Kazia takes both boxes and orders, “Stay.”
Lucien stays, his mind spinning as Kazia puts the boxes away somewhere. Because Kazia’s words brought up something Luciendoesn’tunderstand. As Imrik Dire’s trueborn son, why doesn’t Kazia have Dire magic?
Of course, magic doesn’t always inherit predictably. Neither of Lucien’s parents had magic—his maternal grandmother’s power skipped a generation. All Nana could do was light lanterns, but that’s useful enough for common life.
Noble magic is more reliable. Generations of intentional breeding have long supported the high houses’ political and military power. Even noble pedigrees can’t guarantee magic, though. And perhaps something more sordid is to blame—who’s to say Queen Aliza has always been faithful?
But hereditary chance shouldn’t matter. Even if Kazia was born without magic, Imrik should have granted it to himthrough the inheritance spell. That’s what Queen Margot did with her three sons, none of them related to her by blood.
The only reason not to would be concern that the child is too weak. The spell can be difficult, even dangerous. But it’s notthatdangerous, especially for a child of magic bloodlines.
Royals are forever grasping for more power. They want to rule the past, present, and future alike, and their heirs are their path to the future. On the dynastic scale, the potential benefits of a prince with royal magic far outweigh the risk.
Margot’s decent, as far as queens go. Her decency didn’t keep her from performing the ritual on her coddled, sickly youngest son.
Kazia is small and untrained, but he doesn’t seem sickly. Maybe he was more fragile when he was younger—the inheritance spell works best around thirteen. Even so…
Is Imrik Dire the kind of man who would protect his son, instead of attempting the ritual anyway?
Maybe they tried and it didn’t take, Lucien reasons, as Kazia calls Drasgard Salarin into the parlor. They confer out of earshot.
A failed ritual would make sense. Imrik would hardly publicize the failure, especially when he had two adopted heirs with Dire magic already.
The door closes. Kazia turns, and Lucien’s concerns jolt back to the present. Kazia’s smile is alarmingly bright.
“Wonderful news,” Kazia says. “My mother will be spending a short holiday at her hunting lodge. That means you and I have an exciting day planned tomorrow.”
Lucien doesn’t like the sound of that. “I’d ask what that means, but you’ll just delight in not telling me.”
Kazia beams. “So, youcanlearn. Oh—and here’s an order. Don’t tell anyone about what we do tomorrow. Don’t tell anyone that you can’t tell them about our plans tomorrow, either.”
Great. Lucien really fucking doesn’t like the sound of that.
?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kazia
Kazia may never get a better chance to find his phylactery. Aliza will be at her hunting lodge for the next few days, and Imrik is occupied with noble petitions. Most of Aliza’s servants traveled with her, and few guards remain on duty. As long as Kazia is careful, this is the perfect opportunity to search Aliza’s rooms.
And as long as his captive scalestone-finder cooperates.
“Be quiet,” Kazia orders as they walk along the servants’ corridor. “Don’t talk to anyone but me. Don’t draw attention to us.”
Kazia has a quiet-charm talisman in his pocket. But he can’t use it until they reach the parlor.
“You’ve said those already,” Lucien says, precisely three feet behind Kazia. “I also remember not to move anything out of place, or ever tell anyone what we’re doing today.”
The sarcasm isn’t welcome, but at least Lucien’s quiet. As ordered. Anxiety twining between his ribs, Kazia can’t bring himself to retort. This is the best chance he’s ever had to findhis phylactery—but instead of hope, the thought fills him with dread. Failure is all too likely an option.
Ostomar is riddled with corridors like this one. The plain passageways allow servants to rush from task to task without ruining the opulent ambiance of the proper rooms. Yesterday, this one would have been a riot of preparation for the queen’s holiday. This morning, as arranged, the hall is quiet. At least that much is going to plan.
Kazia pauses at a wooden door. Peering through a narrow peephole, he finds the ornate hallway clear. He waits another minute to be sure, attempting to ease his own nerves. If he doesn’t find the phylactery, he’ll at least have eliminated his mother’s chambers. Never mind that incremental progress hurts more every time his own blood summons him for torment.
Behind him, Lucien’s breath is light. That’s the other problem. Kazia can’t relax with a mage at his back. No matter how cooperative Lucien pretends to be, no matter what tempting offers of alliance Lucien makes, the obedience collar is the only thing holding back the flames.
They do share enemies, just like Lucien implied yesterday. Kazia doesn’t doubt that Lucien would happily kill Imrik. Commanding his pet mage to incinerate his father is an appealing notion.
