mouth. She spat, pressing a hand against her chest because her heartbeat felt erratic.

She exhaled and let go of the magic. It shot out from her fingertips like bolts of lightning. One struck Felicíja, the crack of thunder reverberating through the arena. The girl went down.

For a tense second, Nadya was sure she’d killed her. Instantaneously. But the girl got back up, a szitelka in her hand and fury warping her face. Blood dripped from a wound in her side and was smeared across her face.

Gods, please stay down. Nadya grimaced. Echoes of the darkness rattled in her head. She drew her own blades.

She blocked Felicíja’s strike, catching her blade on the hilt of the other girl’s szitelka and using the leverage to pull her closer. She lashed out with her second blade but Felicíja twisted out of the way.

Recovering, Nadya twisted the hilt of her blade and yanked down. The szitelka was pulled from Felicíja’s grasp and she staggered forward. Nadya caught the girl underneath her chin with her foot, snapping her head back and knocking her off her feet.

As the girl moved to rise, Nadya slammed the szitelka onto her hand, pinning her to the dirt.

Everything was too quiet. Too aware of the audience, Nadya hesitated, her other szitelka loose in her grip.

I don’t want to kill her.

The only reason this fight had worked in Nadya’s favor was because of magic that had not been hers. It could have so easily been Nadya on the ground, Felicíja contemplating the killing blow.

Felicíja lifted herself up on her arm, glaring at Nadya. She didn’t deserve to die here, with an audience,