Blessed Monsters

by Emily A Duncan

  This didn’t make Serefin feel any better.

  23

  NADEZHDA LAPTEVA

  Marzenya knows the taste of blood.

  —The Letters of Włodzimierz

  Komyazalov was a city built on a swamp.

  Nadya hadn’t known that when they were discussing Zlatana and her swamp hags. It explained why Viktor had come with them, and Nadya still couldn’t decide how she felt about the boyar. He reminded her of the slavhka she had interacted with in Grazyk: shortsighted, strangely out of touch, and hopelessly obnoxious.

  “Built on the bones of a lot of people,” Parijahan had muttered, safely out of Katya’s earshot, when they were approaching the city.

  The bridge leading in was massive, able to hold multiple carriages and carts riding abreast, the swamp lurking just beneath. It made Nadya nervous, like the swamp was waiting to suck the city back under. How far was Zlatana’s reach? How would she take to having her swamps desecrated this way?

  But it would only be one more disaster in a series of oncoming storms. Little fatalities all in a row, Katya would mutter. It wouldn’t be one thing but many at once that they would be hopeless to stop.

  But she didn’t have time to dwell. Katya had led them into the city and Nadya was already overwhelmed by the noise.

  “How is this worse than Grazyk?” she asked Parijahan.

  Parijahan appeared sympathetic. Nadya was aware that she always showed how sheltered she was any time they traveled somewhere larger than a village.

  Vibrant wooden buildings lined the wide road. There were so many people, and from places in Kalyazin that Nadya could barely fathom. They passed a group outfitted in striking kaftans. The men’s were embroidered with wolves, and the women wore colorful scarves over their hair, not like the ones Nadya had; these were of finer, soft-looking silks.

  Katya made a noise as her gaze followed Nadya’s. “Chelnyans. From the west. They don’t usually venture this far east. A lot of religious differences.”

  Nadya raised her eyebrows. Katya returned the look with a shrug.

  “Maybe they worship the same gods under different names. To the Church, do you think it matters?”

  Nadya’s eyes drank in everything around her. Zhariks, from the south, with coins sewed to their hats and around their necks. Men in jewel-toned coats with eagles on their shoulders from the north. It was a stark reminder how little Nadya knew about her own country. There was so much more to the land and its people. So many who lived their lives without the war painting everything red. Maybe they didn’t care how the war ended. Maybe Katya was right, their gods were hers under different names.

  She wouldn’t know. She was only ever given the information that would push her in the direction of the Church’s agenda. And Alena had said the gods worked in reflection.

  It was a troubling thought. Some things were too big and too weird, and some questions were meant to go unanswered. What if all of this was truly a chaos of their own making?

  A group of people on the finest horses Nadya had ever seen went riding past and Katya tensed.

  “Aecii,” she murmured. “Interesting.”

  Nadya knew there was trouble brewing there. At least she knew one thing.

  She was rattled further when they made it to a large stone wall, and she realized what they had ridden through wasn’t even the city proper. It was unfathomable to Nadya. All those people and animals, foul smells meeting the occasional scent of fresh bread in the air.

  “I will get too many questions if I show up with all of you,” Katya said. The palace was in sight, a massive sprawling structure with high onion domes. “Nadya, you come with me. Viktor, do me yet another favor?”

  “My household can survive a few guests,” Viktor replied, clearly anticipating her question. “It’s hardly a favor, Katya.”

  Katya tapped Ostyia’s arm. “Stay out of sight. I’d rather not explain you at all if I can help it.”

  Ostyia frowned. “If I knew what was good for me, I’d escape.”

  “And miss out on my exquisite company? You wouldn’t.”

  Ostyia rolled her eye, all-suffering, when Katya leaned over and kissed her cheek, but she was smiling when she went off with Viktor.

  Parijahan very clearly did not want to be split up from Nadya, but Katya wouldn’t hear any arguments.

  “Considering the current state of your country, the last thing I need are missives from a Travash showing up at the palace asking after you,” Katya explained. Parijahan eventually went after Viktor in a huff, Rashid in tow.

