“He’s getting worse,” Nadya heard Ostyia whisper to Serefin.
He swallowed hard, nodded quickly. He reached for his glass only to find it empty and raked a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. After an uncomfortable silence, Serefin grinned brightly, his strain clear.
Nadya eyed the king. There was no clear sign as to why he’d thrown the glass. “Józefina?”
Nadya started. “Forgive me, Your Highness, I was distracted.”
The prince leaned closer to her. “Please, just call me Serefin, the Your Highness thing gets very old.”
She raised an eyebrow. This was all a game. “Of course.”
“Trade places with me,” the one-eyed girl demanded of Serefin.
“You can’t flirt with every girl here, Ostyia,” Serefin said.
“I can and I will,” she replied primly.
He rolled his eyes and—casting another anxious look toward where his father sat—stood up and traded places with the girl.
Ostyia had a glittering eye patch covering her right eye in place of a mask. Her smile was electric, and she shined it Nadya’s way.
“Your fight was the most interesting thing I’ve seen in years,” she said, tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear. She wore it cropped at her chin, unlike any of the fashions Nadya had seen in Grazyk. “I mean,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “I’ve seen Żaneta fight before.”
Żaneta waved her hand. “Flatter the new girl, I don’t mind.”
“Your Highness.” The boy who sat beside Żaneta caught Serefin’s attention. “If it isn’t too much to ask, are the rumors coming from the front true? Are we finally beating back the Kalyazi?”
Nadya didn’t hear Serefin’s response as Ostyia had leaned closer.
“Your spell book doesn’t look like any I’ve seen bound here, who did it?” she asked.
Nadya’s mind went blank. She saw Żaneta turn her gaze from the prince to her. One of her hands dropped to the spell book at her hip, feeling the ridges in the design on the cover, the icons of the gods she had set in the front.
“I have a friend who binds spell books, actually,” she said, smiling. “He does beautiful work.” She unclipped the book from her hip. “He’s a bit obsessed with the Vultures, though, and it shows.” Her smile turned sheepish. She desperately hoped a Tranavian noble wouldn’t recognize symbols for the Kalyazi gods.
She offered the book for Ostyia to look at, heart pounding in her throat. The girl took it, running her hand over the cover.
Żaneta’s eyes narrowed. Nadya caught the expression before the slavhka smoothed her features.
The gamble relied on something Malachiasz had mentioned offhand to Nadya: that no blood mage would dare open the spell book of another. If Ostyia ventured past the cover of the book, Nadya would be in trouble.
Each second felt like ages, but finally Ostyia handed Nadya the book back. Nadya clipped it to her belts with shaking fingers.
The food she ate was delicious, but Nadya barely tasted any of it. She was too focused on not making any more mistakes.
Somehow, she managed it. Well, she thought she did. The prince had caught her watching the king. It was sloppy of her, but she was trying to convince herself that both the king and the prince needed to die. Seeing the king in person, it was easy for her to remember the horrors Tranavians had done to Kalyazi over the years. The prince, though … he made it easier to forget. She shouldn’t be so swayed.
Kostya. You’re doing this for Kostya, she reminded herself. Kostya would still be alive if not for Serefin.
Just before dinner ended, the king rose, approaching Serefin. The prince tensed—Nadya saw his hand go for his spell book before he clearly forced it away. He didn’t stand, though it didn’t seem like the king was expecting him to. The king leaned down to whisper something in Serefin’s ear. Their resemblance was clear, but Nadya noticed the king was careful to remain as physically far away from Serefin as possible. Serefin’s face drained of color, his eyes flickering closed as his father spoke before a mask settled over his features, pale eyes dim when they reopened.
“Of course,” he muttered, not turning to look at the king.
The king left in a flurry of servants, emblazoned guards, and masked Vultures.
Serefin offered to see Nadya back to her rooms. Whatever had passed between him and his father was forgotten or shoved aside.
“It’ll put a target on your back and Serefin was told not to be seen favoring anyone in particular,” Żaneta said to Nadya before turning to Serefin. “Don’t get her in trouble while you engage in petty squabbles with your father.”
Nadya froze. Serefin shot Żaneta an exasperated look. “There’s no reason to scare her,” he scolded.
“There’s every reason to scare her,” she replied sweetly. She stood and inclined her head to Serefin. “I bid you a good evening, Serefin. And Józefina?”
“Yes?” Nadya said a beat too quickly.
“Good luck, and I do mean that.”
“Thank you,” Nadya replied. “You as well.”
Żaneta laughed, throwing her head back. “I don’t need luck, but thank you.”
Serefin held his arm out to Nadya, casting a sly look down the table at those who were openly staring at them. She hesitated before taking it. She met Parijahan’s eyes as she passed where the servants were waiting. An echo of a smile touched her lips as she got up to trail behind them.
“So,” Serefin said, his voice hushed, “what did my father do to Łaszczów to get you to look at him with that level of hatred?”
Nadya stumbled. She was fairly certain her heart stopped for a beat. Did he know? There was no way. He couldn’t know. She tried to smile but knew it came off false.
He chuckled. “Ah, that was cruel of me. Forgive me, but you are so charmingly provincial.”
Nadya grimaced.
“Sorry,” Serefin said with a slight frown. He ran a hand through his hair. “That was meant to be a compliment. It wasn’t a good one.”
“No.”
He laughed sheepishly. “I’ve been at the front for years and lost all skill I formerly had at interacting with people, I’m afraid. Not that I was ever particularly good at it.”
“I think you’re doing fine,” Nadya said. “However, I am probably the worst judge.”
“It’s refreshing,” he said. “You are candid, and you hate my father; these are both things I appreciate.”
The way he spoke of his father—the tightness around his eyes and tension that built in his shoulders—and the way he had reacted to his father merely speaking to him made Nadya suspect Malachiasz was right; they really had walked into something bigger than petty court games.
She wished she had more time to gauge if Serefin would make a better king. What she saw of him that evening made her hopeful, but it was not enough to stop the war. She had to press on.
“These are my rooms,” she said, stopping. Parijahan walked around her to open the door.
She pulled away from Serefin but he caught her hand. He lifted it to his mouth, kissing it gently.
Nadya blushed instantly.
“Good luck, Józefina. I would not wish for you to lose your life for such a ridiculous reason as this Rawalyk.”