Wicked Saints by Emily A. Duncan

Author:Emily A. Duncan [Duncan, Emily A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Eighteen: Nadezhda Lapteva

Vaclav is rarely seen, rarely heard, and rarely worshiped. Dark forests and darker monsters heed his calls. His lands are vast and ancient and deadly and he is not kind. Truth is never kind.

—Codex of the Divine, 23:86

Nadya was the most surprised of everyone when her plan to get them across the border worked.

“Where’s your company, son?” The Tranavian who confronted them looked older than Malachiasz, and thought by that principle he outranked him.

Malachiasz drew himself straight, his posture betraying the air of someone who was used to having authority. He flicked his hair away from where it was covering the pins on his jacket. Now Nadya was doubly certain she didn’t want to know what they meant.

“Lost most of them to mercenaries hiding in the mountains,” he said. “Lost the rest somewhere in between.”

The soldier frowned at Malachiasz, but when he spoke again the condescension was gone. “Who are they, then?”

Malachiasz glanced back at the group. “The Akolans are fleeing Kalyazin, a wise decision. The girl is . . .” he faltered, convincingly. “Well, you understand.” He winked at the soldier.

It took everything Nadya had to keep her expression schooled.

“I’ll need you to come with me,” the soldier said, giving Malachiasz a hard once-over. He pulled a second soldier over and ordered her to make sure the rest of them didn’t go anywhere.

Nadya felt her heart speed up as Malachiasz followed the Tranavian into a shoddily constructed cabin. She glanced at Parijahan, whose expression was drawn and wary. The minutes Malachiasz was gone stretched on seemingly endlessly, but the soldier guarding them just looked bored.

Eventually Malachiasz stepped out of the cabin, his face pale. The other soldier followed behind him and waved a hand to the girl guarding them.

“Let them through,” he said.

She looked like she was going to question him, but Malachiasz shot her a thin smile and tapped one of the pins on his jacket. He outranked her—he probably outranked everyone here—and fell silent.

Malachiasz grabbed Nadya’s wrist and pulled her away from the camp. She let him, fully aware it was all part of the show but also that he was clearly enjoying it.

Neither of them had addressed what had passed between them in the clearing. She didn’t think they ever would. She just tried to ignore the stutter in her heart that was intrinsically tied to his hand around her wrist.

That initial danger behind them, now they had to make it to Grazyk before the real test began.

Tranavia was not what Nadya expected. There were lakes and rivers everywhere. They had to ferry across some, the boats run by haggard, elderly men and women, too old to fight at the front. But Tranavia was beautiful. The water clear and bright, studding the land like gemstones, untainted by the scourge of war that burned across the Kalyazi countryside.

On one of the many Tranavian boats they became acquainted with during the trip, Nadya leaned against the railing, gazing down into the water. Rashid was perched precariously at her side when Malachiasz came up next to her.

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