Wicked Saints

by Emily A Duncan

  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.

  He smiled slightly. “That’s not the right word for that context, but you’re close.”

  Nadya winced. This was never going to work.

  “We can get into the palace by forging paperwork.”

  Before Nadya had a chance to ask how they were possibly going to accomplish that, Rashid perked up.

  “Leave that to me. I worked as the Travasha’s scribe in my youth. There is very little I cannot forge.”

  Nadya glanced at Parijahan for confirmation. She just grinned.

  “If she says she’s from a border town her accent will be less noticeable. Reasonable explanation will hide just about anything from unsuspecting eyes,” Malachiasz said.

  “But that will put her close enough to Kalyazin to instantly be suspicious,” Rashid argued.

  “If I’m traveling with two Akolans anyway, would it not stand to reason that I be from somewhere close to both borders?” Nadya interjected.

  Malachiasz nodded thoughtfully then abruptly stood and left the room.

  “Where’s he going?” Nadya asked, forgetting she was supposed to be speaking in Tranavian.

  “Tekyalzaw jelesznak!” She heard Malachiasz call from the other room. Wrong language.

  She rolled her eyes.

  He came back and unrolled a map on the table, using his spell book to hold it down on one end and Rashid’s elbow on the other. After frowning at the Tranavian side, he tapped at a point near where the Tranavian border met Akola.

  “Łaszczów,” he said. “It’s just far enough from Kalyazin that you won’t be instantly suspect, but near enough that a holdover of a Kalyazi accent might be possible.”

  “Are there any low royalty in the area?” Parijahan asked.

  Malachiasz shook his head. “Low nobility only. Inconsequential. The nearest low prince is in Tanów, which is farther north.”

  “So, it would be easily explained if Nadya didn’t know all the finer points of court life,” Rashid said.

  “If Józefina didn’t know, exactly,” Malachiasz confirmed.

  “Is that my name?” Nadya asked. “Did you come up with it yourself?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Józefina Zelenska. Your father, Luçjan, has tragically departed this world, but he died fighting for his country. Your mother, Estera, is an invalid, and,” he paused, thinking, “you have a younger sister named Anka.”

  Nadya blinked. “Did you just come up with all of that?”

  Malachiasz raised his eyebrows. “Yes, why?”

  How many false realities has he constructed for himself? she wondered. If all he had was his name and his magic, how many nights had he lain awake and wondered where the people he might have called family were? Who they were? This was easy for him. Just another false family that would never be real. She had to stop herself from crossing the suddenly paltry distance to where his hand rested on the table, black lines of ink tattooed on his pale fingers. The urge to give some small scrap of comfort to her enemy startled her enough that she dropped her hand down to her lap to better pretend like it never happened. His quick glance at the spot where her hand had once been only made her feel more like she was doing something she shouldn’t.

  Rashid shifted away from the map and Malachiasz gently shoved him back down so it wouldn’t roll up.
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  “Can you cast magic without using those beads?” Malachiasz asked.

  She fingered her necklace. “Not really.”

  “We’ll have to figure out how to work around that. What about,” he waved a hand over his mouth, “the symbols? Those make it too obvious you’re using magic.”

  “Oh, like how you cut your arm open and bleed over everything? Very subtle.”

  Parijahan snorted. Malachiasz’s expression wearied.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’ll speak to Marzenya. Perhaps she and I can come to an agreement,” Nadya said.

  “Also, if Rashid and Parijahan are posing as part of my entourage—”

  “I’m much too pretty to be a servant,” Rashid said with a sigh.

  Malachiasz shot him an amused look. “You could pose as nobility—”

  “No, Malachiasz,” Parijahan said quickly. “Too much paperwork. We’re already risking it with Nadya. I don’t want a keen slavhka who visited Akola’s courts recognizing me, and I definitely don’t want my Travasha hearing word that I’ve reappeared, so let’s change the context. I pose as Nadya’s maidservant, I hide in plain sight. I can swallow my pride for a short time.” She smiled wryly. “And so can Rashid.”

