Serefin tensed.
“I’m fine,” Malachiasz whispered.
“Don’t lie to me,” Nadya replied.
His jaw clenched and he tugged away. “I’m fine,” he repeated firmly.
Katya’s hand rested against that damn relic. Serefin needed to get that away from her.
“I was going to say my throne was the least of our concerns,” Serefin said. “Now I’m not so sure.”
Malachiasz rested his head gingerly in his hands. “Chyrnog is the problem.”
“Was Chyrnog also behind what happened in Komyazalov?” Katya asked.
Nadya shook her head, tugging at her beaded necklace. “Cvjetko wanted to set free Nyrokosha, the elder god underneath the Komyazalov cathedral.”
“I’m throwing myself in a river,” Katya muttered. “This is…” she trailed off with a helpless laugh. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“There need to be four,” Malachiasz said softly. He stood suddenly, nearly knocking Nadya off the bench. “Pelageya told … us?” He looked at Serefin for confirmation.
Serefin stared at him blankly.
“Oh,” Kacper breathed. “The girl, the monster, the prince, and the queen.”
It felt like a lifetime ago, hearing the omen in Pelageya’s tower. It felt like a lifetime ago, telling Malachiasz about it while waiting to be killed by cultists.
“What,” Katya said flatly. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
Malachiasz wordlessly pointed to himself, to Serefin, and to Nadya. He faltered slightly, glancing between Katya and Parijahan.
“Not a queen,” Serefin murmured, and pointed at Parijahan.
“Since when am I involved in your mad witch’s ramblings?” Parijahan asked.
“Pelageya is not the most forthcoming. But…” Nadya paused. She met Serefin’s gaze across the table. He was twelve steps behind the rest of them. “How did you free the fallen gods? Chyrnog?”
Serefin shuddered involuntarily. He didn’t like remembering. The earth closing over him, the moss growing on his skin.
“I gave up.”
Malachiasz tilted his head at that. He looked very pale. There was something wrong even if he denied it. He’d moved a significant distance away from Nadya—oh. Serefin picked up a roll and tossed it to Malachiasz, who caught it, a grateful smile ghosting over his features.
“And you broke the connection with Velyos—” Nadya started.
“And Chyrnog—wait—” Serefin breathed. He turned to Katya. “It was you.”
Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry?”
“That altar. That was when I first spoke to Chyrnog. That was when he hitched a ride into the forest to be set free. What were you doing?”
She stared at him for a long moment before reaching over and pulling at the ties on his tunic.
“Please don’t disrobe him at the table,” Kacper said.
Malachiasz glanced at Nadya. She very pointedly did not meet his gaze.
“May I ask what you’re doing?” Serefin asked Katya serenely.
She tugged the neckline over to the scar on his chest. “It was … nothing, frankly. It was intended to scare you and give me a sense of why your eyes were so weird. It was minor magic. It wasn’t supposed to open the channels of communication between you and old gods. What is wrong with all of you?”
The scar on his chest was mostly healed. Katya, satisfied nothing eldritch was going to crawl out of Serefin’s skin—yet, anyway—leaned back.
“Bovilgy,” Malachiasz said.
“That’s what Pelageya said,” Serefin said.
“I don’t—it doesn’t make sense.”
“You’re literally a god, Malachiasz,” Nadya said dryly.
He waved a hand, dismissive. “We know by now it has nothing to do with divinity and everything to do with scope of power.”
Nadya rolled her eyes.
“And what is all of this but your gods getting antsy because magic has changed? She doesn’t use magic the way the Church wants,” he said, waving at Katya, who appeared reluctant to acknowledge Malachiasz was right. “You don’t, either.”
“You think that’s what this is about? A petty cling to power?”
“Sznecz.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“What about your soul?” Serefin asked.
Malachiasz’s face grayed. Probably not something Serefin should have shared like that. But if Malachiasz was going to be there, with them, the rest needed to know what they were up against, how far into impossibility they had walked. He knew Malachiasz, how antagonistic he could be, how any moment could be the one where he turned on them, but he also knew Malachiasz wanted to be free of Chyrnog’s hold and he would do anything to make it happen.
