Pity that isn’t working today.
Kazia sets Butterfly down at Buthel’s feet. The plump rat approaches, whiskers twitching across the marble toes. Butterfly is the most adventurous rat in the colony, and Kazia takes him out to explore when he can. Rats are far better than people. They’re soft and straightforward, and they don’t ask unbearable questions like—
“How have you been?” Sei asks.
There he goes again. Sei Mallory—sorry,Sei Marek Dire—is one of the worst people in the world. Kazia resents whatever drasgard told Sei he could find Kazia here.
When Sei arrived from Fellrin six months ago, he was the most naive grail Kazia had ever met. Disgustingly eager to please. Kazia should have avoided him, but he felt some twisted pang of sympathy for Sei’s plight. Being claimed by Marek, who wields Dire magic with power surpassed only by Father?
Marek is the son Imrik always wanted. Big, powerful, ferocious—and safely unambitious. Unlike Vana, who so clearly wanted to inherit. Unlike Kazia, who was born unsuitable.
So Kazia was nice to Sei. Just a few times. Unfortunately, Sei noticed, and now he’s under the mistaken impression that they’refriends. Even Kazia’s involvement in the whole Radovan incident didn’t disabuse Sei of the notion. Whenever Sei is in Ostomar, he visits. When he isn’t in Ostomar, he sends the occasional cheerful letter.
Kazia never writes back, because the endeavor is absurd. Even if Kazia could risk friendship, he wouldn’t do it with Sei. The man shares everything with Marek.
Avoiding eye contact, Kazia pokes Butterfly’s plush rump. “I’ve been very well, without my odious brother stinking up the palace. How is the oaf?”
Hopefully that’s the right dose of poison. Kazia can’t lash out too much, and he can’t deflect with a cheerful,I’m fine.Sei is an idiot, but he’s also too damn smart. He pays attention.
Kazia can’t reveal that anything is wrong.
“Marek’s been well. We’ve been flying a lot, and the odious odor isn’t bad when you’re airborne.” Sei circles Buthel the Unhinged to inspect a stone wyrm sleeping on a rough-hewnboulder. “This is quite the eclectic collection. Queen Aliza’s, I assume?”
“She lost interest before filling the rest of the pedestals.” Kazia offers his hand to Butterfly, who tickles his fingers before returning to the marble foot inspection. “Where is Marek? You’re usually shackled to him.”
“He had something to discuss with His Majesty. We’ll see him at dinner.”
“What a pity.”
Undeterred, Sei joins Kazia and stretches out a hand. Butterfly rises on his haunches to inspect Sei’s fingers next. “Speaking of which, it’s nearly time. Shall we go down together?”
Kazia suppresses a grimace. The appearance of friendship may be the only threat worse than friendship itself. “You go ahead. I’d rather stare at Buthel’s feet for five more minutes.”
The slight pause is the only sign Sei is taken aback by the rebuke. His reply is as polite as ever. “I’ll see you at dinner, Your Highness.”
Sei gathers his guards at the door, then leaves.
Everyone has a breaking point. Sooner or later, if Kazia keeps spurning him, Sei will stop reaching out. No more sincere questions or cheerful letters. No more not-subtle-enough interrogations on Marek’s behalf.
Kazia will have to respond better to Sei’s next overture. Or make one of his own. That was the plan—win a potential ally in Sei, an insight into Marek’s household and the dragon corps. The war just has Kazia set on edge. It’s hard to focus on his earlier plans, haphazard as they were.
If his parents taught him anything true, it’s that nobody can know he’s a grail. Kazia’s deepest, most important instinct is to drive away anyone who might figure out what he is.
Sei is top of that list. He’s a grail too, and he’s appallingly content with his servitude. Of course, Sei is a normal grail. It doesn’t hurt when he shares magic.
Kazia can’t imagine being happy with this blight inside him.
Rats are better than grails, mages, and people in general. Kazia pets the big lavender blotches on Butterfly’s shoulders until his restlessness eases to a manageable level. Then he scoops Butterfly up and away from the half-empty gallery.
***
A cursory survey tells Kazia tonight won’t be an ordinary dinner. Strange—it isn’t a festival, and Kazia hasn’t heard of any special guests or victories to celebrate. Yet the long trestle tables are set close to the walls, leaving a wide path to the royal dais, as if making space for performers. There are no minstrels in sight, but the audience of diners is crowded.
The high table itself is set to only seat one side, with King Imrik at the center facing the hall. Kazia walks straight up to bow, his posture perfect—now is his moment to perform. Everyone watches, ready for him to spit blades or juggle salad bowls.
But the salad course is safe tonight. “Hello, Father,” Kazia says, his smile just bright enough. He doesn’t have to lay it on too thick. Aliza isn’t here.
Across the table, Imrik nods. “Have a seat. You’re just in time.”
