When Vlad Norathar frowned, he looked exactly like his father.
Kiera didn't know if Vlad himself would consider that a flattering comparison – she suspected he would have been the sort of father who would be proud of every single thing his son did,
even when the toddler was destroying the artwork hanging above the fireplace, a spot which all the adults agreed should have been out of reach.
It hardly mattered, Kiera knew, since Cawti hadn't allowed any of them to try to send word to Vlad about the fact he had a son.
But she felt – something – when she saw the boy frowning in concentration and all she could see was his father's visage etched in the lines of his face.
It had been far too long since she had checked up on Vlad, too long since she'd had confirmation that he still lived.
It was safest, she knew, for if she didn't know then certainly the Jhereg couldn't know, and that meant well for his continued existence.
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