Zlatek blanketed a battlefield with his silence and the horror was profound.
—Codex of the Divine 44:867
Nadya slowly braided her hair. She wanted to make a good impression. She wasn’t planning to speak to the Matriarch—she knew where that would leave her—but she was going to the cathedral to dig through the library, and she wanted to at least look nice as she snuck underneath the Church’s noses.
It was like planning for a war where anyone could be the enemy and they could attack at any time, Katya had complained. But there were answers to be found in Komyazalov and Nadya intended to find them. She needed to figure out who the woman was that had given Kostya the pendant trapping Velyos and warned him about her. Gods, what would be different if she hadn’t bled on that damn amulet? If she had seen out the mission to assassinate the king as she was supposed to?
But that plan had been thought up by a boy desperately searching for power, and even if she hadn’t used Velyos’ power, Malachiasz still would have had his way.
Though he wouldn’t have had a reason to go to the one spot where killing a god would be possible without Nadya …
This was pointless. She needed to stop. She dropped her hands halfway through braiding her hair and tilted her head back.
She was missing something. There were too many pieces, too many variables. Where had Serefin gone? What had happened to him? All she knew was he was alive and Velyos was with him, which meant Serefin hadn’t really succeeded at what he’d set out to do. Funny how they were all such miserable failures in their own ways.
They had sent out messages to the front—Katya using her strange, weak saints’ power to speak to another Voldah Gorovni—but Serefin was nowhere to be found.
Nadya wondered if he had given up like he’d always clearly desired to. She had been present for his coronation and it had been the only glimmering second where she had thought that maybe he could be a king. Since, he’d only proven himself to be a boy who drank too much and ran away from his problems.
It would mean the war wouldn’t end. No one in that damned court in Grazyk wanted that. They didn’t care about the stripped land, death’s hand at the front, the children that were sent to war and came home shattered—if they came home at all.
Nadya had expressed her worries to Katya, but she was as cavalier as ever. She suspected the tsarevna was terrified by the thought of Serefin either dead or abdicating his throne. He was the only hope for a peace treaty.
A peace treaty he will never sign after what you did, Nadya thought, staring up at the high wooden ceiling. Listening to Marzenya had been a mistake. Stripping away blood magic had been a mistake. Even if they did find Serefin, it would only create more problems.
She knew the darkness the king of Tranavia hid. He and his brother were more alike than anyone realized. Serefin would turn to revenge far faster than he would sign a treaty after Nadya had harmed them so grievously.
Nadya lost her balance and wavered, her hip bumping into the dresser she stood in front of, knocking a hairbrush to the ground. She sighed heavily.
Besides, Serefin had surprised her before. Maybe he’d surprise her again. She missed that ridiculous boy. She regretted, so much, what she had done to him.
“The Tranavians deserved it.” The voice jolted her, and it took her a moment to parse who she was hearing. Kazimiera. A goddess who had spoken to her very little even before everything.
Where have you been? Nadya asked.
“Around. Watching. Recording. The others were so mad at you. Then no one could reach you. Then the Death Goddess told us we weren’t allowed to talk to you. That you had sinned and needed to be punished. That you were no longer holy, but that’s silly. You always were and never were.”
Nadya took a shaky step back and slowly sat down, closing her eyes. She had known that the first time the gods had stopped talking to her was because of that damn veil. It cut her access off, made all the more powerful by Malachiasz’s careful, pointed refinement. He had never admitted using magic on her without her knowledge, but she knew he had.
But the rest … The forced isolation. She didn’t want to believe that of Marzenya, even though she knew it was true. She could remember the cold touch of her goddess’s fingers over her skin, the bruises that had bloomed, the cuts splitting open her flesh from being near her.
Never and always holy.
Because of what I am? Nadya asked.
“Of course,” Kazimiera replied. “I wrote it all down.”
The gods keep records?
“Not like you’re thinking.”
Do the Tranavians deserve this war, truly? What have they done that we have not returned in kind?
Kazimiera was quiet.
You don’t control the country south of us. The gods are so fickle with their borders. Why not relinquish Tranavia completely and leave them to this fate they’ve chosen?
