“But magic is changing,” Nadya whispered, realizing what he was telling her.
He nodded. “The roads have been broken. Katya has magic that doesn’t fit. You have magic that doesn’t fit. So much that has happened just…”
“Doesn’t fit,” she said softly. It was something she was struggling to reconcile. If her entire world had been based on lies, how did magic—something that was supposed to be based in immutable truths that did not change—end up so different and wild and unpredictable? “Do you think it’s because those gods were set free?”
Rashid shrugged. “I couldn’t feel it until now. My power had gone dormant because I forced it to, and that forest…” He shivered. “I was barely trained, and I don’t really know what would happen were I to use my magic. Parijahan knew—she’s always known—but when I was taken into her Travash, she convinced her grandmother that she needed a guard and who better than the fresh mage from Yanzin Zadar? I didn’t want to use my power—didn’t want it trained—and so I didn’t, and it wasn’t, and I think I have made a terrible mistake.”
Nadya thought of the way Parijahan had been for the past year. Closed and anxious, constantly tugging Malachiasz away from the group like she was planning something.
“They wanted mages but were fine with not training you?”
“It’s not about the magic,” Rashid replied. “It’s about being able to claim to the other Travasha that they had an army of mages in their employ. If asked for proof there were enough that could do something flashy and be convincing, they never needed me.”
“I never should have asked any of you to come with me into that forest,” Nadya murmured.
“Probably not,” Rashid agreed. “Malachiasz would’ve followed you anyway.”
“Not if I had told him the truth.”
Rashid cast her a long look. “Even then.”
“Don’t. Don’t try to make out like there was something between us more than constant betrayal now that he’s gone. This isn’t about him anymore. What’s going on with Parijahan?”
Rashid sighed, and in it was far more than he was willing to say. “Her family is after her.”
“I gathered that.”
“I don’t know how much longer she can keep running without her family sparking something drastic.”
“Right.”
“The least of your concerns,” Rashid said wryly.
“No, it’s not that, it’s just … another problem I don’t know how to solve.”
“Nadya, have you ever considered that maybe you don’t have to fix the world all by yourself?”
She groaned.
“You’re, what, eighteen? Why should you be responsible for the entire world?”
“Because I’m the one who broke it.”
“No, you weren’t. It’s been broken and it will continue to be broken because people are broken, mad creatures who will always do terrible things.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s not, you’re right, because people are infuriatingly complicated and capable of doing wonderful things all the same.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do,” she whispered. “I lost my goddess and I lost Malachiasz and I think the thing worse than being pulled in two different directions is having both suddenly vanish. There’s nothing left.” She rubbed furiously at her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry.
Rashid’s hands circled her wrists. “You’re allowed to grieve,” he said. “I am.”
“He doesn’t deserve it.” Marzenya didn’t, either, but that wasn’t really a conversation to be had with Rashid.
“Maybe not. But I loved that boy so damn much and he didn’t deserve that, either. It’s not really about that, I don’t think. You can’t ever deserve love.”
“Stop trying to make things better. Nothing is ever going to get better.”
“That’s not true, Nadya.”
She shot him a dry look, but she appreciated his relentless optimism here at the end of everything.
Another scream tore through the forest and Rashid flinched, shuddering hard.
“You get used to it,” Nadya said.
“I’m not sure I want to.”
“Did Malachiasz know?”
He frowned, anger flickering over his features. “Parijahan says she never told him, but I think she was lying.” Rashid paused, smiling sadly. “I still don’t know a damned thing about what I can do and there’s not really anyone who can help me.”
“What about Ostyia?”
“Would she want to?”
Nadya considered this. Ostyia had never been particularly hostile to her—or Parijahan from what she could recall—and she didn’t seem to mind Rashid’s company.
“Hard to say, but I think so. It would mean Katya would find out, though.”
“How did that happen?”
“I don’t think anything has happened yet, but if you’re making bets on it with Parj, my money says Katya would love nothing more than a scandal from involving herself with a Tranavian general.”
“Listen—”
“I will never let you live those bets down.” A thoughtful pause passed between them. “I’ll help if I can, but I doubt your magic works anything like mine.”
“The girl I met on the mountains would have killed me for daring to have power different from hers.”
“The girl on the mountains got everything wrong,” Nadya replied, trying to keep the acute melancholy out of her voice and failing. “And she died a long time ago.”
* * *
Nadya couldn’t sleep. She let one watch run into the next, not bothering to wake anyone. The forest was mostly calm except for the screams—but nothing seemed to be coming of those.
Suddenly the taste of magic grew thick in the air, and she was slammed into the ground before she could get to her feet.
“There you are.” Iron claws clamped around her neck, a heavy weight against her chest, and a voice hissed, chaotic and wrong, in her ear. “What have you done, little cleric?”
A fall of black hair against pale skin and Nadya’s heart lurched even though she knew it was not him.
“Żywia.”
“Where is he?” Żywia perched on Nadya’s chest, her eyes pitch black, her teeth iron needles in her mouth.
Nadya wheezed. “Get off me,” she whispered fiercely. “And shut up before you wake everyone.” Katya would kill her on sight.
Żywia stilled, eyes returning to Nadya’s face. She tried not to think about how the Vulture looked like she could be Malachiasz’s sibling. Though that honor was, apparently, Serefin’s.
And Nadya had said nothing. She had put the pieces together long before the forest picked Malachiasz apart. She could have told him; she should have told him. She knew it ate at him, not knowing who his family was. But he didn’t like Serefin and wouldn’t have reacted well to her suspicions. So, she kept it to herself until it became far too late.
Fear shot through Żywia’s expression. “Where is he?” she asked. Her confidence had drained away, and she sounded lost and scared.