House of Curses, page 5
“It’s nearly time to show them that we will not be held down. We will not fall to the human and half-Fae scourge. We will rise above.”
A cheer erupted from the crowd.
“And without further ado, the Father!”
6
The Father
As the crowd went wild, Kerrigan held her breath. This was what she had been waiting for. All these years of her fear over the Red Masks came down to this moment.
Red Masks had almost killed her in the streets. They had protested her presentation in the House of Dragons. Valia had been sent to kill her. Isa had tried to kill her. Basem Nix had tried to kill her. Each and every moment had been traumatic, and yet nothing could have prepared her to finally see the man responsible for it all.
From her vantage point, he looked ten feet tall. His features completely obscured by a lush black cloak that fell to his feet. Underneath was a fitted black suit that Parris could have designed with its sharp lines and perfect fit. The cravat at his throat marked him of the nobility. And if that wasn’t enough, thick dragon leather gloves covered his hands. They made her skin crawl. Hunting dragons was illegal, punishable by death. It didn’t stop the worst of the lot from going after them, but wearing their skin was beyond disturbing.
Her eyes finally raked up to the red mask covering his face. It was unlike any of the other masks in the room. Clearly well made by a powerful blacksmith and out of a thick magic-resilient metal. She could see the faint magic lines threaded through the working, likely to hide his identity, and all she wanted to do was rip it off and reveal the person underneath.
The Father held his hand up, and the crowd instantly went silent.
“Welcome,” he said in a booming voice that echoed throughout the room.
Kerrigan felt as if it was vaguely familiar. She felt like she should be able to recognize it, but it had been distorted, as if the magic in the mask altered his voice.
While everyone else was captivated by the Father, a figure shifted in the shadowed rafters overhead. Kerrigan’s gaze swept upward in surprise to find Isa with one foot dangling down toward the room. Her ice-white hair cut short and her stunning features not covered by a mask, like the rest of the crowd.
Kerrigan slunk deeper into her hood. If there was one person who could sniff her out, it was the trained assassin at the top of the room. She did not want to gain her notice.
The Father took another step forward, ignoring the podium as he paced the stage, prowling like a predator. “You have been told a fiction. It has been repeated many times. So many times that others are beginning to believe it. Do you know what that fiction is?”
The crowd was silent, captivated.
“Humans and half-Fae are just like us.”
The audience leaned forward in anticipation. Kerrigan could feel the calm before the storm. The way the Father spoke drew them in, preparing them to crash down all their bigoted beliefs in an unsuspecting wave.
“The problem began long before we allowed two humans into our dragon tournament. Before they stole those dragons and took them to distant shores. They happened long before a half-Fae joined the Society. The human insects have become a plague. They breed like rabbits, flooding our most sacred city, and the half-Fae are worse. At least most of the humans have no magic. The half-Fae are closer to humans in every way, but with the burden of magic.
“Each of you was asked to touch the Collector before you could be admitted to this meeting. And each of you who was admitted has proven yourself of magical purity. The Collector would never have admitted you if you were not Fae. As it should be.”
The crowd finally cheered at that. He had called them all special. Just what they all wanted to believe.
“The human and half-Fae insects have weakened the entire structure of our vast magical system. They have weakened our power. We can all see it crumbling. And it comes from one place—hope.” He raised his hands. “They have been given hope that they can reach the top because others have done so. But I offer you a new future.”
A new future that Kerrigan could only guess didn’t include her. Or anyone like her.
“Allow me a demonstration.”
The Father made a beckoning gesture, and a young man was brought onto the stage. Based on his slightly rounded ears, he was half-Fae and trembling before the audience and the imposing figure of the Father.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“I’m going to let you go,” the Father said.
The half-Fae man looked dubious. Kerrigan could hardly blame him. He hadn’t been kidnapped and dragged before an audience to be released.
“Go ahead,” the Father said. “You can walk out that door.”
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch. You are free to go. No one will bar your way.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then, use your magic to strike me down,” the Father said. He held his arms wide. “Kill me if you are able.”
The man looked between the door and the Father. Terror was blatant on his face. He knew this was a trap, but he didn’t know how to get out of it. It took everything in Kerrigan not to dash on the stage and save him. She doubted that she would make it out of here alive if she revealed herself, and she couldn’t risk it. As much as it irked her.
The half-Fae man must have seen his opening. He threw a blast of air magic at the Father and dashed for the exit. The air did nothing to the Father. He didn’t even move a step. The man’s magic must have been little enough that it couldn’t be used in combat. Despite what the Red Masks were peddling, very few humans or half-Fae had enough magic to do much of anything. Kerrigan was, by and large, an exception.
But it mattered not for his demonstration. The half-Fae made it two steps before he was rooted in place by the force of the Father’s magic. Kerrigan gaped at the sheer control in that grasp. She could practically feel the intensity of it, and it wasn’t even directed at her.
“Please, I didn’t do anything,” the half-Fae wailed. “I have a wife and kids.”
