Blessed Monsters

by Emily A Duncan

  “Nadya,” he said, strained. “I almost tore your throat out not three hours ago.”

  She made a thoughtful hum. Blood and bone, she was going to kill him.

  “I can’t believe you’re being reasonable,” she said.

  “I’m being reasonable because I don’t want you to die.”

  “I’m not going to die from sleeping with you.”

  He dragged both hands down his face before allowing a partial defeat and kneeling next to her. She held out a hand, languid in a way that she had to know what it was doing to him. He slid his fingers between hers.

  “If you’re worried about repercussions—”

  “What if we live,” he whispered.

  “Kacper has a tea for that.”

  That gave Malachiasz pause. “Why the hell would Kacper have that?”

  “It’s a poison in greater doses.”

  “I don’t want to know how you know this.” He blinked. “Did you talk about this with Kacper?”

  “No!” Her nose scrunched. “I talked about it with Parj,” she mumbled. “Who talked about it with Kacper.”

  “Nadya.”

  “As if they aren’t assuming this is what we’re doing in here anyway! Also, it was possibly the worst five minutes of my life. Ranked above your death because it was that mortifying.”

  He couldn’t help laughing.

  She tugged on their clasped hands, forcing him to lean over her. “Malachiasz.”

  “I mean, you have been trying to take my clothes off since the Salt Mines,” he said, dipping down to brush his lips against her forehead.

  She laughed again. It was such a good sound. He wanted to spend the rest of his life hearing it, even if his life didn’t last much longer. She so rarely laughed and when she did it was like being doused in sunlight.

  “Which, really, Nadya, troubling. All these eyes.” But he was grinning.

  “It’s not that bad,” she said.

  He lifted his eyebrows.

  “Fine, it is. It’s truly revolting. Malachiasz, you’re a horror.” She arched up and kissed him. He closed his eyes, pressing into the kiss.

  “Did that hurt your ribs?” he murmured against the side of her mouth.

  “Shut up, Malachiasz,” she said. Her hands were under his tunic, warm against his skin. “No more ‘maybe if we survive.’ We’re here, alive, now.”

  She grazed her teeth against his throat, and he shuddered, accepting defeat.

  NADEZHDA LAPTEVA

  Nadya woke long before the sun. Malachiasz was asleep, body curled toward her. Her eyes fluttered closed, briefly holding onto the memory of Malachiasz’s heat and gentle touch, before she carefully tucked it away. She was allowed to have these things she yearned for, this boy. But it was time to move forward.

  The room was bathed in soft moonlight and Nadya risked a glancing touch of her fingertips against Malachiasz’s lips. He didn’t stir. That had been her worry, ultimately. She knew how badly he slept, and she needed to do this without him knowing.

  Before she was really awake enough to be aware of it, she had dressed and was knocking on Serefin’s door. After some noise from the other side, the door was flung open.

  Serefin’s expression wearied when he saw her. “Nadya,” he said, his voice scratchy with sleep. “Do you have any idea what cursed time it is?”

  He wasn’t wearing a shirt, which Nadya noted without much more consideration, and nothing covered his left eye. It was closed, but the eyelid had an odd shape to it, flat without any eye to cover.

  “Extremely late. Or early. Put your clothes on, we need to talk to Pelageya, alone.”

  He looked at her suspiciously. There was rustling in the bed and Kacper sat up.

  “Where’s Malachiasz?” Serefin asked.

  “Asleep. We need to talk to her about him.”

  Serefin’s eye narrowed. “There’s no way he didn’t wake up when you left.”

  Kacper mumbled something, slowly sinking back down in the bed.

  “What?”

  “Drugged his tea.”

  Serefin turned. “You what?”

  “I asked him to,” Nadya said. “Do you have the relic?”

  Serefin’s expression shuttered. No longer the boy she had come to consider a friend. Here was the royal, the general, the blood mage.

  “Why would you want that? I thought we were working together.”

  “Yes, I—”

  “He deserves a hell of a lot of misery, but I’m not entirely sure he deserves another betrayal from you.”

