Page 87 of Dragon Slayer

Romulus had turned Mehmet, but he didn’t understandwhy.

No…that wasn’t strictly true. He knew why Romuluswould…whyanyonewould…he just hadn’t thought…

He rolled over, teeth clenched against the painful welts on his back, and stared out through the barred window. A cloudy, starless night had fallen across the mountains, the sky indigo and rain-scented. He thought of his father’s regal profile, his gentle smiles, the flicker of his lashes as he read a Latin volume and chewed thoughtfully at the inside of his lip. The legend of Remus was no legend at all, but his real life, his real past; an oversight and trust that had warred within him in his new life as Vlad II. Did he raise his sons with love? Or bring them up to question everything?

Vlad thought the result shook out somewhere in the middle. Vlad was suspicious, Val trusting and sweet, and Mircea fell somewhere between, the well-balanced heir.

But all of them had distrusted Romulus. The king who’d tried to kill their father.

And all of them had sipped his blood, and called him “uncle,” and wanted to believe that – without a throne – he was a changed man.

But he’d turned the Ottoman heir.

Who was their enemy…at the very least their liege lord. And…

And Vlad could find no justification for that outside of treachery.

Sleep came slowly that night, and was filled with helpless nightmares.

The next morning, he chose a rug directly behind his brother; gritted his teeth and refused to handle himself gingerly despite the pain that flared from healing bruises.

“Radu,” he started, and when that earned him only a stiffening of narrowed shoulders, whispered, “Valerian.”

Val was seated, as usual, between the Serbian princes Stepan and Gregor. For the first few weeks of the brothers’ captivity, the Serbian princes had been attended by a slave during their lessons. Val had, through innate kindness, adopted the role for them. So when Val turned, the other boys turned as well, though they couldn’t see Vlad.

“Not you, idiots,” he hissed at them, and they hastily faced forward again. They knew his voice; they’d listened to him snarl and growl and beat the heir with a practice sword. Vlad wondered if they’d heard the shattering of bone, the way that he had.

Val’s pretty face was carefully composed; guarded. It pained Vlad to see, but he knew it was for the best. He might always be golden and beautiful, but he could at least harden himself.

Vlad crooked a finger.Closer.

Val hesitated a long moment, gaze screened by his lashes – so long that Vlad began to fear the mullahs would enter and take the crop to the back of his neck. But finally, Val leaned in and said, “What?”

“The next time you go walking, I need you to take a message home. I got a taste of his blood – I know who turned Mehmet.”

“Who?”

“Uncle Romulus.”

Val’s cool mask slipped. His brows leapt, and his mouth fell open. Not just fear, but terror bloomed on his skin, a sudden sweat that was acrid to Vlad’s nose. “What? Are you – are you–”

“I’m sure. He had us taste his blood remember?” That was something that had dogged his nightmares. “I think he’d already done it then, and he wanted us to know.” He felt the grim lines of his expression. “He knew we would get captured. Or maybe even helped to orchestrate it.”

“But…” Val’s breath came in quick little pants. “Why would he…?”

“Because he’s tainted, and he always has been.” And he was, but Vlad knew that wasn’t the whole truth. There was something else there, something he was missing. Romulus might very well be the sort of man who enjoyed the suffering of others – and clearly he was. Perhaps he was jealous that he was now unknown and exiled, while father was a prince, with a family, a loyal contingent of wolves.

But something prickled at the back of Vlad’s mind. The understanding that he was, after all, still just a boy, and that Romulus was working a scheme that he didn’t yet fully comprehend.

“He turned our enemy,” Val whispered, eyes glazed, face slack. “Our enemy. And set us against him.” He gripped the fabric of his own kaftan, knuckles white.

“I need you to go walking tonight,” Vlad repeated. “I need you to warn Mother, warn Mircea. Father, if you can find him. Tell the wolves. Tell them what we’re dealing with. If Romulus is at the palace…”

And he hadn’t thought ofthatuntil just now. He swallowed an unsteady breath. “Can you do that?”

Val pushed his hands through his hair, grimacing. But he said, “Yes. As soon as I can, I will.”

It would have to be enough, because that was all Vlad could do.

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