  “We’re staying in the palace?” Nadya squeaked as she hurried after Katya.

  “Obviously,” the tsarevna replied over one shoulder.

  Why couldn’t Nadya stay with Viktor, too? She’d had enough of palaces. Too big, too crowded, too easy for Nadya to get lost in.

  Like the rest of the city, it was made of wood, but it was so much bigger than anything Nadya had ever seen before. It sprawled in a way that not even the palace in Grazyk had, and was so much more joyful painted in bright colors, with high arches and tall domes.

  Nadya realized she had stopped and was staring, and Katya was halfway across the courtyard. She ran after her in time to see her bowled over by two wildly excited, lean, thin-faced dogs. Nadya couldn’t tell if they were saying hello or trying to eat her. She decided to keep her distance until one of them broke off and went tearing toward her.

  “He wants to say hello!” Katya called, now on the ground at the receiving end of the other dog’s frantic tongue.

  Nadya tentatively patted the dog, who was practically vibrating. When the dog gave an earnest whine, she laughed and sat down to let the beast say hello as it wanted.

  “That’s Barhat, and this is Groznyi.”

  Nadya frowned. “Terrible?”

  “He’s the worst!” Katya said happily, ruffling the dog’s fur. “All right, leave her alone,” she said, hauling Barhat away from Nadya. “I’m sure you boys aren’t supposed to be in the courtyard anyway.”

  “Vashnya Delich’niy, we were not expecting you!” A tall woman with a severe demeanor and a long blond braid was approaching from across the courtyard. Her letnik was the richest Nadya had ever seen. A deep burgundy with embroidery down the front and cuffed with fur. Her kokoshnik was simple, but Nadya had a feeling that was only because it was for day-to-day wear. No jewels were encrusted in the headdress, but the cream fabric was intricately embroidered with crimson thread.

  Nadya got to her feet, grateful when one of the dogs moved over to her again and she could use him as a shield. Katya glanced at Nadya’s hand—safely gloved—and a glimmer of relief crossed her features.

  Nadya wasn’t about to get herself put on a pyre her first day in the capital. Wait until the third or fourth day, at least.

  “Iryna, dozleyena,” Katya called. She squinted against the sun glaring off the pale stones of the courtyard. “I meant to send a message, but I lost my company somewhere in the eastern provinces.”

  Nadya experienced a blistering memory of Malachiasz sheepishly telling a Tranavian soldier he’d lost his company in the mountains. She shook it off.

  The woman lifted an eyebrow. “I’m sure you did. Your father isn’t here.”

  Something flickered on Katya’s face. Something Nadya didn’t wholly recognize but which reminded her of the look Serefin would get anytime his father was mentioned.

  “He’s not?” A beat of uncertainty that Nadya had never heard from Katya before.

  “He went to Torvishk. He should return in a few weeks.”

  Katya sighed. “The springs?”

  The woman nodded.

  “How is he?”

  “Not a conversation for the courtyard, and you know it.”

  Katya fell quiet before continuing. “Ah, Iryna. This—” She hesitated almost imperceptibly. “—is Nadezhda.”

  The woman nodded dismissively. Nadya lifted her chin, refusing to shrink inside herself. She knew what this woman was seei
ng. Her tunic was torn at the collar, the crimson belt around her waist dirty. Her coat was open to the cold and she wore no headscarf, her hair instead in its usual braid crown, messy strands coming loose—they had been riding all day. She was worn down, defeated, bruises yellowing across her skin. She was small and broken and nothing like the girl meant to save a country from the war burning through it.

  Then her brain caught up. Katya hadn’t given the woman her full name. Iryna had no idea who she was. She blinked, but Katya had already barreled on ahead.

  “Nadya, this is Iryna Chernikova, she makes sure everything around here doesn’t burn to the ground around our ears.”

  “To put it exceptionally simply,” Iryna said. She inclined her head slightly to Nadya. “Well, come with me.”

  Nadya, bewildered that she didn’t want to know more than her name, followed her into the palace.

  Where she was promptly bowled over.

  “Naden’ka!”

