Page 46 of Dragon Slayer

“Sometimes,” Val echoed, but he couldn’t return the smile.

~*~

He dream-walked to his father’s study by accident one night. His projection manifested in a dark corner, as if his subconscious was trying to be sneaky. He heard his father’s and uncle’s voices, engaged in tense discussion.

“…sultan is fairly peaceable, as far as sultans go,” Romulus was saying.

“There’s nothingpeaceableabout it from where I’m sitting,” Father said, tone sharp-edged. “Wallachia and Transylvania are their pathway into Western Europe, and it’s a path they’re eager to take.”

“Fuck Western Europe. What has it ever done for you? I’m telling you: Murat is an old man, and grows weary of war. But his heir…he’s only Vlad’s age, but he’s already got his eye set on the Red Apple. Mark my words, when he’s sultan, he’ll march on Constantinople, and he’ll succeed. Afterward, once Rome falls–”

“Rome willneverfall.”

Romulus chuckled. “Brother, it’s as good as already fallen. But that doesn’t concern you, and your territories. If you would heed the advice of an older brother who was once your king, I would tell you this: cooperate with the Ottomans. Let them have whatever they want.”

“And if what they want is my life?”

It was quiet a beat; a gentle wind rattled the shutters.

Val’s pulse pounded in his ears. He heard his father’s pulse as an echo, a rapid drumbeat.

“It won’t come to that,” Romulus said at last, soothing. “The Turks want the world. It’s better to be a man living in that world, than a corpse living under it. Remember that.”

Val closed his eyes and willed himself back to his bedchamber, to the small body burrowed against Vlad’s side. While he was dream-walking, he’d tucked himself in tight to his brother’s ribs, fingers curled to claws that gripped his shirt tight. He came awake and realized that he was panting, rapid breaths that turned the air beneath the covers humid and too-close.

Vlad stirred. “What?” he asked, sleepily.

“Nothing,” Val said, “sorry.” Because he was only four, and he didn’t understand wars and territories yet, and he thought that, maybe, if he pretended he hadn’t heard what Romulus had said, he wouldn’t have to find out if it was true.

~*~

It nagged at him, though, that conversation, like a canker sore that he couldn’t stop poking at. A week later, he found himself in Constantine’s solar again, hiding behind a low table full of decanters and wine goblets, as thepro temdiscussed something with his chief advisor. Over the past few months, Val had come to learn, through eavesdropping, that George Sphrantzes was Constantine’s closest friend, his most trusted and loyal of helpmates. Val wanted to meet him, but then they’d have to go through the whole not-a-ghost argument again.

At every visit, Val made sure that Constantine was alone before he revealed himself. But today, worry throbbing in the back of his mind like a headache, he decided he couldn’t wait.

“Your Majesty,” he said, stepping out into the open, and the conversation cut off abruptly.

Both men turned to look at him, Constantine with mild surprise – maybe even a dash of worry – and Sphrantzes with something more like startled annoyance.

“A little young to be a messenger, isn’t he?” Sphrantzes asked, already turning back to the map spread out on the table.

But Constantine frowned, gaze searching Val’s face. “Is something the matter, Valerian? You look frightened.”

Because he was. He swallowed with difficulty and walked closer to the table, booted feet silent on the stones. “My uncle.” The words scraped at his throat, like he’d swallowed bones, and he forced them out through suddenly-chattering teeth. The fear closed over him like a shroud. “I heard him talking. The Ottomans – Your Majesty, the Ottomans are coming for Constantinople. Not – not Murat,” he stumbled over the name, uncertain, “but his heir. The next sultan. My uncle, he knows things, he’s – he’s–”

Sphrantzes turned around with an impatient snort. “Constantine, who is this? We don’t have time–”

“George.” He silenced his friend with a wave. “This is Vlad Dracul’s son.”

“Hewhat–”

“Shh.” Constantine came to crouch in front of Val, his expression soft and rapt all at once. “What is it, little prince? What did you learn?”

Val took a deep, heaving breath, trying to calm down. “The Ottomans are going to try to attack the city,” he said all in a rush. “Uncle thinks they’ll win!”

Constantine offered a sad sort of smile. “It won’t be the first time they’ve attacked. This is a very old fight, Val.”

Sphrantzes came up behind the emperor, scowling down at Val. “What do you mean this is Vlad Dracul’s son? Is Dracul here? In Byzantium?”

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