A page flips. “My apologies, darling. I thought I had.”
“Is this too much, dear?” Imrik asks.
Rivers and roads blur beneath Kazia’s eyes as his parents talk about his injuries. Between his shallow breaths, another page turns.
“That’s fine,” Aliza says. “Take more if you need the magic—just keep it surface-level.”
Pain cracks behind Kazia’s ribs again. Three more times as he whimpers, hurt and small and worthless. Imrik acts as though he doesn’t hear Kazia. Like Kazia isn’t a person, much less his son. Just a whetstone to sharpen his own power.
Kazia struggles to pull himself together as Imrik kisses Aliza on the cheek, then strides from the room.
Aliza meets Kazia’s eyes. The book in her lap is covered in torn leather, shabby against her storm-gray silks. She sets it aside. “Oh, my poor Kazia. Let’s see what I can do today.”
When Aliza crouches behind him, her magic seeps slower through his veins than usual. Fresh pain twinges deep within as the surface fire cools. But it doesn’t stop. The worst wounds fade, the ones that pulse like heartbeats. Abrasions smoothe away from skin, and bruises soften away from muscle. The remaining welts still tighten Kazia’s skin as Aliza rises again.
“That will have to do,” Aliza says.
Disbelief shocks Kazia into pathetic protest. “It still hurts.”
“It can’t be helped, darling.” Aliza pats his head, not seeming to notice that he flinches from her touch. “I’ll heal the rest tomorrow. For tonight, do you have any ointments in your room?”
She’s serious. She’s going to leave him like this.
“I have ointments,” Kazia says quietly, and reaches for his shirt. Dragging it on is fresh agony. Kazia’s magic surges in response, a nauseous sort of yearning, but nobody is using him now.
This pain has no purpose. It’s only pain.
Kazia re-twists his hair, ignoring his right arm’s complaint, then leaves.
At the foot of the stairs, Chief Herald Bretka waits again. She looks more translucent than ever, and ash-blonde roots peek beneath her ice-white hair.
“His Majesty says you’re excused from court tomorrow,” Bretka says.
How nice. Kazia hadn’t planned to attend. “Fuck off.”
Bretka’s serene expression doesn’t change. If she knows Kazia infiltrated Aliza’s quarters while she was there, she gives no sign. If she knows her king beats Kazia for power, she gives no sign of that either.
Two of Kazia’s drasgard wait for him in the hallway. Kazia concentrates on appearing normal, even as every step jars his back. Every breath pulls his clothes against his abraded welts. The skin isn’t broken, but phantom blood cascades hot down his tormented nerves. Kazia imagines he leaves wet red footprints all the way back to his quarters.
Blood is the problem. Kazia needs his phylactery, and he needs a simpler plan. Break in, break the phylactery, then vanish. Figure out what escape means, where he could go, later. If he waits until he has a real plan, he’ll wait far too long.
Tonight, all Kazia wants to do is crawl into bed and scream into a pillow. Break things. Cry, where nobody can hear him.
Routine carries him to his chambers. He pauses in the hallway and tells his drasgard, “See that I’m not disturbed this evening. I dined with Their Majesties already.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Yudra says, and takes her place by the door.
Except nothing is routine, because Kazia left his prisoner in the parlor again. Kazia exhales. Straightening his shoulders hurts. He does it anyway and slips into the parlor.
Lucien is on the sofa, a book in his lap and Melloweed dozing on his shoulder. The book is a bestiary Kazia stole from Radovan—about scorpion-moths and other unnatural creatures. There’s nothing unnatural about Lucien tonight. He looks soft and golden, strangely domestic. But his eyes are piercing when Kazia shuts the door.
“What’s wrong?” Lucien asks, setting the book aside.
Kazia resents being read so well. “Don’t touch me. Stay away. Stay in this room.”
Frowning, Lucien moves Melloweed to the sofa. “Kazia—”
“Stay!” Kazia snaps. Veering towards his bedroom, he never looks away from the threat. The doorknob slips beneath his hand. He yanks it open on the second try, then slams it behind him. The crack of wood jolts him in place.
