Wicked Saints Page 2

  “Nadezhda!” Marzenya’s warning came too late. Flames engulfed her, licking underneath her skin, her blood boiling. Pain blackened her vision. She stumbled, and Kostya caught her, slipping them out of the fray right before she crashed to her knees in the shadows of the chapel doorway. She gritted her teeth, catching the inside of her lip; blood coated her mouth, metallic and sharp. She struggled to breathe. It was like being burned alive from the inside out.

  Just when she thought she could take no more, Veceslav’s presence swept in, enveloping Nadya like a heavy blanket. He soothed out the magic, pushing it away until she could breathe. She hadn’t called on him; he had simply known.

  She didn’t have time to be shaken by the gods’ omnipresence. She struggled to her feet, her limbs trembling. The world spun dangerously, but it didn’t matter. Whatever that had been, it had come from a powerful mage. She scanned the courtyard and when she found him, her once-boiling blood froze.

  Oh, she had made a horrible mistake.

  I should have hidden.

  Thirty paces away, at the entrance to the courtyard, stood a Tranavian with a bloodied piece of paper crumpled in his fist. A vicious scar slashed over his left eye. It started at his temple and ended just at his nose. He watched the violence with a slight sneer. Nadya didn’t need to notice the red epaulets and gold braiding of his uniform to recognize him.

  There were whispers of the Tranavian High Prince throughout the monastery. A boy made general a mere six months after venturing to the front when he was sixteen years old. One who had used the war to fuel his already terrible grasp of blood magic. A monster.

  Every doubt Nadya had pressed away crashed back on top of her. This couldn’t be real, not the High Prince; not him.

  He was young, only a few years older than her, with the palest eyes she had ever seen. As if sensing her, those pale eyes met Nadya’s and his lips twisted into a wry smile, his gaze straying to the magic swirling like light at her palms.

  She let out a stream of curses.

  I need … I need something powerful, she prayed frantically. He’s going to come for me. He’s looking right at me.

  “You risk injuring the faithful,” Marzenya replied.

  The world tilted. Black tunneled Nadya’s vision at the corners. The courtyard was a nightmare. Crimson splattered snow, the bodies of those Nadya had lived, worked, prayed with, fallen and broken across the stones. It was a slaughter and it was her fault. The Tranavians wouldn’t be there if not for her. If she died, would that make this massacre worth it?

  The prince started across the courtyard toward Nadya, and her panic blanked out everything else. If he took her, what would her blood give him? What could he do with the magic she had? There were so many Tranavians, they had so much magic, and everyone she knew was going to die.

  Kostya shoved her back into the shadows. Her magic slipped away as her back slammed against the door.

  “Nadya,” Kostya whispered, looking frantically over his shoulder. The prince was out of sight but he had so little space to cross. There was no time left. It was over. Kostya tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You have to go, Nadya, you have to run.”

  She stared at him, horrified. Run? After everyone she loved had been cut down she was supposed to flee to safety? What would that make her, if she ran to save herself? The monastery was the only home Nadya had ever known.

  “You have to go,” Kostya said. “If you fall to him the war will be lost. You have to live, Nadya.”

  “Kos—”

  He kissed her forehead, lips warm, slipping something cold and metallic against her palm. “You have to live,” he repeated with a rasp. Then he turned away to call out to Anna. Nadya dropped what he’d given her into her pocket without looking at it.

  Anna fought a few paces away, bodies piling around her feet. Her head whipped up when she heard her name. Kostya jerked his head in Nadya’s direction and understanding cleared Anna’s features.

  Kostya turned back toward Nadya, an expression on his face she had never seen before. He opened his mouth to speak only to violently jerk forward, his knee buckling out from underneath him. A crossbow bolt stuck out the back of his leg.

  A scream ripped out of Nadya’s throat. “Kostya!”

  “Time to go, Nadya.” Anna grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the path leading to the graveyard.