Parijahan blinked at Malachiasz, while Nadya let out a deeply weary sigh, resting her forehead against splayed fingers.
“Pelageya said I would need help. T-to get it back,” Malachiasz said. His voice quieted. “I don’t think we can do anything about Chyrnog unless I find the pieces.”
“How long do we have, Malachiasz?” Serefin asked.
He glanced at Nadya. “I don’t know … I took another. I don’t know how many he needs, but it’s not many more.”
Nadya finally lifted her head, meeting his gaze. Her hair had dried to pale white-gold waves around her shoulders. “What does that mean?”
“We’re dancing very neatly around the fact that he’s eaten people,” Katya said flatly, jamming the relic knife into the table. Malachiasz flinched. “We kill monsters. We don’t try to save them.”
Serefin put his hand on the hilt of the blade. Katya let him wrench it from the wood. He held it loosely in his palm. “You kill Malachiasz, you set Chyrnog free.”
“Every moment he is like this, he and Chyrnog become more indistinguishable,” Katya replied.
“So, we move faster.”
A muscle in Katya’s jaw fluttered.
They were getting nowhere. Serefin sighed. “All right,” he said, gently taking control of the situation away from Katya, who looked like she was in turns so bewildered and so furious she was going to sink underneath the table. “Let’s lay out what we know and see if it paints a coherent picture.”
But when they brought their individual pieces together, there were too many gaps. Malachiasz took out the book he’d gotten from Ruslan and set it on the table.
“Oh, I found so many in Komyazalov,” Nadya said, sounding disappointed.
“I brought them,” Anna said. “I got your stuff before we escaped.”
Nadya brightened considerably. She touched Malachiasz’s hand before darting from the room, returning with an armful of books after a short bit.
“Who were the four who bound the old gods the last time?” Nadya asked. “How did they manage that?”
“I have their names,” Malachiasz said, flipping through his book. He rattled them off, looking at Nadya hopefully.
“They sound vaguely familiar,” she said softly. “Wait, Sofka—abandoned by Marzenya.”
Katya lifted her eyebrows. “That would be significant.”
“Ruslan mentioned that his cult was in Komyazalov,” Malachiasz said. Rashid leaned across the table, taking two of the books, before handing them on to Malachiasz. Their covers had the same stamped symbol.
“So, we have to get his soul back, and the four of us are needed to bind the old gods?” Parijahan asked.
“Simple,” Serefin said lightly.
“Should we start with the soul, then?”
Malachiasz appeared lightly distressed but nodded slowly. “Pelageya said she didn’t have the pieces anymore. It’s only pieces. I have so little left.”
“My concern is that the attack on Komyazalov was only the beginning,” Serefin said.
“It began months ago,” Nadya replied. “We just haven’t heard every tragedy. The swamp witches, the dragon in the west, it’s happening everywhere. We’re out of time.”
* * *
Serefin r
eturned to the room he had slept in the night before. He was wishing he had something to throw very hard at a wall when the door opened and shut behind him.
“That was not fun,” Kacper said, leaning against the wall.
Serefin glanced at him. His tunic was wrinkled, and his hair was a mess, but Serefin wondered if he’d ever been so lovely.
He crossed the room, dropping his forehead to Kacper’s collarbone. Serefin’s brain wouldn’t stop spinning and he needed a distraction. “What if I told you there was a lot of that on your horizon?”
Kacper’s hand found his waist, fingers catching underneath the hem of Serefin’s tunic. “No,” Kacper whined softly.
“State dinners. Meetings with diplomats.”
“I’m your spymaster,” Kacper protested. “I have to stay in the background!”
“Is that all you want to be?” Serefin asked innocently.
“You’re a nightmare.”
“This is true.”
Kacper tilted his head back with a low groan.
“Did you doubt I’d be public?”
“You’re the bloody king. I grew up in Zowecz.”
