“Hmm.”
Kazrian recognized that particularhmm.It was the one his grandmotherdeployed when she found someone’s confidence mildly premature. He chose not to engage with it.
She reached for another sugar cube. The vine descended, accepted its prize, and retreated, rustling. Kazrian gathered up his notes and drawings and closed the portfolio.
“Is that all, then?” his grandmother asked with a frown that suggested she suspected he might be hiding something from her.
Kazrian laughed. “Yes, Grandmother, that is all. It was not terribly complicated. I did tell you I would have everything resolved with plenty of time to spare before your launch.”
“Hmm, yes, you did.”
Anotherhmm. He declined, once again, to pursue it.
“Oh, is there a messenger pixie about?” he asked. “I need to send a note to Evryn. There is a small section of the lattice I would like him to remove.”
His grandmother’s gaze sharpened at once. “Remove? So thereissomething else, then. You did not mentionremovalof anything.”
“It is nothing significant, Grandmother.” He fastened the clasp on the portfolio. “Merely a small section of one of the lumyrite threads.”
“And what is wrong with it?”
“There is nothingwrongwith it. It is more that the kitchen, overall, will … function more smoothly without that particular piece.”
His grandmother pursed her lips. “Well,” she said eventually, “if you think so.”
“I do.”
“Hmm,” she said again.
“I should also mention that I may be late for dinner this evening. There is one other item that requires a small adjustment?—”
“You cannot be late.”
Kazrian looked up.
“I have invited the Bridgemeres to dine. Surely you have not forgotten.”
“Forgotten? Grandmother, I am quite certain this is the first I’m hearing of it.”
“Nonsense. They have arrived early for the Season, and I extended an invitation the moment I heard. I most certainly told you.”
“You most certainly did not?—”
“Their youngest daughter debuted last Season. Lady Albina Bridgemere. Quite lovely. Accomplished. You will meet her tonight.”
Kazrian pressed his lips together against the groan building inside him. “Grandmother?—”
“You will not be late.” She reached for another sugar cube. “That is all.”
Kazrian tucked the portfolio beneath his arm, stood, and inclined his head with a sigh. “I shall not be late.”
“Excellent.”
“Though I must say,” he added, pausing, “it is rather peculiar. All these families arriving before the Season has even begun. Hardly anything is open, no events have commenced. I cannot fathom what the appeal is.”
His grandmother sat back in her chair and regarded him with a single raised brow and an expression of profound amusement. “You cannot fathom what the appeal is.”
Kazrian waited for elaboration. None came. “Evidently not,” he said, somewhat nettled. “If you know, you are welcome to enlighten me.”
