“She paid too much attention to you. Like you’re an enemy, or something else.”
“Something else.” Vana almost laughs. “How scandalous. You’ve been at court too long already, Daro.”
“Just as long as you have.” Daromir continues unbraiding Vana’s hair. His touch is so careful, Vana can’t even feel his calluses. Just like always. “What doyouthink of Lady Naoko?”
“I don’t know yet,” Vana says. “Zuzana has a list of names to investigate from the entourage now—including the fellcat.”
Daromir lifts his hands slowly, so he doesn’t startle Vana, and touches Vana’s temples. All Vana’s tension washes away even before Daromir starts gently massaging his face. Just the sight of himself in the mirror, Daromir’s body behind him blocking away the entire rest of the world. With a flicker of magic, Daromir’s fingers turn cold, and the soothing, tender touch is exactly what Vana needs right now. He closes his eyes, content to enjoy the moment.
Like this, Vana can almost forget the threats swirling around him like half-formed shadows. Daromir worries most about the scorpion moth, but Vana worries more about Kazia’s mention of Rakos Tem. The scorpion moth was an ordinary, poorly executed assassination attempt. Vana enjoys having such incompetent enemies.
He isn’t sure whether Kazia iscompetent. Kazia is unpredictable, which might be worse.
Vana dislikes games of aerie where he can’t see every side—where he doesn’t know if he’s playing doubles or quads. But at least he has Daromir on his side, as always.
?
CHAPTER SIX
Daromir
Daromir despises formal parties. So much polite conversation, so many moving people. The ambassador’s welcome party is being held in a social library deep in the central palace. Half-shelves of books line the walls beneath tapestries of legendary dragons and monarchs. Most of the room’s usual tables and chairs have been moved to make way for an elaborate red wine fountain. The wine looks like blood in the violet-tinged light.
It’s a more intimate setting than most welcome banquets. Musicians play in one corner, and the room’s acoustics mean the sound doesn’t travel far. The only attendees are nobility, with a few ranking drasgard officers. No dragonriders. Queen Aliza has set her customary book aside to rearrange Kazia’s hair, heedless of her son’s murderous scowl. King Imrik gestures to a tapestry as he speaks to an audience of nobles who may or may not have heard the king’s ancient family stories a dozen times before.
Scalestone shimmers overhead, reflecting magelight from sharp crystal fragments. The shimmering lavender chandelier is the most prominent feature in the library. Not for the scalestone itself, but for what’s missing in its place.
Vana cradles a glass of red wine as they wait for the ambassador to arrive. “They took down the bone chandelier. His Majesty must really want to make a good impression on Lady Naoko.”
“What, you think using a human skeleton as a chandelier is a bad look?” Daromir asks.
Vana hides his smile behind a sip of wine. “Or he’s just taunting her with our wealth in scalestone. Ah—the guest of honor arrives.”
Naoko wears trousers again, but her blue feather-work coat flares out in a train behind her. She’s left her fellcat behind for the day, bringing only her round-faced servant. Mori makes a much less formidable escort than Osric.
Daromir doesn’t like the way Naoko’s eyes dart towards Vana before she pays her respects to King Imrik. While there are many reasons someone might be interested in Vana, Daromir is suspicious of most of them.
The music changes to a more upbeat melody, highlighting the sweetness of the Pathan lute. One of the minor House Komar cousins breaks away from the royal conversations to head towards Vana and Daromir.
The woman is long-winded, dense, and overfond of perfume. Her family also rules the very important region of Nost, so she can’t be ignored. Daromir’s glad he’s a bodyguard, not a prince. He doesn’t envy Vana’s job at all.
“Here we go,” Vana says under his breath. “Enjoy the party, Daro.”
“One of us has to,” Daromir replies, and snags a miniature hand pie as he retreats. As much as he prefers to be at Vana’s side, in a small party like this, it’s easier to watch the whole situation from the sidelines. Daromir settles in, relaxed but alert, beneath a portrait of Buthel the Unhinged being disemboweled by a wyrm. Historically dubious, but a popular Draskoran children’s fable.
Across the room, Vana listens politely to whatever Lady Komar is saying. The glass of wine in his hand hasn’t emptied at all. Content to be ignored, Daromir falls into a watchful, attentive mindset, observing the whole room at once. He occasionally focuses on specific elements, but he listens more to the rise and fall of voices than individual phrases.
King Imrik shows a particular book to Naoko. Kazia exchanges an empty wine glass for a full one. Radovan Ark the enchanter huddles in rapt conversation with Queen Aliza. Vana holds court with a red-faced, enthusiastic Lady Komar.
Naoko’s servant Mori wanders the room. He’s fresh-faced, young. Can’t be older than twenty, and he looks very lost. Nobody else pays attention to him, so only Daromir witnesses Mori tripping over the edge of a rug. Arms wheeling, Mori catches himself before faceplanting into a dessert table. Then he fixes his hair, clearly looking around to see if anyone noticed.
Unfortunately for Mori, he makes eye contact with Daromir.
Unfortunately for Daromir, Mori walks over to join him beneath the fabled disembowelment. “You didn’t see that.”
“If it makes you feel better,” Daromir says. “Mori, right?”
“Yes, that’s my name, but I’d rather you forget I exist.” Mori fixes his floppy black hair again. His fine clothes look new, a little too loose, and he isn’t carrying any weapons Daromir can see. Mori looks up at the chandelier, eyes bright. “Wow, I’ve never seen so much scalestone in my life. Except for the throne room earlier today, I suppose.”
