Serefin’s eyes narrowed. Kacper stiffened.
“What if the prince were a harder one to kill? Blood and blood and bone. What if those gods the Kalyazi worship aren’t gods at all? Demons of superstition, monsters and magic.”
“This is getting us nowhere,” Kacper grumbled. He put a hand on Serefin’s shoulder, trying to get him to leave.
Pelageya stared past Serefin’s shoulder. “You drive a spike into their neck. You wait until the wailing stops, you give them a draught of blood. Drink it! Drink it all, never mind whose it is for you will be dead in—ah, three, two, one. Again. Another. That one failed. That did not work. Mortals are so fragile, so easy to break, but blood … Blood and blood and bone. The Salt Mines work so hard, the Vultures so meticulous in their specific brand of torture. The answer is here. The answer has always been here. Gut the Kalyazi churches, melt their gold, grind their bones. Divinity and blood and blood and bone.”
Kacper’s hand tightened. Serefin could feel his speeding pulse through his fingertips.
Pelageya twitched. Her hand reached out, long fingers stretched into the air. “The girl. The girl and the monster and the prince … and…” She twitched again, waving her hand by her ear against some imaginary irritant. “And the … queen? Not a queen but a queen. The queen of the wraith or the dark. But no. Power and blood and this pageantry is just a facade and there is more, there is more. The signs will come as they do and they will be ignored or heeded but they are signs, only signs.”
“Serefin!” Kacper tugged on Serefin’s arm. He pulled away.
“You have time! Time is slipping but it’s there, it’s there, it remains to be captured. You take it, you hold it. The girl and the monster and the prince and the last one is wrong, the last one hides in the darkness, in the shadows. And maybe the boy made of gold and the boy made of darkness are mirrors. And maybe all will be swallowed by the things you hide from; maybe, maybe you will be consumed.” Pelageya abruptly stopped.
A heavy silence fell over the room, the only sound coming from the crackling fire. Serefin glanced at Kacper, who was staring at Pelageya with barely concealed horror on his face.
“Thank you, Pelageya,” Serefin murmured, his voice strained as he stood up.
“You are always welcome to return here, princeling,” she said sweetly. “But be warned, your father will notice, and you don’t want that.”
Serefin brushed a moth off his shoulder. The gray insect fluttered away and landed on the arm of Pelageya’s chair. She stared at it with interest as they left the room.
14
NADEZHDA
LAPTEVA
Zbyhneuska has healed dying men on battlefields, cured slow, killing illnesses, given vision to the blind. When Svoyatova Stefania Belomestnova’s head was cut off in battle, Zbyhneuska’s blessing healed her completely. But the goddess has never spoken; her voice has never been heard. If she ever speaks, all the good she has ever done will be unraveled.
—Codex of the Divine, 12:114
Zbyhneuska’s magic was enough to return Parijahan to her usual self. Rashid wanted to leave immediately, Malachiasz didn’t want to leave at all. Nadya decided they would give Parijahan a day to rest and then set off. Parijahan—being Parijahan—refused to sleep while they made plans, so she sat imperiously on what was left of the pile of pillows.
“How do we know the Vultures won’t try again?” Anna asked. “We’re in the same place they left us.”
“They won’t,” Malachiasz said.
“How do you know?”
“Because the Vultures cannot act against their leader. I fled from them, but I’m still one of them. I know exactly what they’ve been told to do.”
Oh. Nadya didn’t like how that sounded.
“How can we trust that you won’t turn us over to the Tranavians? What if you’re ordered?” Anna persisted.
Malachiasz merely looked tired. “Because wouldn’t I have done that already? I wouldn’t be here. Threads fray, even ones of magic created to command.”
Nadya pressed at Vaclav’s bead. Malachiasz was telling the truth.
“But you don’t care about that,” he continued. “You don’t care what would happen to me if I went back to Tranavia. You’re just a girl who’s done nothing but live in a monastery her whole life yet can’t see indoctrination when it’s right in her face, probably because it’s all she’s ever known.”
“Excuse me?” Nadya said. He couldn’t talk to Anna like that.
His pale eyes flashed. “They’ll just clear me out again.”
The room chilled.
“I was ten years old when the Vultures took me,” he said, his voice hard. “That’s all I know, because I don’t have anything left but my name. They always think it so benevolent of them. Take away everything that makes children human but let them keep their names as a reminder of everything they’ve lost.”
Horror trickled through her veins, replacing the anger. She thought of his whispers to himself, hushed words that sounded like his own name. Was it a reminder? Was he so close to losing that, too?
He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “If I go with you I cannot promise I will not destroy everything you are trying to accomplish. The magic that has frayed and allows me to act against them can very easily be reforged if they catch me.”
Except she couldn’t do this without him. No one else was going to be able to teach Nadya what she needed to know to fool the court. He sat down at the table, movements heavy. Clearly he realized that as well.
Malachiasz steepled his fingers together and pressed them against his lips. Nadya sat down across from him.
“How is your Tranavian?” he asked her, switching to his native tongue.
A beat. A second too long as Nadya translated his words in her head. He shook his head before she even had a chance to speak.
“You won’t get past the border if it takes you that long.”
“Nuicz zepysz kowek dzis,” she muttered under her breath.
He cracked a smile. “Well, your accent isn’t the worst I’ve heard.”
It took her a second to translate. She grinned.
“You can’t pause for so long, though,” he said. “We’ll practice in Tranavian until you get there.”
“How are you going to get around the fact that everyone I’m supposed to be avoiding knows exactly what I look like?” Nadya asked in halting Tranavian.
The way he slowly ran his eyes over her face forced her to look down at the table. She felt heat burning at her cheeks and frowned, thrown by her reaction.
“Your hair is distinctive; we’ll have to dye it.”
“I can manage that,” Parijahan said. Anna nodded in agreement.
“Everything else will be easy,” Malachiasz said. “A simple spell, nothing more.”
“A simple spell that the High Prince won’t see straight through?” Nadya asked. Her stomach roiled at the thought of wearing his magic on her skin for the next few weeks.
“Not if I’m the one writing it,” he replied.
“That reeks of overconfidence,” she muttered.