House of Dragons (Royal Houses 1)

“I think it’s the right move,” Hadrian said, running a hand back through his blue hair.

“Of course you do,” Clover snapped.

“Stop,” Kerrigan said. “Just stop.”

Darby put her hand on Kerrigan’s sleeve. “We’ll go with you. It’ll be okay. We’ll find Lyam.”

Kerrigan nodded reassuringly. She could tell Hadrian must have really been on edge if he couldn’t even see that she needed reassurance. Clover got under his skin so easily.

“Thank you.”

Darby fought for a comforting smile, but she just looked scared. And Kerrigan was scared, but she couldn’t look it. That was how their friendship worked. Kerrigan put on a brave face. She led the way to victory and adventure, as she always had. Today was no different.

“All right,” she said, more to herself than anything.

Then, the four of them left the room and headed out of the House of Dragons. Before they even got all the way out, Mistress Moran appeared in the hallway. She looked crumpled. Normally, she was so immaculate. Her black robes pressed and clean. Her hair a tight bun. But this hardly even looked like her.

“Kerrigan, Darby, Hadrian,” she said gently, “I was coming to collect you. I wasn’t sure if you had already left to stay in your new homes.”

“No,” Kerrigan said uneasily. “We have to go talk to Helly.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Moran said.

“Why not?” Hadrian asked.

Moran’s eyes darted between them. It was a sign of how out of it she was that she didn’t even comment on Clover’s appearance with the group inside the mountain.

“I… I came to find you because, unfortunately, I have… I have terrible news.”

Kerrigan looked at Hadrian and Darby in confusion. “What terrible news?”

“I hate to tell you this, and I know that it is going to come as quite a shock, but Lyam has been found.” She swallowed hard. “He was found dead.”

Darby gasped next to her. Clover’s face hardened into something resolute. Hadrian just looked thunderstruck, as if he hadn’t quite heard her right. But Kerrigan… Kerrigan felt all of her fears escalate in that moment. A low buzzing filled her ears. As if everything was suddenly and inexplicably underwater. Lyam had told her he knew about her visions. He’d followed her out of the party. And now, he was dead… because of her.

“I am so sorry,” Moran said. “It’s a tragic accident.”

“How?” Hadrian asked practically.

“He was robbed, stripped of all belongings. The Guard found his body in a less than savory area of the city with a knife wound in his back. Horrible business, horrible.”

Darby burst into tears and collapsed right where she was standing, falling into a puddle of taffeta. Clover bent down with her, dropping a caring arm around her shoulders and whispering into her ear. Hadrian just looked… blank. Like all the wind had been blown out of his sails.

“Knife wound?” Kerrigan managed to get out.

“A slew of them in that area of town, I’m afraid. I just wish we could have recovered his father’s compass,” Moran said sadly.

“Can I see the body?”

“Dear gods, no, Kerrigan. No one wants to subject you to that.”

“What if it wasn’t an accident?” she asked more firmly.

“I know that you want to find motive in this,” Moran said, putting her hand on Kerrigan’s shoulder gently. “Lyam was a good, kind boy. He didn’t deserve this. But it doesn’t mean it was anything but senseless.”

Kerrigan didn’t believe that.

Maybe it’d be easier if it was just an accident. Just a bad dream that she was bound to wake up from. But it wasn’t.

Fate was spinning its wheels, and people she cared about were getting caught in the spokes.

20

The Funeral

It was just a tragic accident.

That was what everyone kept saying.

Lyam had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everything of value had been stripped from him. A robbery. He’d been in the Dregs, close to the… Wastes. Everyone whispered when they said the name. No sensible person would get caught near that den of iniquity.

A tragic… accident.

Even though it didn’t feel like an accident at all.

Her life had skidded to a halt, and yet the world was going on around her. She had been excused from the last two days of task one in the tournament. Fordham had passed through to the next round, but there had been no glint of a knife in the arena. Which would have confused her if she could even concentrate on her vision. She had two weeks until the second task. Two weeks to “recover”—or so everyone told her—but still only a month to find a tribe.

Not enough time. Not enough time for any of it.

She stood with her feet planted in the dirt as Lyam’s body rested on a pyre. Body. His… body. It was hard to even think the words. That whatever had made Lyam… Lyam had been snuffed out so completely that all that lay on top of the pile of wood was a vessel and nothing more. None of his humor or thirst for adventure or sailing knowledge. Just a body.