“I’ve never had someone worry about me before,” Malachiasz mused.
Nadya contemplated pitching herself into the water.
“Well, don’t look to me to be the first,” she replied.
He smiled. The breeze caught his hair, sending it out like tendrils of black smoke through the air.
“Our plan is as sound as it can be under the circumstances,” he said. “Rawalyki are underhanded affairs. They draw the brightest and best into the heart of the city and after a mess of dramatics and sometimes blood a new consort is chosen. It’s one of the only times the palace is accessible to nobility who are not in the upper reaches of the social spheres.”
He was right, there was nothing further they could do at this point. Malachiasz had drilled her on court niceties until she felt like her brain was melting. Parijahan had taught her all she knew from growing up in a Travasha.
“Nobles are nobles,” she had said, waving a hand. “Regardless of where they come from. The pettiness of court transcends all cultural boundaries.”
Nadya was, for all intents and purposes, ready. She wished she felt it.
“You have to trust me,” Malachiasz said. “Once we get inside, the moment where we can get close enough to strike will present itself. We’ve come this far, getting into Tranavia was half the battle.”
She didn’t want to trust him. Especially not after seeing him for what he was.
“Is … that something you can control?” she asked, knowing he would know what she was talking about. “It’s not sparked by a certain time or incident?”
“I’m not a wolivnak, Nadya.”
Wolf changers whose transformations were sparked by the cycles of the moon. She rolled her eyes. “Our word for those is zhir’oten.”
“Well, I’m not one of those,” he said primly.
“Oddly, I get the distinct impression you’re worse.”
He laughed. “You’re probably right.”
“There’s more to that form than what I saw, isn’t there?” She wasn’t sure how willing he would be to talk about this. His relaxed smiles did not mean he would answer her questions.
He nodded. “Not for every Vulture, but for me, yes.”
“It felt horribly wrong,” she said, feeling a shudder ripple through her.
He shrugged. “It really depends on what you mean by wrong.”
“Monstrous.”
“I am a monster,” he said gently.
Her brow furrowed and she leaned her elbows on the railing, putting her chin in her hands.
Malachiasz angled his head back against the wind. “Tranavians value power and status above everything. It doesn’t matter how that power is reached or what measures are taken to gain it. Monsters are seen as an ideal, because monsters are powerful, more than human.” He held his hand out and his nails lengthened to iron claws. “Your people strive for divinity?”
She nodded, though it was an oversimplification.
“That is not a great deal different. It’s striving for something that would be more than human.”
“But not at the expense of killing people.”
“Kalyazi kill Tranavians every day and do not see it as a problem. Kalyazi were killing Tranavians long before this war began, and it was not an issue then either.”
She whirled on him, anger flashing hot. His people were heretics and murderers and he would not twist her words on her. “It’s not the same as torturing prisoners of war,” she snapped.
He took her chin in his hand, his nails cold and sharp against her skin. He could press a little harder and rip open the flesh of her jaw. Her heart sped up, but she couldn’t tell if it was from fear or something else.
“Perhaps not,” he whispered, leaning down closer. She felt his warm breath feather her face. “Perhaps we should have this conversation again when you have tasted real power.”
His hair brushed against her cheek, his mouth hovering so near to hers that she could feel her lips trembling. Her knees felt weak. His gaze lingered on her lips. The corner of his mouth twitched up and he leaned back.
He nodded over her shoulder, turning her head so she could see the city glittering behind them. “Welcome to Grazyk, Józefina,” he said. “Now the real trial begins.”
* * *
Nadya couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.
Her prayer beads were safely in her pocket, so she clutched at the necklace Kostya had given her. What would Kostya say if he saw her now? Caught up in a plan forged by a group of potentially mad teenagers, a mask on her face made of leather painted white and stamped with impressions of thorns.
He would tease her, scold her, tell her she was getting in over her head. She missed him.
Marzenya had warned her the gods’ presence while in Tranavia would be limited, but Nadya felt their absence like a physical wound in her side. As though the gods were ripped from her as soon as she stepped over the border. When she stretched she could brush against Marzenya’s touch, but it took effort. It would be difficult to cast magic. She felt utterly and completely alone.
The entire city was shrouded in a stifling fog. Nadya could feel the blood magic that had caused such an oppressive taint in the air. It was difficult to breathe. This was why she was here, though, to rip apart that veil, to draw the gods back into this heathen country.
Once they entered the city, Nadya was overwhelmed by the sounds and crowds. She stuck close to Parijahan, grabbing her arm at times to keep from being separated. Unlike the villages they had passed through where the people looked worn and half-starved, everyone in the city dressed in rich, colorful clothes. Most wore masks over their faces—fanciful adornments that hid their identities. They were all nothing more than faceless enemies.
The closer they got to the palace grounds, the more agitated Malachiasz became. Nadya could feel her own nervousness feeding off his. She grabbed his wrist when they were near the palace gates, pressing down hard at the base.
She lifted her eyebrows when he shot her a questioning look. The magic they had cast on each other was all that would keep them safe; they had to trust in it. Nadya had anchored her safety to him and he would have to do the same for her. It was clear he didn’t want to return to a place so near the Vultures, but he had to trust her spell would not falter. Finally he let out a long breath, the tension bleeding out of him. She let go of his wrist.
The guards at the palace gates went over Nadya’s paperwork so meticulously that she convinced herself they were going to be arrested on the spot. A bead of sweat dripped down her spine. Rashid didn’t appear concerned, but Nadya had learned the boy had a knack for calm in a similar way Parijahan did. She wondered what it was that allowed the Akolans to stare headlong into potential disaster without flinching.
After ten agonizing minutes, the guards waved her through the gates. Nadya wanted to collapse against Parijahan in relief, but she merely took the papers back from the guard and stepped past them.
Nadya felt Malachiasz tense when a massive black cathedral at the side of the grounds came into view. Its spires could be seen in the distance even past the overbearing palace with its glittering towers. She nudged the back of his hand, forcing his gaze away. He shot her a strained smile.
An attendant bustled out from the main palace doors, taking the steps with a grace that Nadya envied. Suddenly she was being swept through the doors and any chance she had to back out was gone.