Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,84
hanging around her neck.
The same spiral was etched into the round pendant.
She only had time to flip to the first page. Enough time to see the word god scrawled in that spiderweb hand. Enough time to realize she had stopped hearing the quiet sounds of other people in the room and to gather that someone was watching her.
24
SEREFIN
MELESKI
Svoyatova Ma?gorzata Dana: A Tranavian who fled her family of heretics for a life in a monastery in Tobalsk. Her courage, and death at the hands of her brother, canonized her as a saint.
—Vasiliev’s Book of Saints
All of Serefin’s senses felt disconnected. He heard the smack of flesh against flesh, felt his head whip so hard to one side he thought his neck might snap, but it took a few seconds for pain to flare against the side of his face.
Izak’s ring sliced open Serefin’s cheek and he felt blood slowly drip down his face.
As distant as his father had become with him—as strained as their relationship was—he had never struck him before.
“Now, what did I do to deserve that?” Serefin asked, dabbing at the blood on his face with his thumb. He had known when his father had personally ordered him to his study after dinner it wasn’t going to be pretty, but instigating his father was part of his plan and he would survive the bruises that would come of it. Besides, if this went wrong he would be dead in a few days anyway, so what were a few bruises?
“I ask for so little, Serefin, so little,” Izak said. “A modicum of respect for the traditions of your country. It’s so little.”
That wasn’t what this was about, but Serefin would play along if it kept them both from addressing the true issue. “I’ve expressed how I feel about these traditions. At this point in time, they’re needless. We’re at war, Father.”
“Don’t dare presume to remind me, Serefin.”
He was struck a second time, and again, it took a bit for all of Serefin’s senses to realign.
He worked his jaw, feeling it click. “Are you finished? Would you like to go a third time? By all means, I’m more than willing to be your human punching bag.”
“Serefin…” His father’s tone was a warning.
Izak finally crossed the room, sitting down behind his large oak desk. The room was spare; few items suggested it was ever even used.
Apparently that was the extent of the abuse Serefin would be suffering today.
Serefin eyed his father while he shuffled through the very few papers that were spread across his desk. What was stopping him from putting his dagger through his father’s eye, right now? From throwing his spell book open and burning him from the inside out?
Politics. The fallout would mean Serefin’s execution. His coup had to be more delicate.
“The answer has always been here.” But the answer to what? Why this war was still raging? Why his father, who vehemently denied the existence of gods, wished to become one? Though easily answered with his father’s ego, that wasn’t the reason. Serefin never denied the existence of the Kalyazi gods, he had just never seen their purpose.
He wondered if his father had already started the process. The way his crown was slightly askew and his hands shook were significant indicators where his father was concerned. But it was when his sleeve fell back and Serefin glimpsed dozens of fresh cuts scattered across his father’s forearm that he knew. His stomach soured, finally having confirmation that this was all truly happening.
“I just think we’re wasting resources on trivialities under the guise of tradition when there is a war going on and half the kingdom is starving,” Serefin said sullenly, forcing himself to continue pretending this was just a normal conversation.
“When you rule you can forgo tradition and deal with the riots,” Izak replied without looking up. Serefin’s blood froze.
Nothing in his father’s voice sounded remotely sincere. He shoved down the swell of panic rising in his chest. He had to change the subject. He thought back to a conversation he had with Józefina during dinner, about how her retinue was so small because she had run into Kalyazi inside Tranavia.
“One of the girls who lives by the border told me the Kalyazi had broken through.”
That got his father to look up. “What?”
Serefin shrugged. “I can’t confirm, but from what I saw of the Kalyazi while at the front, it doesn’t sound unreasonable. We’re winning, but that doesn’t mean we’ve won.”