throne was the physical manifestation of power, blood, glory, and magic. Iron flowers with sharp thorns curled around the back and intricately twisted metal made up the arms and legs. It commanded attention.
Serefin had never been able to picture himself on it. He was a weapon, never a prince.
Izak Meleski sat upon the throne now, tall and straight-backed with his ivory military coat emblazoned with medallions and black epaulets. He had a severe face—one Serefin loathed to admit his own resembled—a neatly trimmed beard and finely kept dark brown hair. His crown was a simple piece of iron that was somehow just as commanding as the throne if not nearly as dramatic.
It’s the bearing, not the symbols, Serefin mused.
Serefin narrowed his eyes at the sight of the king’s close advisor, Przemys?aw, hovering near the throne. The slippery old man had been Serefin’s adversary at court for as long as he could remember. Anytime he returned home, Przemys?aw was there to turn him around and send him back to the front.
“You took your sweet time returning, I see,” Izak noted as Serefin approached the throne, bowing low before his father.
“Why, thank you, Father, yes it has been a long time. What’s that? Oh, it’s only been eight months since last I was in Tranavia. Yes, that is a long time to be at the front, but, as you see I am here now mostly unscathed.” He tapped his temple. “Some scars aren’t so visible.”
His father appeared anything but amused, and while Izak had never been truly appreciative of Serefin’s wit, he could usually at least dredge up a half smile from him. Serefin sobered. This was not a good start.
“I returned in exactly the amount of time the journey called for,” he said. “I was in the heart of Kalyazin when your missive arrived.”
“Yes, Lieutenant Kijek informed me of that debacle.”
“I had it perfectly under control and would have finished the job if not for this summons. And I admit—” Serefin paused, swallowing down the anxiety threatening to choke him. He was suddenly unspeakably nervous. “I’m curious about the necessity of this Rawalyk. It feels rather sudden.”
“It is tradition, Serefin. Are you arguing against that?” Izak’s voice rose in a way that immediately struck fear deep in Serefin’s bones.
“I’m arguing against being called away from the war effort seemingly on a whim,” Serefin replied, voice even. He was toeing dangerous territory with his father and he knew it. But if he was just being paranoid, his father would ignore his snark as he usually did and this would end with perfect civility. “We have no need for alliances. Voldoga was a turning point, the Kalyazi won’t be able to hang on much longer, we have no need to go crawling to our neighbors. This is a tradition that hasn’t been acknowledged in years.”
“And now we’re acknowledging it,” Izak said, his tone chilling.
Serefin met his father’s cold gaze and shrugged. “It’s a needless waste of resources.”
“Your concern is noted, yet you’re here.”
It wasn’t like he was given a choice. He did as he was told, no matter what he was told. It was … exhausting. He rejected the idea of bringing up the Kalyazi spell books he had found on his way home. If the king didn’t ask, why should Serefin tell him? Before he would have brought it up to his father right away, desperate for approval. Now it was painfully clear his father didn’t care. He still wasn’t sure his suspicion was justified, but this was … not the father he knew. He was stern, he was serious, yes, but he was never cold.
There was movement in the shadows behind the king’s throne. A loose-limbed figure lounging on the steps around the dais. Serefin’s stomach dropped. It was a Vulture, masked and listening in the king’s throne room.
It was wrong. That was not how things worked in Tranavia. Serefin clenched a fist behind his back.
“Have the Vultures captured the cleric?” Serefin asked, pulling his gaze away from the one in the corner.
Izak frowned. A muscle in his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Serefin raised an eyebrow. Was it because he mentioned the Vultures or something else altogether?
“Have they not?” Serefin asked innocently.
“Apparently, there were complications in her retrieval,” Izak said, standing. He was a tall man; Serefin was only the barest inch taller. He folded his hands behind his back and stepped down from the dais. “The Vultures reported she was with a rogue group who were especially cunning.”
The Vultures had