WINDWITCH x WICKED SAINTS
It’s been 1,000 years since the gods were slaughtered. Another five since Valeska Svetskova became a conartist in exchange for having her self-destructive magic silenced. When her girlfriend, Naya, mysteriously vanishes, leaving only a cryptic note behind, Valeska must unravel the truth of where Naya went and why she disappeared in the first place. But Naya has been running a con of her own, and it isn’t long until Valeska discovers the gods aren’t as dead as they seem—and neither is her magic.
Of all the events Valeska was forced to attend, executions were her favorite.
It wasn’t death itself that intrigued her, but the short relief of knowing the axe was falling upon someone else’s neck. Though, truthfully, it would take more than death to bring her to justice.
This execution, however, made her nervous.
The Bone Palace loomed behind her, its behemoth shadow a reminder that if her lies faltered, she’d find herself on that ivory platform, her neck bent over the brown-crusted block, her blood joining the stains they’d stopped bothering to wash away.
Seated beside the king’s throne, she had a perfect view of Miculce’s nobility, their gloved hands sketching symbols to ward off evil. Valeska swallowed the urge to empty her untouched wine goblet over their heads, if only to distract herself from the choking grip of her high-collared gown.
Beneath her woolen gloves, her palms began to itch. As she stared at the prisoner, she wondered if he could sense her, one criminal to another. Their blood had betrayed them, and the black Mark scrawled on his skin had sentenced him. The only difference between them was that Valeska was a better liar. If King Danek found out—whether he wanted to marry her or not—he’d drag her to the platform himself.