“Hm, well.” Serefin dipped his head, kissing Kacper’s neck. “Unfortunate for you, I suppose.”
Kacper laughed.
“I have no intentions of keeping us secret. I don’t—” Serefin paused, frowning. “Stop me if I sound condescending, but I don’t care where you grew up.”
“A little condescending, keep trying.”
“It doesn’t matter that you’re from Zowecz.”
“No, somehow you’re getting worse.”
“I don’t care what the slavhki say.”
“There we go, less about me, more about your nightmare court.”
Serefin laughed. Kacper grinned and kissed him, fast and light. “They’ll talk.” Serefin’s fingers slipped under the hem of Kacper’s shirt. “It won’t be easy. It would be hard no matter who I chose to be with. I’m choosing you, Kacper.”
“Grandiose!”
“You like it.”
“Unfortunately, I do. It just encourages you.”
“And I only need a little bit of encouragement. I’m a menace.”
“You are.” Kacper leaned his head against Serefin’s shoulder. “I don’t know if I’m prepared for your court.”
“Well, on the bright side, we don’t know that I’ll ever take my throne back! We could be stuck here forever!”
“Don’t catastrophize.”
“I’m not!”
Kacper kissed his throat. He felt a little unsteady. He hadn’t even had anything to drink. Well, he’d had some wine with breakfast, but not much. He kissed his jaw, his cheek, his temple. “You are,” he murmured, lips sliding against Serefin’s skin. “It’s what you do.” He kissed Serefin’s mouth gently. “That’s all right. I’m here to remind you that things are bad but we’re still here and that means there’s hope.”
A soft sound broke from Serefin’s chest, pulling a smile from Kacper’s lips.
“If you don’t want to be recognized, you don’t have to be—I just—I know there’s a power imbalance and I—”
“Oh, this too?”
“Y-yeah, yes.” Serefin cupped Kacper’s face between his hands.
“Remember when I said we should talk?”
Serefin huffed.
“Talk to me.” Kacper pulled the tie out of Serefin’s hair, letting it frame his face, and immediately got distracted. “I can’t decide how I feel about this.” He ran his fingers through the strands.
It was past Serefin’s chin, long enough that he usually kept it tied out of his face. He bit back a smile.
“No?”
Kacper made a thoughtful sound. He ran his hands through Serefin’s hair, parting it on the side. “For a coping mechanism, you make it look good.”
It stung a little, how frank Kacper was. Serefin pulled back. Thought about all the little things he didn’t know about him. Maybe he was right. Maybe they should talk.
“It terrifies me, how good to me you are,” Serefin said. “Sometimes it feels like I’m waiting to stumble on your ulterior motive. Like it’s a matter of time before this crashes down around me because no one stays. No one cares about me.” It came pouring out of him in a rush of words he immediately wanted back.
Kacper was quiet, his brow creased.
“I’ve fucked up everything with Tranavia. I’m supposed to be the king? Lead a country?” His voice went a little shrill. “I couldn’t handle one noble putting pressure on me before I crumbled. I can’t do this. But I guess it won’t matter because someone’s going to kill me or Malachiasz is going to kill me and this is all going to end anyway. You deserve better than constantly propping me up. I’m a self-destructive drunk. I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve you.”
He spun away, unable to handle Kacper’s reaction. After a pause, Kacper’s fingers slowly slid into his, tugging him around. He pulled Serefin closer, his movements careful.
“Do you remember when we were ambushed in Rzenski? Not the ambush, but after?”
Serefin had been badly injured.
“How you sat at Izabela’s bedside when you were near to bleeding out?”
“I was the one who sent us into that ambush, and she got hurt,” Serefin muttered. “It was my fault.”
“She barely had a scratch. You almost died. But you cared about one soldier in your company of hundreds—sometimes thousands. I watched you care about every single person under your command for three years. You cared about me when I was a boy from a farm with nothing to offer. I don’t love you because I want something from you; I do what I do because you need help and you’ll never ask for it. I don’t care about being recognized. You’re right, there’s a power imbalance between us. You can be insensitive sometimes. Actually, a lot. Actually, you’re a bit of an ass.”
