House of Dragons (Royal Houses 1)

Fordham lashed out with a rope of flame this time, a tendril of red that slashed around the girl’s leg and dragged her back to the ground. Beneath the mask, her eyes widened in alarm and a flash of pain. But she didn’t even cry out. As if fire was no match for her. She easily maneuvered away, and as soon as she was free, she wrenched open the balcony doors and slipped outside.

Fordham flung himself after her. But in the span of a few heartbeats, the girl had already scaled the far wall and disappeared out the back.

He came back inside, cursing vividly. “Who the hell was that?”

“Lyam’s killer,” Kerrigan croaked as she tried to get to her feet.

Then, the memory of all her pain came crashing back down around her and she fell back in a heap on the floor once more.

“Gods, you’re injured,” he said, crouching before her.

“She stabbed me… in the shoulder,” Kerrigan said, pulling back her cloak to reveal the wound beyond.

Fordham inspected it, thoroughly and efficiently with little compassion. She winced through the entire thing.

“How’d you do that?”

“What?”

“That black smoke… it’s what you used to get into the tournament.”

“Family secret,” he said through gritted teeth. “You need to see a healer. This is beyond basic battlefield healing.”

“Battlefield healing?” she asked, her vision swimming again.

“Never mind.” Fordham stood and rummaged through the closet, pulling out an old bedsheet. He tore it precisely into strips. Then, he carefully wrapped her shoulder to try to stanch the bleeding and secured a makeshift sling for her arm. “There. Can you stand?”

“Um…”

Fordham put his arm around her shoulders and lifted her to her feet. Kerrigan groaned at the pain, even with the bandages and sling.

“My… head hit the bedpost.”

He ran his hand through the mass of curly hair until Kerrigan yelped in pain. “Yeah, you have a knot. Let’s get you back to the mountain.”

“No,” she said right away.

“No?”

“The Wastes.”

He looked at her skeptically. “The mountain has healers. You need to be seen immediately. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“I know. The Wastes have healers, and they’re closer. Also”—she moved uneasily toward the balcony doors, where she bent down and retrieved the discarded knife—“I have a friend I want to ask about this.”

* * *

“This isn’t a good idea,” Fordham growled low as they approached the entrance to the crime lord’s lair.

“Probably not,” Kerrigan conceded.

But she didn’t have another choice. By the time they reached the Wastes, she could barely walk. She never would have been able to reach the mountain in time. Unfortunately, she’d have to put her health in Dozan Rook’s hands once more.

“Remind me why I decided to help you again.”

“I have no idea. This was your idea.”

He rolled his eyes. “I am never doing a favor for anyone ever again. Certainly not a halfling.”

The words have none of his venom though. They were almost friendly. Or maybe he was just trying to keep her mad so she wouldn’t pass out.

Kerrigan rolled her eyes. “Just get me inside, princeling. I can do the rest.”

He shot her a distrustful look. “Why was there an assassin after you anyway?”

“If I’d known, do you think I would have let them stab me?”

“Let them stab you? That’s an eloquent way of putting the scene when I walked in and saved your ass.”

“I would have been fine.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you always this overconfident?”

“Yes, she is,” a voice said, appearing at the entrance to the Wastes. A dark and broody crime lord, wearing the black and red of his establishment and a frown of displeasure.

“Dozan,” she croaked.

His eyes trailed down her body, where she clung to Fordham for support, then to the prince of the House of Shadows. She could tell he was not pleased, but he could shove it for all she cared. Word must have traveled fast for him to be here at the entrance when she turned up.

“What have you done with my fighting champion?” he asked Fordham.

Fordham’s eyebrows rose at that. “Fighting champion?”

“I’ll tell you all about it after I don’t have a hole in my shoulder,” she grumbled. “Dozan, this is Fordham. Fordham, this is Dozan. He runs the place and is a kind, magnanimous figure, who is going to get me a healer for this gods-damned shoulder.”

Dozan quirked a half-smile at the introduction. He was far from kind or magnanimous. He was ruthless, irritable, and unyielding, and he hated being bossed around. He always had. Even five years ago, when he’d first brought her back to the Wastes to find her a healer after… after everything. Her heart twisted at that. She still didn’t know why he hadn’t left her for dead that first time. He got power out of the equation, but she’d offered nothing when she lay mangled and bloody on the ground.