Page 4

Malik

D rystan paced the room. He had run his hands through his hair so many times that it stood on end. His formal wedding coat was long forgotten, the starched shirt beneath partially unbuttoned and rolled up past his elbows. “Over a dozen people injured. At my wedding feast!” he growled for at least the fourth time.

It was the late hours of the evening—or early hours of the morning, depending on one’s perspective—but the happy couple had found no rest, or at least Drystan hadn’t. Consequently, since he’d been pulled into his cousin’s confidence to discuss this latest fiasco, neither had Malik.

“They’re desperate,” Malik said, keeping his voice calm and even. Anything to help relieve Drystan’s temper. Not that it worked. “This must be some last-gasp effort to try to unsettle you. They know their numbers are dwindling and their influence fading even faster. If anything, this will only turn the people’s sympathies toward you, not away.”

Drystan halted and turned. “Oh, really? Being called out as a monster in front of much of the nobility is supposed to aid our cause?”

Malik took a sip of his whiskey, savoring the burn before responding. “It may, depending on your response. The dragons are trying to get under your skin. They are trying to get you to act foolishly and do something that could damage your reputation. The best thing to do is not to let them.”

“And you propose we just hope they go away?” He ran his hand through his hair again. “Continue to pluck them out here and there when they’re foolish enough to reveal themselves and pray to the Goddess they don’t harm more innocents?”

Malik’s heavy-cut crystal glass made a thunk as he set it aside. “As opposed to?”

Drystan stared at him for a heartbeat, two, before letting out a groan and resuming his pacing. That was the problem. What else was one to do? Arresting innocents on the chance they could be guilty wouldn’t do them any favors. Neither would cowering in the castle and keeping the world out. That would only show weakness, which they could not afford.

Their current plan was slow, careful. Frustratingly so, at times. It could take years to stifle the dragons enough that they were not a constant thorn in the crown’s side. Years before Malik could look over his shoulder without waiting for someone to stick a dagger in his back. It had to be worse for Drystan. Each dragon they captured was interrogated, but most had little information, and none could say for sure who led them, almost like the person was a ghost. Ridiculous that so many would give their lives to a cause without knowing exactly whose cause it was. Hate ran deep and lust for power even deeper, it seemed.

Most of the time, Malik was content with the slow play. After all, it wasn’t the first time he’d seen a long con through to its end. It had taken many years to discover Drystan’s true intentions and ally with him to remove Rhion.

Tonight’s attack, however, irked him more than most of the threats the dragons made, or even the little accidents they’d caused in the capital over the past months. This was beyond blatant. And worse, it could have so easily ended the life of the woman he wanted to protect most.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again. Time had seemed to slow as the chandelier swayed above the ballroom, as the chain holding it groaned, as plaster cracked and fell. His heart had nearly stopped when his gaze drifted from the impending disaster to the woman standing frozen beneath it.

All thoughts had fled. All worries. All cares. Everything except saving her.

He hadn’t thought. There had been no time for it—no time to cry out for her attention. Instead, he’d run and leapt, wrapping her in his arms and sliding them both to safety.

Malik rubbed at his cheek, at the cut starting to scab over. It was just one of a half-dozen he’d acquired when the glass shattered not far from where they’d fallen. So close. If he hadn’t been there at that exact moment, if he hadn’t knocked her out of the way—

He shook his head. He couldn’t think on it. That would send him down a dark path he dared not follow.

Instead, he asked Drystan, “What does your wife say you should do?” If there was ever a way to get through to his cousin, it was through Ceridwen.

Drystan sighed and sat heavily in the chair next to Malik’s. The gas lamp on the table illuminated his profile in sharp lines and angles. “To show resilience. To thank the citizens for their prayers and concern and carry on as if there isn’t an enemy in our midst begging for my death.” He poured himself another whiskey and took a long sip.

If Malik were lucky enough to have a wife he loved, he’d be damned if he left her alone after a threat on their lives … or on their wedding night, but certainly not both. “And don’t you think you should be with her this evening? Surely, she needs comforting after what happened.”

“Less than me, perhaps.” Drystan stared at his glass, watching the amber liquid move as he swirled it lightly. “She was asleep when I came to find you.”

Ah, well, at least that explained some things.

