Blessed Monsters

by Emily A Duncan

  “I—” she started and stopped, turning to him. “Before we go out there and have to account for things neither of us have a good explanation for, I’m glad you’re here.” Her expression twisted. “I—I’m glad you’re fighting this.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  “Frankly, yes. His goals don’t seem much different from your own.”

  It was a blow and she knew it.

  “Right,” he said flatly, heat burning through his veins. He’d forgotten how infuriating she was. “I’m quite enjoying ravaging villages and consuming those with a bit of godstouched magic. It’s been great fun.”

  She flinched. “All to tear down a divine empire.”

  “You’re telling me you want it standing? After all this?” He got up, angrily jerking his tunic over his head. “Nothing has changed? Just going to continue with your divine delusion?”

  Her expression hardened and he hated how it thrilled him. She was delusional, but she was passionate.

  “It’s not that simple,” she snapped.

  “Seems pretty simple to me. Your goddess was going to murder you. You turned her power against her—”

  “I didn’t know you were going to kill her!” Nadya cried. She was clutching her necklace of prayer beads and tears welled in her dark eyes. “I was letting you escape. I didn’t…”

  He raked a hand through his hair, lightly distressed at how tangled it was. He carefully gathered the disaster back and tied it.

  “You knew, Nadezhda,” he said as he worked. “I’m not going to let you cling to all your fantasies. You had served your purpose.”

  Tears tracked down Nadya’s dirty cheeks. A pang of regret—he didn’t want to make her cry. But the tears were very clearly not directed at him.

  She wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “I didn’t know,” she muttered.

  “Many things, apparently, but we’ve established that.”

  “I didn’t know that was going to happen to your magic!”

  He found that very hard to believe. It was all lies.

  “Sure, Nadya.” His tone came out more final than he intended. She winced, then shook her head, slamming out of the room. He sighed, falling back onto the bed. It was still warm where she had been lying. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was so difficult with her.

  The door opened a few minutes later and someone perched on the bed. Rosewater and something sharp he’d never been able to put a name to met his nose.

  “Parj,” he said.

  “Fighting already?”

  “It’s all we know how to do.”

  He opened his eyes, lowering his hand from his face. The Akolan girl sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, wearing a muted crimson dress, Kalyazi in style. Her thick black hair was braided down one shoulder. She smiled. There was a mug cradled in her hands, steam pouring off it.

  “Serefin says you’re feeling a little less than human these days,” she continued.

  “Understatement,” Malachiasz said tersely.

  “What happens when he takes control?”

  Malachiasz shook his head. It wasn’t a feeling he wanted to describe. It was violation, it was torment. She made a soft sound.

  “Wrong question, I apologize. I guess I should be asking how long we can expect to have you this lucid?”

  It was impossible to say. Especially with Nadya so close. He knew what having her near was supposed to feel like and it was good, not this … gnawing hunger.

  “I don’t know, Parj.”

  “Malachiasz, we don’t have anyone here who can restrain you if you turn against us.”

  He sat up, shooting her a wounded look as he reached for the tea. She placed the mug in his hands.

  “Don’t give me that. We’re fully aware that having you around is like letting a tiger off its leash and hoping for the best.”

  “Do you have tigers in Akola?” he asked, taking a sip. It was sharp, almost spicy.

  “No, they’re farther south. I think they’re in the far north of Kalyazin? I’m not sure. But still.”

  But still. He understood her point.

  “Nadya could stop me,” he mused.

  Parijahan lifted an eyebrow. “You assume Nadya understands the breadth of her power.”

  “Parj, look at you, talking like a mage. Finally embraced it?”

  “You weren’t supposed to know about it.”

  “Bold of you to assume I can’t feel your rational magic pushing against my chaos.”

  Her eyebrows raised. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Figured it out sometime during the forest. I’m a little hurt you never told me. I’m more hurt Rashid never told me about his magic.”

  “That’s a conversation to have with him.”

  Probably. It explained a lot about the Akolans that he never could quite figure out. The gaps in Parijahan’s story.

  “That’s why they want you back, isn’t it? Not because you’re the heir, but because you can guarantee they’ll get whatever they want?”

  “I do love being nothing but a commodity for a power that I cannot even actively control.”

  “I’d get away, too, if I were you.”

  “You don’t want me to do the right thing anymore?”

  “Fuck the right thing.”

  She laughed. “No, Malachiasz, maybe don’t go that far.”

  He grinned. Her uncanny ability to always put him at ease being explained by magic did make him feel better. He liked when things had rational explanations.

  “You dodged the question of what we’re supposed to do if you snap,” she pointed out.

  “I sure did,” he said brightly, setting the tea on the side table and standing up.

  She groaned dramatically, standing to wrap her arms around him. After a beat—he didn’t know what to do with all this affection—he returned her embrace.

  “I’m glad you’re alive,” she whispered. “Leaving you on that mountain was the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Truly. It was incredibly cold when I woke, the least you could have done was drag my corpse down from the summit.”

  She pressed her face against his chest and wheezed a laugh. “A nightmare, that’s what you are.” She let go.

  “Where’s Rashid?” he asked, taking the tea back up.

