2
NADEZHDA
LAPTEVA
When the faithful turned to the god of protection against a wandering horde from the north, they expected his blessing, only to be slaughtered in the war that followed. Their folly was in forgetting Veceslav was also the god of war, and iron must be tested.
—Codex of the Divine, 4:114
Anna pushed past Nadya, slamming the door closed and barring it. Nadya struggled to stop her—Kostya was going to die if she didn’t do something—but Anna moved in front of the door, blocking Nadya’s way.
“Nadya,” she pleaded softly, everything she wasn’t saying thick in her voice.
This had always been a possibility; Nadya knew her friends were willing to die for her. The only thing she could do now was make sure their deaths were not in vain. Mourn the loss later, survive now.
She clenched her fists and turned away. Stairs descended into darkness before her. She nearly tripped on the first step and learned the hard way just how far down they went. Anna grabbed her arm to steady her and she realized the priestess was shaking.
“Can you get us some light?” Anna asked. There were tears in her voice, just barely restrained.
The darkness was choking, but Nadya found the silence even more disconcerting. There was nothing, even though the battle raged on just outside. They should be able to hear the clash of metal and screams of battle nearby, but all was quiet.
Light Nadya could do. She pulled at her necklace, finding Zvonimira’s bead and the candle flame that marked the goddess of light. She sent up a weak prayer; nothing but a feeble petition for something that could not save them.
A thread of holy speech moved through her lips in a whisper as Zvonimira acknowledged the prayer. White light sparked at her hands. Pressing her fingertips together, she formed a ball of light that could be spun into the air, illuminating the space around them.
“Golzhin dem,” Anna cursed under her breath.
Helpless, Nadya could do nothing but follow as Anna started down the steps. Her best friend was probably dead. Everything she had ever known destroyed. Each time she blinked the High Prince’s cold smile flashed before her. She would never be safe again.
I would take months of carving out a mountain of potato peels over this.
Nadya didn’t know if any of the nearby military camps were still standing, or if the Tranavians had ravaged them as they moved deeper through the country. If she could make it to the capital city of Komyazalov and the Silver Court, there was some hope, but she doubted it possible with the High Prince only steps away.
Nadya was supposed to remain a secret for another year, training in the holy mountains with priests who—while they did not have magic themselves—understood the fundamentals of divinity. Like how a peasant girl could be the one thing that would save Kalyazin from the heretics’ torches. But war didn’t care for carefully laid plans.
Now the war had taken everything from Nadya, and she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Her heart ached, the vision of Kostya staggering with crossbow bolts slamming into his body the only thing she could see.
Anna led her down the stairs and into a long, dank tunnel. It didn’t look like anyone had been down here in decades. After a few minutes of silent walking, Anna paused in front of an aged wooden door set into the wall. She shoved her shoulder into it until it opened with a pained groan. Dust rained down on their heads, spattering Anna’s headscarf like snow.
Inside was a storeroom filled with traveling clothes, racks of weapons, and shelves of carefully preserved food.
“Father Alexei was hoping this place would never be necessary.” Anna sighed wistfully.
Nadya caught the warm violet tunic and pair of dark brown trousers Anna lobbed at her. She pulled them over her thin garb. Anna tossed her a thick, woolen black coat and a fur-lined hat. Anna pulled on her own set of clothes before she moved to the weapons rack. She gave Nadya a twin set of ornate voryens. She paused, staring at the blades in Nadya’s hand, then wordlessly handed her a third, considered further, then a fourth.
“You lose them all the time,” she explained.
That was true enough. Nadya strapped two of the blades to her belt and slid the other two into her boots. At least she would be armed when the prince caught her. Anna pulled a venyiornik from the weapons rack—a long, single-edged sword—and strapped it to her hip.
“That should do,” she murmured. She took two empty bags and started to carefully pack them with food. “Strap those bedrolls and that tent to the bags, would you?”
The entire room shook, a deafening crash coming from the direction of the doorway. Nadya yelped in surprise. She ducked her head into the hallway. Nothing but darkness. Anna carelessly dumped a shelf of preserved food into one of the packs.
Panic clutched at Nadya’s chest. The tunnel wasn’t very long. The Tranavians could be there in moments.
Anna shouldered one of the packs and moved out into the tunnel. The world shifted dangerously as words in a rapid-fire language Nadya only barely understood floated down from the direction they had just come.
She didn’t need to understand the words or recognize the voice. It was the prince. It had to be. She could not last against him.
Then she was running, running, running after Anna. She had to trust that the priestess knew the twists and curves of the tunnel; she had to trust that wherever this led wouldn’t just spill them out into a company of Tranavians.
The sound of magic striking the walls hissed behind them. Something brushed Nadya’s ear, heat coming off it in waves. It slammed into the curve of the tunnel before her, bursting into a shower of sparks. He was close; he was too close.
“Tek szalet wylkesz!” The shout echoing through the tunnel didn’t sound angry. If anything it sounded amused. A laugh rang out, clear and sardonic.
Nadya slowed just long enough to look back into the darkness. A pattering sound came from within the black. It started slow but rose in intensity, sounding not like one but many things. Many moving things. She squinted. A thousand small flapping wings.
Anna yanked her down just as a teeming mass of bats swarmed into the cramped space of the tunnel.
Nadya’s light spell cut off, plunging them into a living, moving darkness. The bats caught their hair and tore at any unprotected skin. Nadya followed Anna blindly, the priestess’s hand in hers the only thing she had that was not the living darkness. It was like being swallowed alive by the dark.
They were trapped within the shifting flurry of wings and claws until finally Anna slammed through a doorway and the girls and the bats went spilling out into the snow.
The bats disappeared into wisps of smoke the second they hit the fading light. Nadya jumped to her feet, helping Anna up. Her gaze was fixed on the opening, the yawning slash of black against the glaring white snow of the mountainside.
“We need to move,” Nadya said, backing away from the cave entrance.
She glanced at Anna, concerned when she didn’t get a response. Anna stared at the open doorway. No Tranavians appeared.
We’ll die if we don’t move. Nadya lifted a hand as the other scrambled for her necklace, catching on the right bead. She sent a simple prayer to Bozidarka, the goddess of vision. A vivid image took over her sight. The prince, leaning back against a stone wall, a nasty, sneering grin on his face, his arms crossed over his chest. At his side, glaring at the opening of the tunnel, a short girl with black hair cut severely at her chin, a spiked patch over one of her eyes.