  “What about Anna?” Nadya asked.

  “I’m not coming with you,” Anna said softly.

  Nadya turned to her, speechless. Anna had to come with her. She couldn’t do this without her.

  Anna’s smile was tinged with acute melancholy. She had clearly been thinking about this for some time. She looked at Malachiasz. “Tranavia will be focused on the Rawalyk, won’t it?”

  “They’ve just pulled their prodigy tactician out of the war,” he said. “All of the country will have its eyes on Grazyk. There’s a good chance Tranavia is so confident victory is in sight that they will loosen their hold for the time it takes to see this ceremony through.”

  “I’m going to Komyazalov,” she said. “Or, at the very least, the biggest military base I can reach on the way while you all deal with this.” She pressed her index finger down on the map over Tranavia. “I’ll make sure Kalyazin is ready for what happens next. Besides, the prince knew we fled the monastery together. It’s better for me not to even be present to arouse any kind of suspicion.”

  Nadya leaned her head on Anna’s shoulder and willed herself to keep her tears at bay. She had thought at the very least she would have Anna beside her, but what Anna wanted to do was important—vital, even—so she wouldn’t argue against it.

  “Don’t go alone,” Nadya said in Kalyazi. Malachiasz didn’t chastise her for switching languages. “Come with us for at least a little while. There’s still a military presence to the east, right?”

  Rashid nodded.

  “Don’t travel through the mountains alone.”

  Anna cast her a long look. She didn’t want to make this harder, and it was already going to tear at them both to part. Anna was all Nadya had left of home, and now she was losing her, too. Finally, Anna nodded. Nadya relaxed, hooking her arm through the other girl’s.

  “What are you planning to do?” Nadya asked Malachiasz.

  He chewed on his thumbnail. It looked raw, the edges jagged and red. “I’ll get you into Grazyk, into the palace, whatever. We’ll figure it out from there.”

  That wouldn’t work. Every part of this needed to be spotless or they would be caught. She stared at him. Nadya knew she shouldn’t care about this Tranavian abomination sitting across from her. He was doomed in his fate just like the rest of the Tranavians—even more so, as he was a Vulture, one of the worst. But she stared anyway, at this boy—this strange boy with his tangled black hair and tattooed forehead—and half of her wanted to help him.

  The other half wanted to destroy him, but that half was strangely quiet.

  * * *

  Nadya sat outside in the cold gray mist of early morning, Malachiasz’s jacket around her shoulders. Though the Vulture attack had been only yesterday, it felt like years had passed. They would leave later in the morning. Anna had dyed Nadya’s hair a dark red, and she could feel the strands freezing against her neck. She tugged her necklace over her head and wrapped it around her hand.

  She had an idea—probably a very bad one—definitely one that would take a lot of effort on her part to keep Malachiasz safe in Tranavia.

  “You are asking me to shield a heretic,” Veceslav said. “Not only that, but one who has forfeited his soul for evil.”

  Now, that seems a touch melodramatic.

  “Nadezhda.” Veceslav’s tone was a warning. He thought Nadya was being utterly mortal, utterly petulant, utterly unlike how someone chosen by the gods should act.

  Nadya tugged Malachiasz’s jacket tighter around her shoulders. She hadn’t meant to keep it, but when she left to go outside she couldn’t find anything else.

  Yes. I am asking you to shield a Tranavian. If this is going to work—if you want the High King dead—then I need him to be protected.

  “You cannot presume to know our will,” Veceslav replied.

  Then what am I to do? If my methods are not right by you, I understand, but I cannot work miracles. I can only work magic. I am human. I am mortal. I am doing the best I can. I’m scared, Veceslav. All the time. I don’t know what’s going on or what I’m supposed to do. I’m just doing my best with the circumstance I have been given, with the power I’ve been given.

  He was silent. Nadya was discomfited by how cold he was being with her. He was one of the gods she could usually count on to be kind.