Kerrigan’s heart broke at those words.
“And we will release you to them,” the Father said, taking a dangerous step forward until he was within arm’s reach of the man. Then, he set a hand on the man’s shoulder, and he began screaming.
In a matter of seconds, before Kerrigan could even move to protest, the man was crumpled on the floor, holding his stomach and sobbing. “What did you do?” he screamed. “It’s gone. It’s gone. It’s gone. Oh gods, it’s gone!”
The Father didn’t even look at him again. He turned back to the crowd triumphantly. “There. I have cleansed him.” The man continued to cry out in anguish. “His magic is gone.”
Kerrigan gaped in horror. He was yelling over and over that it was gone, but Kerrigan hadn’t realized what it was. His magic. The Father had removed his magic.
The rest of what the Father said was lost on Kerrigan. She couldn’t hear his words over the writhing man on the floor of the stage. The agony on his face. The tears in his dark eyes. The pain that racked his body.
Kerrigan’s magic had been suppressed twice in her life. Both times, it was through a potion. She’d taken one voluntarily and one against her will. It had been terrifying and disorienting, but she always knew the magic would come back once it wore off.
This was something altogether different. The magic was gone. It had been ripped out of him, like removing his organs. Kerrigan had never heard of this happening, except when a person burned out their own magic. When magic was used too fast and too much, all at once, a person could run dry, and if they kept trying to use their powers beyond their limits, then the magic would literally burn itself out of their veins. Few survived that.
One look at the half-Fae writhing on the ground, Kerrigan wasn’t sure that he would survive it either. And there was nothing Kerrigan could do about it.
Not here.
Not now.
The only way to stop this was to get on the council and put an end to the Red Masks forever.
The Father waved his hand once and left the stage. The half-Fae’s cries had turned to whimpers. Kerrigan turned her face away. She couldn’t watch this any longer. The crowd began to disperse, and Kerrigan was caught in the maelstrom. She fought to reach the side door. Someone jostled her, and for a split second, her hood slipped backward.
She gasped as her bright red curls were visible. Then, she yanked it back into place. But already, a shout was raised.
“She’s here!”
“The half-Fae bitch!”
“Leatha!”
Kerrigan cursed, elbowing one man in the ribs as he came for her and unfurling a plume of flames toward another. She would not be caught here. She would not be another casualty on that stage for a pretend father. She would escape this.
Boots landed heavily behind her, and she whirled in time to see Isa’s fierce, grinning face.
“Hello, Kerrigan. Thanks for joining us.”
7
The Chase
Kerrigan didn’t think.
She whirled away from Isa and blasted her air magic forward, shoving everyone between her and the side exit out of her path. It rattled the door on its hinges before exploding outward. Then, she dashed through the opening and out into the night beyond.
The crowd yelled, calling for her blood, but she wasn’t stupid enough to stop. She knew what would happen if she was caught there tonight. Nothing and no one would save her.
She was thankful for every single agonizing moment of dragon training in the last year. She was in the best shape of her life, both magically and physically. Only the Father likely had the power to stop her, and she was lucky that he hadn’t seen her.
Kerrigan discarded her red mask and kept running.
“Leaving so soon?” Isa called after her.
Great. Of course Isa was following. She had been thwarted by Kerrigan one too many times to let her go now.
The mountain was too far away to reach for safety. She couldn’t go in that direction. It would be easier to head back to the Row and have the support of the Fae, but she still didn’t know how many of them supported her.
No. It was better to head toward her people. The humans and half-Fae that they had called insects at the meeting. The ones they had denigrated for their continued existence. They at least loved Kerrigan. They loved her street fighter identity Red, who moved among them. Who drank at their bars and befriended human card dealers and had an unscrupulous relationship with the king of the Wastes.
In the end, she was their champion.
And she could hide among them a lot easier than surrounded by noble-blooded Fae.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Isa taunted, hot on her heels.
Kerrigan passed over the unofficial divide into the Dregs and then veered west. These roads were her lifeblood. She’d spent countless hours running rampant through the streets as a Dragon Blessed, causing general mayhem and learning every twist and turn. Even in the night, she could navigate it as if it were daylight.
“You can’t run forever,” Isa yelled back. “I just want to talk.”
Kerrigan snorted.
Sure. The female who had tried to murder her one too many times just wanted to talk.
Kerrigan skidded around another corner, nearly running into a cabbage cart. “Sorry. Sorry,” Kerrigan called.
“Watch where you’re going!” he yelled back.
Then, Isa was there, upending the entirety of the cart as she chased after her.
The man groaned in outrage, and the calls of, “My cabbages!” rang behind them as they continued through the back streets of Kinkadia.
“Not so fast!” Isa yelled.
Isa vaulted forward and yanked on the back of Kerrigan’s cloak. She wrenched her to a stop, and Kerrigan pulled up her magic, sending air into Isa’s face.
She vaulted backward a step, taking Kerrigan’s cloak with her. She stood before her in nothing but her lightest of blue dresses, the laces undone behind her, and a fresh rip in the silky material that Parris was going to kill her over. How did she always ruin his dresses?
