CHAPTER SEVEN
Kazia
The harp is the worst instrument in the world—this month, at least. Each note stumbles from the strings to careen around the chamber’s tragically perfect acoustics. Kazia much prefers garden concerts, where the songs can get lost more easily.
Blaming the harp is unfair, though. The finely carved instrument is merely the latest victim of Queen Aliza’s hobbies.
Kazia leans forward on his padded bench, the picture of attentiveness. Only Aliza’s servants might see him—Aliza herself concentrates too hard on the music book propped in front of her. She only began learning the harp last month, and she’s unlikely to improve. As with the lute and organ, Aliza will tire of the harp before she has the chance.
In the meantime, Kazia has to suffer her whims.
The song pauses long enough that Kazia lifts his hands. But the song isn’t over. Aliza brightens when she finds her place in the music, and staggers through the last few bars.
“There!” she exclaims as the final notes shiver in the strings. “I don’t believe I played it well, though.”
Kazia applauds. He’s smart enough not to agree with her self-deprecation. “That was lovely, Mother. You should perform it for the equinox.”
Beaming, Aliza rises to her feet. “You flatter me, my dear.”
Kazia tenses at her approach, but forces himself to relax as she bends to kiss his cheek. At least she’s not wearing lip paint today, but the affection still turns his stomach.
If Aliza truly cared for him, she wouldn’t stand by as Imrik hurt him. She wouldn’t keep a phylactery of his blood. The only dedication she’s ever shown has been to House Dire and her own pursuit of power.
Aliza flips through the songbook. “Why didn’t you bring your new pet?”
“I thought you didn’t like animals.” Kazia grins when she laughs. Despite everything, moments like this are almost nice. “I’ll bring him next time.”
“Please do. Lucien Vaire on his knees in our dining hall… I regret missing that banquet.” She pauses on one song, then closes the book. “You must be safe, though. He’s powerful for a peasant.”
Kazia has worried plenty about that himself. But for Aliza’s sake, his smile doesn’t falter. “Of course, Mother. The obedience collar works perfectly.”
Alluding to Radovan is a mistake. Aliza’s face clouds. “I’m sure it does. Dear… you wouldn’t happen to have anything else of Radovan’s, would you? Perhaps anything you might have taken by accident?”
Aliza’s best quality may be her willingness to believe Kazia’s lies. This one has higher stakes than most. “No, I wouldn’t dare touch his things. I only have the collar because he gave it to me.” Kazia hesitates, then chances, “Why?”
“Nothing important.” Aliza reopens the songbook and settles on the bench. Her elegant hands lift, ready to enact slow violence on the harp strings. “One of his research logs is missing. I hope he didn’t take it with him.”
She must not be familiar with the song. Each note arrives far too slowly to clash with its precedent. Kazia sits back to listen, praying she’ll tire of this soon.
At least there’s no chance of Aliza finding Radovan’s missing research log. Radovan entrusted the book to Kazia before departing Ostomar—and Kazia burned it.
***
A third letter from Vana waits in the letter box. Not the letter box sorted by Kazia’s servants. This one, Kazia has to dig up from the lower level of the sprawling rat cage. The fireplace reflects bright and flickering in the glass as Kazia brushes the shavings away, cracks open the lid. The box is divided into two narrow compartments, one lined with blue velvet, the other in red.
Kazia should have destroyed the box as soon as Marek gave it to him. No good can come from communicating with his brothers. Usurpers, each of them—Kazia belonged to House Dire before them. But because Vana and Marek came of age first, Kazia was relegated to the title ofthirdprince.
Imrik could have ignored tradition, of course. He could have named Kazia first prince anyway. But Imrik was so pleased to have stronger, better sons. Sons he could grant Dire magic, because they weren’t grails. Sons who could become rulers, not tools.
That may be Kazia’s only advantage in the end. Imrik doesn’t see him as a threat.
Resigned, dismayed, desperately curious, Kazia removes the scroll from the red side and buries the box again. Cloud and Shoe wriggle closer to investigate the reburied treasure.
Kazia breaks the plain wax seal. No insignia, but Vana’s handwriting is as precise as ever. The letter is the same as the previous two. A charming anecdote about life on the Isle of Tavoc—this time, Vana writes about Daromir attempting to repair their storm shutters himself instead of hiring a craftsman. Some platitudes about hoping Kazia is doing well. Vana looks forward to hearing from him. Normal. Friendly. As if they’re actually brothers.
Nothing about the Winter War. Nothing about Kazia’s silence in reply to the previous two letters.
Of course Kazia won’t reply. Vana isn’t just a mage, he’s a traitor. Anything Vana learns, he’ll surely report to the Silaisans. The letters have been innocuous, but Vana’s just trying to lure Kazia into a false sense of security.
