itself wasn’t unusual, but combined with his drawn face and distance it wedged another splinter of worry under her heart. And she knew voicing any concern would only cause him to pull further away.
“An interesting night,” she said, keeping her fears away from her face and voice. She doubted she succeeded entirely—after fifteen years she couldn’t lie to him any better than he could to her. “There’s more to this case than tomb-robbing vampires.”
Kiril stilled. “The case that the prince and I suggested you let lie?”
She didn’t cross her arms defensively, but it was a near thing. “I’m not satisfied with what I’ve found.”
“Some mysteries bring no satisfaction with the solving.”
“Even so.”
“I could order you to stop.”
She nodded, and now her arms did cross, slow and deliberate. “You could.”
He smiled tiredly. “So stubborn. I can’t imagine where you learned such a thing. Why defy me on this?”
She shrugged. “I promised to find Forsythia’s killer.”
He didn’t wince, but she saw his discomfort. “Promises to the dead rarely bring satisfaction either.”
Her composure cracked and she swayed forward, forcing a traitorous hand back to her side. “What’s wrong? Tell me and I can help you.”
An unfamiliar scent filled her nose as she drew close. Not the usual amalgam of spices that clung to Kiril’s skin, but orange and cinnamon and almond, delicately blended. A woman’s perfume.
Jealousy was an ugly, irrational thing, but that didn’t keep its claws out of her chest. Even uglier was the memory that followed hard on its heels, the echo of Forsythia’s hollow voice: All I could smell was her perfume—orange and spices.
Coincidence, she prayed. It has to be coincidence. But she knew it had no obligation to be anything of the sort.
Kiril missed the instant’s horror on her face by turning away. “I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry. I can only ask you to please leave this case alone. For everyone’s sake.”
“I can’t do that. Will you bind me?” He could, as her master and the keeper of her oaths. It was not an option that either of them had ever voiced before.
He winced, but she took no pleasure in the strike. “No.”
“Then I suppose we’ve run out of conversation.”
“Isyllt—” She turned, one hand on the doorknob. His eyes were black holes in his seamed face, and he looked frailer than she’d ever seen. Shrunken. “I am sorry.”
“So am I.”
She closed the door softly behind her and fled into the fog.
As she closed the door of her suite behind her, Savedra knew she wasn’t alone. Her knife was in her hand before she could think, her already taut nerves singing and her pulse hard and fierce in her throat.
“It’s only me,” Ashlin said. A match scraped and wept sparks as she kindled a lamp. “Remind me never to sneak up behind you.”
“I would be very embarrassed to kill you.” She dropped the blade on a table; she’d only cut herself if she tried to resheathe it.
“What’s wrong?”
“A trying night.”
“Are you all right?”
“As well as can be expected.” She reached for the buttons on the back of her neck and hissed as her wounded arm twisted. She’d forgotten about it during her talk with Isyllt, but now it burned and itched abominably.
“Here,” Ashlin said, moving to help. “I let the housekeepers draft your maid for decorating. I promised you wouldn’t mind.”
Savedra sighed. Mathiros’s imminent return had the staff strained and rushing about their work. She hadn’t realized how peaceful the palace had been without him. She had seen masters far more critical and harsh than the king, but he was always brusque without Lychandra to soften him, and no one wanted to be nearby when his temper snapped.
In her brooding she forgot where she was and whom she was with until Ashlin began removing the pins from her hair. “Don’t,” she said, stepping away. She clutched her gown to her chest in a ridiculous display of modesty.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” The princess turned, throwing up her hands. “Gods, this is so ridiculous.”
Savedra laughed humorlessly. “It is.” She unclenched her fingers and the gown crumpled at her feet. She wanted to kick it aside, but draped it over a chair instead. “What are we going to do?”
Ashlin sat heavily on the foot of the bed, slouching elbows to knees. “What can we do?”
“Pretend it never happened?”
That drew the princess’s head up with a jerk. “Is that what you want?”
She ought to lie; it would be easier. “I don’t know. I have the choice of hurting you or hurting Nikos.”