They exchanged a glance.
They had gone from two of the deadliest blood mages in Tranavia to two boys trapped in an enemy kingdom. A king and his lieutenant. Easy prey.
And what manner of creatures had awoken in Kalyazin? Malachiasz had torn down the wall separating that damned forest from the hellish place hiding within it. What had escaped? What had they done on that mountain?
He wanted to place the blame on Nadya and Malachiasz but so much of it was his own damn fault.
“You were only doing as I asked,” Velyos said, sounding petulant.
Serefin didn’t deign to respond. He had done what he had been forced to, and he rather thought that was different.
Another snap within the trees. Someone was moving through the underbrush toward the road.
Serefin’s hand fell away from his spell book. He gestured for Kacper to relax. Perhaps they were dealing with mortal foes.
Can’t you, I don’t know, help?
“No—no, you had your chance with me, and you made your stance perfectly clear. I can do nothing and that’s your own fault.”
Serefin sighed. He had worked so hard to get rid of the god’s influence, he supposed he couldn’t very well complain about the god mostly leaving him alone.
Still … it would be nice to know what they were dealing with.
“Drop any weapons you have,” a young voice called from within the trees. Serefin frowned, glancing at Kacper.
Kacper shrugged but relaxed slightly.
Serefin tossed his szitelka into the dirt, gesturing for Kacper to do the same. He did, scowling.
“That can’t possibly be it.”
“I assure you, dear,” Serefin said, not bothering to mask the Tranavian accent from his Kalyazi. “That’s it.”
A girl—Serefin’s age—with pale skin and blond hair cropped close to her scalp slipped out of the forest. Her bow was drawn halfway, arrow pointed at Serefin’s throat. “Coins. Into the dirt with the blade.”
“You’re about to be disappointed,” Kacper muttered, tossing his light purse dramatically beside Serefin’s szitelka.
Nothing more than highway robbers. Losing their coin and blades was less than ideal, but survivable. Those were trivialities.
She nudged the bow at Serefin, and he shrugged.
“I’ve got nothing. Are you alone?”
One eyebrow lifted. She wore a tunic in a neutral gray, the edges frayed, a tear in the neckline. There were holes in her coat and her leggings, and the soles of her boots looked like they were barely hanging on.
“We have nothing else to—”
“Your ring.” She gestured with her bow to Serefin’s little finger.
Kacper tensed. Serefin’s hand curled into a fist. The signet ring was one of the only things he had left—it was all he had of his authority; the hammered iron crown had been lost in the forest. The girl had no idea what she was asking, but thanks to Serefin’s response, she knew it was wanted.
She smiled. “Drop it.”
“I’m afraid we need to reach a different agreement,” Serefin said.
Her arm pulled back, the bow taut. Her aim needn’t even be good for the arrow to punch through Serefin’s throat, and dying by choking on his own blood wasn’t particularly how he wanted to die.
But this was only one girl. Serefin could take her. The moths around Serefin had been idle, unnoticeable, but when his alarm spiked, so did they, bursting up in a cloud.
The girl jumped back. And more than a dozen arrows visibly trained on Serefin and Kacper as the girl’s companions finally made themselves known. Serefin sighed, lifting his hands.
“I won’t ask again,” she said.
“But I certainly will refuse again!” Serefin said cheerfully, a bead of sweat dripping down his back. He didn’t quite know how to talk his way out of this one. Before the forest—before Kalyazin—he would have been able to. He could’ve charmed the bow out of this girl’s hands and walked away with her coin, but he didn’t know what he could possibly say to make it worth lowering her bow. She had likely spent the better part of the long winter starving.
“Take the coin, take the blades,” he said, more seriously. “Leave the ring, it’s nothing more than iron.”
Her gaze flicked to his hand, unconvinced, but she smiled.
“Take them,” she said. “There’s use for them yet.”
“Wait, no, I don’t—” But before Serefin could finish, something sharp pricked his neck.
He dropped to the ground, unconscious.
* * *
Serefin woke to the taste of blood in his mouth and a pounding headache. He was soaked to his skin and freezing. His disorientation lasted only long enough for him to open his eye. He immediately closed it, pretending to be asleep.
All this time in Kalyazin and now they had been captured by highway thieves? It would be funny if it weren’t so damn sad.
The cords that bound his ankles and wrists were too tight and his extremities felt fuzzy from the lack of circulation. Uncomfortable, but not the end of the world. The weight of his signet ring remained on his little finger, a massive relief. Why hadn’t the girl taken it, if she was that desperate?
Of course, if she was that desperate, he would be dead on the road, not tied up and left out in the wet snow to gather water in his ears.
He almost tried to sit up, better to get this over with, but he heard the low murmur of voices and decided to wait this one out.
As he listened, he became increasingly disappointed. The chatter was utterly useless. One of the girls was lamenting about a girl she’d left behind in her village and she was being thoroughly teased for it. Serefin sighed internally. So much for these being Kalyazi agents of war. He had been certain everything they’d been avoiding since the mountain was catching up with them, but maybe not. These were just tired Kalyazi thieves who wanted to make a few quick coins off some boys on the road.
Though that didn’t explain why they had been taken alive.
* * *
He opened his eye a slit. It wasn’t yet dark.
“It was all well and good to spend your nights gossiping like babas when we were in Dovribinski,” the girl who’d threatened him said, “but if you keep this up, you’re going to bring the whole wood down on our heads and we’re in kashyvhes country.”
“Kashyvhes country,” one of the men said derisively. “You and your children’s stories, Olya.”
“I won’t pray around your tent tonight, then,” Olya said blandly. “You can go without any blessings. I’m not sure they would hold anyway—blessings aren’t like flies, you know, they don’t stick to shit.”
The whole group erupted into jeers, and Serefin couldn’t help but feel nervous. He knew how dangerous these woods could be, and he didn’t particularly want to be visited by a striczki while he was hog-tied on the damn ground.
“I thought I told Tsezar to put the Tranavians in a tent,” Olya said, sounding tired, annoyed, and disgusted all at once, which Serefin thought was rather impressive.
“Why should they get a dry canvas over their heads?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Because I don’t want them dead,” Olya replied wearily. “And the pale one looks like he’s ready to drop at any second. Put them both in the tent. Baba Zhikovnya can decide if they’re worth anything.”