There was the sound of someone spitting. Then the hard smack of flesh as, presumably, Olya smacked the spitter.
“I didn’t come here to deal in your witch flesh trade,” a man said.
“Go back to your starving village then, Stepan, and see if I care,” Olya snapped. “Get them inside.”
Serefin chewed on the inside of his lip, thinking. He could draw enough blood and—
He sighed. He was thinking like a blood mage and that wouldn’t do him any good. He still had something, could feel some power under his skin, but maybe that was Velyos’ work. He didn’t want to rely on Velyos for anything.
“You may have to,” Velyos said pointedly.
Why couldn’t the god have gone away when he’d torn out his eye?
“Because that was you breaking the connection with Chyrnog, mostly. And with me, but I had you in a different way than he did. It’s fine, I’m not offended. I got what I wanted.”
And what did you want? Serefin’s curiosity won out.
Velyos had wanted to wake other fallen gods who had been banished like him, for vengeance, but what did that mean?
Was the death of that goddess part of your plan?
“I am not saddened to see her go. I expected to take a more direct route for her death, I was not expecting the Vulture to do it for me.”
You feel sadness?
“No.”
Serefin shifted his shoulders, attempting to relieve some of the tension in them.
“What I want is simple, and you have essentially given it to me. Me and my ilk were banished, and I wanted that undone. I wanted my revenge on Marzenya for the banishment, and she is dead.”
What about Chyrnog?
“Well, I can’t say that his goals and mine align.”
Serefin felt a chill. What does he want?
“The death of the sun, of the world, renewal.”
Serefin pressed his head down into the dirt a little more. What had he done?
But … couldn’t the gods not work without mortal intervention? Maybe all was not lost. Maybe the god hadn’t found a human to claim. Serefin would have to hold to that.
He wanted to go home but running was useless. Everything would catch up to him. These problems wouldn’t stay localized in Kalyazin, and it would fall on Tranavia all the faster because his was the country of heretics.
“I’m so proud. You’re finally catching on!”
This is all your fault, Serefin thought morosely.
“I wanted freedom and Marzenya to pay. I have those things and I am now content to watch.”
Serefin frowned. But what about the vision? What about the ash and blood and … and …
“The burning?”
It seemed then like you were giving me a warning.
“A warning of the inevitable, perhaps.”
Serefin withdrew, building a wall between himself and the god. Velyos wanted this chaos, and there was no trusting this god to point him in a direction that wouldn’t be catastrophic. Surely something could be done, but Serefin wasn’t going to figure out what from a god.
He didn’t know the havoc the fallen gods were wreaking, but it couldn’t be good, and he would hear about it soon enough.
If he survived this, of course.
But if gods could be set free, that meant they could be bound. What if they could be bound again? The Kalyazi would have thoughts about that, but their precious gods would turn on them soon, and they’d see it was the only way.
Though he supposed he shouldn’t expect them all to be as rational as Nadya.
Olya finally wandered over, loosening the ropes on Serefin’s wrists.
“You’re already out an eye,” she said. “You don’t need to be out both your hands as well.”
“Oh, all the better for me to hold the hilt of the blade you’ll kill me with?” Serefin replied cheerfully.
“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead,” she said dryly as she moved back to the others.
But he was able to work his way into a sitting position and inch over to Kacper, who eyed him with some bemusement.
“You have a type,” Kacper noted.
“I’m not going to like where this is going, am I?”
“Your type is girls who could very easily kill you and definitely want to.”
“And pretty boys who are nice to me,” Serefin finished for him. “And would also like to kill me.”
Kacper made a thoughtful, vaguely disbelieving sound, but grinned. “My life would be much easier with you dead.”
“Are you allowed to say that about your ki—?”
Kacper elbowed him hard. He wheezed.
“Are you allowed to do that?”
“I better be,” Kacper muttered. A flicker of worry crossed his face. “Am I?”
“Obviously.” He slumped against Kacper’s shoulder, tilting his head to kiss his neck. “You can do whatever you want. Within reason.”
“Oh.”
“No coups, please.”
“I’ll try to restrain myself, but no promises.”
Serefin laughed softly.
“You’ll be a good king,” Kacper said softly, so softly Serefin wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear it.
Serefin’s face heated. He didn’t know if Kacper was right. It was something Serefin had never thought he was allowed to want, never mind that he was the prince. He was supposed to die on a battlefield in Kalyazin.
“I hope so,” Serefin whispered, because that was all he had. A fragile thread of hope that he wouldn’t die in the kingdom of his enemies and could pull his country out of the mess they had found themselves in—so much of it his fault.
The evening twilight cast the wood in a strange, dim light, and Serefin had a terrible feeling they were being dragged into the forest they had already escaped. He could feel it gnawing at his edges, the awareness of a greater force that wanted to take him apart again.
“Olya, look at this,” one of the thieves called across the camp. She was inspecting a tree, holding a torch close to the bark, a frown on her face.
Olya got up with exaggerated exasperation, but her expression changed as she inspected the tree.
“Keep away from it,” she warned. “I don’t like it.”
“What is it?” the girl asked.
Olya shook her head.
“If you dragged us all the way out here to be eaten by witch magic…” One of the other thieves grumbled.
“Shut up, Stepan,” Olya snapped, but she sounded rattled.
Serefin and Kacper exchanged a glance.
Olya turned, her gaze lighting on the two Tranavian boys. Her eyes narrowed. She gestured to a nearby Kalyazi, who hauled Serefin to his feet and shoved him in the direction of the tree.
“You don’t have to be so handsy,” Serefin protested. “Buy me a drink first.” But his heart fell when he saw what they’d discovered in the eerie dim.
Something was eating the trees alive. Like mold, a black infection creeping along the bark and worming its way deeper. After peering too long, Serefin was overwhelmed with the sudden desire to plunge his hand in. He was oddly grateful his wrists were tied.
“Were any of the trees we passed on the way like this?” Olya asked the girl.
She shook her head, eyeing Serefin.
“I’m not sure why you’ve brought me over,” he said serenely.