  “What are you proposing?” Veceslav’s voice was a welcome nudge at the back of her head.

  She let out a breath, watching it hiss out in the cold air before her.

  I need him to be able to return to Tranavia and hide amongst his kind in plain sight. If I am to wear his magic on my skin, then he must be forced to wear mine on his. She paused, considering further. The heretics cannot win this war and I fear they are close. If we protect this single Tranavian for the time being—abomination that he is—then we can cleanse Kalyazin of the heretics entirely.

  “Then you will be given the spells and magic to shield him from his enemies and yours.”

  Nadya noted his phrasing. It would do.

  Thank you, Veceslav.

  “You tread dangerous ground, child. Our touch on Tranavia is weak. If you journey there, you take yourself away from our protection. You must do your duty when you arrive.”

  Nadya shivered. Break Tranavia so the gods can return. Destroy it entirely, if that was what it took. And tell no one what she intended. The conversation was dropped when she heard footsteps crunching in the snow.

  “Can’t you do this inside where it’s warm?” Malachiasz settled himself down on the bench beside her. He looked sidelong at her. “I was wondering where that went.”

  She felt her face flame. “I don’t exactly have anything else at this point.”

  He laughed. Her face flushed even hotter. She ducked her head, confused by the queer feeling in her chest. It was the first time she had heard him truly laugh, and it struck her that she liked the way it sounded.

  “It doesn’t bother you to be wearing a heretic’s coat?”

  She rolled her eyes, but his words struck home and sent something churning within her. It should be bothering her to be wearing the enemy’s uniform, even if it was just a piece.

  “Why do you have a soldier’s coat?” she asked.

  “When I fled, it seemed rational to flee as a Tranavian soldier, not a Vulture. We’re a bit more conspicuous.”

  They grew quiet until only their breaths broke up the silence. She glanced at him. He was gazing at the statue of Alena with a contemplative expression on his face. His black hair was tied back, but a strand had worked its way free. She watched as he mindlessly lifted a hand to tuck the lock behind his ear only to have it fall back against his cheek.

  “I know how to help you cross the border,” she said. The words came out in a rush at th
e thought he might catch her staring. She unwrapped her necklace from her hand, stretching it out over her lap. She selected the right bead and held it up.

  “That is entirely meaningless to me,” he pointed out.

  “Veceslav is the god of protection and war.”

  “Odd combination.”

  She waved that away. “Protection can mean a lot of things. Protection can mean shielding all of you from Tranavia.”

  He looked skeptical. She searched for the right words. “You’re going to put a spell on me so everyone who sees me will see … someone else.”

  “More or less, yes.”

  “But if I were a blood mage, they would still be able to sense my magic, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Veceslav will disguise you as a weaker mage, or someone who has no magic at all. You could…” She searched for a scenario. “You could slip among the Vultures and they wouldn’t know.”

  He grimaced, reaching over to brush a fingertip against the bead in her hand. “If they catch me,” he said, his voice low against her ear, “they will pull the knowledge I have of you from my mind and set me after you to kill you.”

  Nadya swallowed hard, fear flooding through her. She resisted the urge to tuck his jacket closer around her. “I—I thought you were one of the strongest?” He never said it, but his demeanor implied it. He’d have to be to survive this long after defecting.

  “But I’m not the oldest, Nadya.” His pale eyes were faraway and one of his hands idly rubbed at his wrist where iron spikes had jutted from his skin. “I am so very young by comparison, and there are evils in this world far greater than I.”

  Her fingers closed over her necklace. “Don’t make me regret helping you,” she whispered. “Please.”

  He tilted his head back and she found her gaze drawn to the line of his throat, then he gave a lopsided smile. “I can’t guarantee that, towy dżimyka.” He stood. “We’re leaving soon. You and I can wait till we’re closer to the border to cast on each other.”

  “I’ll be right in. Maybe go see if there’s another coat in there for me,” Nadya said. She wasn’t sure what the pins on the left breast of his jacket meant, but she was fairly certain she didn’t want them this close to her body.