Kacper watched her go. “Why aren’t you going after her?” The sleeve of his coat had nearly been shorn off during battle; it was holding on by a few threads, and his gold epaulet hung haphazardly off his arm. He tugged a brown hand through his dark curls and appeared surprised when he found them matted with blood. “We’ve been looking for evidence of a bloody cleric for ages and we finally found one.”
“Do you want to be stumbling around in the dark in the middle of the Kalyazi mountains?” Serefin asked.
Their company had already experienced firsthand how deadly a Kalyazi winter could be to those unfamiliar with the terrain. Besides, Serefin could barely see on a good day and his night vision was worse. Understanding lit Kacper’s dark eyes and he nodded.
Serefin had been on the front in Kalyazin for almost three years with only the occasional leave to return home. In all that time it was as though winter never ended. Even Kalyazin’s melt season felt cold. It was only snow and frost and forests. For the last five months Serefin had charged his company to look for evidence of Kalyazi magic. His father had been adamant it existed, that it was vital Serefin find these clerics. They could tilt the course of the war in Kalyazin’s favor and that would not do, especially now, after a decisive strike against Kalyazin had finally been won. Tranavia had claimed the Kalyazi city of Voldoga only weeks earlier, a vital outpost for the enemy. It was the first step in finally turning this endless war to their side.
“With any luck, she’ll lead us to more of her kind,” Serefin said. He started back into the tunnel, but paused.
Passing an absent hand over the scar that cut across his eye, he turned to Kacper.
“Light?” The word came out condescending, a brittle command instead of a request. Any other time he would have had slightly more consideration for Kacper’s feelings, but exhaustion made him callow.
“Yes, sorry.” Kacper fumbled for a torch that had fallen to the ground and relit it.
They passed the storeroom where the Kalyazi girls had been hiding and found Serefin’s lieutenant general, Teodore Kijek, poking around.
“Send word to my father about today’s events,” Serefin told him. He didn’t bother mentioning the cleric. Best if his father thought the cleric escaped; he didn’t need to know Serefin had let her go.
“Of course, Your Highness.”
“Do we have a count for how many Kalyazi survived?”
“I estimate about a dozen,” Teodore replied.
Serefin made a soft sound of assent. He would have to decide what they were going to do with the prisoners and he could not say he relished the task.
“Do we know if the girl was the only cleric among them?” He couldn’t imagine luck shining on him in such a way, but he could dream.
“If there are others, they have not yet revealed themselves to us,” Teodore said.
“Perhaps they can be persuaded?” Kacper mused, his dark eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Serefin had a proven aptitude for being particularly convincing.
He nodded curtly. Persuaded indeed. “We will remain here for the night.” He glanced into the storeroom; the Kalyazi girls had not looted it entirely. “Clear all this out as well,” he continued, waving a hand. He would ferret out information while keeping tabs on the cleric as she ran. It seemed like a valuable way to spend his time before he heard back from his father.
“Of course, Your Highness,” Teodore said.
Serefin motioned Teodore away and continued on with Kacper.
“Why on earth have you not sent him back to the front yet?” Kacper asked.
Serefin glanced over at Kacper, who stood to his left, on his blind side. Kacper fell back a step, moving to Serefin’s other side.
“Can you imagine what my father would do if I got rid of his spy?”
Kacper winced. “Well, at least when we fetch the cleric we can go home. There won’t be a reason for the king to keep us out here any longer.”
Serefin raked a hand through his brown hair. It desperately needed a trim. He was tired—no, not tired, bone-deep weary. Finally discovering the cleric was a stroke of brilliant luck, but it didn’t change that he had been in an enemy kingdom for years yet dreaded the thought of returning home. The war was all he knew at this point. They walked the rest of the tunnel in silence before finally reaching the graveyard.
The monastery was a larger complex than Serefin had expected, with far better guards. He found Ostyia observing the prisoners as they were rounded up in the courtyard. He sent Kacper to find a suitable place for him to spend the night, though he sensed there would be nothing in this dour prison that wasn’t a stone slab and threadbare blanket. Why were monks so damned austere? There was nothing wrong with sleeping comfortably. But he would accept a concrete slab and threadbare blanket over yet another night spent out on the snow.
Ostyia fiddled with the patch over her eye before finally taking it off and stowing it in her pocket. A jagged, ugly scar crossed her face over the ravaged, empty socket of her left eye.
When Serefin and Ostyia were children, Kalyazi assassins had infiltrated the palace disguised as weapons masters meant to train the young prince and nobleman’s daughter. The assassins had gone for their eyes first. Perhaps blinding the children of the enemy before murdering them was a religious thing.
Ostyia often liked to leave her scarred eye socket uncovered. She relished looking terrifying and claimed she was saving her eye patch days for the sea if the war ever ended. Her gaze cut to the spell book at Serefin’s hip.
“That looks thin,” she pointed out.
He sighed and nodded, picking up the book and riffling through it. He was running out of spells.
“Something tells me we won’t find a book binder in the heart of Kalyazin who does spell books.”
“No, probably not,” Ostyia agreed. “Besides”—a teasing note entered her voice—“even if we did, she wouldn’t be half as good as Madame Petra.”
Serefin shuddered as he thought of the overbearing elderly woman who bound all of his spell books. He could never figure out if she treated him like a long dead son or lover. He was disturbed he couldn’t tell the difference.
“Did you not bring any extras?”
“I’ve worked through all my extras.” Which meant the possibility of being trapped in the middle of enemy country without a spell book.
“Well,” Ostyia said, “I suppose you could take one of the lower ranking mages’ books if you need to.”
“And leave them defenseless?” Serefin raised an eyebrow. “Ostyia, I’m heartless, but I’m not cruel. I can manage fine enough with a blade in my hand.”
“Yeah, and leave me to work my ass off, keeping you safe.”
Serefin shot her a dirty look. She glanced up at him, smiling cheekily.
“Forgive my tone, Your Highness,” she said, curtsying dramatically.
He rolled his eyes.
They were splitting up the prisoners into containable groups where they would be locked in the sparse, cell-like bedrooms. Serefin’s eyes narrowed on a boy about his own age who was holding himself up on the shoulder of an older man.
“That one,” he said, pointing out the man to Ostyia. “Pull him out. I want to question him.”
Her face lit. “The boy?”