Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,85

fist, crumpling the paper in his hand. Serefin felt as though he had just won a small and completely insignificant victory.

An icy chill seemed to settle over his father’s shoulders. “The Kalyazi have moved forces into Rosni-Ovorisk,” he said.

Serefin frowned, unsure why his father was telling him this. Kalyazi forces moving that close to the border was strange, yes, but when Serefin was in Grazyk he was a prince, not a general, and his father usually made that point abundantly clear.

“It’s almost as if they know something we do not,” his father continued. “Like they’re preparing for something … extensive.” Abruptly his father smiled and fear clawed its way down Serefin’s spine. “They won’t survive whatever it is they’re planning, of course. Tranavia is about to show them the true meaning of power.”

“Are we?” Serefin asked, voice strained. His mind spun. If the Kalyazi were preparing an attack on the border, Tranavia might not be able to properly defend it. What did Kalyazin know that Serefin did not?

Izak didn’t respond. He just waved him out.

“You walk on thin ice, Serefin. Stay away from your mother’s brainwashing witch.”

Is that what this was supposed to be about? Serefin almost relaxed. He was considering paying Pelageya a visit in the morning. Now, he most certainly would.

“Oh, I’m well aware of that, Father. Thankfully, I can swim, and I’ve been in Kalyazin, I know what cold is truly like. Because certainly, the ice is about to break.”

His father looked at him sharply. Bowing, Serefin smiled, before turning to leave as quickly as he could.

In the hall outside his father’s chambers, he pressed himself against the wall, his hands shaking. Kacper approached, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder. Serefin gravitated toward Kacper. He had to move fast. If Kalyazin was making preparations—and his father was planning to annihilate the Kalyazi forces with the power of a god—Serefin was out of time.

“You all right?” Kacper asked.

Serefin dropped his head onto Kacper’s shoulder. “No,” he mumbled.

There was a beat of hesitation. Kacper shifted, nudging Serefin’s head so his forehead pressed against his temple. “We’ll get you out of this, Serefin,” he said. “You know there’s a pretty spectacular handprint on your face?”

Serefin laughed weakly and straightened. It was late and he was tired. There was nothing more he could do tonight.

They were walking back to Serefin’s chambers when a tremendous crash resounded through the hallway coming from the direction of the library.

“Well that doesn’t sound good,” Kacper muttered as Serefin took off down the hall.

NADEZHDA

LAPTEVA

Nadya shifted so the szitelka under her sleeve dropped into her palm.

Let it be another contestant upset the prince was showing me favor, she prayed.

Her hand tightened over the hilt and she knocked the chair back as she stood, whirling around.

She found herself face to face with a blank metal mask.

Yelping, she jumped back, knocking into the table. The Vulture didn’t move, just tilted its head from one side to the other. Blonde, curly hair tumbled down its back. The candlelight glinted off the Vulture’s iron claws.

Panic constricted Nadya’s chest, a painful grip that made it hard to breathe. She couldn’t fight off a Vulture. Not by herself. Not here.

She wasn’t given the chance to reach for the gods and hope. The Vulture struck, moving so fast Nadya only barely had time to register the movement. Sparks flew up as the Vulture’s iron claws clashed against Nadya’s szitelka.

Do they know who I am?

What if they had found Malachiasz and twisted him back into a monster? Was that how they’d found her?

Nadya shoved the Vulture away, jumping onto the table. The Vulture’s claws ground down over the wood as it narrowly missed Nadya.

She had no magic. She had nothing.

She had no hope without her gods.

25

NADEZHDA

LAPTEVA

Svoyatovi Vlastimil Zykin: A cleric of the god Zlatek. Vlastimil’s mind was weak, unable to handle the rigors of silence his god required from him. Instead of striking him from memory, his failure is remembered as a lesson to those chosen by the gods that they are mortal and the gods are not to be trifled with.

—Vasiliev’s Book of Saints

Nadya ran.

The Vulture followed, moving so fast that it was nothing more than a blur in the dim light.

Nadya didn’t even make it out of the library. A brush of blood magic; the taste of copper filling her mouth. Something slammed into her, sending her crashing into a bookshelf, knocking it over with a deafening crash. Her breath left her in a rush and she gasped for air from the