Kazia’s fingernails dig through his sleeves. If he never describes his phylactery again, it’ll be too soon. “Shut up and move, pig.”
Frustratingly, Lucien obeys without a problem. Kazia has no excuse to lash out. He keeps his arms crossed as he prowls the parlor, because otherwise he might surrender to the urge to topple Aliza’s stupid statues.
Kazia leads a slow, thorough inspection. He’s familiar with every painting, from the masterpieces—coastal imports—to themediocre imitations—Aliza’s. They hang intermingled in fine golden frames.
Lucien finds a few scalestone items. A set of dice. A vase inlaid with shimmering fragments. A tiny wraith totem with scalestone eyes. Kazia doesn’t expect to find the phylactery just sitting out, though. He’s never found blueprints of his mother’s quarters, and he’s certain there must be a secret chamber somewhere.
“I don’t think this bottle is in the linen closet,” Lucien points out. “There’s barely room to take a breath in here.”
Kazia blocks the doorway, arms still crossed. “Check the back.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The title doesn’t sound particularly respectful as Lucien ventures the remaining two feet into the closet. Shelves piled with clean linens take up the back wall, leaving barely any space for Lucien to stand. “No scalestone here. Just reminders of my laundry-folding trauma from yesterday.”
“Oh, so you disliked that?” Kazia asks sweetly, stepping aside.
Lucien wags his finger as he exits. “You’re a brat, Your Highness. Now, we’ve gone over this entire parlor, and no mysterious bottle. Are you sure it’s in here?”
Weirdly, the insult doesn’t feel like an insult. Instead of wasting thought on that conundrum, Kazia closes the closet door. “No. It might be in her bedroom—which is where we’re going next.”
Lucien swears under his breath. “Congratulations. Youreallydon’t have to worry about me telling people we were here. This isn’t just some random trinket, is it? Is Queen Aliza hiding it on purpose?”
Kazia braces his hands on his hips. “She’d better be hiding it. I’ll be extremely cross if I find it sitting out on a table after all this.”
“She might be hiding it in a null-box, then,” Lucien points out. “Something to prevent magical detection.”
“It’s not in a null-box.” Kazia catches himself before explaining why. A null-box would risk interrupting or breaking the phylactery enchantment. Kazia flips his hair over his shoulder. The nearest jeweled clock says an hour has passed. “Let’s go to her bedroom. Follow me.”
Eliminating these rooms will be progress, Kazia tells himself through his rising gloom. He can find other means of distracting Aliza for future searches. Other rooms will be easier to search, too. Kazia can visit the stone garden and libraries at any time.
They’re nearly at the door to Aliza’s inner chambers when Lucien says, “Wait.”
Hope leaps into Kazia’s heart despite his best intentions.
Lucien points to a tapestry next to the door. “There’s something over here.”
The tapestry isn’t anything special. Geometric stars and moons in black and silver. Kazia holds his breath as he reaches for it.
His fingers barely brush the edge when Nekla’s voice rises from the hall. “Her Majesty isn’t here today, Herald.”
The reply is even worse. “I’m here on His Majesty’s business,” Chief Herald Bretka says. “I’ll only be a moment.”
Kazia spins around. The quiet-charm won’t help if they’re standing in plain sight. “She can’t see us.”
It’s not an order, but Lucien moves as quickly as if it was. His gaze darts around the clutter. “The linen closet.”
That’s not an order either, but Kazia obeys on instinct. He flies to the linen closet, Lucien at his heels. Tucking himself against the wall, his entire body becomes his rapid heartbeat.
Lucien slides in after him and pulls the door closed with such slow control, Kazia wants to scream. But the door settles into the frame without a sound, just in time. Nekla’s next statement is muffled, and Bretka’s measured footsteps click into the room.
Kazia’s relief crashes into new fear. He’s hidden—trapped in a tiny, enclosed space with an enemy mage. The closet is barely large enough for both of them. There’s nowhere for Kazia to run. Lucien could cover his mouth before he gave new orders. Or the key—what if Lucien knows about the key? Are enough of the old orders still in place to protect Kazia? He should have tested them more thoroughly, to see how long they last.
“You know,” Lucien murmurs. Each word brushes the top of Kazia’s head. “This reminds me of a party game we play in Silaise.”
Kazia recoils. “You’re disgusting.”
The flare of anger brings Kazia’s panic back to solid ground. The collar works. The orders work. The null-ring works. Lucien is no more dangerous than he was outside the linen closet. The only difference is that now they’re pressed together, and Kazia can’t think of anything but the furnace of Lucien’s body.
At least the closet is dark, as Kazia’s face heats to match.
