“We are,” he replied, with an edge that clearly took Ruminski by surprise. “Which is why I need my court behind me and my actions. My father ran this country into the ground over this war; I intend to build us back up. We must return Tranavia to its former glory, wouldn’t you agree?”
Ruminski nodded his head graciously. “Of course,” he said, “but it would be unwise of you to get too comfortable. Isn’t that what happened to your father, after all?”
“It wasn’t complacency that killed my father, I assure you.”
“No, that was you.”
Serefin took a long drink of his wine before grinning at Ruminski. “Are you ready to level that accusation?”
“More ready than you know.”
I doubt that. Serefin leaned back in his chair, resting his elbow on the arm. “My father died of an experiment of magic that he took too far. He is not the first to die in such a way.”
“The lies you have been feeding the court are not going to satisfy much longer.”
“Is that a threat, myj ksęszi?” Serefin asked blandly.
“Simple truth, Kowesz Tawość. I am not the only person who feels this way.”
“What way are you referring to? You forget that when my father took the throne he did it by killing—quite publicly, I might add—his father.”
“Is that an admission?”
“No, because I didn’t do it.”
“There are others who agree with me.”
“Agree with you on what point? You aren’t being very clear. All I know is you suspect me of killing my father, which is all well and good—perfectly Tranavian, if you will—but you and I both know such an accusation would not hold against the crown.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
Serefin swallowed. He was afraid of the truth, because the truth was much worse and it would absolutely be enough to tear him down.
“I don’t wish to take action, you must understand,” Ruminski continued. “But I will do anything to get my daughter back, and to maintain the interests of those who have placed their trust in me. So, if my daughter isn’t returned to me, I will do what I must.”
Kacper had a list of nobles who had allied themselves with Ruminski. He would need to see it after this; he had a sinking feeling he might know a few of the names already.
Ruminski stood. “Good evening, Kowesz Tawość, I do hope my point was made.”
“Not really,” Serefin replied.
Ruminski leaned down closer, gesturing vaguely to the doorway Nadya had left through. “Her paperwork is forged. She is a fraud. And, Kowesz Tawość? You must get some rest, you don’t look well.”
The man strode away. Serefin hurriedly got up, fleeing the hall before any more slavhki could corner him. He was drunk. He was tired. And he still had to deal with the Vulture.
Ruminski thought he had orchestrated his father’s death, greedy for the crown. That Serefin had always made it perfectly clear the throne was the last thing he wanted didn’t matter. He had a suspicion this was about something else entirely: Serefin wanted to end the war.
His attempts thus far had been fruitless. Kalyazin refused to hear talks of a truce and any envoys Serefin sent returned half out of their minds or never came back at all.
Serefin’s left eye blurred—worse than usual—his vision going so fuzzy that he stopped walking, momentarily blinded. His eyesight was never good; he went through life with his surroundings perpetually blurry, but this was different.
“You could have handled that better.”
A whimper escaped Serefin and he squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them a hazy vision had superimposed itself in front of Serefin’s sight. Like one eye was seeing something different than the other.
There was a forest, dark and deep and primeval. Ominous. A place where the trees were monstrous and large, almost impassable. It was the domain of something ancient, something that had slept for a long time and was waking up.
“There are a number of things waking up, you’ll find.” And that voice, that voice. Serefin shook. He was going insane, that was all. These hallucinations were the first sign.
“Your continued obstinacy is growing wearisome. I wanted the girl, but she is, unfortunately, too deeply wound around the fingers of the others.”
Serefin dragged in an uneasy breath. It had never spoken this coherently before. This was too real.
The forest was growing darker, blood seeping from between the roots of the trees. Panic gripped him and he covered his bad eye, hoping the forest would go away, and was relieved to find it had disappeared into the halls of the palace.
“It’s not so easy as that,” the voice said. “Do you think you can live with one eye closed?”
Serefin finally cracked. You only have the one. You don’t have both.
“Yet.”
He did his best to remain calm and continue through the halls like nothing had happened, one hand clamped over his eye. But something had shifted. All the things he had been ignoring and hoping would go away would not be ignored. They were getting louder.
“Kowesz Tawość?”
Serefin stopped in his tracks, nearly careening into a slavhka who stood before him in the hallway, watching him with some concern.
“Are you all right?”
He held a hand out. The boy was about his age and vaguely familiar. The name came to him a few seconds later: Paweł Moraczewski. A slavhka who was most likely aligned with Ruminski and not someone he wanted to know that he was having hallucinations.
“I’m fine,” he said shortly.
He swept past the boy, knowing rumors would spread like wildfire in a matter of hours. He staggered into his rooms, lowering his hand and letting his eye open. Then he moved to his liquor cabinet.
When his door slammed open a second later, he nearly flung the bottle in his hand against the wall.
It was only Kacper. “The Vulture wants to speak with you.” He shot a rather pointed look at the bottle in Serefin’s hand. Serefin wordlessly offered it to him. He sighed heavily. “I’ll abstain.”
“Well, don’t act all high and mighty about it,” Serefin replied.
Kacper laughed. “Come on, I left her with Nadya and I’m worried they’re going to kill each other before we get there.”
Serefin stared at him.
“Blood and bone, you’re drunk. Sit down, Serefin.”
Serefin frowned, but let Kacper sit him on the chaise. “I saw…” He trailed off.
Kacper moved closer. “What?” He crouched in front of Serefin, the warmth of his hand resting where Serefin’s shook.
Serefin became very suddenly enamored with the deep, dark brown of Kacper’s eyes and the scar that nicked his eyebrow.
But Kacper’s attention was on Serefin’s bad eye and Serefin had to fight the urge to hide it. He knew it was different. His left eye had turned the dark blue of midnight, pupil gone, only a glimmer of stars remaining. Constellations that swirled and shifted, ever changing.
What had he seen? What was that place? Kacper reached out and gently touched the skin underneath Serefin’s left eye. His fingers came away wet with blood.
“That’s new,” Serefin said, voice cracking. He was strangely warm, the spot Kacper touched almost burning. He must be drunker than he thought.