  “In the kitchens.”

  He kissed the top of Parijahan’s head. He didn’t understand why she was friends with him. He didn’t understand why any of them were. He didn’t deserve them.

  He poked his head out of the room, finding a short hallway. “What is this place?” he asked. He’d arrived only the night before with Nadya, the past three days spent getting her here in one piece. The others had gone ahead after he’d gotten her out of the city.

  He would be haunted for a very long time by the expression on her face when he’d seen her on that pyre. The cold resignation.

  “A monastery? Maybe? Converted into a stronghold and left abandoned. I’m not really sure. There are a lot of rooms. There’s a sanctuary and a library up in the tower.”

  He eyed icons on the walls as he passed. The gold leaf held up remarkably well, though the rest of the icons were faded and almost indecipherable. Parijahan wandered away, saying something about finding Nadya. He made his way into the kitchens. He was starving. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything, and it made him feel better to know it was a normal human feeling.

  The kitchens were small. Rashid glanced up when he entered, his face breaking into an expression of such relief and joy that Malachiasz nearly bolted.

  There was a knife in Rashid’s hand, and he jammed it down into an apple. “I should put that in you.”

  “Honestly, that would be easier to take than another hu—”

  Rashid slammed into him with an embrace. Malachiasz had to swallow back the surge of hunger at Rashid’s proximity. Oh, no.

  “Do me a favor. Enough with the dying, all right?” Rashid said, letting go.


  “I’ll do my best.” Malachiasz’s voice came out strained. He picked up a withered apple and bit into it, sitting down at the table. “Where’d the food come from?”

  “Ask Katya.”

  Never mind, then. Rashid filled a bowl with kasha and put it in front of Malachiasz. He let out a grateful breath.

  “So,” he said around a mouthful. Rashid’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his markings visible.

  Rashid sighed. “When did Parj tell you?”

  Malachiasz blinked. “Wait, what?”

  “About my magic?” Rashid cocked his head.

  Malachiasz lifted his eyebrows. “I … no one told me outside of what I’ve discovered in the last few days,” Malachiasz said. “I rather hoped it was a conversation we could have?”

  “Are you going to be insufferable about it?”

  “Probably.”

  Rashid laughed. Malachiasz took another mouthful of kasha, listening patiently as Rashid explained, in bits and pieces—while slicing a loaf of black bread and actively not making eye contact—what he could do.

  “Rashid, that’s incredible,” he said.

  “Your reaction makes it all the more terrifying. I never wanted to be considered incredible by someone who’s entire life was spent pushing the boundaries of magic.”

  Malachiasz considered the danger he was posing by being there. The danger he was posing to Rashid because Rashid’s power was sparking something in him that he wasn’t sure he could fight against for long.

  He didn’t want to hurt his friends.

  “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “I want to help, if you need it.”

  “Mmm. You’ll be condescending.”

  He grinned. “Fine! Keep having magic lessons with Ostyia! She’s fine.”

  Rashid returned his grin and something in Malachiasz’s chest shifted. Like a piece of his broken heart had slid back into place. He held out his bowl and Rashid spooned a little more kasha for him.

  “I’m going to go find my brother.”

  “Did that feel weird to say out loud?”

  “Profoundly.”

  It took him a bit of wandering before he found Serefin in the great hall. It was a wide room with a long table in the center, benches on either side. A huge fireplace sat at the end of the room, warmth radiating from it. There were more icons, and Malachiasz watched them with interest. Supposedly he should expect them to start weeping from Nadya’s proximity, which he thought sounded delightfully macabre.

  “What happened to that cultist?” he asked Serefin as he sat down across from him.

  Serefin’s eye widened. “Oh no.”

  “You lost the cultist?”

  “I lost the cultist!”

  Malachiasz rolled his eyes.

  “He was with us when the Vultures attacked, but…”

  “Think he had something to do with the god attack?” Malachiasz asked around the spoon in his mouth.

  “Perhaps.”

  “He is almost definitely in a Komyazalov prison,” Kacper said. Malachiasz peered over the table. The other boy was lying on the bench with his head in Serefin’s lap.

  “Actually, there’s a boy who has the ear of the tsar that’s probably a part of that cult,” a new voice said. Malachiasz frowned, recognizing the voice from somewhere. “So, he’s fine.”

  A Kalyazi girl with an armful of food from the kitchens sat down, a safe amount of distance between her and Serefin. She tucked her straight black hair behind her ear.

  “Anna!” Malachiasz said. She had never warmed to him, but he was rather fond of her. She’d punched him in the face when she thought he’d put Nadya in danger. It was hard not to respect her.

  He was surprised when she smiled at him. “Nadya told me you were dead.”

  “I was.”

  Rashid came in with more food and set it on the table before sitting next to Anna. Parijahan trailed after him with the bread, sliding in next to Malachiasz. Serefin thanked them softly.

  “May I ask an entirely out of line question, Vashny Koroshvik?” Anna asked Serefin.

  “Only if you never call me by an honorific in present company,” he replied cheerfully.

  Anna gave a thoughtful nod. “How did you lose your eye?”

  “I tore it out of my face.”