  I can’t leave Kostya. Kostya who, when they’d first met, had considered her unusual gift with a serious expression before wisecracking that she could never do a single bad thing in her life, else the gods would know immediately. Kostya, who disregarded her status with the divine and cajoled her into all manner of pranks and mischief. Kostya, the boy who rolled apples to her during prayer. Kostya, her friend, her family.

  He waved a hand at them to go, pain vivid in his face. Nadya struggled against Anna, but the priestess was stronger. Not Kostya. She was losing everything, she couldn’t lose him, too.

  I will not trade my safety for his life.

  Her throat closed with tears. “I won’t leave him!”

  “Nadya, you have to.”

  She couldn’t break free. She could only stumble as Anna pulled her to a mausoleum, kicking the door open. The last thing she saw before Anna pulled her into the dark was Kostya, his body shuddering as another bolt thudded into him.

  2

  NADEZHDA

  LAPTEVA

  When the faithful turned to the god of protection against a wandering horde from the north, they expected his blessing, only to be slaughtered in the war that followed. Their folly was in forgetting Veceslav was also the god of war, and iron must be tested.

  —Codex of the Divine, 4:114

  Anna pushed past Nadya, slamming the door closed and barring it. Nadya struggled to stop her—Kostya was going to die if she didn’t do something—but Anna moved in front of the door, blocking Nadya’s way.

  “Nadya,” she pleaded softly, everything she wasn’t saying thick in her voice.

  This had always been a possibility; Nadya knew her friends were willing to die for her. The only thing she could do now was make sure their deaths were not in vain. Mourn the loss later, survive now.

  She clenched her fists and turned away. Stairs descended into darkness before her. She nearly tripped on the first step and learned the hard way just how far down they went. Anna grabbed her arm to steady her and she realized the priestess was shaking.

  “Can you get us some light?” Anna asked. There were tears in her voice, just barely restrained.

  The darkness was choking, but Nadya found the silence even more disconcerting. There was nothing, even though the battle raged on just outside. They should be able to hear the clash of metal and screams of battle nearby, but all was quiet.

  Light Nadya could do. She pulled at her necklace, finding Zvonimira’s bead and the candle flame that marked the goddess of light. She sent up a weak prayer; nothing but a feeble petition for something that could not save them.

  A thread of holy speech moved through her lips in a whisper as Zvonimira acknowledged the prayer. White light sparked at her hands. Pressing her fingertips together, she formed a ball of light that could be spun into the air, illuminating the space around them.

  “Golzhin dem,” Anna cursed under her breath.

  Helpless, Nadya could do nothing but follow as Anna started down the steps. Her best friend was probably dead. Everything she had ever known destroyed. Each time she blinked the High Prince’s cold smile flashed before her. She would never be safe again.

  I would take months of carving out a mountain of potato peels over this.

  Nadya didn’t know if any of the nearby military camps were still standing, or if the Tranavians had ravaged them as they moved deeper through the country. If she could make it to the capital city of Komyazalov and the Silver Court, there was some hope, but she doubted it possible with the High Prince only steps away.

  Nadya was supposed to remain a secret for another year, training in the holy mou
ntains with priests who—while they did not have magic themselves—understood the fundamentals of divinity. Like how a peasant girl could be the one thing that would save Kalyazin from the heretics’ torches. But war didn’t care for carefully laid plans.

  Now the war had taken everything from Nadya, and she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Her heart ached, the vision of Kostya staggering with crossbow bolts slamming into his body the only thing she could see.

  Anna led her down the stairs and into a long, dank tunnel. It didn’t look like anyone had been down here in decades. After a few minutes of silent walking, Anna paused in front of an aged wooden door set into the wall. She shoved her shoulder into it until it opened with a pained groan. Dust rained down on their heads, spattering Anna’s headscarf like snow.

  Inside was a storeroom filled with traveling clothes, racks of weapons, and shelves of carefully preserved food.

  “Father Alexei was hoping this place would never be necessary.” Anna sighed wistfully.

