The cleric, the king, and the prasīt all disappeared into the tree line. After a few tense moments of silence, Rashid let out an irritated huff of air.
“No,” he muttered. “She’s not doing this alone.” Then he ran into the forest.
Anna called after him, but Katya held out a hand to keep her back. It was his choice.
“How can we let them go off by themselves?” Anna asked.
“You saw them. This place is changing them. I don’t think we could survive anything in there. I don’t think we’ll survive being out here, quite frankly.”
Katya eyed the sky dubiously. She had spent her whole life studying the strange and the occult, but she had always rather thought it was an exaggeration. The sun had dimmed, like something rested beside it, casting a long shadow. How much longer until the whole world was plunged into darkness?
She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t going to die here. She wouldn’t allow it. Besides, her time wasn’t up yet.
“Do we … wait?” Ostyia asked, sitting close enough that their thighs touched. After a moment of consideration, she took Katya’s hand, kissing it gently.
Katya let that warm her chilled heart. It was so cold here.
Ostyia rubbed her thumb over the back of Katya’s hand. “I’m worried about Serefin,” she said softly.
Kacper glanced over at them. “He’s not as bad as he was before, when Velyos had him.”
“No, he’s not, but…” She shook her head slowly. “He’s not exactly himself, either.”
“Neither is Nadya,” Anna said.
“I don’t think we’re going to see them again,” Kacper whispered, tears in his dark eyes.
Ostyia squeezed Katya’s hand, kissed her temple, then got up and wrapped her arms around Kacper. Katya wondered how long they had known each other, how long they had circled in the king’s orbit. Serefin was charismatic, as much as he tried not to be. How many people hadn’t made it close to him like these two?
“Stay here,” Ostyia said fiercely. “I can’t lose you both, I can’t.”
“We can’t lose Serefin!” Kacper cried.
Ostyia’s face was bleak. “No, we can’t. But if he doesn’t do this, we lose him anyway.” Kacper folded down, burying his head against Ostyia’s shoulder.
The air around them changed sharply. Katya stood, frowning, reaching for her sword. The Vulture—gods she’d been ignoring the girl—looked up at her, tensing.
“What is it?” Her Kalyazi was surprisingly sharp. There wasn’t a hint of a Tranavian accent in it.
Anna lifted her head. “I feel it, too.”
Something heavy, falling down on top of them, smothering them. A trembling in the earth, as if something very deep was clawing its way up.
“What did they say would happen if Malachiasz got there first?” Żaneta asked.
Katya shook her head wordlessly. “Chyrnog is entropy. He’s the end of the world.”
The sky darkened at a terrifyingly rapid pace. The sun dimming with each passing breath. Katya’s grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, her palms starting to sweat.
“Ostyia?”
Ostyia made a soft sound of acknowledgment. She still held Kacper’s hands but was staring up at the sky.
“Remember when all those corpses attacked Voczi Dovorik?”
“I’d rather not.”
There was a shift as something rose on the horizon. Muscle and sinew and flesh lifting onto a pile of bones, forming a body. There were too many limbs, a roiling chaos in vaguely human shape. It was far away but Katya knew with dread certainty that it would be very close, very soon.
“I never thought I’d say this, but I wish you had blood magic right now,” Katya said.
Ostyia scrambled back from Kacper and to her feet. Her spell book was at her hip, Kacper’s at his. Useless.
“Me too,” she said.
Another figure lifted in the distance. Vast and incomprehensible, a twisting facsimile of vague life and pure horror. Gnashing teeth and blood dripping down bones as it became something more. One at a time, then all at once, others followed, horrific and indescribable. This was no longer a graveyard.
“How religious are you feeling, Katya?” Anna asked, her voice good-natured for someone who appeared terrified out of her mind.
“I’m thinking of committing some high blasphemy,” Katya replied.
“Yes,” Anna agreed. “Me too.”