Page 57 of A Game of Veils

He raises his eyebrows at a skeptical angle. After a moment, he wiggles his hand over the strings as if to say he was shaky.

I shrug. “You still brought a better melody out of it than I could have managed. Why are you practicing all the way out here?”

He jabs his thumb in the direction of the palace, touches the instrument, and pulls a grimace.

“They wouldn’t appreciate it?” I can believe that easily enough. Emperor Tarquin wants his pet princes performing to the best of their ability.

Lorenzo nods in confirmation. He pauses, taps the lute, and then points to himself.

I can’t quite follow what he’s getting at. “You like to play it?”

With a shake of his head, he casts around. Setting the lute against a tree, he picks up a stick long enough that he can drag it across the ground without bending over. He sweeps the debris away from a flat stretch of dirt and draws a series of letters. It IS me.

Before I have to ask what that’s supposed to mean, he motions toward the palace again and mimics the swaying of a vielle’s bow. Then he rotates a finger against his shirt, over the spot where his godlen sigil will be branded into his deep brown skin.

Understanding clicks in my head. “What you play in there feels like it’s your gift more than your own abilities. You come out here so you can get back to how it was when it was just you?”

A hesitant smile crosses Lorenzo’s lips. He gazes at me for a moment, his expression turning graver.

He mouths a couple of words alongside a curl of his hand, but I can’t decipher the shape of them. At my look of confusion, he picks up the stick, wipes away his previous statement, and replaces it with a simpler one.

Sorry.

My gaze snaps back to his face—to his solemn, dark eyes. “What for?”

He sputters a choked sort of laugh. I guess the question is kind of absurd.

I spread my hands. “I’m just trying to narrow down the possibilities.”

My wry tone brings back a trace of his smile. He draws a finger past his throat, an echo of what he did to mine in the library.

“Oh,” I say. “I can overlook that. I realize none of you were very happy about me showing up.”

Or should I say none of them are very happy? Lorenzo isn’t giving me a hard time right now, but he didn’t at first in the library either.

His attention has shifted to my hands as I’ve spoken. Abruptly, he beckons me closer.

At the same time, he sets down the stick and strides to meet me. He grasps one wrist and turns my palm toward the lantern light.

The medics worked their healing magic on this afternoon’s burns, but their magic isn’t powerful enough to erase an injury in an instant. Pink marks remain on my skin—from past experience, I’d expect them to take a few days to vanish completely.

Lorenzo scowls and jerks his fingers in his gesture that indicates the imperial figures. He halts as if catching himself, his hand closing into a fist.

“It’s over now,” I find myself saying, as if he needs the reassurance. “The burns don’t even hurt anymore.”

He lowers my wrist and lets go. His chest rises with a strained breath. Then he seems to gather himself.

He makes a questioning gesture, points to me, and then indicates the woods around us.

“Why am I out here?” My own smile falters. I look up at the trees looming overhead. “I needed a break. And this is the only part of the estate that feels just a little bit like back home.”

Lorenzo grasps the stick again. You miss it a lot.

Not a question. He saw how I reacted to losing the small piece I still have left of Accasy.

I drag the cooling night air into my lungs and feel as if I might burst with how much I miss my kingdom. “Yes. I try not to think about it, but if I let myself, it’s always there. I guess the homesickness must get better with time.”

My companion should know something about that, but his gaze has gone distant. He starts another series of motions that I interpret to the best of my ability.

---