  Nadya shook her head. It was so hard to explain. “I’m not…” she paused. “We can’t let him know this part of the plan. Chyrnog will stop it.”

  Understanding dawned on Serefin’s face. He nodded briskly, turning and haphazardly throwing on clothes. She watched as he leaned over to where Kacper had burrowed back under the blankets, touching his head.

  “I heard,” Kacper mumbled. “Just let me sleep.”

  Serefin returned to Nadya, moving to hand her the relic.

  “No, keep it. He’ll know something is wrong if I have it.”

  He didn’t appear to want to slide it onto his belt, but he did anyway. He waved an imperious hand at her. It was too early to be truly irritated with him.

  * * *

  They made their way outside, into the frigid morning air. When they reached the small hut, Nadya went to knock, but Serefin pushed passed her and opened it.

  “How is she always around?” he muttered.

  Nadya contemplated that. “I think she is more than a witch. Where would we be without her, though?”

  He made a grumpy noise that she interpreted as agreement as he stepped inside.

  “Well,” Pelageya called, “this feels like sneaking around.”

  Nadya sighed and followed Serefin.

  “It’s her idea,” Serefin muttered, throwing himself into a chair.

  Nadya held her hand out to Serefin, who frowned before tugging the relic from his belt and handing it to her.

  “Why did you give me this?” she asked Pelageya. “What did you intend for me to do with it, if not kill Malachiasz?”

  The witch lifted an eyebrow. “What if that was my intent?”

  “I was in no state to go through with something like that when we spoke.”

  “But you were willing to take him to a place you knew would destroy him.”

  Nadya felt Serefin’s gaze fix on her face. She briefly closed her eyes, letting out a breath.

  “It was easier to pretend he would survive,” Nadya said.

  Pelageya snorted. “Well, you’re right, I didn’t give it to you for him. I didn’t know what you would do with it, if you would see how your goddess was stifling you.”

  Nadya sat down slowly. She had done her best not to think about Marzenya’s death. She didn’t know how to categorize her complicated feelings, so she’d shoved them aside.

  “She was going to kill me,” she whispered. “If Malachiasz hadn’t killed her.”

  “You were a divine experiment that failed spectacularly.”

  Nadya swallowed, turning the relic in her hands, her fingers tightened over the hilt. “Is there any way to free Malachiasz?”

  Pelageya sat down. “What is the magic between the two of you?”

  “When I set Velyos free, I stole Malachiasz’s power—”

  “Is his the only power you’ve stolen?”

  Nadya shook her head. “Zvezdan’s, too.”

  Pelageya made a thoughtful noise, motioning for Nadya to continue.

  “With Malachiasz, it was like I … I sewed his power into mine, but the seams are gone. I couldn’t break it if I tried. Death couldn’t break it.”

  “What came from that?”

  “I am also deeply curious about this,” Serefin said.

  Nadya smiled weakly. “It’s, well, I can talk to him through it. If I tried, I could read his thoughts. I can feel his emotions if they’re strong, and it’s Malachiasz, so they’r
e all strong. For someone so soft spoken, he is very loud. And if I needed to, I could take more of his power, a rather unnerving prospect.”

  “Is there a way to free him from Chyrnog?” Serefin asked. “Or are we out of luck?”

  Pelageya looked between them. An odd smile flickered over her lips. “He is one of the most destructive forces this world has seen in a very long time. And you two want to save him.”

  Nadya and Serefin exchanged a glance. He nodded firmly.

  “Ultimately, it’s up to him, but it is possible to excise the hold Chyrnog has over him. Weaken it. It will require that blade. And you run the risk of setting Chyrnog free, totally.”

  Serefin frowned.

  “He’s currently bound within that boy. You free the boy, you risk freeing Chyrnog. Death must touch him twice.”

  “I can’t do it again,” Serefin whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  She held the hilt of the blade close to her chest. “There’s no other way?”

  Pelageya shrugged. “There are other ways, but not with what you have on hand, and not with the time left.”

  “He and Chyrnog are … melding,” Nadya said softly.

