Page 1 of The Dragon King’s Claw (The Dragons of Serai #17)

“What do we know about this?” I demanded.

“Uh, nothing yet, sir.” The talon kept his gaze fixated on me. “We were hoping for your help on that.”

A few other talons were securing the scene, all of them facing away from the focal point. I couldn't look away. My job was to look as closely as possible and see what everyone else had missed.

I stared at the dead man. Woman. Person.

I couldn't be sure what they were beyond Chelli.

The size of the remains gave that away. Point for me.

The more I stared, the more details came forward—chains at wrists and ankles, scorch marks on the wall, glass shards.

There was a lot to take in. I went through it all.

Slowly. They were clues, and if I wanted to catch the killer, I needed all the clues I could get.

As a claw on the Kochan Talon Force, I was used to investigating the fatal consequences of violence.

I'd see a lot. I never would have said that I'd seen it all.

However, very little surprised me these days.

I wasn't surprised by this. But I was intrigued.

There was something strange about this murder.

I didn't need years of clawing to see that; the greenest talon on the force would know with a single look that this case was unique.

Something twisted and cunning was afoot.

I don't think I have to mention that it was also wicked.

That much was obvious. The person or persons who had committed this atrocity were not your average citizen who had fallen briefly into fury and done something terrible.

This act was planned. It had finesse. I wasn't a spiritual man, but looking at the remains, I knew there was evil in the world.

Hard not to believe with proof like that.

The sound of someone retching echoed down the basement stairs.

I held no derision for them. The murder was a foul one.

And to a Chelli, no less. They were some of the gentlest people on Serai.

Who would want to murder a Chelli? To do so in such a horrendous fashion made it seem even more despicable.

Luckily, my stomach had built up an immunity to visual vomit inducers.

It helped me to focus on my goal—finding the killer.

Truth be told, this murder wasn't as bad, visually speaking, as other murders I'd worked.

At least there was no blood. Or other wet things.

I think it was the smell that was the most disturbing for my coworkers.

Not because it reeked. Quite the opposite.

The smell of roasted meat, possibly pork, filled the air.

It made bellies rumble and then, when the owners of said bellies realized what made them hungry, their minds processed the horror and their rumbling bellies emptied further.

The scent of meat didn't bother me. We were all meat in the end.

What bothered me was the smoke. It messed with my Eljaffna senses which were elite normally.

Especially where blood was concerned. There was no evidence of blood there, but I didn't trust my eyes or my nose, not with those odors running rampant.

So, out of my inner coat pocket—a large pocket I had specially made, divided into sections for my tools—I removed a pair of trace glasses.

The lenses of these glasses were enchanted to reveal every trace of bodily material—be it something obvious such as flesh or something nearly impossible to see, like saliva.

Even if the stuff had been washed away, minuscule pieces of it would be left behind.

It was these invisible pieces of evidence that the glasses would reveal to me.

What they showed me would have made every talon in the room vomit.

It was difficult to discern whether the spray of blood and fluids had been from torture or simply the initial gush of the body when exposed to great heat.

Considering that the heat applied had turned the Chelli into bones, one might lean toward the former.

But the flames hadn't incinerated the man completely.

That led me to believe that it was a slower process than I initially suspected.

There would have been bubbling and dripping.

The spray that I could see through the glasses.

Whereas, if it were torture, the splatters would be more condensed in certain areas. Fascinating.

“Claw Shinkai,” someone said.

I removed the trace glasses, tucked them away, and looked over my shoulder to find one of the city horns on the stairs—a Ricarri in uniform.

The little silver horn on his left breast told me he was a sergeant.

The crumbs just above that horn told me his morning meal had been interrupted.

This man's job was to guard the entire city as a whole, as opposed to policing the residents inside the city, as the officers of the Talon Force did.

Instead of patrolling the streets, he and his kind patrolled the walls of the city and the royal castle.

They were the Dragon King's soldiers—the ones who went to war if necessary.

And none of them belonged at a crime scene.

The Sergeant's gray skin glittered as he stepped into the halo cast by the light spheres hovering above the remains. The basement had lights, but we didn't want to miss anything. It was standard practice to light up a scene until nothing stood in shadow. Especially a murder scene.

“Yes, Sergeant?” I clasped my hands together behind my back and peered at the Ricarri. Here was yet another interesting twist to my morning. How lovely.

As an Eljaffna, I was almost as tall as the Ricarri soldier, but not nearly as wide. My people were known for their willowy forms. His—not so much. So, when he held out his hand, I wasn't surprised to find it capable of engulfing mine.

“Sergeant Trand, sir.”

I shook his hand and, sure enough, was engulfed. Not a bad sensation for a man such as myself. “Good to meet you, Sergeant Trand. How may I assist the King's Horns?”

“I'm from the castle.” He glanced at the body. “Word has reached us of . . . uh . . . this.”

I lifted a brow. As I mentioned earlier, there wasn't a lot that surprised me, but the castle's interest in a murder was unusual.

