Vana fights down hysterical laughter. “Yes. I’m marrying a grail from Fellrin. We’ll have a strategy meeting tomorrow.”
“Wyrmshit,” Indra mutters, then cocks her head. “Yeah, I’ll look forward to that, not. Your company’s here.”
Vana takes a deep breath, composing himself with years of practice, and turns to greet Naoko Mallory. She’s plainly dressed in a wide-sleeved jacket today, accompanied only by two guards. Her assistant Mori is nowhere to be seen, and her guards remain at the top of the stone stairs.
“Lady Naoko.” Vana gestures for Indra and Zuzana to give them space. “I wanted to speak to you without false pretenses before you left tomorrow.”
Naoko bows low. “I apologize for the lie by omission, Your Highness. Fellrin and Draskora alike forbade me from disclosing anything before the negotiations were finalized.”
“I don’t hold it against you,” Vana says. “Even a whisper of scalestone trading will cause chaos. It wasn’t worth the risk in case negotiations fell through.”
“Precisely.” Naoko sighs. “I’m glad not to have secrets now.”
Vana could almost laugh at how badly Daromir misjudged Naoko’s interest in him. She wasn’t considering a romantic liaison. She was weighing Vana’s value as a son. Deciding whether he was an acceptable excuse to sell her own son for half a ton of shimmering rocks.
“So, the autumn you spent in the Porcelain Guild?” Vana asks.
Naoko clasps her hands in her wide sleeves. “I gave birth to my son. I stayed until he was weaned, and I always visited for solstices. When I could.”
There’s a hint of defensiveness in Naoko’s voice, but Vana isn’t prepared to judge her for it. He doesn’t know what the Porcelain Guild is like. Perhaps Sei Mallory’s life has been better there than it would have been otherwise. All Vana feels is a sinking dread that his warning will fall on deaf ears. If Naoko has already abandoned her son once, she’ll do it again.
But Vana has to try, for Sei’s sake and his own.
“You asked me how I found Draskora, and I said it was my home.” Vana looks out across the smoke-smudged sky. The endless layers of clouds, and Stanza soaring high above. “I lied to you. This isn’t a home. This is a monstrous court, and had I known you asked on your son’s behalf, I would have told you that.” Vana breaks away from the landscape and meets Naoko’s eyes. “If you love your son, call off the deal.”
“It’s too late for doubt,” Naoko says, head held high. “Paradoxically, your warning gives me heart. I thought Draskora would be a harsh, unfriendly place. But you’ve proven kind, fair, and strong. I know you’ll protect Sei.”
She’s wrong.
Vana sympathizes with this grail he’s never met. He knows exactly what it’s like to be traded between nations for political benefit. But Vana can’t vow to protect Sei. He can’t be that person for Sei, because Vana already has someone who will always come first.
Revelation hits Vana not as a lightning strike, but as silk finally falling from his eyes. Everything is suddenly clear.
Vana too has found a line he can’t cross.
If Vana hurts Daromir like this, it will never end. Imrik will just ask more and more from Vana, stripping away every last piece of him. No Kaiskara, no poetry, no love, nothing but blood on Vana’s hands and a fragile cage he refuses to step out of.
By the time Vana ascends the Draskoran throne, the man in the scalestone crown won’t beVanaanymore. Just a cold-hearted monster wearing his skin.
Vana should have listened to Daromir. He should have fled Draskora—whether they returned to Kaiskara or flew somewhere new and unknown doesn’t matter. Vana has always loved Daromir more than anything. It’s time to prove that.
“Is something the matter, Your Highness?” Naoko asks.
“I’m fine,” Vana says, and for the first time in a very long time, it’s true. He wants to tell Naoko right now that he’s rejecting the betrothal. The treaty is off, scandal and consequences be damned. But more urgently, Vana needs to find his bloodguard and beg for forgiveness. “My apologies, but something’s come up. I’ll take my—”
Pain slices into Vana’s shoulder, tearing through muscle and vein. Vana cries out, buckling over in agony, clutching his arm—
But his sleeve is dry. There’s no blood. This isn’t his pain.
“Daro,” Vana whispers, his heart seizing in panic.
“Your Highness!” Naoko exclaims, as his guards rush forward. Vana waves them off, barely seeing the world around him.
Daromir’s pain is clear, but nothing else is. When Vana seeks along the bloodbond, his soul burning with the effort, he finds nothing. As if a smooth wall reflects the finding magic from every direction. Someone is blocking him.
Vana will make them regret that. Panic and lightning crackling through him, Vana flings up his arm and whistles for Stanza.
?