  It took Nadya’s brain no time to realize who had slammed into her, smelling of incense and apples, or for tears to flood her eyes, as they both crashed to the ground.

  “Oh, gods, Annushka.” She wrapped her arms tightly around the priestess, burying her face against the other girl’s neck. “I never thought I would see you again.”

  Anna leaned back, tears in her dark eyes. She touched Nadya’s hair, her face, took her hands. “You made it. I never thought—we heard what you did but then everything went dark and I thought—I thought you were gone.” She grabbed Nadya and pulled her into another embrace. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” Nadya said softly, voice trembling. This was going to be the thing that finally broke her, because the thrill of finding Anna was immediately crushed by the knowledge that she would have to tell her everything. It had gone so terribly with Kostya, she couldn’t imagine it would go well with Anna.

  “Oh, you’re probably exhausted, I should let you find your rooms.”

  Nadya reluctantly let Anna go. Anna stood up and held her hands out to her, hauling her to her feet. She frowned at the glove on Nadya’s left hand—there wasn’t one on her right—but said nothing.

  Her hair was covered in a headscarf, iron temple rings on either side. Anna took a long look at her and Nadya waited for her expression to falter, for her to note her weary gaze, but Anna only smiled and pressed her forehead to Nadya’s.

  “I want to hear everything.”

  “Annushka—”

  “Even the bad, Nadya. I—well, a lot has been happening and I think none of it will come as a surprise.”

  Nadya shook her head.

  “I thought so.”

  “Oh! Parijahan and Rashid are here! I don’t know where, they went off with a boyar we traveled with, but they’d probably like to see you.”

  Anna grinned. “I’d like that!” Curiosity filled her eyes. “What about—”

  “A long story,” Nadya said. “He’s…”

  Katya cleared her throat. “No.”

  Nadya rolled her eyes.

  “Have some tact, Nadezhda,” was her reply.

  Anna laughed softly. “We’ll talk. I promise.”

  Suddenly the prospect didn’t fill her with dread like it had with Kostya. Nadya missed him so much. She’d treasured the times when things had been better between them. When Malachiasz had been elsewhere and she and Kostya could talk without tension. But Malachiasz would inevitably return and Kostya would darken.

  It seemed obvious now, why he had been so upset. He had wanted something that Nadya hadn’t. And she had turned away and fallen in love with a monster.

  She clutched Anna’s hands. “Come with me?” Nadya asked.

  “Of course.”

  Katya, who had come up beside them with Iryna while they were still on the ground, gave a very put out sigh.

  “Oh, and this is Katya. She’s the tsarevna.”

  “Dozleyena, Vashnya Delich’niy,” Anna said.

  Always swayed by a pretty face, Katya grinned. “Anna, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lovely to meet you. My apologies, but we have been on the road for a very long time. I want a glass of wine and to sleep in a real bed.”

  “Will you need me?” Nadya asked.

  They were still in the entranceway and Nadya hadn’t truly taken it in. She had noticed the lush carpets, but now she saw the many icons hanging on the walls, and fear gripped her heart. What if they started crying like the others?

  “Honestly? I’m going to bed. If you want to also go to bed, I can ensure no one bothers you.”

  The thought of sleeping in a real bed was so sweet that Nadya almost broke down right there. The last stretch of their journey had been particularly miserable. She nodded emphatically. “Please.”

  “Iryna, you heard her.”

  “I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed,” Iryna said, sounding amused. “I’ll have food brought to your rooms, as well.”

  Katya took her energetic dogs and disappeared into the halls of the palace. Nadya tried to keep her bearings but was lost almost immediately.

  Iryna led Nadya to rooms that weren’t quite as spacious as her rooms in Grazyk had been, though still lush enough to be overwhelming. The woman took her leave, and Anna kicked the door closed.

  There was a sitting room with a bedroom attached to it. The stone floor was covered with furs to keep away the chill, and the chairs were upholstered with a dark blue brocade. There was no art adorning the walls or the ceilings, but Nadya found comfort in the relative simplicity. She missed her cell at the monastery.

