Nadya would never forgive him, but he didn’t know if he could forgive her, either.
Maybe this was all that was left. He had killed one god and he would kill more.
And so, he listened.
“Very good.” The god’s voice was marked with approval. “Together, we will plunge this world into darkness in order to bring the light.”
What is it you want from me?
“You have power—divine and mortal—and I need it to remake this world anew before I scatter your bones on the edges of my domain.”
Oh good … I have only ever wanted to bring peace to my country.
“Is that all you wish?”
So much had changed, so much of him had changed. What had always seemed clear was murky. But, in the end, yes. He yearned for the same thing, no matter its shape. He wanted peace. He wanted no one else to suffer in the acutely specific ways he had. Not with the Vultures—they weren’t going anywhere—but because of this war, this unending madness.
There was more he wanted, quiet things he couldn’t admit, because to admit them would be to tempt fate against them. Except there was nothing left for him with Nadya. He needed to close off the shattered pieces of his blackened heart. If he didn’t, he would find his way to her again. If she had been willing to take everything away from him, and he had been willing to take everything from her, what was left?
I only want peace, he finally repeated.
“A noble goal. Lofty. What a hero.” The voice was snide.
I know what I am, Malachiasz snapped. He didn’t need to be reminded of what he had done.
“You don’t, not really. But we will go on that journey, you and I, and I will break you if I must.”
Malachiasz scowled. I ask again, what is it you want?
“Your being exists in ideal circumstances. And I have already given you the tools you will need to put the first steps into motion.”
He frowned, uncertain where this would lead. The first steps … killing another god?
“I knew there was a reason I chose you.” The voice was smug as it let Malachiasz go.
2
NADEZHDA LAPTEVA
Out of Svoyatovi Yeremey Meledin’s mouth came twelve hundred snakes. When the last snake fell, the last word spoken, he died.
—Vasiliev’s Book of Saints
Light filtered in through the dirty farmhouse windows, illuminating the dust motes that hung in the air. Nadya picked at the bandages wrapping her hands, the temptation to pull them off strong.
It had been fourteen days since she had fallen off the side of a mountain and lost everything. Only a fortnight. To say she had spent every moment of it wallowing would be too gentle.
She pulled at the fraying cuff of her dress to avoid tearing at her bandages.
Rashid sat down next to her at the small table, cradling two cups of tea in his hand. Nadya took them, waiting for him to settle. He gave her a grateful smile, tucking a lock of long black hair behind his ear. His wrist was carefully splinted. Cuts were scattered across his hands and face, and a handful of ugly gashes along his forearms that Nadya didn’t want to consider. She hadn’t asked what had happened to him in the forest; he hadn’t offered to tell.
None of them would talk. The horrors were too fresh, and Nadya couldn’t fool herself into thinking that what the others had gone through hadn’t been as terrible as her experience. They may have gotten out alive—well, most of them—but they had all lost something. The forest ate and ate and ate.
Nadya had nothing left.
The door opened with a crash and Nadya’s tea jostled as someone kicked the back of her chair.
“All right, kovoishka, time’s up.” Yekaterina Vodyanova threw herself down in the chair across the table. She eyed the teacups before standing and abruptly leaving the room.
Nadya frowned, puzzled, before the tsarevna returned with a wine bottle—gods only knew where she had found it—that she casually placed on the table before dropping into her chair, kicking it back, and putting her feet up on the seat beside her.
Katya’s black hair curled, tangled, around her shoulders. A long cut was healing on her cheek, promising a scar. She was in a soldier’s uniform sans jacket, her black boots and cream blouse uncomfortably clean. Pristine and untouched.
“I’ve given you time. I’m done being patient,” Katya continued. Her gaze flicked to Rashid. “If you would also like to share, I’m all ears.”
“Considering our friend who was all eyes, thank you for that truly terrible image,” Rashid replied.
Nadya couldn’t decide whether she wanted to laugh or sob. The only thing she knew for sure was, she didn’t want to talk.
Her god was dead.
Malachiasz had killed Marzenya, and she had given him the means. How would the others retaliate for that transgression?
Since then, they had been ignoring her completely. It was a different emptiness than before. She had touched each kind of abandonment, categorized them all. This was new, more painful than when she couldn’t feel them at all. Or was it easier? She didn’t know. The very fabric of the world had altered, the universe tilted sharply on its axis. And it was her fault. She had broken everything.
“Don’t make me order you, kovoishka.” Katya took a long drink from the wine bottle and regarded Nadya with careful scrutiny, taking in the fading bruises from Marzenya’s touch that stained her skin.
Even now Nadya could feel her skin splitting open underneath her goddess’s fingertips. The warmth of Malachiasz’s blood on her hands.
“It wouldn’t make a difference,” she said, skimming her fingertip around the rim of her cup.
Katya’s eyes narrowed. They had been waiting for soldiers from the nearest garrison for weeks without sign of them. Nadya guessed they were still too close to the forest to be found, but Katya didn’t seem ready to give up. Regardless, what could Katya do to her?
Many things, but not here, not now. Not when all she had was the power of her name and some weak magic she barely knew how to use. But if Katya thought it would be useful to know the horrors that haunted her, who was Nadya to stop her?
“A god is dead,” Nadya said quietly. “And many of the fallen gods have risen. The rest have decided we’re not worth the trouble.”
“That’s impossible.”
“You will find a great number of impossibilities have become possible.” Nadya flexed her corrupted hand.
Katya didn’t appear appeased. “I don’t have time for your theological riddles.”
“I’m not giving you any. Marzenya died. Velyos and the others—” she waved a hand “—were set free. I have no answers because no one ever bothered to tell me any of this existed in the first place.”
“So, you went and crashed through every wall placed before you and toppled what little stability we had,” Katya said derisively.
I was a complacent little soldier, she thought. Fighting a people who were naught but monsters. Ask no questions, act on the faith that everything you have been told is absolute truth. Until you realize it was all lies. What did they expect I would do if I found out? Continue on as I had, I suppose.
“You should put a glove over that.” Katya frowned in disgust, her eyes on Nadya’s hand.