Kazia blinks. His lips part, silent, then press together in a thin white line. For a moment, he’s somewhere far away. When he returns, the laughter’s gone. And there’s nothing new about his cold expression, but for some reason, he very clearly looks his age.
“Change of plans.” Kazia casts about as if searching for something. He buttons his coat up another two buttons. “Stay here until I return.”
“Are you standing me up?” Lucien asks. “I’m hurt, Your Highness.”
Kazia doesn’t rise to the teasing. He unbuttons the top button again. “Don’t leave the room. Don’t damage anything or anyone. Don’t touch your collar or earring. Don’t escape. Don’t hide under the couch.”
Usually, Kazia’s orders are smarter than this. Lucien wouldn’t fit under the couch. “Seriously, I shaved for you and everything.”
Kazia hardly seems to notice him. Without another glance, he strides to the door. A solid thud leaves Lucien alone in the parlor.
Something happened. Or Kazia remembered something. Lucien can’t figure out what, and being bothered by the mystery is natural. Except Lucien should be concerned on his own behalf. Not Kazia’s.
Both concerns are sensible, he justifies. Of course he has to pay attention to his captor’s moods.
Lucien tests one step forward. Then another, and again, until he reaches the fireplace with relief.Staying heredoesn’t keep him in the same spot; he can explore the room.
The dragon statues look rough, but the stone is smooth beneath his fingers. They’re nearly as tall as Lucien, cooler on their sharp snouts and warmer down their flanks, closer to the fire. Lucien imagines blowing the flames into an inferno. Burning down the entire fucking mountain.
But his magic doesn’t answer, and the fire remains low. There’s a box of talismans on the mantle, the sort anyone can use even without magic. Which means the expensive sort.
Lucien pats the dragon statue one more time, then turns to the rat cage.
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CHAPTER NINE
Kazia
Kazia hates when Imrik stays afterwards. This time, Imrik sits in the tall chair south of the Jaws, watching Aliza fix what he broke. His gaze stings like Aliza’s magic against the stripes of Kazia’s skin. Kazia’s eyes sting too from holding back tears. He has to stop crying quicker when Imrik stays.
Not that Imrik will think any better of Kazia’s stoicism. Imrik doesn’t expect Kazia to be strong. He doesn’t expect Kazia to be a worthy Dire prince. Kazia will never be more than a grail.
So it’s all right if Kazia cries, as long as he’s quiet and doesn’t bother anyone. He tries to stop anyway, out of a useless sense of pride. But he can’t stop from shaking with each sting of magic against his welts.
“Herald Bretka reports you have Lucien Vaire under control. Have there been any problems?” Imrik asks. A small table holds two untouched glasses of wine and a heavy scroll. The whip leans against his chair.
Kazia inhales as magic curls beneath his shoulder blades. A sharp sting, but the pain fades after. Aliza has never had a gentletouch. Kazia is sure most healing doesn’t hurt like this. The pain taps into Kazia’s own reservoirs, looping his magic into Aliza’s. Strengthening her power.
“None, Father. The dog has been most entertaining.”
Imrik lifts the glass of wine. His gaze sweeps across the patterned floor. “Bretka says you moved him into your private quarters last week.”
The amusement in his voice turns Kazia’s stomach.
Kazia won’t pretend he’s taken Lucien to bed, even if the idea would amuse his father. But he won’t admit the truth either—that he wanted Lucien under closer supervision so none of his guards can hurt him. “He’s still in a side room.” Kazia flinches as Aliza erases another stripe from his back. “The previous cell wasn’t secure enough, and I needed larger walls for the wards. Have the Silaisans offered anything for him yet?”
Imrik sips his wine. “A prisoner exchange.”
Aliza rises to her feet. “As if they’ve captured anyone important.”
Her hand falls to Kazia’s hair. What’s meant as a comforting pat only makes Kazia feel like a caged animal. Her affection is a muzzle, keeping him meek and quiet.
Imrik smiles. “I’ve countered by offering Commander Vaire in exchange for the dragons they’ve stolen. Margot has yet to reply.”
“I would be happy to trade him for Rakos Tem,” Aliza says, walking to her husband’s side. Her elaborate updo is still perfect.
Imrik hands her the second glass. “That would be poetic. She would never agree.”