  Nadya dropped her pack. It spilled open, Malachiasz’s spell book falling out. Anna lifted an eyebrow, picking it up.

  “Oh, that’s—”

  “I know what it is,” Anna said, flipping through it. “I’ve seen it before.”

  Nadya said nothing, letting Anna page through the book. She found some of Malachiasz’s sketches, her eyebrows tugging down.

  “Why do you have this?” she finally asked. She held it out to Nadya, who took it, hugging it to her chest.

  “He’s dead.”

  She expected a reaction like she’d gotten from Katya, but Anna only looked sad.

  “Oh,” she said softly. “I … gods, he was awful, but I know you saw something in him that I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

  “He might be alive,” Nadya continued. “He died in my arms, but I … everything is confusing and complicated.”

  Anna blinked. “What?”

  “It’s … well—I mean, death isn’t transient, it’s permanent, but it hasn’t been for…” she trailed off. “Serefin, Malachiasz, and me.”

  Anna waited for her to continue, puzzled.

  “We all died. We all came back.”

  “You died? Naden’ka, what? And, wait, the prince?”

  “He’s the king now,” Nadya replied quietly. “I—” she paused. “A lot happened the night we killed the king. After, I was trapped in Grazyk, but Serefin made sure nothing happened to me. When the slavhki figured out who I was, he got me out of the city. He could have had me hanged and saved himself a world of trouble, but he didn’t. With him on the throne, I—I don’t know—I think there’s a chance.”

  He’d killed Malachiasz, but she found everything she’d told Ostyia was true. She didn’t hate him for it. If anything, she understood what he had done.

  Anna lifted her eyebrows. She moved to a chair and sat down. Weariness deep in her bones, Nadya collapsed into the chair next to Anna.

  “Malachiasz was the Black Vulture—”

  “No.” Anna paled. “I punched him,” she whispered. “He didn’t even retaliate, he fled.”

  “That’s how he was.” He hadn’t retaliated because no one had expected him to. Anytime he could be Malachiasz and not the boy with the weight of an ancient cult on his fragile shoulders, he took it.

  Anna shook her head. “This is going to be a lot, isn’t it? Do you want to rest first?”

 
Nadya drew her legs up onto the chair, wrapping her arms around them. She had Malachiasz’s spell book wedged between her heart and her knees. She shouldn’t have it out in the open, but she couldn’t let go.

  There were no halting pauses and hesitant moments where she had to gather her thoughts. Instead, she pulled the glove off her hand and told Anna everything.

  24

  MALACHIASZ CZECHOWICZ

  He tells me how he will make this world anew. How sweet the goddess of the sun will taste. He takes a bit more from me each time. We cannot be stopped. There’s no one to stop us.

  —Passage from an anonymous account of a worshipper of Chyrnog

  Tranavia would burn if Chyrnog had his will, devoured right alongside Kalyazin. Malachiasz couldn’t stop this, it was hopeless. Chyrnog had him in all the ways that mattered. With each awakened one devoured, he would only grow stronger.

  But Malachiasz would grow stronger, too. He liked to think the god was underestimating him like everyone else did.

  He had considered leaving Serefin after Ruslan struck. It had taken no effort to take down Chyrnog’s priest and leave him unconscious in the study. He’d considered killing him, but the thought of Chyrnog’s retaliation stayed his hand. Killing him wouldn’t have stopped the spell he’d set into motion anyway. Malachiasz should have run, but he’d returned to the sanctuary with its marble floors and cracked walls and watched as something unmade the witch.

  He was in so far over his head.

  He still had the book Ruslan had shown him, slipped into his pocket with the hope that the boy wouldn’t notice its absence. He wasn’t planning on giving it back.

  Ruslan had recovered fast and entered the sanctuary, looking perturbed that his attempt to kill everyone had failed.

  “Did I make my point?” he asked Malachiasz pleasantly. He was cradling his bloody hand, another finger gone.

  Olya hadn’t yet woken and Malachiasz was dreading when she did. He swallowed, fully understanding what it was Chyrnog could do. If he had hesitated, the witch would have been destroyed, and his brother and his lieutenant would have been next.