He wasn’t sure she could help him, not with anything. But it was all he could do at this point. He was trapped in a cage of gold and iron with no door to escape from and had been given a dagger when he needed a saw to cut a hole in his prison.
“I can have a servant sent to her quarters,” Kacper said. “Is that all?”
Serefin nodded absently, before frowning and squinting up at Kacper. “Are you all right?”
Kacper blinked in surprise. “Me? Of course, why? They weren’t trying to kill me.”
Serefin eyed the other boy, taking in his dark hair and skin, the scar that cut across one of his eyebrows, and his sharp, brown eyes. He hadn’t grown up fighting off assassination attempts like Serefin and Ostyia. By all rights, Kacper should have been just another soldier in the king’s army; he was of low birth. His exceptional talent with blood magic and his sharp skills for espionage meant he had been shuffled around in the army until he was assigned to Serefin’s company. Their friendship had been struck a month into Serefin’s first tour of the front when he was sixteen. Kacper had gotten into a spitting fight with Ostyia. She broke his arm, he fractured three of her ribs, and it had taken Serefin knocking them both unconscious to get them apart.
Serefin still didn’t know what the fight was about. Neither would tell him. It had taken another week for Serefin to promote Kacper to his personal service after Kacper had nearly lost his other arm on Serefin’s behalf.
“I don’t need formality, Kacper. Not from you. I was just making sure you weren’t shaken up or anything. Assassins are new for you.”
Kacper grinned, flopping down next to him on the bed. “To be honest, I was worried it was going to be boring here. The assassins keep it interesting.”
“You thought Grazyk would be boring?” Serefin asked incredulously.
“I thought we were just coming here to have your father pick out a pretty girl for you to marry and then it would be back to the front.”
Serefin groaned. “Don’t talk about marriage.”
“You sound like Ostyia.”
“Ostyia would be in a far better position if she were in my shoes. She dumped the last suitor her father sent her way in a fountain. I think before this is over she’ll have romanced at least half the girls here.”
“At least?”
Serefin considered that. “Yes, you’re right, perhaps more than half.” Ostyia was very charming. When she wanted to be.
* * *
When Serefin finally rose to meet with his mother, his head had incrementally slowed its pounding. Every step he took was a mild agony, but he pressed through it. He needed to show Grazyk their High Prince would not be slowed by anything, not the prospect of marriage nor assassins in the night.
Ostyia knocked on the door to Klarysa’s quarters before Serefin. The door was opened by his mother’s handmaiden, Lena. She nodded crisply at Serefin and gestured for him to enter. Ostyia elected to wait outside.
“I have been in this blasted city for weeks now and my only son has just finally deigned to grace me with his presence.” The graceful lilt of his mother’s voice came floating down the hall. Lena shot Serefin a sympathetic look. Serefin had always found his mother to be a bit baffling. Both of his parents were larger than life, greater than reality. He had seen so little of them growing up.
His childhood had been spent with tutors and servants. His parents were figureheads who would move in and out of his life with little permanence. They sometimes appeared in the evening at mealtimes only to disappear once again at the start of a new day. Serefin had Ostyia—whose family had always lived in the palace—as well as a cousin on his mother’s side, but that was all. The cousin had left when they were still very young, off to the country for his health. His aunt and uncle were still seen around the palace, Serefin knew that much, but he had never seen his cousin again, and had eventually stopped inquiring.
“I’ve been otherwise occupied,” he said, pitching his voice to reach his mother and following along after it.
The sitting room was lavish, as would befit a queen. His mother sat on a velvet-embroidered chaise, a cloth mask covering her nose and mouth. Her brown curls were swept up elaborately, and her spell book rested on a nearby end table.
She stood, setting her book facedown on the arm of the chaise. “Serefin,” she said, tugging her mask down.
She drew him into her arms, and he had to stoop so she could kiss his cheek.
“Mother, I’m glad to see you well,” he said as she sat back down. She motioned to the chair opposite the chaise and he sat.
“Well enough for your father to drag me back to this dirty city.” She paused, then conceded: “For a good cause.”
“Is it a good cause?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Straight to the point?”
“I don’t really have time for much else.” He crossed his legs, resting an ankle on the opposite knee. “I’ve spoken to Pelageya and the Crimson Vulture, and I have to admit I felt safer at the front.”
“And here I was going to ask if you were all right. I heard you were attacked last night?”
“I’m here, so I assume that means I’m fine.”
Klarysa smiled wryly. “I do find it interesting that you went to Pelageya before me,” she said, lifting an eyebrow. He knew that tone. She wasn’t disappointed in him, rather she was telling him he had made a foolish decision but she wasn’t about to say it aloud.
“Circumstances called for it,” he replied.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure they did.”
I don’t have time for this, he thought. But he did. That was the thing. He was trapped here—doing nothing, knowing nothing. He could feel the jaws of the invisible beast closing over him but he was powerless to stop it.
“Do you think I can turn the court to my side?” he asked.
She blinked, straightening in her chair. “Serefin?”
“Oh, I’m sure he knows anyway,” Serefin said, waving a hand. “I just need to know how many steps ahead of me he is.”
“Your father—” She put emphasis on the word father as if it meant something to Serefin. Maybe once it had. Years ago when he thought he might win his father’s love. Not anymore.
“I found a cleric in Kalyazin. No one else seems to find that important. Doesn’t it strike you as a bit strange? They sent the Vultures after her, but she escaped.”
“The Vultures?”
“She escaped the Vultures. Why am I the only one troubled by this? What is Father planning that has made this a nonissue?”
Klarysa’s eyes narrowed and Serefin realized he had hit upon something she had not been expecting. “What … did you speak to Pelageya about?” she asked.
He scoffed. “She told me a lot of nonsense that sounded like prophecy.”
“Listen to her, Serefin. I know you don’t want to. I know you think her mad. But listen to her. She could be the only thing that saves you.”
“Saves me? Yes, I’m clearly trying not to die here, but I don’t think the witch is going to help.”
“Not from your father, from the Vultures. From the gods. From everything.”
“Mother?”