“Darakaians really do have terrible hearing.”

Kasim blinked at her mutely. It was the most pleasant he’d been all morning.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve much to accomplish today,” Luscia offered in lieu of a farewell, and started toward the old door.

“You aren’t seriously going to leave me here, standing on this kakka-shtàka wooden ball!”

“The only assistance I could possibly provide would be to clean you once you’ve pissed yourself. But, since you’ve made it abundantly clear how you feel about my being—what was it? Ah, wem, a ‘plague’—I trust you’ll manage.”

With a snap of her fingers, Aksel trotted to Luscia’s side, growling at Kasim in passing. She wrenched the door open by its rusting handle, ready to be rid of him.

“The record,” he suddenly called out. “Which of Boreal’s men can claim it?”

“None.” Hesitantly, Luscia brushed her chin over her shoulder. “I do. Good day, Lord Darakai.”

Entering the solitude of the dank passageway, Luscia tore into a soundless race toward the Boreali suites, praying to the beat of her boots. Another cross-caste child, dead.

Aniell help them.

EIGHTEEN

Luscia

   Luscia’s fingers scrambled desperately for the vial.

Only minutes into Luscia’s trek to her apartment, the episode seized her entire nervous system. Searing, exploratory needles stemmed from each temple in search of the other. Despite the paralyzing intervals of pain, she remembered tying a single tonic under her tunic, just above her mother’s dagger.

The privacy of darkness held Luscia captive within the winding, abandoned corridor. She tried to shush the shrill, whimpering lycran while she fumbled with the stopper of the vial and swallowed her aunt’s acrid remedy. Condensation enveloped her now-dampened skin, adding a chill to her feverous delirium. Luscia pressed her forehead against the wall as her hands cleaved the masonry. Each fissure in the stone marked a different loved one she pleaded to, begging them to take away her agony. Panting, Luscia pressed her cheek into the rock and waited for the pressure to subside.

This is the price of my unfaithfulness, she whimpered to herself.

Luscia wasn’t worthy of the High One’s mercy and wouldn’t dare beg Him for it. She’d broken her covenant to Boreal, to Aniell, by agreeing to teach Darakai’s al’Haidren how to wield their sacred blades. Luscia submitted to the piercing penance willingly; the shame was hers alone to bear.

An unknown number of minutes passed before Luscia’s vision sharpened and her chest expanded to its true fullness again. Beneath her touch, Aksel’s ears twitched irregularly. The disorienting, buzzing fog slowly evaporated, revealing the distant voices that had caught his attention.

Silently, Luscia eased away from the wall. She and the lycran were not alone.

“No, you lied to me! I put a lot at stake for this agreement, Naborū!”

Luscia shook out the remaining cloudiness in her ears.

“I offered you an opportunity. It’s no lie you needed my assistance. Would you prefer your lordly debts come to light, Felix? You’ve always been a gambler. Will the Province of Galina celebrate the habits of their Lord Ambrose, or condemn them?”

Preoccupied by their brisk exchange, the two men had not yet detected her presence. Unfortunately, they were about to. That turnoff ahead was the only passage in the direction of the Boreali suites.

“This was not part of our bargain, Naborū! Fix it. Now!”

“I cannot reverse what you’ve elected to become, Felix. But I warn you not to forget with whom you’re speaking. You were nothing to Galina before I extended my resources to satisfy your…appetites.”

Luscia didn’t wait for the conclusion of their dispute—she had no desire to hear what despicable arrangement it entailed. She released the knot caging her mane at the top of her head, raked her fingers through the tangled ends, and smoothed the wrinkles out of her sparring tunic. None could learn of Luscia’s disgraceful pact with Kasim, least of all Tetsu Naborū, the notoriously shrewd Haidren to Pilar.

With a groan, Luscia rushed down the corridor at her original pace, clucking at the lycran. “Come along, Aksel, I don’t have all day,” Luscia called, raising her voice as she rounded the upcoming turn.

Though the passage was dimly lit, Luscia witnessed an abrupt shift in the men’s countenance. Ambrose, she deduced, was younger than anticipated. His untrained yancy build, similar to that of Ira Hastings, posed her no threat. Regardless, he promptly stood as lordly as he presumed himself to be and jerked on a pair of fine gloves, as if he was ready to leave. Squinting at her approach, the hue of Ambrose’s eyes was indistinguishable, though it aligned with the rich coloring of his noble Unitarian skin and even richer curls.

An odor cradled her nostrils, akin to the sickening tinge of sweet onions just as they’ve begun to rot. Luscia’s bravado receded when she faced Ambrose’s companion.

Luscia would not have believed Tetsu Naborū, to date Pilar’s wealthiest Haidren and Shoto Prime, could possibly fall victim to something so ordinary as addiction, especially that of common pipe marrow. Its cloying scent explained the unsightly yellowing of his eyes, which melted into his waxen complexion. The sallow skin over his cheeks was pulled taut by the slick loop of oiled hair fastened at the nape of his neck.

“Little Lady al’Haidren,” he crooned. Naborū flipped his head studiously on its side, resembling a featherless owl. “I wonder what could have possibly brought Boreal’s fledging here, to our clutches, this morning? Tell me…” She tried not to gag when he leaned closer. “…do you and the crossbreed often play in ancient shadows?”

Luscia didn’t respond, and the Haidren did not compel her to. Instead, he raised two spindly fingers and twirled the tapered hairs of his sharp beard around the claw of his pewter nailpiece.

“I wished to walk the lycran about the palace to better familiarize him with our new home,” she said carefully, unnerved by his probing interest. “We were not welcome on this floor and made to leave. I quickly became lost, but I believe this direction leads to an exit. We should be on our way.”

Inclining her head to both men, she took a step around the pool of Naborū’s billowing white robes. With a nauseating gulp of stale pipe marrow, Luscia looked up to find his calculating, jaundiced eyes dangerously near her own. Aksel snarled at Naborū, and bile climbed the walls of her throat.

“Even the great, venerated Alora Tiergan came to learn her place.” Reedy, chapped lips hissed her aunt’s name as if it were a curse. “And so I ask you, little al’Haidren—will her niece?”

Luscia’s diaphragm constricted. Logic promised the willowy, opiated man couldn’t inflict any real harm. But as the ache in her skull returned, his nearness threatened logic to reassess its claim.