for.”
Or simply isn’t powerful enough to comprehend. What must it be like, to be the king of a land that lauds its blood mages, surrounded by mages all more powerful than you? Serefin supposed he could sympathize with his father’s position, if not exactly empathize.
“What kind of matters would those be?” Serefin asked.
“Curious about our ways, Your Highness? I would’ve thought they were too occult for someone with your sensibilities.”
“I’ve just been given a lot of free time. It’s not something one has a great deal of when they’re continually at war. I may as well spend it putting together the pieces of just what has happened while I’ve been away.”
She tensed. It was subtle, but Serefin caught it.
“Tell me, my lady, about the Vulture that was found in Kalyazin.”
Her eyes widened a fraction of an inch. “I suppose we cannot keep every secret close.”
“Did that sound like blackmail?” Serefin asked innocently. It would be a scandal if the common folk learned of someone defecting from the Vultures. They were the elite, a higher authority, the chosen blessed.
Her head tilt dropped a raven lock over the forehead of her silver mask. “Tell me, Your Highness, what do you want?”
“I was called from the front rather suddenly. The necessity for a consort seems like thin reasoning. I have no true proof of any dealings that should not be happening taking place, yet…”
“Yet you have suspicions.”
He shrugged. “As I said, nothing founded.”
“What makes you think my order would know the machinations of your political games?”
“There was a Vulture in my father’s throne room,” Serefin said idly. “The Vultures were also very eager to go after the cleric I found, only to fail … The latter is an unfortunate oversight on your order’s part; the former, well, that looks like mixing magic and politics where they should not meet. I have no intention of blackmailing you, my lady—not yet, at least. Your order has traditionally played the role of advisor and nothing more, is that still the case?”
She swallowed. “Not quite.”
He hummed an acknowledgment and waited for her to continue.
“Some amount of paranoia on your part may be well founded.”
“What kind of paranoia?” he asked, letting his eyes close. He angled his head back. He would have expected more fear, more panic, anxiety that clutched at him and refused to let him think; instead he just felt calm. Here was a problem for him to decipher. Here was something to do, even if that something was surviving.
“It is rumored that your standing at court is tenuous, but they’re whispers, nothing more.”
Serefin couldn’t help but smile. So his father had become so anxious about Serefin’s power that he thought it best he was out of the picture entirely? How utterly Tranavian.
“And telling me this isn’t betraying Tranavia?”
A flicker of amusement sparked in the Vulture’s eyes. “It would hardly be the first time Tranavian politics were upheaved while the Vultures remained untouched. It’s not like I told you anything you did not already know.”
Regardless, it was confirmation he wasn’t going mad, that he wasn’t seeing knives where they were not, shadows where none stood. It was something, and it would have to be enough.
* * *
Serefin had nothing but time to figure out how to move forward. He might as well enjoy his last days.
The northern end of the palace grounds held a huge arena built long before Tranavia discovered blood magic. Back when power was tested by might and strength alone. The traditions remained even as power became something far greater in concept. The arena was still used for mage duels, to settle grievances amidst the court, and—most importantly—for trials and executions.
It was a large building, made for seating a fair portion of the city if necessary. Iron spikes jutted around the circumference, and carvings of war lined the outside. The entrance was decorated with symbols for magic, and Serefin brushed his hand against one as he passed.
The inner arena was a circle of packed dirt that had been dug twenty feet down from ground level. It could be manipulated by mages during trials, but usually it remained as a training ground. There were a few individuals within when Serefin entered, Ostyia trailing at his heels. None of them took any notice of the prince. He moved to the railing and jumped up onto it, sitting down and swinging his legs over the far drop. Ostyia leaned against the railing beside him.
“Recognize anyone?” he asked. Faces were a blur.
She nodded.
“We have House Láta, House