But Kazia isn’t stupid enough to voice treason aloud. Not to a mage who hates him. Lucien could report Kazia as some sort of bargaining chip. The orders restrain him now, but they won’t always.
“Follow me quietly,” Kazia says, and opens the door to the brighter hallway.
The door’s opposite side is carved in complex geometric shapes, the handle so ornately brass Kazia wonders it doesn’t fall out of its socket with the weight.
“Wait,” Lucien breathes, with a jerky, aborted movement. “There’s a drasgard.”
Kazia spins around, bristling. Of course there’s a drasgard down the hall—these are the queen’s chambers, andlightly guardedis the best Kazia can hope for. Kazia ensured Nekla would be on duty before he departed this morning.
Far more shocking is the realization that Lucien tried to grab his shoulder. A misguided, protective gesture.
“Nekla is one of mine,” Kazia says, hackles raised. “Don’t tell anyone you saw him here, either.”
Lucien’s eyes are so strange. Such a clear sky blue, to be so unreadable. “My mistake. This Nekla’s only wearing the queen’s fucking livery.”
“Now you’re into stupid uniforms?” Kazia shouldn’t have said anything. He scowls and takes off down the hall.
Lucien follows, tugged behind by the invisible leash in Kazia’s hand.
Drasgard Nekla salutes. He’s one of the few people Kazia has managed to insert into his mother’s household. Aliza is absent-minded with her hobbies, but she runs a tight ship. Turnover is low.
“Morning, Nekla,” Kazia says. People like when he remembers their names. “How are the kids doing? Is your daughter still begging for a kitten?”
Nekla gives an exaggerated grimace. “No, Your Highness, only because my husband’s already given her three.” He glances past Kazia’s shoulder, hesitates, but says nothing about Lucien.“Whatever you need, you’ve got two hours. My shift changes at noon.”
“Thanks,” Kazia says, grateful he doesn’t have to chat more. He can’t remember the husband’s or daughter’s names.
Lucien follows Kazia into the queen’s parlor without needing another order. When the door closes, Kazia turns to find Lucien isn’t staring at the walls like he should be. Aliza’s visiting parlor is a mess of eclectic treasures. Paper statues and crystal vases and the multicultural wall of creepy masks. Instruments she’s stopped learning, demoted to museum pieces.
No, instead of staring at the creepy masks like a sensible person, Lucien is watching Kazia.
“What?” Kazia demands, his skin crawling with the attention.
The corner of Lucien’s mouth twitches. “You’re nice to the servants.”
“I am not.” Kazia tugs at his sleeves. They aren’t sitting right on his wrists. “People are more obedient when you use their names.”
Not just attention. Lucien looks at him with outright approval. “You remembered a lot more than his name.”
Kazia has to know about people. It’s a matter of security. Power. Lucien’s more right than Kazia likes to admit, though. Having friends is just dangerous, because anything someone loves can be taken away. Look at what happened to Vana, who nearly lost his pet bloodguard.
Happily, Kazia doesn’t have to respond to his bound prisoner. Slipping a hand into his pocket, he pushes his thumb through the center of the talisman. The tear activates the magic—for the next two hours, every sound within five feet of Kazia will be muffled from the outside.
“Remain quiet,” Kazia orders Lucien anyway. “Don’t move anything out of place or leave evidence of our presence. Can you feel any scalestone?”
Lucien hesitates. “Only faint traces. I can’t tell where it’s coming from.”
Kazia envies how calm Lucien seems. Of course, this venture means nothing to him. “Follow me around the room and tell me whenever you find some, or if the traces get stronger.”
“What are we looking for?” Lucien asks.
Tension twists Kazia’s veins. A hateful phantom tug. “You don’t need to know.”
“Does it matter if I know?” Lucien spreads his hands, a gesture of harmlessness. As if he needs a blade to be dangerous, when he was born a weapon himself. “You can order me not to touch it, or not to tell anyone about it. Who the fuck would I tell, anyway? But if I’m looking for something, it would help to know what the fuck it looks like.”
He has a point, damn him. Kazia folds his arms, aware of how defensive the posture looks. Each word drags out begrudgingly. “It’s a glass bottle the size of my palm. The stopper has a round piece of scalestone.”
Lucien’s smile is sunny. “There, was that so hard?”
