Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,73

like an animal. And Nadya wasn’t going to be the reason for her death. She wasn’t going to perpetuate this Tranavian bloodlust.

It would be so easy, though, and it would further Nadya’s mission. All it would take would be another icy claw into the girl’s heart, or a stronger jolt of lightning. But the darkness lingered and Nadya feared what would happen if she pulled on it.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Nadya said.

She was expecting relief, but what she received was a wad of spit that landed on her mask.

“Pathetic,” the girl said, pain slurring her speech.

Nadya straightened. Felicíja’s guard and a figure in a chilling mask that could only be a Vulture began to move toward them. It must have been clear she was backing off.

A hand brushed her arm. The dark echo reacted to the touch—Malachiasz—and Nadya’s knees grew weak. She was shoved forward; knocked to her knees before the girl.

The girl who had blood dripping from her mouth, who stared at Nadya with eyes that were already dimming. A spike of iron was driven into her chest. As Nadya stared at it, the spike formed into the shape of a szitelka, then the girl pitched forward, dead.

Her stomach roiled as her vision tunneled. No. Mercy, she was going to give the girl mercy.

It took everything in her not to turn to Malachiasz. The girl’s guard reached them along with the Vulture. Neither of them said anything. The flurry of activity would have masked what had happened. What Malachiasz had done instead of Nadya.

She finally glared at him. He raised an eyebrow at her. There was blood on his fingertips.

Blood dripped from Nadya’s nose.

One day in this cursed city and she was already tired of the sight of blood.

Heat coursed through her veins. What point had killing the girl served? She dropped her eyes before someone noticed but not before shaking her head at him.

Idiot.

“You expected more from a Tranavian abomination?” Marzenya’s voice was faint, as though coming through a fog. It sounded unbelievably sly, but there was another thread to her voice Nadya had never heard before: rage. “You should have killed the bitch yourself. On your own.”

A warning. Attempting to spare another Tranavian and Nadya glancing against Malachiasz’s power—unintentional as it had been—had sparked Marzenya’s ire. Before the servants came to collect the body, Nadya stalked out of the arena.

SEREFIN

MELESKI

“What was that?” Ostyia asked, her eye wide.

Serefin shook his head. It had been ruthless, exactly what the Tranavian court was expecting. But more interesting, some elegance to her movements, innovation in her magic …

Ostyia perched on the arm of his chair. “No one uses elemental magic like that.”

How had this girl not been drafted into the army? Why had she not joined of her own volition? She was talented, quick, relentless, with an arsenal of spells Serefin had never seen before. He knew elemental spells were possible with blood magic, but no one ever used them because they were too difficult. It was manipulating magic in a way that was changing the power at its basest element. Blood magic drew from a person’s innate ability and manifested in whatever way it was needed, but changing it to the elements—another base, another fundamental item in creation—was incredibly difficult.

Where had this girl been hiding?

“?aneta is not going to be happy,” Ostyia commented.

“She’ll relish having real competition.”

There was a flurry of activity in the arena and Serefin leaned over the railing. Two masked Vultures were carting off Felicíja’s body.

Horror rippled through him and he exchanged a glance with Ostyia. What were they doing?

He dimly felt Ostyia’s touch on his arm. He shouldn’t be staring; it shouldn’t be a sight he found uncomfortable. But it was another piece of the puzzle, another step closer. He hoped it wasn’t coming too late.

21

NADEZHDA

LAPTEVA

Silence and fear; those who worship the god Zlatek know that above all else, those two things are paramount.

—Codex of the Divine, 55:19

A healer ran after Nadya, fussing after her wounds—her entire body felt like it was on fire and her nose hadn’t stopped bleeding—but she waved her away. She could handle it herself and she had to get out of this arena.

She couldn’t stomach the stench of death any longer.

Malachiasz trailed behind her, silent. If he spoke, she was going to kill him, and he seemed to sense that.

They reached the hallway that led to her chambers. It was empty, devoid of servants or other participants who were boarding in this wing of the palace. She couldn’t wait