“There were wars,” Kazimiera said. “Up here, not down there. Many of us died and did not return. So many lost. The west was ripped from us by other gods and no one wanted to see more people lost when Tranavia began dabbling in heresy.”
Nadya frowned. So much of what she had learned suddenly lined up. That the gods may have been mortal once, long before mortal record. It explained why Akola had different gods, why Kalyazin had not turned its eyes to the west, though it might, one day.
What did you mean, both holy and not?
“Marzenya never told you?”
Marzenya never told me anything.
A knock at the door sounded, and Nadya shot to her feet, the connection snapping.
“Shit,” she said quietly, patting her messy hair. She headed to the door.
Anna was on the other side. She stared, looking Nadya up and down. “Are you all right?”
“No. I mean, yes. Yes, I’m fine. Give me a minute?”
Nadya worked fast, braiding her hair and pinning it to the back of her head. She scrambled for her glove, tucking it underneath the sleeve of her dress. So much for presentable. She was rattled.
The gods spoke as if their deaths were common, but what had happened to Marzenya was a first. The gods killed each other but no mortal had ever …
Well, Malachiasz had been a god, hadn’t he? A chaos god. Usually those were struck down by the other gods, but not this time.
“You have—” Anna reached out and rubbed at a spot on Nadya’s cheek. “Sorry.”
Nadya shot her a weary smile.
“Maybe wear a glove on your other hand, too? It’s conspicuous and someone might ask.”
“You think I should lie about it?” It would be lying by omission and Nadya could hardly believe her deeply pious priestess friend would encourage that kind of sin.
“Of course,” Anna said, her voice low.
Nadya shook her head. “Two would be harder to explain. With one I can make up a story that will sound plausible enough.”
Anna didn’t look convinced, but only said, “Be careful.”
“Annushka, it sounds suspiciously like you mistrust the Church.”
Anna flushed. “It’s strange here. Nothing like the monastery at all. I’ve missed you…” She fell silent with a distant frown.
They met up with Parijahan near the cathedral. She was bored and wanted to help, complaining Rashid and Ostyia spent all their time trying to figure out his magic. The Akolan girl was wearing a nondescript gray kaftan, Akolan in style but not enough to stand out.
Nadya would never forget the day she had seen the sprawling black cathedral in Grazyk, and a similar fear flooded her as Anna led her to the steps of this one.
It wasn’t nearly as ominous as the one in Grazyk. It hadn’t been defaced and half destroyed and painted black. This was, if anything, the opposite in every way. It towered, certainly, but the arches were squat and vibrant, colorful onion domes topping its highest points. Gold shone off some domes, while others were painted bright blues and reds that glowed in contrast to the red toned brick of the cathedral.
But there was something about it that made Nadya uneasy, that made her hand itch and her shoulder ache. That made her forehead hurt as if a headache were forming right between her eyes.
She paused and Anna cast her a worried glance over one shoulder.
“If I go in and the icons start weeping…” Nadya trailed off, unable to contemplate any further.
Anna’s face paled. “Do you think that will happen?”
“If not now, it will within a few days,” Parijahan said, answering for her with a grimace.
Anna grabbed Nadya’s hand. “They won’t know it’s you. The world is falling apart.”
“Katya knows it’s me.”
“And Ona Delich’niya won’t tell the Matriarch, right?”
Nadya hesitated but nodded. She could trust Katya. She had to.
Anna’s expression was scarily resolute. Nadya remembered when Anna’s complete trust in her had frightened her. She’d thought it was because of her connection with the gods. For Kostya, the connection had played a larger role than she had realized, but with Anna, maybe it was just Nadya. Maybe she wanted to keep Nadya safe simply so Nadya was safe. She trusted Nadya.
Nadya had never thought she would get that kind of trust from a Kalyazi. Tears welled in her eyes.
“Naden’ka?”
“I’m fine.” She scrubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. “Sorry. I’m fine. I’m ready.”
She tugged out of Anna’s grip and toward the church. Carvings of holy script lined the vast wooden doors. There were no statues of saints but plenty of mentions in the text carved into the stones. Nadya pushed open the doors and stepped inside.