  Nadya caught the warm violet tunic and pair of dark brown trousers Anna lobbed at her. She pulled them over her thin garb. Anna tossed her a thick, woolen black coat and a fur-lined hat. Anna pulled on her own set of clothes before she moved to the weapons rack. She gave Nadya a twin set of ornate voryens. She paused, staring at the blades in Nadya’s hand, then wordlessly handed her a third, considered further, then a fourth.

  “You lose them all the time,” she explained.

  That was true enough. Nadya strapped two of the blades to her belt and slid the other two into her boots. At least she would be armed when the prince caught her. Anna pulled a venyiornik from the weapons rack—a long, single-edged sword—and strapped it to her hip.

  “That should do,” she murmured. She took two empty bags and started to carefully pack them with food. “Strap those bedrolls and that tent to the bags, would you?”

  The entire room shook, a deafening crash coming from the direction of the doorway. Nadya yelped in surprise. She ducked her head into the hallway. Nothing but darkness. Anna carelessly dumped a shelf of preserved food into one of the packs.

  Panic clutched at Nadya’s chest. The tunnel wasn’t very long. The Tranavians could be there in moments.

  Anna shouldered one of the packs and moved out into the tunnel. The world shifted dangerously as words in a rapid-fire language Nadya only barely understood floated down from the direction they had just come.

  She didn’t need to understand the words or recognize the voice. It was the prince. It had to be. She could not last against him.

  Then she was running, running, running after Anna. She had to trust that the priestess knew the twists and curves of the tunnel; she had to trust that wherever this led wouldn’t just spill them out into a company of Tranavians.

  The sound of magic striking the walls hissed behind them. Something brushed Nadya’s ear, heat coming off it in waves. It slammed into the curve of the tunnel before her, bursting into a shower of sparks. He was close; he was too close.

  “Tek szalet wylkesz!” The shout echoing through the tunnel didn’t sound angry. If anything it sounded amused. A laugh rang out, clear and sardonic.

  Nadya slowed just long enough to look back into the darkness. A pattering sound came from within the black. It started slow but rose in intensity, sounding not like one but many things. Many moving things. She squinted. A thousand small flapping wings.

  Anna yanked her down just as a teeming mass of bats swarmed into the cramped space of the tunnel.

  Nadya’s light spell cut off, plunging them into a living, moving darkness. The bats caught their hair and tore at any unprotected skin. Nadya followed Anna blindly, the priestess’s hand in hers the only thing she had that was not the living darkness. It was like being swallowed alive by the dark.

  They were trapped within the shifting flurry of wings and claws until finally Anna slammed through a doorway and the girls and the bats went spilling out into the snow.

  The bats disappeared into wisps of smoke the second they hit the fading light. Nadya jumped to her feet, helping Anna up. Her gaze was fixed on the opening, the yawning slash of black against the glaring white snow of the mountainside.

  “We need to move,” Nadya said, backing away from the cave entrance.

  She glanced at Anna, concerned when she didn’t get a response. Anna stared at the open doorway. No Tranavians appeared.

  We’ll die if we don’t move. Nadya lifted a hand as the other scrambled for her necklace, catching on the right bead. She sent a simple prayer to Bozidarka, the goddess of vision. A vivid image took over her sight. The prince, leaning back against a stone wall, a nasty, sneering grin on his face, his arms crossed over his chest. At his side, glaring at the opening of the tunnel, a short girl with black hair cut severely at her chin, a spiked patch over one of her eyes.

  Nadya snapped back to herself, vision clearing. Her head swam from the effort, eyes blurring until there was nothing but the white of the snow. Swaying unsteadily on her feet, she exhaled, centering herself. The Tranavians weren’t following them. She didn’t know why, but she wouldn’t question it. They would come soon enough.

  “We’re safe for now,” she said, exhausted. No more magic. Not until after she’d slept.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Anna murmured.

  Nadya shrugged, looking out over the severe mountainside. Snow was piled high, and where they were standing the trees were sparse. There was little to use for cover when the Tranavians finally ventured out from the tunnels.

