Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,31

better to simply not risk being dragged underneath the water by a wolke to serve as his slave.

Serefin sent Kacper inside as he unpinned his badge of office and handed it to Ostyia. Normally he would enjoy using his status in a backwater inn like this one, but Serefin was tired and didn’t want to attract unnecessary attention. The scar on his face was telling enough. He couldn’t go anywhere in Tranavia without being recognized. Hopefully he was dirty enough he would go unnoticed.

The inn was thankfully quiet, holding only a handful of peasants and a pair who looked like soldiers. Bundles of dried herbs were nailed to the walls, giving the inn a vaguely pleasant aroma. Serefin found Kacper at a table in the corner.

“Do you want to clean up?” Ostyia asked.

“Later.”

She gave him a questioning look.

“No one has groveled at my feet as yet. I’d like to keep it that way.” He leaned across the table, pitching his voice lower. “I’d also like to get drunk.”

Ostyia rolled her eyes, grinning.

“Well, you smell terrible,” Kacper said. “Two weeks of traveling doesn’t look good on you, my prince.”

“Salt Mines,” Serefin said, distracted, as he flagged down the older man behind the counter. “And what did I just say? Why do you both use my name at the most inappropriate times and my title when I don’t want you to?”

“To irritate you,” Ostyia said.

“Definitely, also, you need a new threat.”

“It’s a perfectly apt threat,” Serefin replied.

“It’s a reasonable threat,” Ostyia said to Kacper. “I sure don’t want to hang out with the ancient Vultures and their experiments.”

“But you do want to hang out with the younger Vultures and their experiments?”

Ostyia’s face flared red. Serefin watched with amusement as Kacper pressed further.

“What was her name? Reya? Rose?”

“Rozá,” she muttered.

“I’m surprised she has a name,” Serefin mused.

“They’re supposed to only go by their order title,” Ostyia said. “The court Vultures stopped following that rule years ago, but the current Black Vulture has been working to have them reinstate it to hide their names from the court.”

The barkeep set three tankards of dzalustek on their table without a word, lumbering back behind his counter.

Serefin took a sip of ale. It wasn’t good but it wasn’t watered down, either, so it would do. “Did you ever meet the Black Vulture?” he asked Ostyia.

She nodded. “He’s not your type.”

Serefin exchanged a dry glance with Kacper. Ostyia grinned at him before getting up to order them dinner.

It wasn’t until Serefin was on his fourth—maybe fifth? It was hard to keep track—tankard of dzalustek that the uncomfortable meeting he had been so ardently avoiding finally came into being.

“Your Highness?”

Ostyia was looking over his shoulder, her face pained. Slavhka, she mouthed.

Serefin knew he was not supposed to groan aloud at a subject, but that knowledge felt very unimportant after two tankards of ale, let alone four … or five. He turned in his seat.

At least he recognized this particular noble. It would have been awkward if it had been some backwater princeling Serefin had never seen before.

Lieutenant Krywicki was a bear of a man who had gone to fat after his tour ended. He was one of the tallest men Serefin had ever met and his width near made up his height. He had a thick head of black hair and eyes the color of coal.

He was also, Serefin recalled, insufferable. But most people were insufferable, Serefin reasoned, so Krywicki wasn’t anything special.

Serefin stood, only wavering a little on his feet.

“Lieutenant Krywicki,” he said, vaguely aware he was going to be slurring every word he spoke. “What brings you to this backwater swamp?”

Is Krywicki from this backwater swamp? Serefin wondered. He rejected the idea. He was from somewhere else. The north? Probably the north.

“My daughter, Your Highness,” Krywicki said, with a laugh that was probably a normal volume but sounded uproarious to Serefin.

He tried not to wince. He didn’t know if he succeeded or not.

“Daughter?” Did I know Krywicki had a daughter? He glanced over his shoulder at Ostyia. She nodded encouragingly. Apparently, yes.

“Felicíja!” Krywicki said. “Here, Highness, let me buy you another drink. Did you just return from the front?”

Serefin was suddenly back in his seat with another tankard in front of him. Kacper and Ostyia exchanged a glance that Serefin barely noticed as he concentrated on the sweating glass in front of him.

He should definitely not drink this.

Well, sacrifices must be made, he thought as he picked up the tankard. Was this five or six? He had