Serefin blinked, wondering if he should feel stung, but Kacper smiled reassuringly.
“You acknowledging the imbalance means you can work on it.” He hesitated. “Do you want to be king, Serefin?”
The question was a bolt of lightning down Serefin’s spine. He had never been more terrified than the day the crown had been placed on his head. But he did want it. He wanted to be a better king than his father. He wanted to save Tranavia.
“Yes,” he said softly, his voice hoarse.
Kacper took Serefin’s face between his hands and kissed him hard. His eye closed reflexively, his whole body relaxing under Kacper’s sure hands. There was something different about the way Kacper kissed him now. They had eased into a relationship that was gentle, almost entirely for Serefin’s sake. This was warm and breathless and messy.
“I hate when you’re defeatist,” Kacper said roughly. “And you’re damn right I’m too good for you.”
“I hate when you badger me about my perfectly innocent pessimism!” Serefin returned. “And you are, you really, really are.”
Kacper laughed, his head tilting back. Serefin took the opportunity to press his mouth to Kacper’s throat, knocking him against the door. Kacper’s hands were under his shirt, warm as they moved up Serefin’s back. Then, in one impressively deft movement, he yanked Serefin’s tunic off.
Serefin blinked at him.
Kacper grinned.
“That was something.”
“Shut up, Serefin.”
“Well, it’s only fair if—”
“Serefin.” He already had his tunic half off.
Serefin marveled at the taut lines of Kacper’s chest. Serefin grabbed his shoulders, kissing the long scar that cut across his collarbone. He remembered when it had happened, a Kalyazi spear grazing Kacper. There had been so much blood that Serefin was convinced he’d died on the field. That had been a very bad day. He never wanted to feel that way again.
Kacper took Serefin’s face between his hands. “Two can play at that game,” he murmured, pressing by turns careful and sloppy kisses against the many, many scars on Serefin’s face.
His fingers very cautiously caught on the loop of Serefin’s eye patch, buried in his hair. He gently tugged it off, pausing to see if Serefin would protest. When Serefin remained quiet, he thumbed a scar that cut against the corner of Serefin’s chin as he dropped the eye patch.
Serefin closed his eye as Kacper brushed the pad of his thumb over the oldest of Serefin’s scars. He gently kissed Serefin’s eyelid, keeping up a veritable assault of tenderness to the point that it was near agonizing. Serefin, affection starved for his whole life, wanted more.
“Mm, I missed one,” Kacper murmured, pressing his mouth against the scar cutting across Serefin’s throat.
Serefin couldn’t really keep track of his thoughts after that.
39
NADEZHDA LAPTEVA
Peloyin presided over the other gods, but that did not mean his power was far-reaching. That did not mean he could not be toppled.
—The Books of Innokentiy
Malachiasz went to leave the hall but Nadya grabbed his wrist. He paused, stilling in a way she found concerning. It wasn’t an entirely human kind of quiet.
He twisted his wrist slightly so he could take her hand. She had his spell book. He’d want that back. Something of a peace offering that would last for potentially ninety seconds before they started fighting again.
Serefin had practically run from the room, clearly anxious about the news from Tranavia, Kacper following. Parijahan had wandered off, and Rashid and Ostyia had cleared the table before disappearing.
“Nadya?” Katya shattered any chance Nadya might have had to ask Malachiasz about his soul.
Malachiasz’s expression grew irritated. “Your tsarevna wishes to speak to you,” he said, his voice cold. He tugged out of her grasp.
“We have a fight to finish,” she grumbled.
He glanced at her, a smile flickering at the corner of his lips. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
His words jolted her strangely. She blinked at him, eyes welling with tears. He hesitated but she waved him away. Żaneta followed, mumbling about seeing if he needed any help.
Nadya glared at Katya, who appeared unperturbed.
“Can we talk?”
Not like Katya to phrase it as a question. Nadya glanced at Anna.
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