Page 40 of The Maiden and Her Monster

“You saw for yourself where the indulgences are going,” Katarina said to Malka. “They are not subtle.”

“Who exactly is involved in all this?” Nimrah asked.

“There are many of us, from many places,” Katarina said. “You’ve stepped outside. Ordobav has become quite diverse. Many of us want a future where that is embraced, not feared.”

“Why is this so important to you?” Amnon pushed, slitting his eyes. “You can leave if you wish. Back to Balkisk, where the Church is already losing power.”

She did not seem to take the slight to heart. Instead, she quirked her lips. “I see why you would think that, given where you’re from.”

Amnon opened his mouth defensively, but Katarina lifted her hand.

“I just mean you did not grow up in a city, nor in the thick of imperial politics. But I did.” Her eyes drifted to the map pinned to the wall.

“It’s true the Balkisk Kingdom has secularized over the years, largely due to the duke’s influence.

But it is still bound to the Rha?kan Empire, and therefore, the Church.

You can say a place is not ruled by the word of God, but it’s an empty claim if prayers are still etched into the law. ”

Chaia brushed a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Duke Sigmund has expressed interest in becoming the Ordobavian King. He believes Valski has driven their father’s legacy into the ground with his reliance on Sévren for political counsel.”

“But Valski has an heir,” Malka countered.

“Ev ? en won’t be better than his father,” Chaia sneered. “Sévren is well aware where the kingdom will go once Valski is gone, and how to make sure the prince keeps his counsel.”

“So, you think the duke would be a better ruler?”

“He can ride the winds of change, unlike Sévren and his puppet royals. We share an interest in a future devoid of the Church’s presence in politics and academia.

It’s the first step to a fairer empire for all religions, and all people,” Chaia added.

“He has prominent connections. Even Ozmini priests who view the Church’s corruption as a wart on the religion’s true purpose support a kingdom under Sigmund’s rule. He’s willing to engage with us.”

Malka considered mentioning his robe of human bones but bit her tongue. Maybe the story Aleksi had shared was more fiction than truth. She rubbed her eyes instead.

Her entire life had become unfamiliar. Once, she had had her routine: plucking herbs from the garden bed, waking her sisters, helping Imma.

It was what she loved. Now, she stood in a secret meeting chamber in Valón, the mark of holy magic embedded in her skin.

Now, she was privy to Ordobav’s politicking and the plot to steal a prisoner away under royal guard.

This plot was so much bigger than Malka.

At the end of the day, though, the result was the same. As long as Imma was free and she could return to the life she treasured in Eskravé, Malka would play any role, do any magic necessary. She had already proved it.

“We should go tomorrow,” Chaia said. “We don’t know what state the Maharal will be in when we find him. Evaluate his recovery to see if he’ll be able to officiate our wedding.”

The sooner they freed the Maharal, the sooner they could head back.

“Speaking of our wedding,” Chaia spoke shyly, a stark contrast from her confidence seconds ago, when she spoke of politics and upheavals. “It would mean the world if you three came.”

Malka gnawed on her lip, thinking of the long travel home on foot along the eastern road. Of Amnon’s injury slowing their pace already. “I don’t know, Chaia.”

Chaia’s face fell before she pursed her lips.

In only took a minute before her smile reemerged.

“One of Vilém’s university friends is heading to Vy? after the wedding.

He could… take you in his carriage? It wouldn’t be that much additional time on his journey, and he owes Vilém a favor,” Chaia said, staring straight ahead, though a slight blush caressed the tip of her ears.

“You’d make up any time lost with the speed of horse travel. In fact, you may even return faster.”

Malka considered this. It was a logical solution, efficient even.

And despite herself, love swelled in her chest. She had grieved Chaia and their lost moments together.

And now, she was here. Was it wrong if she stole some joy for herself on this journey?

Guilt still pierced her, even if waiting for a carriage made more sense.

Even if the guarantee of their deal was still subject to the whims of the Maharal’s rescue.

“Tell the magister thank you,” she said, the corner of her lips ticking up.

Before Chaia could respond, Amnon cleared his throat. “Malka, I need to speak with you alone.” He was already reaching for his cane.

His abruptness caught her off guard. She stuttered out, “Of course.”

“You can use the shop,” Katarina said, unperturbed. “We rarely get customers this time of day.”

“This is spiraling out of control, Malka,” Amnon said, after they emerged from the curtain. “The golem was one thing,” he continued, “but getting involved with this ?”

“We aren’t,” Malka promised. “We’re just freeing the Maharal, then bringing the Rayga back to Father Bro ? ek. Anything else that happens because of that is not our doing.”

“If they— we —are caught, that is not how we’ll be viewed when they try us at court! I cannot protect you if we are behind bars.”

Malka absently played with a piece of silk hanging off a table. “She’s changed so much, hasn’t she?” Her voice was low, sheepish.

Amnon sighed, his anger dissipating. “Has she, Malka? I think Chaia’s always been like this, only hampered by her circumstances.”

Malka chewed on the inside of her mouth. Maybe that was true, but Malka didn’t want to admit it. If she did, whatever normalcy Malka had convinced herself she’d have would shatter. Maybe it already had, feet seconds away from stepping on the shards.

“We both left Eskravé to prove something,” she said finally. “So did she. We owe each other open ears. That’s all.”

She spoke in a language Amnon understood—desirous for vindication, teetering on the edge of recklessness to get it.

The whoosh of the curtain revealed Chaia and Nimrah.

“Ready to go?” Chaia asked. “You’ll both need your rest for tomorrow.”

They nodded.

Amnon and Chaia walked ahead, but Nimrah grabbed Malka’s arm before she could move. Their eyes locked. Malka’s breath hitched, as if the touch between them heightened the heady weight of their connection.

Nimrah opened her mouth, closed it.

“What?” Malka asked, a little breathless. She chalked it up to shock.

So many flitters of emotion in the golem’s eyes, too quick for Malka to grasp, but strong enough to notice. It turned out even a permanent mask could slip.

Her gaze drifted to Malka’s arm, her hand wrapped loosely above where the command was etched on Malka’s skin and glowered.

Malka had yet to decipher how their connection affected Nimrah—if it was as violent; overwhelming when they were close, the distance making her sick and disoriented.

But Nimrah’s eyes had widened at their touch, her body stiffened.

It made her feel something. Of that, Malka was sure.

Nimrah swallowed. “Don’t forget to re-dress it tonight.”

“I am a healer’s daughter,” Malka said, still flustered. “I know when to re-dress my wounds.”

“Of course, village girl,” Nimrah responded, mask slipping back into place. “How could I possibly forget?”