He’s being held captive. His friends are at war. A dragon named Tezurit circles Ostomar, out of sight, if she hasn’t given up. Lucien should relish getting closer to Kazia’s weaknesses.
Assuming he hasn’t ruined his progress by pushing too far.
Lucien scowls at his least favorite pillowcase. This one never folds square, no matter how precisely Lucien works.
He’s folding the uneven pillowcase for the fifteenth time when Kazia says, “Stop.”
The pillowcase swoops to the floor. Lucien turns, too wary to hope the folding is over. “Are you sure? I almost perfected it that time.”
Kazia hops up on the sofa, perching on the stiff back with his boots on the cushion. He points. “Stand there, across the table from me.”
Lucien obeys. Five feet from the table, a shiver passes through him. Involuntarily, he meets Kazia’s eyes.
Kazia hardly blinks with his focus. They’re at eye level, with Kazia up on the couch. Maybe that’s intentional. Kazia isn’t as erratic as Lucien first thought. He’s always aware of position and performance.
There’s a crude joke in there, if Lucien thought he could tell it without losing his head.
Three small iron boxes sit on the coffee table, lined up with a foot between each of them. The leftmost box demands Lucien’s attention. There’s nothing different about its size or shape, but Lucien knows by the call of his magic that it contains a piece of scalestone.
“Look at the boxes,” Kazia says, though Lucien is already looking.
Lucien affects a puzzled frown. “What about them?”
This is a test. A more precise iteration of the same test that led them to the courtyard. Kazia wants to know if Lucien can sense scalestone. His purpose is unknown, but probably terrible. Lucien should pretend he doesn’t sense anything.
“Open the box with scalestone,” Kazia orders.
Fuck. So much for pretending. “Are we going to do this fifteen times too?” Lucien asks as he picks up the leftmost box. Flipping the lid reveals a pair of earrings, shimmering scalestone carved into tiny skull studs. “They suit you.”
Kazia rolls his eyes. “A solstice gift from Vana. I assume one of his assistants picked it out. It would almost be thoughtful, except my ears aren’t pierced.” He waves imperiously. “Set it down, then turn around.”
Lucien grumbles as he obeys. “I was fucking kidding about the fifteen times thing. I can feel the scalestone, all right? Any mage could.”
“Don’t peek,” Kazia says, some of his former amusement returning. There’s a shuffling slide, then the small thuds of boxes moving.
“But you don’t want just any mage. You want one you can order around like a dog.” Lucien inspects the fireplace dragon statues. Remarkable, vivid craftsmanship. “What’s your purpose with the scalestone?”
Kazia slams the boxes back onto the table. “Pick up the box with scalestone.” He sounds calm, but something burns in his pale eyes when Lucien turns around.
Evasiveness is its own answer. Kazia’s secrecy doesn’t appear to be simply a method of torment after all. Keeping secrets means Kazia has enemies, likely nearby ones. Lucien wouldn’t be surprised, with everything Rakos has said about the backstabbing in Ostomar. That may be an angle Lucien can exploit.
Lucien regards the boxes. Sensing the scalestone is more difficult this time. “Depending on who you’re scheming against, I might be on your side.”
Kazia just waits, silent, until Lucien picks up the leftmost box again—and the center box. One earring glitters in each—almost as bright as Kazia’s sharp smile. “As long as you’re wearing that collar, Commander, it doesn’t matter whose side you’re on.”
“Do you really think that?” Lucien asks. “My cooperation is more valuable than my obedience. But my cooperation depends on your intentions.”
Kazia steps up on the coffee table, encroaching on Lucien’s space. He looms over Lucien, who braces himself for a blow, or worse, an order. Instead, Kazia plucks one earring from the boxes Lucien holds. He holds it up to the light.
“You hate Draskora.” The earring shimmers as Kazia turns it. “You hate House Dire in particular. Am I wrong?”
Lucien tenses. He spent ten years learning to fight dragons because he couldn’t fight the storm.
Kazia’s voice is quiet. Intense. “You may be used to working with exiles like Rakos Tem, but my name is Kazia Draskora Dire. I’m loyal to my country, and I’m the only trueborn prince of my house.” Kazia drops the earring back in the box. The tiny sound echoes like a ringing bell. “You aren’t on my side.”
Lucien isn’t on Kazia’s side. He would sooner strangle Kazia than help him. But just for a moment, faced with such bright-burning determination, Lucien wonders what sharing a side would look like.
“Understood, Your Highness.”
