“He found ancient texts in a sealed-off section of the library,” Vasili continued, his crisp, royal voice loud in the small kitchen. “Books even I didn’t know existed. Books regarding the Caville sorcerers, those tied to the crown. And he began experimenting with the flame.”
Niko met Vasili’s gaze. The prince stared back, the ramifications too big a thing to convey with words alone. The small hairs on the back of Niko’s neck rose. As much as Amir was a dangerous, spice-addled prick, if he managed to wield real power, he’d be as terrifying as his father. Lady Maria had mentioned the same. And gods, he’d left her there with a prince high on a power he barely understood.
“He used whores at first,” the prince nonchalantly continued. “Placed his own blood in their wine.”
“He spiked his doulos’ wine with blood?” Was there no limit to how low Amir would stoop?
“You’re surprised?” Vasili’s brows rose.
“I wish I was.” Amir had been fond of spice. Consuming it, snorting it, forcing it on others. Now he’d found a new substance to torture his pets with.
“It changed them like it did Julian.”
A few sips of tea helped clear the knot in Niko’s throat. It had been a year since he’d killed Julian, but some days the hurt still crept up on him. Did Vasili feel it, too, or was the viper still as cold and emotionless as he’d been when he’d used Niko as a distraction?
“But doulos aren’t the most reliable of subjects. A few lost their minds. So Amir moved on to the palace guards.”
Niko recalled the flicker of darkness he’d thought he’d seen in the guard’s eyes, a tiny fragment of the dark he’d once seen in Vasili’s eye. Then it was real. “He’s poisoned the guards against you.”
“It was subtle at first.”
“Amir doesn’t do subtle.”
“That’s the same mistake I made, assuming he can’t change. A few months ago, a squad ambushed me in the corridors. I only survived because the other palace staff intervened. I had no choice but to recuperate in my chambers. In my absence, Amir began spreading his rumors. I’m sure you’ve heard them…” His cheek flickered, belying the nonchalance in his voice.
Those rumors had spread through Loreen. Vasili was half elf, Vasili fucked elves, which was why he didn’t engage with any doulos, Vasili was mad, Vasili was poisonous. All rumors Vasili could have ended had he been visible. But he’d been wounded and absent, and so the rumors gained weight.
“Did Amir set the fire?” Niko asked.
“I suspect not. Amir would not willingly destroy our home. With the guards distracted or under Amir’s thrall, anyone could walk right in and set a blaze.”
“Elves?” Niko asked.
“Possibly. They’ve been quiet. But we’ve had no reports of elves in our land since Talos’s death.”
“They’d benefit from the palace’s fall. Loreen is vulnerable without the royal seat.”
Vasili sipped his tea instead of replying, his thoughts wandering. He hadn’t touched his toast. Niko looked at his, now cold, and didn’t feel much like eating either.
The palace could be rebuilt, but Vasili had lost his influence, which left Amir to oversee the reconstruction, and the middle prince clearly had other priorities.
There was one way out of all this, one solution Vasili hadn’t yet mentioned but was surely on his bitter lips. “If you were to deal with Amir, permanently,” Niko said quietly, “all the dark flame would funnel to you.”
Vasili set his mug on the countertop beside him and lifted his head, his face carefully guarded. “You say that as though such a thing is trivial.”
“It’s not as though you haven’t hired assassins before.”
Vasili’s thin smile cut across his lips. Probably remembering the moment he tried to buy Niko in the Stag and Horn pleasure-house. “Yes, but that is not the only challenge to overcome.”
When the flame poured into Vasili, he’d have to control it, and the recent Cavilles had proven how hard a thing the dark flame was to wrangle.
Fucking Cavilles. And all because someone, seven hundred years ago, decided to charge them with the dark flame’s protection, or curse them with it. Niko still wasn’t sure on that. “All of this could have been avoided had a less insane family been charged with protecting the flame,” Niko mumbled.
“The flame corrupts what it touches.”
Niko arched a brow. “I’d noticed.”
“The Cavilles are victims.”
“Uh-huh,” Niko replied, ironically. “You can also argue the sky is down and the ground up. Doesn’t make it right, though.”
Vasili’s lips twitched somewhere between a snarl and a grin. “I’ve missed your bluntness.”
“I haven’t missed you. So, if you’re done recounting your familial drama, you can take your horse and go, Your Highness.”
The small smile fell from Vasili’s lips. “You’d turn me out during the day in the middle of a village in which I’ll surely be recognized? How far do you think I’d get? A few miles? Maybe you’d prefer to watch the guards take me back to the palace grounds and whip me for all to see? Petty vengeance does not become you.”
Mention of the whipping was deliberate. Niko still bore a few scars from the lashing Vasili had ordered, apparently to prevent him from being executed. He still wasn’t sure whether that was true or if Vasili just got off on whips. “Nightfall then. But unlike princes, I have to work to eat, so stay away from the windows and keep your hands to yourself while I see to my customers.”
Vasili glanced about the kitchen, with its messy shelves, range of mismatched pans, and tatty chair. Whatever he saw in the chaos, he kept it from his face.
“Humble,” he said, and for some reason, that irked Niko more than had he stayed silent.
“And remove your damn clothes. You’re stinking up my house.”
Vasili’s lips parted. He looked down at himself, and Niko almost barked the laugh crawling up his throat. Vasili tugged at the shirt, as though only now realizing how he looked.
“I’ll fix them up for you.” He regretted it before the words had left his mouth.
The prince raised a silvery eyebrow. “Needlework seems a little delicate for your”—a theatrical pause—“rough hands.”
He snorted. Asshole. “Mah was a seamstress.”
“Ah, yes, to Lord Bucland.” Who was apparently Niko’s real father. Vasili didn’t say it, but the implication glinted in his eye.
“I can wield a needle just as well as a hammer. Leave the clothes at the foot of the stairs. You’ll find some spare shirts in my room—don’t touch anything else.”
Vasili’s face scrunched into an expression caught somewhere between horror and surprise. Niko chuckled and left the kitchen.
Vasili believed he knew Niko. He had no fucking idea who he was. A toy soldier, a pet assassin—those things Vasili had made Niko into. It was almost a shame Vasili wouldn’t be around long enough to witness the real Nikolas Yazdan, the blacksmith who had built a new life with his own two hands.
Chapter 4