Unlike the queen, Malik had been wide awake. Sleep wouldn’t find him this evening, not with the events of the night replaying over and over in his mind. Apparently, his cousin was the same.

“You investigated the chandelier?” Drystan asked. “The guards wouldn’t let me near,” he grumbled.

At least the guards had retained their sense of duty amid the chaos, unlike when Drystan and Ceridwen had slain Rhion. They’d been all but useless then, an error that the new captain of the guard had clearly set about rectifying.

“I did.” Malik reached for his glass once more. Holding the drink gave him a strange sense of comfort. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “There were traces of dark magic where someone had placed the message on the chandelier itself. When they did it, I couldn’t say. But the spell was complex. To have such shape, and to be ignited by the disaster…” He shook his head. That fact alone made him ill at ease. Most of the dragons’ work thus far had been sloppy or used simple magic. But this…

Malik took another sip of his drink. Someone among their number was powerful and skilled, likely an apprentice of the former king himself. Probably whatever bastard called themself the Dragon in the threats they’d received.

Drystan leaned forward, mirroring Malik’s pose. “But how would a spell have gotten there? It couldn’t have been a servant, could it?”

“Not unless there are some running around with powerful magic that we don’t know about.” A highly doubtful outcome. Magic ran in few of the noble and royal lines, and those bloodlines were careful about guarding their secrets. Sure, there could be bastards among the commoners, ones blessed with magic from their sires, but to have honed it to such proficiency while keeping it a secret and working in the castle? Unlikely.

Though, the more Malik thought about it, the more the thought grew on him. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn he had a half sibling somewhere. Could his father have found a long-lost heir and brought them up right under their noses?

“I know that look,” Drystan said.

Malik smirked. “You know when I’m considering possible bastard siblings?”

“It’s plausible, but I didn’t know of any.” Somehow, that didn’t make Malik feel any better. “The known supporters of the king were already taken care of, so perhaps it’s a secret the king kept hidden from me as well?”

“Former king,” Malik remarked. “Though if my father had another child that was talented with magic, I wouldn’t have put it past him to rub that in my face, especially near the end.” His father had spent plenty of time comparing Malik to Drystan and pointing out all the ways in which his nephew succeeded and Malik failed. It had almost been enough to make him fully embrace dark magic—almost.

Thankfully, Malik’s mother’s influence was stronger … until her death. Another sin to add to his father’s long list. May he burn in the darkest of hells.

Drystan leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “There must be something we are missing. Someone with enough hate to want to destroy me.”

“Or lust for power,” Malik agreed, though they were unlikely to find such a person by drinking in Drystan’s study in the dead of night. “Lady Sian invited me to join her and her brother at the opening of a new exhibit at the Talia Gallery in a few days’ time. Perhaps I will learn something then.”

Drystan glanced over. “You still think the Yarwoods might be involved?”

Malik shrugged. “It’s a hunch. But they are a strong magical family, and they are interested enough in the throne if Lady Sian’s attentions are any indication.”

“Aren’t they some relation of your mother’s?”

“Their father was mother’s second cousin. He’s been plagued with illness and is unable to walk these days, or so I hear, but that’s never been an inhibitor of ambition, especially if it’s for his children and not himself.” Though some might frown at such a familial connection, it was common for noble families to intermarry, especially to maintain a tight grip on magical bloodlines. After a while, the branches of family trees crossed more closely than most would prefer to admit.

“Hmm.” Drystan seemed to consider. “Well, you should go.”

Of course he should. Malik nearly sighed. Isn’t that what he did just about every day now? Cavort with the nobility? Attempt to gain their secrets and discover who led the remaining dragons? He knew enough of the dragons’ codes, secret handshakes, and other such nonsense to make the identification, but only if the other party trusted him enough to reveal their allegiance, however subtle that revelation often was. Couldn’t blame someone for being hesitant to reveal themselves as a traitor, but when they thought the other person might be, too? Well, support in numbers and all that.

A few had even proven themselves innocent by taking word of Malik’s acts straight to Drystan. Lucky for them, they’d saved themselves—and lucky for Malik that Drystan didn’t believe such reports.

But the longer it took to find the dragons hidden amongst the nobility, the more Malik worried that one error, one slip-up, might cost him everything. He needed to finish this. Only then could he shed his guise and hopefully earn back the trust and respect of the one person who truly mattered.