“The yaya doesn’t want you, Wekesa.” He clutched Luscia’s shoulder, spinning her toward the door. “Now stand down. That’s an order, Alpha.”

The tavern hadn’t quieted much during their scene, but the nearest parties watched intently as she and Kasim exited. Returning to the streets, he released her. Luscia assumed he was too distracted to remember to wipe his hand this time.

They hugged the exterior buildings to pass behind a row of bustling market stalls. She glanced over, perturbed by his unusual silence, and saw that Zaethan Kasim was grinning from ear to ear.

“Did that display please you somehow?” she asked scathingly.

“Incredibly.” He beamed, strutting contently. “My cross-caste scullery maid did what I am not permitted to do at present.”

“Injure his dominant hand?”

“Publicly humiliate him.”

Luscia chewed on his statement as they returned to the abandoned alleyway. Rounding the corner alone, she located her things and began to undress. Pausing, she toyed with the unraveled lacing from the lining of Mila’s garment as curiosity nipped her thoughts.

“Why didn’t you correct me earlier?” she wondered aloud. “When I accused you of frequenting Salma’s tavern for…you know.”

“You’re Boreali. I’m Darakaian. Would the truth have mattered if I had?” Kasim asked from the other side of the brick.

Half undressed, Luscia slumped against the wall and struggled to formulate a response. For some puzzling reason, against all understanding, it did.

The truth mattered.

TWENTY-TWO

Luscia

   The vibration of Aksel’s snore lulled Lusica to sleep as her head sank further into the pillows of her lavish Unitarian bed. With a weighty sigh, she let go of the evening she’d spent at The Veiled Lady; her seductive song and ravenous banter, the skeletons her matron masked with desire. Troubled but limp from exhaustion, Luscia melted into the sea of sheets. At last, rest would come.

Rapid murmurs in the receiving room outside licked her ears. Rolling over, Luscia buried her face in a blanket.

“—claims it’s important, m-madam. I’m not to return without her.”

“I’ll say it again. The al’Haidren is not to be disturbed at this hour. Now go, you little twit!”

Groaning, Luscia swung her feet to the ground, much to Aksel’s dismay, and cracked her bedroom door. In the foyer stood Dmitri’s young page. Shakily, he extended a sealed scrap of parchment to her enraged lady’s maid. Tallulah ripped it from the timid boy and studied the impression in the wax. Straightening her nightcap, the older woman looked up, bewildered.

“Ock, why’d you not show me this ten minutes ago? Making me all upset when the prince’s seal was in that sorry pocket of yours!”

“It’s okay, Tallulah,” Luscia said with a yawn, making the maid jump. “Let’s have it,” she added, reaching for the correspondence.

“Oh, Lady Luscia, I’d have woken you if I thought the boy was speaking truth! This foolish lad here, he—”

“Wem, the prince’s message, Talluah. Boleava, please.”

“Ah.” She handed over the crisply folded note. “Right.”

Luscia,

Another five. Please, it is urgent.

Yours,

Dmitri

Pushing the unbound hair from her face, Luscia caught the page’s eye and nodded. “Allow me to prepare myself and we’ll depart immediately.”

Retreating to the privacy of her bedroom, she rushed to complete the tedious steps necessary to produce the requested vials. Repeating Alora’s bizarre instructions in her mind, Luscia took the edge of a knife and crushed the ennus thorn, releasing its savory odor. Scraping the chalky powder into a mixing glass, she carefully poured nixberry oil into the beaker and held it over a candle until it boiled. Hastily, she stirred in eüpharsis extract, encouraging the thick, bluish serum to slide into the bubbling liquid. Luscia rested the elixir on her dresser and tugged at the long, gilded chain around her neck. Using the sharp bone key, she added the final ingredient from her index finger.

Five drops of Tiergan blood—no more, no less.

Dividing the liquid between a set of vials, Luscia quickly set them aside and ground the poultice for her finger, dabbing it onto the wound. Tucking the vials in a pocket of her dressing robe, Luscia thrust her feet into a pair of upturned boots and returned to the foyer. If Dmitri’s page questioned her appearance, as it hadn’t improved during the time she’d made him wait, he didn’t voice it as they traversed the halls of the palace. When the page turned down an unfamiliar corridor, Luscia grabbed his arm to correct their path.

“P-please don’t hurt me!” The boy shook in her grasp.

Luscia released him. “I’m not—I just…” She rubbed her temples, cursing the Unitarians for their tales of northern witchery. “Isn’t His Highness’s suite in the southern wing?”

“The prince asked that you meet elsewhere, m-m’Lady al’Haidren.” He ducked his head and gestured to a stairwell.

“Of course.” Luscia made to comfort the nervous page in some fashion, but faltered. “Thank you…Callister, isn’t it?”

Callister murmured something affirmative in response and signaled for her to descend the stairs, apparently alone. As she neared the base, an exquisite set of crystal doors came into view. Though night had long fallen, torches lit a curving path through an impressively manicured garden on the other side. Luscia hadn’t a chance to visit the famed gardens herself, but had heard many stories of their beauty.

Unsurprisingly, a trim Darakaian was stationed to the right of the entryway. A spray of southern coils flanked his stern expression. Luscia lifted her chin as she entered the maze of trimmed hedges and flowering towers, painfully aware of the unspoken implications of her ill-suited attire.

Handsomely wrought sconces painted amber patterns across the back of Dmitri’s crushed velvet jacket and played with the edges of his dark, wavy hair. Seated on a bench, the prince perched against his gleaming cane with an intent expression, as if he contemplated the universe. Hesitating to interrupt his ponderings, Luscia stopped just short of the bench and waited.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” Dmitri angled his face as he peered into the flickering darkness. “I often come here to think when sleep evades me. It drives my guards mad. Will you sit with me, Lady Boreal?”

Wrapping her dressing robe tighter, Luscia dutifully took a seat beside her sovereign. She felt in her pocket for his vials, the faint clinking of glass disturbing the quiet.