  Anna gasped and Nadya turned. She tried to steel herself, but when her gaze drew up toward the top of the mountains, it still felt like a punch in the stomach.

  Black clouds of smoke billowed up from a point high in the summit. It filled the sky as though to swallow it completely. Nadya’s knees gave out from underneath her and she dropped down into the snow.

  Kostya was gone.

  Everything was gone. It was as if there were a gaping wound where Nadya’s heart should be, a void in her chest that had sucked everything away leaving her with absolutely nothing. She had nothing.

  She dug a fingernail into her palm, letting the sharp pain clear her head just long enough to blink away her tears. Tears were useless. There wasn’t time to mourn, even though she wanted to. They couldn’t win this war; the Tranavians were going to take everything and burn Kalyazin to ash. Fighting felt useless.

  Why didn’t the gods stop this? She refused to believe this destruction was the will of the gods. They couldn’t have wanted this.

  Nadya startled as Anna slipped her hand into hers.

  “Iron must be tested,” Anna said, quoting the Codex. “We cannot know the gods’ intentions.”

  Intentions were not always kind nor just.

  As if conjured, Marzenya’s warm presence slipped over Nadya like a cloak, but the goddess did not speak. Nadya was grateful for the silence. Any words would only ring hollow to her mere mortal ears.

  Giving up now would mean everyone in the monastery had died for nothing and Nadya couldn’t allow that. She rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a small pendant on a delicate, silver chain. Drawing it closer, she found numerous spirals all swirling into each other and disappearing in the center of the pendant. She had never seen it before, and she made a study of knowing every symbol of the gods.

  What had Kostya given her?

  “Do you know what this means?” She held out the chain to Anna, whose eyes narrowed as she took the pendant.

  She shook her head slowly, handing it back. Nadya slipped it over her head, letting the cool metal settle against her skin underneath her clothes. It didn’t really matter what it meant. It mattered because it was from Kostya. Because he had looked at her with an expression that could only be described as longing, he had kissed her forehead, and he had died so she could escape.

  This wasn’t fair. War wasn’t fair.

  Nadya turned away from her burning home. She would escape so Kostya wouldn’t have die
d for nothing. That had to be enough, for now.

  They would have to travel all night to put enough distance between them and the Tranavians.

  “We need to head to Tvir,” Anna said.

  Nadya frowned, tugging her hat down over her ears. Tvir was to the east. East was Tranavia. East was the front. “Wouldn’t Kazatov be wiser?”

  Anna messed with the scarf over her hair, adjusting the headband and temple rings. “We need to get you to the closest camp and Kazatov is too far north. Your safety is my top priority. The king would have our heads if anything happened to you.”

  “Well, the Tranavians have the heads of everyone in the monastery already.”

  Anna winced, shooting her a wounded look. “General Golovhka can decide what we do from there,” she said slowly.

  Nadya didn’t like it. She didn’t want to be tugged around, endlessly shuttled to safety only so others could die in her stead. She should be fighting. But if Tvir was the closest camp, then to Tvir they would go.

  Anna glanced at her, sympathy in her long, dark eyes. She looked over her shoulder, expression fracturing. Nadya couldn’t look back. She had seen enough destruction and if she looked back again it would break her completely.

  “Let’s worry about finding shelter first, yes? There’s an abandoned chapel nearby. We can reach it within a day or so. We’ll figure out what to do from there.”

  Nadya nodded wearily. She was too tired to fight or panic about her seemingly inevitable capture by the single person who should never have access to her power, who never should have known she even existed.

  All she could do was put one foot in front of the other, pretend it wasn’t so cold she could feel frost icing her lashes, and pray. At least she was good at prayer.

  3

  SEREFIN

  MELESKI

  Svoyatovi Ilya Golubkin: Born a farmer’s son, Ilya was struck with a disease that prevented him from walking. Healed by a cleric of Zbyhneuska, he was imbued with superhuman strength and went on to become a warrior monk. Ilya single-handedly protected the city of Korovgrod against invaders from across the sea.