As she passed the threshold, she was struck by the weight of something vast. A shifting. A click into place. Something groaning awake that had been still for a long time.
She hated this feeling, how normal it was becoming for her. She braced herself as divinity and magic and darkness crashed down onto her shoulders and all she could do was wait out the storm.
This church was old, older than the city, as old as the swamp Komyazalov was built on. This church was a stone altar, blood pooling in the cracks. This church was a dagger made of bone piercing flesh, wet with blood. This church was sacrifice and sanctity and darkness, violence, death.
Something slumbered beneath this church.
Something that stirred at Nadya’s presence.
“Naden’ka?”
Anna’s fingers slid through hers again, jolting her. She was standing in the foyer, staring at the high ceiling. Icons lined the walls, crowded so thick there was no space between them. So many saints. So many martyrs. So many dead. It was too colorful and too loud. Every inch of the interior was painted with icons and lined with gold. The colors were beautiful. They were agony.
“Give me a second,” Nadya said, her voice strained. It was all so heavy. She was feeling something she never would have were she only a cleric. It was innate within her, calling down to the darkness. A well of churning water. A storm in girl’s flesh.
She might get answers here, after all.
“What’s happening?”
Nadya shook her head. Heard Anna’s little gasp, surely meaning nothing good. She must control this; she heard footsteps on the tiled floor—she noted absently that they made a mosaic—and she had only moments before an acolyte asked if they needed help.
Anna’s hands were on her shoulders, turning her away. Before she knew it, Anna had wrapped a scarf around her hair and was firmly tying a headband around her forehead. The temple rings on the band were heavy. She closed her eyes, something tearing through her, pain making her hiss through her teeth. Something inside her was changing.
“Dozleyena,” Anna said cheerfully. “My apologies, my friend has been in the forests a long time and has forgotten how civilized folk dress.”
Nadya swallowed, opening her eyes. Anna squeezed her hand.
Her insides were twisting even as she turned to the boy. Five years or so younger than Nadya, he was approaching without caution. He had messy brown hair and dark eyes. He greeted Anna and asked her business, then blinked.
“Oh, apologies, Sister Vadimovna, I didn’t recognize you. Do you need any help?” He glanced curiously at Nadya and Parijahan.
“No, thank you, Andrei, we’re just going to the library.”
He smiled. “Sister Belovicha was asking where you’d run off to, but I told her you were taking a walk in the forest. I know how you enjoy a walk.”
Anna looked disconcerted, but then smiled, all relief. “Thank you for that, as well.”
Nadya was glad they weren’t going into the sanctuary. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what would happen there if the foyer was enough to turn her inside out.
Anna’s hand was clammy against Nadya’s, but she didn’t let go as the boy turned and led them through an eastern corridor and into a vast library. Nadya let out a long breath, something unlatching from her heart. She had moved out of sight of whatever had her.
The library was enormous. Multiple levels with rickety ladders attaching them together and an ornate spiral staircase in the center that led up to the second level, housing books all the way to the vaulted ceiling.
“How do you even reach those?” Nadya asked Andrei. Books on questionable topics would definitely be found at unreachable heights.
“Ladders and hooks. I can help if you let me know what you’re searching for!” he chirped.
Nadya opened her mouth but Anna replied before she was able.
“That’s all right, Andrei! It’s lineage work, very boring.”
He looked disappointed. “Well, let me know if you need anything,” he said before bounding away.
Nadya took in the room, overwhelmed. “Where do we start?”
Anna chewed on her lower lip. “By avoiding the head librarian and praying we come upon something quickly.”
“Ah, just like home.”
Anna grinned. For a moment, Nadya forgot that they were at the heart of Kalyazin and the world was falling down around them.
“Well,” Parijahan said, staring wide-eyed, before heading for the stairs. “What I wouldn’t give to have our reticent academic here.”
“He would find what we’re looking for in a matter of seconds and then be wildly condescending about it for months,” Nadya replied. “We’ll be fine without him. Just … look for apocrypha.”