House of Curses, page 6
No point in lying. Dozan had more spies in the city than even the Society. He would have found out soon enough.
“The Red Masks had a meeting,” she confessed with a sigh. “And I went.”
Dozan blinked. “Why would you do that?”
“Because the Father made an appearance.”
He went deathly still. “So … Lorian Van Horn was not the leader of the Red Masks. A pity.”
“We sentenced him to death for his actions. Based on information you provided,” she said, her anger flaring. “The whole thing was a setup.”
Dozan shrugged. “Don’t tell me that you’re losing sleep over the death of that man. He tried to have you kicked out of the Society. He had you arrested. He was intent on upending your life, princess. A man like that deserved everything coming to him.”
No, she didn’t exactly regret what had happened with Lorian. He hadn’t been the leader of the Red Masks, but he had been just as bigoted, and he’d had more power than sense. She did, however, feel bad for Alura. Perhaps execution was the wrong call, but they couldn’t change that now.
“No,” she said slowly. “No, I am more concerned with the immediate threat. The Father can remove magic from magical users.”
Dozan frowned and took a sip from his own drink. “I have no magic. He can do nothing to me.”
“Your allies have magic. I have magic. He wants to cleanse humans and half-Fae of magic. It’s not like a potion that suppresses the magic, but it’s still there. This is like when someone burns themselves out. It destroys them. They don’t recover.”
“How is he capable of this?” Dozan asked as he understood the enormity of what she’d said.
“I have no idea.” She explained to him what she had seen. She had never heard of an ability like that, and neither had he.
“I’ll look into it,” he said evenly.
“And how much is it going to cost me?”
“Ah, Red, we both know that you’re so far in my debt that you could never get out of it.”
She bristled. “That’s exactly how you like people.”
“Indeed it is. There is one thing I want.”
“No,” she said, coming swiftly to her feet. She knew exactly what he was going to ask for.
He took a step forward and brushed a stray strand from her face. “You’re marrying an enemy, and the one you want abandoned you. Can you not see what is right in front of you?”
She sagged at the admission. “Dozan, stop.”
“You could let me kill March,” he said with a cruel twist to his smile. “I could consider us even.”
And it was tempting.
Oh, it was so tempting.
She had dreamed about burying a knife in March’s gut one too many times. She’d known long before she ever fully envisioned it that she couldn’t do it. She could kill on the battlefield, but cold-blooded murder? Never.
Letting Dozan, who already had so much red in his ledger, handle the gruesome task—a task that he would surely enjoy—was beyond temptation. March would no longer be a problem. She could deal with everything else on her plate, pretend to mourn a man she despised, and continue with her life. She would still know that she was responsible. That it might as well have been her knife in his gut.
And she had no guarantee that March didn’t have contingencies in place against her people if anything happened to him. He could die, and they’d still go to war.
She let the thought pass. She couldn’t kill March. There was another way. She just had to find it.
“As enticing as that is,” she said, stepping backward, “no.”
“You ruin all my fun.”
She laughed. “I should go back to the mountain now.”
“The offer still stands.”
“I’ll have to find another way out of your debt.”
Dozan took her hand and pressed a soft kiss to the top of it. “I can think of many, many ways. If I remember correctly, you found all of them enjoyable.”
She flushed and extracted her hand. “Good night, Dozan.”
He let her go. Likely formulating his next path to get back into her good graces. With Fordham out of the picture, he surely thought he was more likely to succeed. And Kerrigan just felt heartbroken.
She tugged on the bond between herself and Tieran. In the haste of running from the Red Masks meeting, she hadn’t even thought about their bond. It was new. When she had won the tournament and been bonded to her dragon, they’d discovered it didn’t work. And after trying to fake the bond for almost a year during dragon training, she found a spiritcasting trainer who showed her how to create a crux bond, which was more like a leash in the other woman’s world, but Kerrigan had tethered it like a two-way bond with Tieran.
Even though she’d had it during the Battle of Lethbridge, it still sometimes surprised her. So, when she stepped outside and found Tieran waiting for her, she felt a little sheepish that she had fallen back into old habits.
Tieran gave her a disgruntled look. Get into trouble again?
“You have no idea,” she said, vaulting onto his back and taking to the skies.
Flying was her favorite pastime. Ever since she had been a little girl in the House of Dragons, flying had been her greatest joy. The fact that she had her own dragon and could fly whenever she wanted was beyond incredible. It still felt hard to believe.
Are you going to accept the nomination for the council?
“I don’t think I have a choice, but … yes. I can do good. Maybe even one day help the dragons too.”
Tieran warmed at that thought. His mate had been killed when her rider perished at the Society. Tieran had tried to refuse to be bonded, but it was that or be killed back at the Holy Mountain, where he had been raised.
Are you ready for tomorrow?
She blinked, racking her brain. “What’s tomorrow?”
Spiritcaster training, he said with a huff.