  “Chyrnog doesn’t merely want a hand on the world. He wants to be present. If he can weld himself into the Vulture’s bones until he no longer realizes his thoughts aren’t his own … well…”

  Nadya cast a despairing look Serefin’s way.

  “We’ll do what we can, Nadya,” Serefin said.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as they welled with tears, nodding. A hand on hers forced her gaze up. The witch stood before her.

  “It must be you; it cannot be the king. You have stolen his magic and know the shape of it. You must cut only the pieces that are not the Vulture. It will be dangerous. His second death might be permanent. But if you wish to save him, you must try.”

  MALACHIASZ CZECHOWICZ

  It had been so fast, the fall. He had been so focused on his magic, on Nadya, that he hadn’t noticed the hunger as it clawed through him, as Chyrnog used it to remind him, so vividly, that taking Nadya’s power would be enough to finish everything. It would set Chyrnog free. It would stop all of this.

  “I would leave you, you know. You could go on with your violent ways. It would be so easy. One life given for the rest of eternity. I have shown you true power and still you resist. Still you fight. Is it worth it?”

  Chyrnog stripped Malachiasz’s will away, taking it apart, laying out the bones of his spine and selecting the ones he found most agreeable. There was no escaping him in this place. Malachiasz knew not to fight.

  “You are ready to align with me.”

  I won’t kill her. I have few limits, but that is one.

  “She won’t truly die,” Chyrnog said. “She’s beyond that. She’s practically immortal.”

  Maybe the god was telling the truth. He didn’t know. But he was tired of fighting and it was very easy to consider doing what he knew best—turning on everyone. Maybe he could only be as he had always been.

  “Exactly. You want to be noble? I am giving you noble cause. That girl will destroy the world. The others of my kind, they call to her, and their songs are so very sweet. She has spent her whole life listening to the voices of gods. She’s known nothing else and will comply with what they wish. I want one thing. To cloud the world in darkness, nothing more. Is that so much to ask?”

  Malachiasz couldn’t even go out in the sunlight anymore. He hated how compelled he was by Chyrnog’s words. Of course Nadya would fall. She had fallen before. What if he had to stop her?

  “There is always another choice. Let me have her power and she will be the thing that survives.”

  * * *

  Malachiasz could do nothing without his fragmented soul. Nadya acted like it could be found. Serefin, though dubious, seemed to agree. She dragged Malachiasz, Serefin, and Parijahan out of the safe house the next day and to a nearby hut in the woods. Malachiasz caught sight of the benign building and planted his heels.

  “No.”

  “Malachiasz—”

  “I’m not going through this again.”

  “She’s asked for us. We should hear her out.”

  “I can’t shake the feeling that this is all her fault,” Malachiasz replied acidly.

  “Probably,” Parijahan muttered, going inside anyway.

  Serefin glanced at Malachiasz and shrugged, following the Akolan girl. Nadya looked plaintively at him in a way that made it very hard to argue with her.

  “Did you sleep all right?” she asked.

  “I slept,” he replied. Seeing her dissatisfaction, he sighed. “Not particularly, but I never do. That I slept at all is nothing short of a miracle.”

  He tried to remember what had happened with Chyrnog, but it was fuzzy in the daylight. It had been hard to convince him to even go out, but Nadya had thrown a cloak at his face. He was uncomfortable, but his skin wasn’t burning off, so that was good at least.

  “Nadya, I—”

  She shot him a look, taking his hand. He ignored the churning hunger that came every time her skin touched his. The desire to take that ocean of power. She had so much, and he couldn’t help imagining what he could do with it.

  He followed her into the hut.

  This one was cleaner than the last. Odd, because he was fairly certain they were all the same. Parijahan was sitting in an armchair with a cup of tea, looking delightfully pleased.

  “You have Akolan tea,” he said flatly.

  “She has Akolan tea!” Parijahan chirped brightly.

  “Bribes are beneath you, Pelageya,” he said, perching on the arm of the chair Nadya chose.

  The witch shrugged. “Have you admitted you were wrong yet?”

