That left just Nadya and Malachiasz.
“You should go as well,” she said softly.
She could feel his gaze burning against her face, but she refused to look at him. She saw him stand and move toward the door out of the corner of her eye, but he changed his mind. Instead, he dropped down into a crouch in front of Nadya’s chair so he was looking up at her.
“I acted without trusting your judgment, and for that I apologize,” he said.
It’s not an apology for murdering that girl, she noted. But it was a start. It was something from this boy who obviously had no morals and no regard for anything that didn’t serve his own interests. She just wished she could understand what those interests were.
“Nadya,” he started, then stopped. He let out a frustrated breath.
Inexplicably, she felt herself soften. She reached out and threaded her fingers into his soft black hair, letting her hand settle against the side of his head.
Why—after being so furious with him—did she find herself desperately yearning to kiss him? The heat of anger that he sparked was still fresh in her veins and yet she couldn’t help but gaze at the bow of his lips.
She was feeling too many things in too little time. She wanted it all to stop. She wanted whatever this was she felt for him to stop.
If he was startled by her actions, he didn’t show it. He let another moment pass between them—fraught with a tension still too new to her—before he spoke. “You have to trust me, Nadya,” he said, his voice low. “I know I am everything you have been taught to hate and more. I have done terrible things in my life. If I disgust you, I understand. But—”
“We have to work together,” Nadya whispered. “All four of us, or else this whole mess of a plan will go up in smoke and we’ll all be hanged for it.”
He leaned his head into her hand and she felt herself warm. To have another person react to her touch was a peculiar feeling, a connection she had never really had with anyone. The monastery didn’t encourage relationships; one’s devotion to the gods was more important.
This was a disaster. Anyone, anyone but him. Anyone but the enemy boy who had tormented her people, who was faithless, godless, monstrous. If she tore out her own heart would this stop? If that was the thing betraying her, then she would be rid of it. Anything to stop from being pulled to this terrible boy.
“It could be worse than hanging,” he mused.
She couldn’t help her strained laugh. “You would know.”
“And you and I need to come to an understanding,” he continued. “We can be enemies when all this is over.”
It was fairly clear now that enemies wasn’t quite what they were before, and an understanding probably wasn’t going to be what either of them wanted.
Maybe she had knocked her head during the duel, but she found herself sliding her other hand up his neck to cradle his cheek. He grew very still, as if he truly thought her a little bird and sudden movement might startle her away.
“What if I don’t want to be enemies when all this is over?” she asked softly, her voice betraying her by trembling. Her heart was pounding in her throat.
His expression didn’t falter. “Then we can come to a different understanding.”
“I think that would be best.”
To steady himself, he put his hands on either side of her, one brushing against her thigh. She tensed and he started to pull back, so before the moment slipped away she pulled him closer and kissed him.
Something unspooled within her chest, something she had kept close her whole life. This act—the pressure of his lips against hers, and the heat that flooded her veins—this was heresy.
And she wanted more of it. She twisted her fingers into his hair and felt his hand slip up to her waist. His lips were soft and he kissed her back tentatively.
Sighing, he pulled away again. A flush tinted his pale skin and his hand on her waist tightened a fraction. He pressed his forehead to hers.
“The understanding I had in mind was one that kept you safer than this, towy dżimyka,” he said, voice rueful.
“Oh so boring. I grew up in a monastery, I’ve been safe all my life,” Nadya replied.
An achingly mournful half smile caught at his lips and it took all of Nadya’s willpower not to kiss him again. He was struggling with the same pull. He lifted a hand and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, his touch burning down her cheek. His gaze tracked over her face, searching for something, but she wasn’t sure what.
Anyone but him, she thought again desperately, but she was still drowning from the touch of his lips.
She thought of the echoes of power she had drawn on during the duel. Her expression must have changed because Malachiasz’s eyes narrowed.
“Nadya?”
His spell book was still at her side and her hand moved to shift it onto her lap. She trailed her fingers over the cover. How did she put to words that she had tasted the darkness he harnessed and she was terrified? How best to let him know there was still a part of him that she found viscerally unsettling? She flipped it open, landing on a spell scrawled page.
“Did you feel it?” she asked.
He paled and leaned back on his heels, swallowing hard. He nodded.
“You knew this could happen.”
“I … did not. I thought nothing at all would happen if there was … no…”
“Blood,” she finished for him. “Except this is all a grand performance, no? So, of course there was.”
He seemed troubled for exactly seven seconds before the feral gleam returned to his eyes. “And? What was it like?”
“Horrible.”
He hesitated, then lifted his hand and gently pressed his fingers over hers. She wanted to move away, she wanted to pull him closer.
They stared at each other. He smiled slightly. “It helped, right? You never would have gotten out of that duel alive if not for my magic.”
The tension broke. She whacked his shoulder. He laughed.
“I have to go,” he said, straightening up. There was so much of him to straighten; he was so tall. “We’ll talk about this later? I’ll be honest, I have no idea what it means.”
“If we have a later,” Nadya muttered.
He softly ran a hand through her hair. “Even so. Dazzle the monsters, Nadya. You’ve already charmed the worst of the lot; the rest should be easy.”
She looked up at him, startled. He winked at her.
“I’m still mad at you,” she said, but the words felt flat.
“I know.” He grinned as he slipped his mask back over his face. He was gone before she could say anything more.
She pressed a hand to her lips, wrenching her eyes shut. There would be hell to pay for this.
22
SEREFIN
MELESKI
Svoyatovi Leonid Barentsev: A cleric of Horz, he lived in Komyazalov as an academic who taught the Codex of the Divine. It is believed Tranavian assassins poisoned him, but his body was never recovered nor found.
—Vasiliev’s Book of Saints
Serefin’s stomach dropped when he opened his door and Kacper staggered in. He looked haggard, like he hadn’t slept in days. Serefin steadied him, pulling him into his rooms and shutting the door.
It wasn’t safe for them to speak here and he had to be at dinner in an hour.