Not just interesting. Surprising. In all my years on the force—twenty as a talon and sixty-three as a claw—I had never worked with the castle—horns or staff.

Working with the Castle Guard meant working with the Dragon King.

Indirectly, yes, but still, he was involved.

The Dragon King didn't involve himself in our affairs.

Not usually. He left the criminals to us professionals.

Unless the criminals were targeting him.

I slid my stare back to the poor Chelli.

How did the death of a Chelli connect to the King of Rushao?

Oh, what a day! It was a terrible one for the Chelli, granted, but for me, things were looking up.

My existence was an endless series of bad things.

Not perpetrated against me, but for me to investigate and untangle.

I endeavored to think like a criminal. It got rather, well, boring.

Yes, criminals are boring. Most of them are too stupid for crime.

Too stupid for me. Most but not all. I wasn't so vain as to think nothing got by me.

In fact, I assumed that the intelligent criminals covered their tracks so well that their deeds never came to my attention.

If they were, my job might be less boring. I'd have a worthy opponent at last.

My terrible, selfish hopes of a break in my tedium had come true.

Here was a fascinating case and just when I thought it couldn't become more interesting, the Dragon King showed an interest. Very puzzling indeed.

And I had arrived at the scene only ten minutes prior.

Of course, someone would have notified the King of anything unusual happening in his city, and this was just that.

Still, the promptness of his response was impressive.

And delighted.

I tried not to smile when I adjusted my question. “How may I serve the King ?”

“He'd like to speak with you as soon as you've finished your investigation of the scene, sir.”

My brows went higher this time—both of them. “Of course. I will attend His Majesty as soon as I complete my initial inspection.”

“Very good, sir.” Sergeant Trand went to stand in the corner.

In a moment, he vanished for me, and it had nothing to do with his stone-like skin.

It's simply how focused I get when I'm clawing.

And claw, I did. I got down in the ashes, dug through the charred bones with my steel pincers, and pulled out the things no one else could find.

That's what I did best. It's why it only took twenty years for me to become a claw.

Most talons went centuries before getting promoted to my position. But I had a gift.

I took samples of the ash, the soot from the walls, and some suspicious debris. I smelled the bones. Analyzed the tilt of the skeleton. Inspected the skeleton itself. So much to see. At last, I stood up and wiped off my tool with the handkerchief I always carry.

Evidence bags extended to the closest talon.

I said, “Take these along with the body back to the Hall of Talons. I want the ash analyzed for particulates, toxins, and magical remnants. Make sure to sweep up all the remains. I mean the ashes as well, Talon. His loved ones deserve to have as much of him as possible to bury.”

The talon took the evidence bags from me. “ Him , sir?”

I grinned. I wasn't a claw who got annoyed with inquisitive talons.

An inquisitive mind was a sharp one, and that meant this man had potential.

“Yes. Come here. Let me show you.” I bent beside the body again, and the talon joined me.

“You see his pelvis? It's robust and wide. Females have lighter pelvis bones adapted to childbirth. This is the case for every race on Serai. And look at the skull. That is a male jaw and brow. Angular and broad. You see?”

The talon nodded, his expression one of fascination. “Yes, sir.” He looked at me. “Thank you so much, sir.”

“What's your name?” I stood up again.

“I'm Talon Fren.”

“I'll remember you. That was a good question, Talon Fren. Keep asking questions. Don't let anyone deter you from seeking information and you'll go far in the force.”

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”

Sergeant Trand cleared his throat.

I looked at him. Just looked. He looked away. I have a very penetrating gaze—the sort that startles children and makes grown men uncomfortable. I'm very proud of it.

“Talon Fren, I want you to check the reports of missing persons. Look for any Chelli man reported missing within the last two days.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Thank you.” I finished making notes in my claw book, tucked it in my coat pocket, then smoothed my lapels. “All right, Sergeant. Let us proceed to the castle.”

“Yes, sir.” The Sergeant went up the basement stairs.

I winked at the talon, who snickered, and then I followed the Sergeant.

Yes, I was excited to go to the castle, but that Chelli man deserved my complete attention, and that young talon deserved to have his question answered to the best of my capabilities.

The King could wait. Had he not specified that he wanted to see me after I made my inspection?

It sounded to me as if he would appreciate my thoroughness.

With that thought, an image of the King of Rushao popped into my mind.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and with pin-straight raven hair that fell to his waist. He was a striking man who could not go unnoticed, even were he not the King.

I'd only seen him a handful of times over my years in the crown city of Kochan, but every instance left me feeling .

. . I don't know. Disturbed and elated at the same time.

Seeing the King always left a hollow in my chest. As if his visage reminded me I had nothing but my work to care for.

No family, no lover, and very few friends.

Normally, this didn't bother me. I liked my life.

Even my boring work. Without clawing, I would have no release for my churning mind.

I had no lovers and very little friends by choice.

So why did simply gazing upon the King make me feel as if my life were lacking? Perhaps now, I'd solve that mystery.

I hurried after the Sergeant.