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“Or a sister, I suppose. Although I do not think my father would bother to acknowledge a female bastard. They are of little use to him. Female children are only useful to make marriage matches and secure the line and bastards cannot do that.”

“But you think your father had a secret child? And you had to serve in the army for twenty years as his punishment?”

“Yes. Which is why, I think, my father felt so guilty that he asked Selim to allow him to give me the Demon Blade.”

Lyr stares at the sword in Damon’s hand. “So you have the Emperor’s blade?”

“I do. Atticul is unhappy about it. It is his by rights. Or ought to be his when he becomes Emperor. He has petitioned many times to have it returned to Selim so it can be passed correctly through the royal line, to our father and then to him. But Selim does not want it. He did agree to have it taken from me and given to Atticul, but that hasn’t happened.”

“You refused to return it?”

“I could not. I have no say in such matters. However,” Damon pauses. “It is strange. When Atticul first got that decree from Selim I was away. At war. For most of my life, I have been away, at war. I was in Fanost. The party he sent to retrieve the sword from my possession were all lost in an attack by outlaws. He sent more men and they died in a rock fall in the Mortingale Ravine. A third party was shipwrecked. After that, he didn’t send any more. When Atticul was my commander, after he joined the Imperial Army and was made General Paramount, he never asked me to hand my blade to him, although he could have. And of course, now I am here in Attar and so is the Demon Blade. He could come to my door and demand to take it. But I think he is afraid of what would happen if he did. I think he has decided the blade truly is cursed.”

“Cursed for him, perhaps. But it has served you well. I think the blade wants to belong to you.” Lyr moves a little closer. Close enough that now his arm touches Damon’s.

The contact makes Damon’s heart beat so hard that he wonders if Lyr can hear it. He says, “Perhaps Zai wishes it.”

“Would Zai control a blade?”

“Zai controls all.”

“You bear the weapon of the Emperor of Azuria. Perhaps because you are the true Emperor.”

“Perhaps because my father felt guilty he had taken twenty years of my life from me.”

Damon turns his body towards Lyr. He does it carefully, keeping their arms touching. The sun is pleasantly warm. Mortingales and sparrows sing in the trees, but otherwise, it's so peaceful. There is no one around. There’s no one else in the world.

He finds his gaze resting on Lyr’s mouth.

8

LYR

After his arrival at Sanglora Manor, Lyr spent the first two days working in the kitchen.

His duties are not pleasant, although much more pleasant than what was required of him in Blackstone Castle. They are, however, much more exhausting.

Queen Jareleezi had only needed Lyr for her rituals every few days, and although those sessions had often been painful and humiliating, other times she had simply required a small amount of his blood or his seed for a ritual. And regularly, she left him alone for days on end. His tower room was a prison, but he was given books and other amusements and on holy days he was taken to temple where he sat with the whores. And while he would never say his time in Blackstone Castle was something he wanted to return to, he was rarely required to labour hard.

In the kitchen he is made to work from early morning until late at night, setting fires, fetching water and scrubbing.

And although Inez, Damon’s wife, comes to the kitchens daily to consult with the cook about menus and supplies, he spends two whole days without seeing any sign Damon is even in the manor.

Mina shares his duties and quickly becomes his closest friend among the servants. She’s young and chatty with a slight delicateness to her. She reminds him of one of his favourites of Ramel’s whores. Sweet Razelii. And sometimes, when he speaks with Mina, he wonders about Razelii. Lyr has no way of knowing how safe she is and thinking about her makes him feel darkly hollow inside.

On his second evening, Lyr is outside, late at night, relaxing after a long day in the part of the gardens where servants and slaves are allowed to rest. It’s late, but the air is still warm. It’s not as mercilessly hot here during the days as it was in Pellex, and the temperature does not drop so sharply when the sun goes down. The climate is more like Klish, or his memory of it. When Mina comes to join him she convinces him to try some pearl tonic.

The night is sweet and warm. Mortingales and even some wild calcis birds sing in the trees. The air is scented with jasmine. Lyr sprawls on the warm grass.

He almost spits out his first mouthful of pearl tonic. It’s worse than he remembers. It’s as bitter as some of the potions Jareleezi had him drink for her.

“No, swallow it,” Mina laughs. “Give it a time.”

Lyr takes another sip from the bottle. The drink burns his throat, but after a moment he feels it. A delightful feeling of warmth inside him. He feels good. Like everything is calm and he is perfectly content.

“There you see.”

“I’ve had pearl tonic before. It wasn’t like this.”