“I’m sorry.” Lucien rubs his throat beneath the collar, wishing he’d escaped when Whisper offered. That there wasn’t a castle and an army between him and the sad voice in his head. “These are human wars. Maybe we should never have involved—”
They’re dragon wars too,Tezurit says.We choose our alliances. We choose our battles. Could you puny humans force us to fight against our will? Preposterous.Her indignation subsides in another wave of grief.I just wish both our kinds chose differently, sometimes. Is there not enough scalestone here? Is there not enough scalestone there?
It isn’t that simple—but Lucien has a feeling Tezurit knows that. Or maybe it is that simple.
“I wish we chose differently too, Tezurit,” Lucien says. “You should keep away from the border for a while.”
She must still be upset. She doesn’t scold him for being a nag.I’m flying south today. There’s a bad storm coming tonight. The kind that rattles wyrms from the mountainsides.
Lucien stiffens, sits up. “Is there magic in the storm?”
No magic. Just a storm. Stay dry, fragile human.
That should be a relief. But tension already knots in Lucien’s shoulders.
***
Rain lashes against dark glass. The windows in Kazia’s parlor are so small, Lucien rarely notices them. Now, he can’t tear his attention away. They’re well-made and don’t budge in their frames, but Lucien imagines their rattle and crack with every roll of thunder.
His magic flickers, yearning for an outlet. Lucien misses his windowless room. He can’t return until Kazia finishes with him. Lucien doesn’t know when that will be, because Kazia hasn’t started yet. While Lucien stands near the doorway, Kazia perches on the couch.
The prince is deep in a cryptic conversation with the part-Fellrian herald, who Lucien hasn’t seen since his first days in the castle. Most of the discussion involves her pointing at scrolls of parchment and saying, “And this?”
Kazia answers with a number, a murmured yes, or thank you.
They’re being vague enough that this is probably something Lucien should eavesdrop on. But controlling his flinch at every thunderclap takes all of Lucien’s concentration.
“Thank you, Hyda,” Kazia says more clearly, and returns the box of parchment to her. “It’s late—we’ll discuss Sabora tomorrow.”
Hyda bows. Her gaze slides unsubtly towards Lucien. “Of course, Your Highness. Shall I call for a guard?”
“No need.” Kazia toys with the end of his braid. “The dog is tame.”
Lucien doesn’t feel tame as Hyda leaves the room. He feels wild, trapped. His very soul is poised to lash out at an enemy he can’t fight.
Talking to Kazia right now is a mistake. Lucien needs his wits for that.
“We should do this in the morning.” Lucien gives a shameless wink. “It’s late, and Herald Hyda is already getting the wrong idea.”
Unfortunately, Kazia doesn’t rise to the bait. He props his feet on the low table. “Hyda knows how to keep her thoughts to herself. We need to talk.”
If he can’t avoid the conversation, he may as well get it over with. Lucien crosses the room—slowly, so he doesn’t startle Kazia. Light flashes through the window, and Lucien tries not to tense in anticipation.
“I don’t trust you,” Kazia starts. His eyes are pale in the dim light, nearly silver. “But that’s what the collar’s for. I’ve been thinking about what you said, about us sharing enemies.”
Thunder growls low outside. The walls don’t shake. That’s Lucien’s imagination. Fuck, he isn’t composed enough for this conversation, but he can’t miss this chance. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret, Your Highness. But we both have reasons to hate your father.”
“Mother’s no better. She might be worse.” Kazia swings to his feet in the next lightning flash. His arms cross in his usual defensive posture, but determination sharpens his face. “Which is why I’d like to propose…”
Lucien flinches at the next crack of thunder. Obvious enough that Kazia frowns.
“What’s your problem?” Kazia demands.
Fuck. “Nothing.”
Kazia’s intense focus once again reminds Lucien of Audric. The brilliant attention Lucien admires—except when it’s turned on him.
“The storm,” Kazia says.
