24
SEREFIN
MELESKI
Svoyatova Małgorzata Dana: A Tranavian who fled her family of heretics for a life in a monastery in Tobalsk. Her courage, and death at the hands of her brother, canonized her as a saint.
—Vasiliev’s Book of Saints
All of Serefin’s senses felt disconnected. He heard the smack of flesh against flesh, felt his head whip so hard to one side he thought his neck might snap, but it took a few seconds for pain to flare against the side of his face.
Izak’s ring sliced open Serefin’s cheek and he felt blood slowly drip down his face.
As distant as his father had become with him—as strained as their relationship was—he had never struck him before.
“Now, what did I do to deserve that?” Serefin asked, dabbing at the blood on his face with his thumb. He had known when his father had personally ordered him to his study after dinner it wasn’t going to be pretty, but instigating his father was part of his plan and he would survive the bruises that would come of it. Besides, if this went wrong he would be dead in a few days anyway, so what were a few bruises?
“I ask for so little, Serefin, so little,” Izak said. “A modicum of respect for the traditions of your country. It’s so little.”
That wasn’t what this was about, but Serefin would play along if it kept them both from addressing the true issue. “I’ve expressed how I feel about these traditions. At this point in time, they’re needless. We’re at war, Father.”
“Don’t dare presume to remind me, Serefin.”
He was struck a second time, and again, it took a bit for all of Serefin’s senses to realign.
He worked his jaw, feeling it click. “Are you finished? Would you like to go a third time? By all means, I’m more than willing to be your human punching bag.”
“Serefin…” His father’s tone was a warning.
Izak finally crossed the room, sitting down behind his large oak desk. The room was spare; few items suggested it was ever even used.
Apparently that was the extent of the abuse Serefin would be suffering today.
Serefin eyed his father while he shuffled through the very few papers that were spread across his desk. What was stopping him from putting his dagger through his father’s eye, right now? From throwing his spell book open and burning him from the inside out?
Politics. The fallout would mean Serefin’s execution. His coup had to be more delicate.
“The answer has always been here.” But the answer to what? Why this war was still raging? Why his father, who vehemently denied the existence of gods, wished to become one? Though easily answered with his father’s ego, that wasn’t the reason. Serefin never denied the existence of the Kalyazi gods, he had just never seen their purpose.
He wondered if his father had already started the process. The way his crown was slightly askew and his hands shook were significant indicators where his father was concerned. But it was when his sleeve fell back and Serefin glimpsed dozens of fresh cuts scattered across his father’s forearm that he knew. His stomach soured, finally having confirmation that this was all truly happening.
“I just think we’re wasting resources on trivialities under the guise of tradition when there is a war going on and half the kingdom is starving,” Serefin said sullenly, forcing himself to continue pretending this was just a normal conversation.
“When you rule you can forgo tradition and deal with the riots,” Izak replied without looking up. Serefin’s blood froze.
Nothing in his father’s voice sounded remotely sincere. He shoved down the swell of panic rising in his chest. He had to change the subject. He thought back to a conversation he had with Józefina during dinner, about how her retinue was so small because she had run into Kalyazi inside Tranavia.
“One of the girls who lives by the border told me the Kalyazi had broken through.”
That got his father to look up. “What?”
Serefin shrugged. “I can’t confirm, but from what I saw of the Kalyazi while at the front, it doesn’t sound unreasonable. We’re winning, but that doesn’t mean we’ve won.”
One of his father’s hands clenched to a fist, crumpling the paper in his hand. Serefin felt as though he had just won a small and completely insignificant victory.
An icy chill seemed to settle over his father’s shoulders. “The Kalyazi have moved forces into Rosni-Ovorisk,” he said.
Serefin frowned, unsure why his father was telling him this. Kalyazi forces moving that close to the border was strange, yes, but when Serefin was in Grazyk he was a prince, not a general, and his father usually made that point abundantly clear.
“It’s almost as if they know something we do not,” his father continued. “Like they’re preparing for something … extensive.” Abruptly his father smiled and fear clawed its way down Serefin’s spine. “They won’t survive whatever it is they’re planning, of course. Tranavia is about to show them the true meaning of power.”
“Are we?” Serefin asked, voice strained. His mind spun. If the Kalyazi were preparing an attack on the border, Tranavia might not be able to properly defend it. What did Kalyazin know that Serefin did not?
Izak didn’t respond. He just waved him out.
“You walk on thin ice, Serefin. Stay away from your mother’s brainwashing witch.”
Is that what this was supposed to be about? Serefin almost relaxed. He was considering paying Pelageya a visit in the morning. Now, he most certainly would.
“Oh, I’m well aware of that, Father. Thankfully, I can swim, and I’ve been in Kalyazin, I know what cold is truly like. Because certainly, the ice is about to break.”
His father looked at him sharply. Bowing, Serefin smiled, before turning to leave as quickly as he could.
In the hall outside his father’s chambers, he pressed himself against the wall, his hands shaking. Kacper approached, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder. Serefin gravitated toward Kacper. He had to move fast. If Kalyazin was making preparations—and his father was planning to annihilate the Kalyazi forces with the power of a god—Serefin was out of time.
“You all right?” Kacper asked.
Serefin dropped his head onto Kacper’s shoulder. “No,” he mumbled.
There was a beat of hesitation. Kacper shifted, nudging Serefin’s head so his forehead pressed against his temple. “We’ll get you out of this, Serefin,” he said. “You know there’s a pretty spectacular handprint on your face?”
Serefin laughed weakly and straightened. It was late and he was tired. There was nothing more he could do tonight.
They were walking back to Serefin’s chambers when a tremendous crash resounded through the hallway coming from the direction of the library.
“Well that doesn’t sound good,” Kacper muttered as Serefin took off down the hall.
NADEZHDA
LAPTEVA
Nadya shifted so the szitelka under her sleeve dropped into her palm.
Let it be another contestant upset the prince was showing me favor, she prayed.
Her hand tightened over the hilt and she knocked the chair back as she stood, whirling around.
She found herself face to face with a blank metal mask.