Isa rushed forward, and all of Kerrigan’s careful training kicked in. She blocked the first blow and countered with a second. They jabbed and parried and kicked and blocked. It was a synchronized dance that Kerrigan knew all too well. She had been trained heavily in the various forms of combat. Isa might have been a skilled assassin who could have beaten her a year ago, but things were different now. They were on even footing.
“Don’t have your little boyfriend to save you this time,” Isa challenged.
Kerrigan ground her teeth together. If not for Fordham, Isa would have succeeded in her task long ago. Now, he was gone. It hurt, but she couldn’t be distracted.
“I don’t need him to save me.”
She raised the ground under Isa’s feet before turning in the air and blasting her with a combination of fire and air. Then, as Isa narrowly dodged the attack, Kerrigan used the air as stepstones to run up the open air and spiral in place to send an attack from behind Isa.
Isa never saw it coming, and the spear of air slammed her straight in the stomach. She flew backward, landing with a loud thump on the ground ten feet away.
She coughed and spat blood onto the cobblestones before rising. “You’ll pay for that.”
“You can’t win this, Isa,” Kerrigan snarled. “I should end it now to keep you from enacting your master’s grand plan.”
She laughed hoarsely. “You can’t hope to go up against the Father.”
“We’ll see.”
Then, Kerrigan overturned a tank of water on the other side of the street that she had been eyeing since the beginning of their fight. She was worst at water magic. Fire and air had always come easier to her, but there was enough water in that barrel to listen to her.
It dumped over Isa’s head, and before she could get out from the water cyclone, Kerrigan was already running in the opposite direction.
The Wastes was in sight against the backdrop of the mountains. Isa could follow her anywhere, but not here. Dozan Rook might be blessedly human, but he had enough forces at his disposal to stop most assaults against his territory.
Isa shrieked behind her, and that drew a smile on Kerrigan’s face. A blast of water magic shot toward Kerrigan, but she dodged it, redirecting it backward. And then she was across the threshold and inside the Wastes. She put her hands to her knees, her breath coming in ragged bursts. Isa stepped into the lamplight, furious and waterlogged.
She raised one hand and pointed at Kerrigan.
The promise was clear: this isn’t over.
Kerrigan couldn’t agree more. The fight had just begun because Kerrigan would do anything to stop the Red Masks. Kerrigan flipped her off with a laugh, and Isa stalked back out of the light.
“Good riddance,” she said through a gasp as she straightened.
“What a spectacular entrance,” a voice said behind her.
Kerrigan sighed and turned slowly. “Dozan.”
Looking at Dozan was like accidentally looking directly into the sun—blinding and mesmerizing. Six years ago, he had saved her life, and her world had been tipped upside down. To say she was infatuated with him on sight was an understatement. It was an utter obsession. That was before he was the king of the Wastes, before he killed his family to get his title, before any of it.
Then, with another vision, she returned to his side at sixteen, hungry to prove herself. Instead, she had ended up falling back into his orbit and eventually his bed. Her obsession had faded as the reality of who he was settled in, but the tension that simmered under the surface never fully disappeared. He saw her as a weapon to be wielded. It was nothing personal … until it was. Too many times over the last year, he’d helped her with no benefit to himself. That would all have to come due one day.
She hoped today was not that day.
“Hello, Red,” he said, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger.
She glowered at him. All six feet of gorgeous man before her. And he just grinned, a feral, dark twist of his lips. He straightened the blood-red cravat at his throat and shot her a licentious look from his amber eyes. The R for Rook glinted from a pin on the lapel of his black suit. And the light caught the red threaded through his burnished-brown hair. He could have still been her world. It would have been so easy.
“Waiting for me?” she teased.
“A little birdie said you were running. That usually means you’re running to me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Dozan.”
“Tell me what happened.”
She shook her head and looked around the Wastes. They were inside the main body of the Wastes, where anyone could see or hear them. The Wastes went down, down, down. Level after level below their feet for gambling, prostitutes, loch dens, and at the very bottom was the Dragon Ring, where Kerrigan had fought her magical bouts for Dozan for the better part of a year.
“My office then,” he said and swept her upstairs.
She had a drink in her hand and was seated in a cushioned chair almost before she could protest. She was still bouncing from the adrenaline of her run, but the day had worn on her. Between her dream and March and the Red Masks, it was nice to have someone take care of her.
“Well, princess,” he teased.
She glared. “Don’t call me that.”
“My apologies,” he said without an ounce of regret. “You are betrothed to a prince of the realm. Though the wrong prince, I’m aware.”
She ground her teeth together. Of course Dozan would needle her about both March and Ford, all in one easy statement. He’d made his distaste of them quite clear.
“If you already know everything that I’m doing, then why bother asking me?”
His smile was lethal. “I keep informed on what I find important.” Then, he gestured to her. “But I do not know everything. For instance, why exactly were you running to me?”