  Anna paled. “Oh.”

  “It’s mostly fine now. Right?” He looked down at Kacper.

  “Don’t flip that eye patch up. It may be healing but it’s still gross,” Kacper said.

  Serefin shrugged. It was to that level of brevity that Katya finally staggered into the room. Ostyia joined not long after.

  “Oh, I’m absolutely never letting her hear the end of this,” Malachiasz heard Kacper say quietly to Serefin.

  Malachiasz stiffened when Nadya entered the hall. She had clearly come from the bathhouse. The blood and grime were gone, and her pale hair was damp. She had exchanged her battered clothes for a dark blue dress with intricate purple flowers embroidered at the hem. There was a brown belt tied around her waist. She lifted her eyebrows when she walked in.

  “Gods,” she muttered. “We’re not going to be able to lie low for long with this many of us.”

  Parijahan shifted over and Nadya slid onto the bench between them, sitting close to him. She glanced over, a steeliness in her gaze that said they were absolutely still fighting. He slid a mug of tea her way.

  She frowned for a long moment before she accepted it. When she shivered, immediately after, and he slid out of his military jacket and gently placed it over her shoulders, she accepted that, too.

  Katya eyed them all and rubbed her temples. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  Serefin and Malachiasz exchanged a glance.

  “Do you want the bad news or the bad news first?” Serefin asked, amiable.

  “You are insufferable.”

  “I’m a delight,” he replied. “The Vulture attack seemed to be partially an attempt on my life.” Serefin shot an accusatory glance at Żaneta as she walked in. She shrugged, sitting down on the other side of Malachiasz.

  He had to talk to her after. He needed to know how many Vultures Żywia had aligned with her. He wasn’t optimistic enough to hope it was a significant amount.

  Żaneta couldn’t seem to decide if she was more afraid of Serefin or Malachiasz’s response to what she was about to say, her gaze flicking between them.

  “It’s down to which one of us are you willing to disappoint first,” Serefin said dryly.

  She dug both hands into her wild curls, letting out a breath through her teeth. “My father took the throne as regent,” she said softly.

  Malachiasz watched Serefin. There was a slight fracture in his calm, but he hid it well. He motioned for Żaneta to continue.

  “Not … unexpected. Reason?” he inquired.

  “Competency. There was significant evidence pointing to your mental state being too fragile. There were a lot of excuses made as to why you were not seen in court. That you had lost your mind was the clearest cut.”

  “And my mother?”

  “She stepped aside.”

  Serefin frowned.

  “She was not given a choice,” Żaneta continued.

  “So, the assassination attempt?”

  Żaneta shot a nervous glance Malachiasz’s way. Serefin followed it.

  “You were with Żywia, you aren’t in the wrong here.”

  “Wait.” Katya focused in on Żaneta. “What are you?”

  Żaneta’s eyes widened. She shifted closer to Malachiasz on the bench.

  Interesting. He had expected her to want revenge.

  He softly touched her hand where it rested on the table. “She won’t harm you.”

  “You’re one of them?” Katya asked.

  Żaneta hunched inward. Malachiasz knew they both were thinking about Żywia’s broken body. Her blood on Katya’s hands.

  “You’re going to have to live with it, Katya,” Serefin said wearily.

 
; “No.”

  “This is a waste of time,” Nadya said.

  Żaneta took that as her sign to ignore Katya. “Rozá and Walentyn. They kept trying to crown a new Black Vulture. When it didn’t work, they tried to create a new order instead. A lot of the Vultures went with them. Żywia held the Salt Mines. She kept in communion with the oldest Vultures. There was a rift down the middle. Those who questioned you after the business with Izak went with Rozá. Those who were loyal remained loyal.”

  That wasn’t as bad as Malachiasz was expecting, honestly.

  “The attack was a joint effort between the Vultures and my father,” she continued. “They wanted to lash out at Kalyazin, who they blame for the loss of our magic. And they’d heard you were moving in the direction of the capital.”

  “And, somehow, they’ve moved an army through Kalyazin,” Katya said, taking a worn and worried-over letter from her pocket.

  Under the table, Nadya’s hand sought his, finding it where it rested on his knee.

  “This war is never going to end,” she whispered.

  38

  SEREFIN MELESKI

  Why are we expected to fix the mistakes of the gods? Were we the ones who set this horror upon the world, or was it the negligence of the gods, their arrogance, their belief that they had sent the old ones to a place from which they cannot return? We know now that this belief was false.

  —The Books of Innokentiy

  It was demoralizing, having all his worst fears confirmed. It was very easy to entertain thoughts of giving up completely.

  Kacper took his hand, squeezing gently. “Don’t go dark,” he whispered in Serefin’s ear, kissing his jaw.

  He wanted to. He wanted to go back to bed where there had been a few hours of peace, Kacper draped over him—the boy slept like a tornado—and everything wasn’t apocalyptic. It had been warm and soft and briefly Serefin had thought everything might work out.

  He wasn’t so optimistic anymore.

  Malachiasz’s expression fractured. He dropped his head, pressing his fingers to his temples. Nadya turned his face toward hers with a slight frown. Malachiasz’s skin was beaded with sweat.