“Scales, the day has been so long that I almost forgot.” She looked to the sky and saw the moon was almost full. She was to meet with Cleora at the full moon for her first official training.
Are you certain that I can’t come with you? My mastery of the spirit is substantial, he argued.
She hadn’t told him about Cleora’s backward views on dragons as mere monsters and not sentient beings. She doubted very much that Cleora would understand having a dragon with her.
“I’ll run it by Cleora, and if she agrees, you can come next time.”
He sighed. Fine. Don’t die.
After the day she’d had, she needed the laugh.
“I’ll do my best.”
8
The Offer
ARBOR
It had taken days to arrange this meeting. She was not going to mess this up. Not even if her brother was being ornery about the whole thing.
“Shut up, Prescott,” she ground out. “There might be someone watching.”
“Who would be watching us, Arbor dearest?” he purred.
The last couple weeks had been a trial. After Fordham had rescued them from Lethbridge and ordered them to disappear, she had come up with a plan—find the people who had sold magical artifacts to the House of Shadows and ingratiate herself into their inner circle.
But after a horrible trek through unfamiliar forest to make it into Kinkadia, they had gotten the runaround. Tonight would be the night they finally met the leader of the Red Masks.
She had watched from the sidelines as the Father stripped the magic out of that half-Fae man and left him for dead. Despite her choice of allies, she had felt pity for the man. She didn’t want to see the end of half-Fae and humans. She just wanted to be on the winning side. To have her life of comfort and plenty returned to her. To use her ambition to get everything she deserved.
The Father could provide that.
He was maybe the only person in the city who could provide that now that the Society had shunned everyone from the House of Shadows. That idiot Queen Viviana had given everything away in surrender. Her puppet princess, Wynter, was missing. Fordham was missing. This was Arbor’s only chance. And she would not waste it.
“What is this about?” the Father asked in his faintly distorted voice.
She held herself firm and refused to cringe away even though everything about him repelled her. She hated that mask. What sort of man hid behind a mask when doing his dirty work?
“Father,” she said, curtsying deeply.
Prescott fell into a bow beside her. At least they had years of courtly manners to fall back on.
The Father gestured blithely with his hand, and Arbor rose to her feet again.
“I am Arbor—”
“I know who you are,” he interrupted. “You are the House of Shadows girl who has been skulking around like a gutter rat.”
Arbor’s face flushed red, but she held his gaze steady. “Yes. I escaped Lethbridge with my brother. We wish to be of service to your cause.”
“And what service could two refugees possibly provide me? You have no friends or family, no money, no alliances.”
That wasn’t precisely true. They had all of that back home in the House of Shadows. But if they went back there, they would be trapped again, and she refused to be in isolation for another minute.
“That is a fair assessment. However, we have something that you want dearly.”
His gaze slid away from her to a slip of a girl who had let them into the room. “V, check on Isa.”
She bowed deeply. “Yes, Father.” Then, the girl was gone.
The Father gestured impatiently. “Out with it. I have no time for games.”
Games were Arbor’s greatest pastime. Everything that had worked to get Wynter to do her bidding would not work with this male. She had not seen power that radiated off of someone like this before. She had been in the presence of the recently deceased King Samael of the House of Shadows for many years and found him wanting. Perhaps this Father was worth serving.
Though she would still rather be the one in charge. The one holding the strings.
“I am acquainted with Kerrigan Argon.”
“You’re wasting my time. Leave,” he said, standing and turning his back on them.
“She trusts me,” she argued. “I could get close to her. I could learn her weaknesses.”
Then, he laughed. He actually laughed. “You amuse me, Arbor of the House of Shadows. Do you think I do not already have agents who are close to her, who have her trust?”
Arbor gulped. “I thought she’d be dead already if that was true.”
“You know nothing.”
He waved his hand in a dismissal, and she saw all of her chances dropping away. Prescott squeezed her hand. He was about to say something that would ruin everything. She loved her brother more than life itself, but he was not a diplomat. He was a jester and an idealist. He would not help them in this situation.
“And do you know of her powers? The ones that brought the barrier down around the House of Shadows?” she said, throwing out her ace.
The Father stilled. She held her breath, hoping this was information he didn’t already have.
“I was there that night inside the mountain when she put a fissure into the barrier. I was there the day that Princess Wynter claimed to bring the wall down. But I know it was Kerrigan. I know that I can get close enough to her to discuss it with her. I alone can do this.”
The Father turned back around. That mask hid all of his features. She had no idea if she had reached him, but she held herself firm and resolute as she waited for his judgment.
“Fine,” he said finally. “Reach out to her. Discover these supposed abilities. I will give you an apartment for you and your brother to establish yourselves.”
She curtsied low, a small smile curling her lips. “Thank you, Father. We are most grateful.”
“Arbor,” he said, low and deadly, “do not disappoint me. What is given can be taken away.”
“As you wish.”
She bowed again and then left with Prescott’s hand in her grasp.
Neither of them spoke until they were alone once more.
