“That’s the sort of thing that might cause problems between you and me.” Salarin’s eyes are so narrow the hint of violet is barely visible. “I don’t want problems. So, I’m asking you, soldier to soldier, are you fucking with Prince Kazia’s head?”
The wordfuckingjolts Lucien so off balance, he takes a moment to process what Salarin actually asked. He’s not sure which question would be worse—but he thinks better of Salarin for asking.
“I’m not fucking with him,” Lucien says. “In case you haven’t noticed the obedience collar, he’s clearly the one fucking with me.”
“You ordered his favorite pastries,” Salarin accuses, her tone of voice implying Lucien has committed a war crime. “I didn’t even know they were his favorite pastries until he asked me if I had mentioned it to you.”
Okay, maybe that had been a bit overbearing. Lucien had just noticed that whenever wyrm eyes are served, Kazia saves them for last. Usually he picks at different dishes without a particular order, but he likes to end on his favorites. And after seeing Kazia so hurt and upset the night before…
Does Salarin know about the abuse? The magic? Probably not. Kazia’s good at keeping people at arm’s length.
“Maybe I just wanted them for myself. They taste good.” Lucien lifts his hands, still seated, as Salarin glares. Fuck, how does he defend himself against the accusation of kindness? “Listen, Captain. Soldier to soldier. I don’t want to be here, but my other options aren’t great. I’d rather be in the prince’s custody than the king’s. So, yeah, I’m on my best behavior.”
“You definitely don’t want to be in His Majesty’s custody,” Salarin allows. She still looks skeptical.
Fair. Lucien would be skeptical too. “I’d appreciate—no, you don’t give a shit what I want, and that’s how it should be. But I’m sure His Highness would appreciate more rumors about how he mistreats and humiliates me. Fewer rumors about sordid bullshit.”
“Bullshit, is it?” Salarin reaches for the doorknob without taking her eyes off Lucien. “I’ll be back later tonight. His Highness wants you after supper.”
As soon as the door closes, Lucien collapses onto the mattress with a groan.
Then he jolts up at the voice in his head.
That was amusing, Tezurit says.
A hand over his pounding heart, Lucien lays down again more slowly. “Glad someone’s enjoying this. How long have you been listening?”
Since I returned to Ostomar at dawn. Your thoughts have been… confusing. Abstract. Nebulous.
That about sums it up. Kazia hasn’t called for him in two days. On the bright side, Lucien has had time to think. Unfortunately, his thoughts have gotten him nowhere. He wants to kill Imrik Dire more than ever—an escalation Lucien hadn’t thoughtpossible. That’s the one clear fact he can hold onto. Everything else is confusing.
Why is Kazia’s grailhood a secret? Why was Lucien able to pull his magic so easily?
Lucien’s never used a grail before. The Silaisan army doesn’t even train mages in that, because using grails is illegal in Silaise. Lucien hardly knows anything about them—his research into Draskora focused on dragons.
Which is his focus now, too.
“I’m glad to hear from you again,” Lucien says. Quietly, just enough to organize his thoughts into words. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”
I wasn’t sure either.If she was human, she’d have a toothy grin. Maybe she still does, a smile of sharp fangs.But it’s fun perching in the canyon. The castle humans send out troops to camp nearby, hoping to catch my interest. The castle dragons have told me the best hunting spots. Yavran is annoying, though. She keeps telling me to go back to my nest, like I’m a hatchling.
An undercurrent of sadness weaves through her voice. Tezurit is talking about everything except her purpose in leaving—her adventure.
“What’s wrong?” Lucien asks.
Nothing, of course. Except Yavran’s pestering.
Lucien waits. As the silence stretches, he lifts his hand. A spark blossoms at the tip of his finger, and he paints aimless patterns with it. Slow, mesmerizing, burning away tension. The fire always calms him down. It’s something he can control.
After so long a silence that Lucien wonders if he’s alone, Tezurit says,I went back to the border. Three days ago, I saw a dragon die.
Lucien exhales. “Who was it?”
Raiba. I barely knew her.
The fire flickers, then extinguishes. Raiba was a Draskoran dragon, but Lucien feels no relief. Tezurit’s sorrow floods through their connection, a brief glimpse of heavy storm, before she closes off.
She sounds younger than ever when she says,I don’t understand.
