“What could it possibly be? The Tranavians at our doorstep? They have seven thousand stairs to climb first. She received a withering look in response. “Is it our impending death by potato avalanche? I can’t hear it, but I’m certain it’s coming.” If he was trying to distract her, it wasn’t going to work. There was nothing but the service upstairs. His paring knife hung limp in his fingers as he listened. “Did you hear that?” Konstantin acted like she hadn’t spoken. She hadn’t anticipated losing her entire day to remedial labor, yet here she was. The table was covered in potato peel spirals. Now go wither in the cellars for the rest of your life, Nadezhda.” “You could change the tide of the war, Nadezhda. “A cleric’s duty is important, Nadezhda,” she muttered, mimicking the dour tone of the monastery’s abbot. She twisted her knife hard against the one in her hand, narrowly missing skin as she curled the peel into a spiral. Nadezhda Lapteva glared up at the mountain of potatoes threatening to avalanche down over the table. It was late afternoon, just before Vespers, a time where psalms to the gods were given up in an effortless chorus.

The calming echo of a holy chant filtered down from the sanctuary and into the cellars. She can grant any spell to those she has blessed, her reach is the fabric of magic itself. She is constant she is unrelenting she is eternal.

A bitter cycle that Marzenya spins with crimson threads around pale fingers. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us./piracy.ĭeath, magic, and winter. Copyright infringement is against the law. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. To receive special offers, bonus content,Īnd info on new releases and other great reads,įor email updates on the author, click here.

Wicked Saints by Emily A. Duncan