Prescott arched an eyebrow. “Looks like you got what you wanted, sister.”
“Don’t I always?”
He smirked and drew her to him. She buried her face into his shoulder and inhaled the sweet smell of him. This could work. They could make this work. One step at a time.
9
The Sister
ISA
Isa was still sopping wet when she trekked back to the ballroom. Kerrigan had gotten the best of her, and there was no way to deny that. A year earlier, she had gutted the girl and thought that was the end of it. Now, Kerrigan was more powerful than ever. She had no idea how she would explain this to the Father.
Valia huddled in a corner outside the building, and her heart stopped. Isa crossed the street and dragged Valia deep into the recesses of the building, so no one could see her.
Valia was her first concern.
She might not be a sister by birth, but by all rights, she was her sister. All the money she had saved all those years. All the ways she had been working to get out. They had all been for Valia. All to get them out of here. Now, it was never going to happen.
“V,” she hissed. “What are you doing out here?”
“You’re safe,” Valia said with obvious relief. “I worried for you.”
“You should not. You know what my mission is.”
“As you know mine,” her little sister argued.
Valia and Isa had gone together to train to become spies and assassins. While Isa had taken to it like a dragon to flying, Valia had been reluctant. She had failed over and over again. Been reprimanded and beaten and broken into submission until she could do everything that came naturally to Isa. It still amazed her to this day that Valia had retained even an ounce of goodness. In that training, they had become siblings.
When they had returned to the city, the Father was freshly born, and they were his daughters, his assassins, his spies. And the only person they ever cared to protect from it all was each other.
“You should go back to the mountain,” Isa said.
She sighed. “Father sent me to look for you. You weren’t supposed to leave the building, let alone chase after Kerrigan.”
Isa shot her a wild smile. “I didn’t kill her. I’m allowed to have my fun.”
“One day, you’re going to end up dead.”
“Give me some credit.” But Valia looked worried, and Isa hated that. “I know what I’m doing, V. We both do. We’re trained for this. You know Father’s great mission is almost ready to be unleashed.”
Valia glanced down and nodded. “I know. I just want us to be alive to see it.”
“We will be.” She nudged Valia’s shoulder. “I should report, but you should go back to the mountain. I can deal with Father.”
She sighed. “Good luck.”
Isa nodded and waited to watch her sister slink through the shadows, back toward Draco Mountain. It still irked her that Father had placed Valia in the mountain. Anything could go wrong, and there would be no escape. No way to get her out. Isa could never accept that.
But that was not a problem for tonight.
She climbed the drainage to the top floor of the ballroom and slid the window up soundlessly, dropping silently onto the hardwood. The guard stationed at the door nodded her through. She listened to Arbor’s plea with the Father. She’d tracked her and her brother through the city for a few days before she allowed this meeting to happen. Despite their … unusual relationship, it truly appeared that they had no real contacts in the city. They had nothing. They were no better than refugees. But there was a way for them to be useful still.
Father gave them seemingly everything they had asked for, and then Isa watched the girl walk out as if she had won. Even though Father had played them like a fiddle.
Isa slunk inside, closing the door behind her. “Father,” she said with a bow.
“What have I told you about Kerrigan Argon?”
Isa’s face went carefully blank. “I didn’t kill her.”
He looked at her state of dress and scoffed. “It doesn’t appear as if you could have killed her.”
“I could have.”
“Isa, you need to know your limitations. I have a plan for Kerrigan. I have a plan for you. Let my vision unravel, undeterred.”
“She was at our meeting,” she argued. “I had to make a show of scaring her.”
He shot her another look that only Isa, who had measured all of his looks, knew was dangerous. “You are nearly in violation of my direct orders, daughter.”
She swallowed. “I wouldn’t.”
He twirled his hand dismissively. “Let us retreat. I tire of this mask.”
She nodded easily, happy for the change of subject. It wasn’t until they were carefully ensconced in his Row home that he finally removed the red metal mask that covered his features. It was a special design that molded to his face and couldn’t even be removed in death. His identity would go with him to the grave.
She had been a baby when she was brought to the Father. She had known him as the doting father long before he sent her to train. Before she met Valia and gained a sister. And thus, she was the only one to see him like this.
“You seem weary, Father,” she said obediently.
His eyes were sharp as he settled into his desk overlooking the large bay window out to the Row beyond. “I have too much to do to be weary. Fetch me a drink and then change your clothes. You’re dripping water on the rugs.”
It took all of her training to school her features to not react. “Yes, Father.”
When she returned with his drink, his eyes were distant as he surveyed the empty Row. She set the drink down, but he reached for her wrist.
“Sit a moment.”
She blinked once in confusion and then took the seat beside him.
“I have lived hundreds of years. I have fought for what is right and seen it crumble time and time again. I will not lose this time,” he said evenly. He gestured to his face. “I have lived this life long enough. It will be a relief to put aside this identity.” His eyes swept hers. “Do you understand?”
