Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,80
not used to them,” she admitted. “They’re far more uncomfortable than I expected.”
Without her mask on he could actually see her soft features. Her skin was lightly dusted with freckles, her eyes long-lashed and dark.
“You can elect to not wear them, but other girls, well—”
“The other girls will rip you apart,” ?aneta chimed in, momentarily distracted from her discussion with Ostyia. She smiled. “Your duel was excellent. Though, next time, I would recommend setting a barrier down when the fight begins so you aren’t caught off guard by a spell that works your blood.”
Józefina looked puzzled for a split second, but the expression was gone so fast Serefin questioned if he’d even seen it. Had she not noticed Felicíja’s spell? Unlikely.
“That didn’t even occur to me.”
“No, it wouldn’t in the heat of the moment,” ?aneta said, pulling a dinner roll apart with her fingers. “Many mages use internal spells because they’re quick and dirty ways to take out an opponent.”
“They were written specifically for torture,” Serefin mused.
“Serefin, you are, as ever, the most charming of dinner companions,” ?aneta said.
The doors at the back of the hall opened and silence fell like a smothering blanket. Serefin felt cold. Everything he and Kacper had learned came spinning back to him as his father entered the room. His father’s gaze met his, a flicker of rage in his eyes, and fear flooded through Serefin.
He knows. He knows. He knows. A Vulture trailed behind the king. Serefin didn’t recognize the mask. They were too late. It was all moving too fast out of his control—not that he had ever been in control—and now his father knew Serefin suspected and would not be complacent.
He was going to die.
He ripped his gaze away, noticed Józefina’s hands were clenched so hard in her lap that her knuckles were bone white. She was glaring at the king with open hatred in her eyes.
She caught him looking at her and her entire face flushed. She ducked her head, murmuring a soft apology.
His eyes narrowed. She didn’t need to apologize. Why did a girl from an out of the way city in Tranavia look at the king like that? Perhaps it didn’t matter.
Or perhaps he had just found another ally.
23
NADEZHDA
LAPTEVA
Svoyatovi Yakov Luzhkov: The founder of the Selortevnsky monastery in Ghelovkhin, a place where clerics were trained in secret to fight in the holy war. When the monastery was destroyed in 1520, Yakov burned with it.
—Vasiliev’s Book of Saints
The High Prince of Tranavia was a charming boy who enjoyed self-deprecation and complaining. Nadya found herself laughing at his jokes and responding in kind as the evening went on. ?aneta was equally engaging, with biting wit and a keen intelligence that Nadya had not expected from one of the most impressive blood mages of the court.
Well, this is fast becoming a nightmare, she thought as she swirled her spoon through a bowl of borscht. There was soft music playing in the background, airy and light, and the atmosphere of the room didn’t feel nearly as oppressive as when the king had entered.
“A nightmare that you are making for yourself.” Nadya almost dropped her spoon when Marzenya’s voice rang through the back of her head.
Not now, she pleaded. She couldn’t keep this up and have a goddess pulling her apart for what she had done at the same time. Admonish me all you like later but not here.
“You are treading dangerous ground, child.”
Dangerous ground that she was only making worse. Marzenya required full devotion. Nadya never could have dreamed that would be an issue. Yet here she was, a few days into Tranavia and already full of conflict.
There was a disturbance at the head of the table where the king sat. A crystal goblet went flying, crashing into the wall and shattering into thousands of glittering pieces, wine splattering across the stone like blood. Nadya couldn’t parse the Tranavian the king shouted after the servant fleeing the hall.
She was chilled to her bones as one of the Vultures slunk off after the servant.
Serefin’s face reddened and he tore his gaze away.
“He’s getting worse,” Nadya heard Ostyia whisper to Serefin.
He swallowed hard, nodded quickly. He reached for his glass only to find it empty and raked a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. After an uncomfortable silence, Serefin grinned brightly, his strain clear.
Nadya eyed the king. There was no clear sign as to why he’d thrown the glass. “Józefina?”
Nadya started. “Forgive me, Your Highness, I was distracted.”