Page 7 of Fortress of Ambrose (House of Marionne #3)

Last Season, she was a name on a page, an invisible heir to a House he couldn’t give two shits about.

Oh, there were all kinds of rumors about the heir to House of Ambrose and her overprotective mother.

Some said she was sickly. Others thought she was conceited so she separated herself from everyone.

There were other strange rumors, like her mother had possessed her magically.

And it went horribly wrong, which forced her to keep to herself.

But House of Ambrose was a place for the magic obsessed.

It was the last place or people he ever thought about.

Nore’s lips pursed and a challenge glinted in her gray stare. But she only turned and gestured for him to follow.

Dublin hadn’t wandered far.

They found him interrogating a host outside a restaurant. He was exactly as the media described him: neat, long hair, warm tan skin that oozed with ask me where I’ve been, and a tone that dripped with condescension.

Nore folded her arms. “I don’t think he should see me.”

“Stay. You will alarm him.”

As if on cue, Dublin turned and gaped at Nore.

“You!” He strode toward them, glaring at her with a dark expression. Something sharp flashed, hidden in his hand.

Yagrin reached a protective arm backward. The hostess yelped, pulling out her phone.

“Look, we’ll return the book.” Yagrin had expected him to be furious, but this he didn’t expect. “We just have a few questions.”

Dublin’s gaze darted to the bag on Nore’s arm.

“I should have recognized you.” An ambitious gleam shined in Dublin’s eyes.

“You have any idea of the value on a vial of your blood?” He swiped at Nore and the silver tip of a knife poked from his fist. She cried out, holding her arm. Yagrin urged her back.

A guy like Dublin didn’t need money. Yagrin dodged as the blade swiped past again.

“Maybe we can make a barter,” he said.

“Yagrin!”

But he held up a hand. He knew what he was doing.

“Tell us what the sketches mean on the constellation. Somehow it’s connected to the Scroll.

And we’ll give you a sample of her blood.

You can gloat in all the glory you want.

Just say she got away.” No one would touch Nore’s blood.

They had to send the message to her brother that they had the upper hand.

“Your brother would accept that excuse?” Dublin asked her. “For some useless details about each of the Houses.”

What a piece of work her brother is. To put a hit out on his own sister. When Yagrin turned to look at Dublin again, he prepared to lunge.

“Perls are all liars.”

Muscle memory took over, his Dragun senses awakening. He shoved Dublin in the chest, knocking him backward. Then he gripped his throat, closing his fingers tight against the windpipe. The blade hit the ground and he kicked it away.

The hostess’s eyes grew as she watched, filming.

“Handle her,” he said to Nore.

The air was crisp, trees still. He broke out in a cold sweat. But he held tighter, waiting for the cold toushana to answer. Nore hadn’t moved.

“Nore, the host. Her phone.”

No toushana zipped through the air to aid him. Dublin clawed at his grip. He felt his hold slipping. He needed her magic. “Whatever you’ve got, Nore. I need it.”

“Help!” Nore screamed. “He’s deranged, please!

” Nore staggered into the hostess stand, hard, and it tumbled over.

Menus, the hostess’s purse, and all manner of things spilled out onto the sidewalk.

What on earth is she doing? Magic, he meant—magic, for Sovereign’s sake!

When the hostess bent over to gather her things, Nore slipped the thinnest blade from her sleeve.

But before Yagrin could see what she did with it, Dublin pulled free.

He shot them one last hateful glance, snatched the bag with his journal Nore had dropped, and scowled before rushing into street traffic, disappearing.

Yagrin grabbed Nore, who was dislodging her blade from the hostess’s hand, and dashed down an alleyway.

They came to a stop once Yagrin could feel his head throbbing harder than his feet on the cement. His lungs burned. He couldn’t remember the last time he literally ran from a consequence.

His magic didn’t answer. A chill slid up his spine. The Sphere’s magic lived inside Jordan now. Was his brother okay? He paced and noticed Nore still catching her breath.

“Are you alright?”

She used the hem of her skirt to wipe the blood off her arm, staring in the direction Dublin had gone.

“You said I didn’t seem like a violent person.”

“You don’t,” she said. “I never said I wasn’t.”

He was speechless.

“Besides, she’ll be fine. And—” She dangled the girl’s phone.

He collapsed against the brick wall in the alley, replaying everything that just happened. Something irked him. “Why would your brother want your blood?”

She was sweating. “It is probably some way he’s trying to steal Headship.”

Yagrin raked a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of how things got so out of hand. “I asked you to help. You didn’t even try to use magic quietly.”

She fidgeted, refusing to look him in the eye.

He stepped closer.

Her hand tightened around her blade.