Page 42 of Katya and the Young God

Katya forces herself to breathe, as the head caver looks confused. “What do you mean?”

“Look, sometimes magic this old gets picky,” Feketer interjects, unwinding the muscle tension in the middle of Katya’s shoulders. “Sometimes age of blood matters.”

“But, why?” Nathan asks, looking more confused than scared. “We haven’t seen that yet, but —" he shrugs, walking up anyways, tugging off his climbing glove and offering his hand to Pieter. “As long as it won’t interfere with my grip later on?”

Pieter’s eyes flicker to Katya for the briefest of seconds, in some warning. “It shouldn’t.”

Katya shifts, so she’s in the back of the crowd.

She has orders not to interfere in anything that could jeopardize the mission.

She has orders.

He gives her another glance, and she releases the grip on her gun. With a nod that everyone else could miss, he pulls out a small copper knife, and Katya’s eyebrows raise.

Strange that he would keep a weapon that could kill him so close.

“If you ever encounter magic on this level again,” Pieter murmurs to Nathan, but his words carry. “Copper is always holy.”

“Holy?” Nathan asks, flinching as Pieter pricks the tip of his index finger with the knife.

A single droplet of bright red blood wells up on his fingertip, thick in the light from his headlamp.

“Holy,” Pieter says again, and his voice is strangely tender.

And Katya has her orders to not interfere.

Sketching out a quick rune in the air again, Pieter presses Nathan’s hand against the black stone, and the world breaks.

The ground beneath their feet shakes, a rolling motion that almost pitches Katya onto the floor, dust and stone raining down on them, then abruptly stopping as soon as it began.

But.

But on the seal, Nathan stands, his hand pressed to the stone, and the color drains from his face.

“What’s happening?” he whispers, voice small, and she can see him try to lean away, try to pull his arm away.

His hand doesn’t budge.

Pieter steps back from him, from the seal, his face impassive, watching the point where the hand meets the stone.

Nathan jerks back from his shoulder, but his hand remains stuck to the stone. “Guys,” he starts, and his voice wavers. “Guys, help, I’m —"

One of the other cavers, a wiry man Katya hasn’t bothered to learn the name of yet, surges forward, but Pieter waves his hand and the caver gets battered aside, like a child smacking aside a ball.

He climbs back to his feet, but Feketer grabs him by the shoulder, forcing him back, holding him down. The caver struggles, but Feketer’s grip holds true, his muscles bulging.

And Katya has her orders.

Nathan’s knees buckle, his hand sliding down with him and leaving a streak of blood on the dark stone, but never breaking the connection. His face pales, his eyes bugging out wide, and he pants.

Pieter just watches him, easily within arm’s reach.

And Katya has her orders.

She doesn’t know what stops everyone else. But she has her orders.

Nathan’s head bows, and blood drips from his hand, from the connection with the stone, more blood than should come from a prick that big, like the very stone is drawing it from him. He’s trembling, trembling hard, but nothing moves the hand from the stone.

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