  “You cannot tell me that the balance of the world hangs on me saying that I made a few mistakes.”

  She bared her teeth at him. He hated her so much. She looked young, her hair jet-black but for a shock of white, out of place with her smooth features.

  “Mistakes seem a light word for what he’s done,” Parijahan said.

  “Catastrophic screw ups,” Serefin offered.

  “Atrocities,” Nadya said simply.

  “Succinct, thank you,” Malachiasz said, kissing the side of her head.

  “Tell me where to find the pieces of his soul,” Nadya said to Pelageya, the switch in her focus scarily intent. “That’s what we need, right? That’s what leads us to Chyrnog. They’re in the same place.”

  “You’re not thinking abstractly enough. It’s in a stone, in an egg, in a duck, in a hare, in a tree, on an island, in a forest, on a mountain.”

  Nadya flushed. “Children’s stories aren’t going to get us anywhere.”

  “Child, do you think I treat in children’s stories?” Pelageya asked dryly. She lifted a teacup and an eyebrow at Serefin.

  He was nodding when Pelageya snapped her fingers. “Wait, you need this.” She tossed him a bottle.

  “This is still bribery,” Malachiasz said.

  “Malachiasz, please, this is a bribe I will accept,” Serefin said.

  “I am strangely not comforted with the knowledge that foreign powers can bribe you with a bit of hard liquor.”

  “Hold on,” Serefin said, sliding a signet ring off his finger and tucking it away. “Just Serefin now.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  Serefin winked at him, an effect somewhat diminished by his single eye. “I’ve lost my throne to Żaneta’s father, a warmonger. You’ve lost your Vultures to, well, more warmongers, actually. Tranavia is terrible, I miss it so much. Please, let me have this.”

  “Is that a problem you wish to fix now?” Pelageya asked.

  “We’re in the middle of Kalyazin,” Serefin replied.

  Pelageya rolled her eyes. “Open the door.”

  Serefin groaned but did as she asked. The door opened to a balcony Malachiasz recognized immediately.

  What?

  He got up and followed Serefin out. The balcony led to
a staircase that spiraled down to the floor level of the palace in Grazyk.

  Malachiasz and Serefin exchanged a glance.

  “Are you entertaining the idea of shutting the door and forgetting all this divine nonsense?” Serefin asked softly.

  “Exactly that,” Malachiasz replied. But he also deeply wanted to know how Pelageya was able to do this.

  “All right,” Serefin said, taking a step back. “It’s becoming more enticing the longer I stand here.” He fled into the hut.

  Malachiasz hesitated. But Chyrnog would still have him, even in Tranavia. He sighed and followed Serefin inside. The door shut behind him. When he opened it again, he found Kalyazi snow and forest.

  “How do you do that?” Malachiasz asked.

  “Magic,” Pelageya said, helpfully.

  “Could I do that?”

  “Only people who admit to their mistakes can do big magic like that.”

  “Pelageya, I detest you.”

  She grinned at him, handed Nadya a cup of tea, and stood. Nadya offered it to Malachiasz.

  “She won’t make you one,” she said softly.

  He almost laughed.

  “Children! You’re all children! And yet here you are at the end of the world. An end you have managed to bring about faster yet also kept from consuming us.”

  “We’re wildly talented,” Malachiasz said dryly, returning to his perch by Nadya.

  “You did ask for help,” Pelageya said, equally dry. “I’ll give you that. There might be hope for you yet.”

  “Is there somewhere we need to go?” Nadya asked.

  “Why? The battle is all around you. You can see it now, can’t you? The flow of your power has changed.”

  Nadya’s face went bright red.

  “You don’t have much time, though,” Pelageya said. “There’s someone else vying for those pieces and while I hid them well, perhaps I did not hide them well enough.”

  “What?” Parijahan asked. “Did you tell someone?”

  “Me? No. But Chyrnog isn’t only speaking to him, he has others trained to survive the sound of his voice.”

  Malachiasz felt the blood drain from his face. “Ruslan.”

  Nadya frowned. “How did I never know of Chyrnog?”