There was a cloud of smog that hung over the city. It was an oppression everyone had simply learned to ignore. The fog came from magic experiments gone wrong, filtered up from the ground where there had been mines nearby—not unlike the Salt Mines. While the experiments had been moved to Kyętri, the smog never cleared. It just hung black in the air, a reminder of what happened when mages reached for too much.
Not that any mage in Tranavia would heed the reminder. Mostly it made the whole city smell like ash. Nobles attempted to counter it by wearing pouches of expensive herbs and spices or dousing themselves in fragrant oils imported from Akola. Neither worked, but nothing would keep slavhki from their outrageous solutions for things that weren’t problems.
Ostyia had a runner sent to the palace, marking the start of needless formality. Serefin tried to work up the feelings of homesickness he had experienced while out on the front, but now he realized it had been wistful delusion.
If the city was lavish, the palace was magnificent. It glittered in the distance, a promise of beauty watching over the city and its shameful fog. Spires twisted up into the sky, their hundreds of windows reflecting such a glare that Serefin had to lower his gaze.
The guards swung open the large wooden gates when they approached. Even those were hammered with gold. A servant waited in the courtyard to take their horses.
The courtyard was paved with smooth granite that turned to lush grass just past the front of the palace. It buzzed with a low hum of activity. He could hear the sound of clashing blades from the northern side of the grounds. He braced himself for the inevitable summons from his father. It arrived immediately by way of a servant wearing a plain brown mask that left only his eyes visible. One of his father’s personal servants. The servant bowed to Serefin, who spoke before he could even deliver his message.
“Yes, yes, my father wishes to see me.”
The servant nodded. Not being able to see his face was disconcerting. Serefin wasn’t fond of the masks that had been the fashion at court the past few years.
The style took after the ones worn by the Vultures. The only people who did not wear masks at court were usually the royal family. Serefin loathed wearing anything that might make his vision even worse. His mother was never in Grazyk long enough for it to matter, and the king transcended court trends completely.
Serefin raked a hand through his hair, then waved to the servant again. “Well? Take me to him. We can’t keep His Majesty waiting.”
12
NADEZHDA
LAPTEVA
Very little is known about the goddess of the sun. Quiet and eternal, she has never granted her power to any mortal; none know what would happen if she ever did.
—Codex of the Divine, 3:15
Nadya and Malachiasz were lost. Apparently direction was not one of his many blood mage talents.
Nadya wrapped her arms around herself, shivering violently. He glanced back at her before shrugging out of his bloody military jacket. She hesitated, frowning at the symbol of everything she had spent her life fighting against. But her coat had been torn to useless shreds and he didn’t appear to notice the cold so she accepted his offer. The jacket was still warm from his body heat. She tugged the sleeves down to cover her hands.
He eyed her before starting back into the woods.
“You should have cut his throat. I’m disturbed you chose to spare him again,” Marzenya said. The thought slid into the back of Nadya’s mind like a suggestion.
Nadya had noticed a distinct increase in Marzenya’s presence, in her interjections and nearness. She found she liked it, comforted by the knowledge her goddess was nearby and watching her. But a small part of her was unnerved by the pressure that came with it. Thoughts like that wouldn’t do for someone chosen by the gods. One of the most important lessons Father Alexei had taught her was to keep her mind schooled, to keep doubts away. While it was perfectly human to doubt, it was not something she could indulge.
As much as Marzenya might wish for it, more death was not what Nadya needed. There was a chance that when—or at this rate, if—she and Malachiasz returned to the church there would be nothing left. Neither of them was willing to admit that.
It would be her breaking point. If it was delusional to hope their flight had saved the others, then so be it, but Nadya couldn’t entertain the notion that her last friend in the world was gone and she had been left with a Tranavian abomination as a companion. Anna had to be alive.
But Nadya couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d abandoned Anna the same way she’d abandoned Kostya. Running to save herself for some greater purpose was a bitter survival when it meant losing everything and everyone with each step she took.
“We won’t survive a night out here,” Nadya noted when they’d stopped in a clearing for a brief respite.
Malachiasz was gazing into the trees with a puzzled expression on his face. “What would kill us first, do you think, the cold or whatever lurks in these mountains?”
“That’s not a question I want answered.”
He smiled softly, turning to where she was sitting on a downed tree.
“And it will be your kind, won’t it? It’s only a matter of time before they find us out here.”
“Does Kalyazin have no monsters?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes, puzzling over his question, but clearly he meant it as rhetorical because he continued speaking.
“Rozá is arrogant,” he said. “She left Aleks, the Vultures’ best tracker, in Tranavia. She has no way to find us now.”
Nadya ran her hand down her prayer beads. The spell book tied to Malachiasz’s hip was thick. She found it hard to believe the other Vultures couldn’t just cut their arms and find their way there.
He followed her gaze and seemed to know what she was thinking. “Most Tranavians buy their spell books with the spells already written by arcanists, Vultures included. I write my own.”
“But you can’t know for certain Rozá didn’t have someone write her a handful of tracking spells before she came.”
“Of course not. It’s just incredibly unlikely.”
“Which doesn’t make anything better. They could still be at the church. Anna, Parijahan, and Rashid could be dead, and now we’re lost in the middle of the mountains slowly freezing to death.” Distantly, she knew she was panicking. Everything was falling through her fingers and she was powerless to stop it. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen.
Malachiasz sat down beside her, careful to keep space between them, but she could feel heat radiating off him and it was almost enough for her to lean into him. Almost.
She dropped her head into her hands. There had to be a way out of this. She would risk returning to the church for Anna, she had to. After that, she had nothing. She could continue running, it was apparently all she was good at.
Or she could end this. She glanced at Malachiasz, who returned the look, eyebrows lifting.
“Would killing the Tranavian king destroy the Vultures as well?”
He shook his head. “They have their own king, the Black Vulture.” He caught the disappointment on her face because he was quick to continue. “You can rattle the order, Nadya. You already have.”
“The Vultures destroyed my country’s clerics,” Nadya whispered. And he was one of them.