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

I kept searching the kitchen. If this was a game to Hallaxgral, he'd want me to play.

He would have left me a clue about the next murder.

Otherwise, how would I be able to figure it out?

Unless he intended to kill someone else to leave me the clue.

Whatever his plans, I had to keep looking.

Because if he had left me something, and I missed it, I would never forgive myself.

And the game would be over.

“Claw Shinkai.”

I stood back and took it all in—the kitchen held the remnants of a meal but other than that, it was tidy.

My vision panned out. Art on the walls, all from the Ke-len tribe.

Why were these people chosen? What was their connection to Halaxgral?

Or to the King? No, wait. Not the King. That had been a feint.

In my mind, I saw Wuten again, lips bloody, breathless, and pointing at me.

This was about me. As inexplicable as that was, I had to view the case considering that.

Of the thousands of criminals I had apprehended during my time with the Talons, any of them could be Halaxgral or someone important to him.

That would give him cause to play this morbid game with me.

But that seemed like a weak reason. I sensed there was more to it.

“Tekhan!” The King shook my shoulder.

“What is it?!” I snarled, turning toward him.

The King didn't flinch or growl back. Instead, he said, “That's enough for tonight. Your eyes are shaking.”

I lifted a hand to my temples. “I'm merely scanning the . . .” I trailed off as something registered as wrong. “One moment, Your Majesty,” I murmured and headed for the discrepancy.

It was a child's toy. Just a little one—a wooden soldier, one of the King's Horns. It stood on a shelf, half hidden behind a stack of dishes, as if it were spying on us. I picked it up and examined it.

“What is that?” The King was suddenly beside me, peering down at the soldier.

“A clue.” I turned it over in my hand. “This will lead me to the next victim. Hopefully, before Hallaxgral murders them.”

“How do you know that's the clue?”

“They had no children.”

“Maybe the child is grown, and the mother is sentimental.”

“And she keeps the toy in the kitchen? I don't think so.” I glanced at the doorway. “I'll make sure the coroner checks to see if she's ever born a child. Until then, I will assume this is my clue.”

“What could a toy tell you?”

“Look at it. What does it tell you ?”

The King shrugged. “It's just a toy soldier.”

“No, it isn't.” I took it back and held it up. “Look at the craftsmanship. It's excellent. The painting is detailed. You can even see the expression on the soldier's face. This is not a toy for a tanner's child. This was intended for the son of a merchant or a noble. A family with means.”

The King lifted a brow, his lips turning up at a corner. “Go on.”

I smelled the toy. Turned it over. “There's a maker's mark.

I believe this is from Sei-Sei's Toys. From the grain, this appears to be marhon wood.

I can still smell the varnish, so this isn't an old piece.

Despite that, its condition tells me it has been played with.

This isn't a prop that the murderer bought and planted here. He took it . . . oh, fuck.” I swayed.

King Tor'rien steadied me. “Tek?”

I looked at him, my hand lowering with the soldier gripped tightly within it. “He took this from a child. That's our next victim. He's going after a little boy.”

“The fucking bastard!”

The King's knights shot into the kitchen, stares searching for a target before settling on the King.

He waved them off, shaking his head. “The murderer is targeting a child next.”

The knights tensed but otherwise didn't react. They were professional soldiers and would wait for instructions before allowing themselves to react.

“Professional soldiers,” I murmured and looked over the toy again. Still staring at it, I wandered out of the room.

The King and his knights followed me. Our timing happened to be perfect.

The crime team arrived just as we reached the living room.

Still focused on the toy, I waved them upstairs.

My feet took me across the room and then back again.

I should have been exhausted, but ingesting Dragon blood had given me stamina.

Extra energy to work off. That stuff was miraculous.

Even the King had recovered from his generous donation.

He sat down, but other than that, he showed no signs of tiredness.

Back to the toy. I looked closer. “It could be any child.”

“Any child of wealthy parents, you mean,” the King corrected.

“Yes, of course.” I fluttered my hand at him.

Why wouldn't he leave? I needed to focus.

After cracking my neck, I tried again. “A child of means. The choice is deliberate. A statement. Everything is a clue. What is he saying here? With an exquisite toy? Money splurged on nonsense. A plaything worth more than several meals—food for a family. Interesting.”

I paced more. Back and forth, the motion helping my mind ignore the Dragon blood running through my body and focus on the facts. What did this toy mean? It wasn't just a clue.

I stopped pacing. “Hallaxgral has a distaste for the rich.

No, no, that's not true. The Brujai couple is not wealthy. They are not poor either. But they are not wealthy. We cannot assume a prejudice without proof.” I looked harder.

A life depended on my discernment. “A soldier.

He's wearing a uniform. Gold on the shoulders.

He's not infantry. A commanding officer.” I narrowed my eyes, then pulled out my tube light and aimed it at the toy.

The soldier's skin caught the light, glinting silver.

“A Ricarri!” I spun to look at the King.

The King shot to his feet. “Is that who he's targeting? The son of a Ricarri officer?”

“Yes! Who leads your army, Your Majesty? A military man of means.”

“General Batan.” The King let out an amazed huff. “He's Ricarri.”

“Where does he live?”

“I don't fucking know!” He looked at his knights.

They both shrugged.

I ran outside. Talon teams always had guards with them whose sole job was to secure the scene. Two talons were out front. They spotted me and came to attention.

“Do either of you know where General Batan lives?” I demanded.

They gaped at me.

“Fuck!” I spun to look down the street. “The one thing I don't know about—the fucking Horns!”

“Tekhan!”

I turned to see the King standing beside his carriage.

“We will find him. Get in!”

I ran for the carriage and jumped inside. We were rolling as soon as the door shut. I gripped the edge of the open window and glared at the city as if it were withholding the General's location from me.

“We're going to the Hall of Horns.” The King laid his hand over mine. “They will know where Batan is.”

I looked down and realized I had clenched my hand into a fist. I drew my fist out from beneath his hand and opened it. The toy stared up at me. It had left indentations in my palm—that's how tightly I'd been holding it.

“I can't think about the child.” I took an evidence bag out of my coat and put the toy in it before sliding the package into my inner pocket. “If I think too much about him, I won't be able to think of anything else.”

“The child will be fine.” He took my hand again. “The note said tomorrow. That means he has done nothing yet. Nothing fatal, at least.”

I nodded even though I didn't believe that. Anything that helped me focus on the case and not the victims was welcome. Then the carriage stopped.

I moved to get out.

The King stopped me. “Vasren is inquiring. It will be faster.”

I nodded again, the image of the toy soldier filling my mind.

Sitting back, I focused on it, hardly noticing that I was holding the King's hand.

He wasn't just holding my hand. I was gripping him back.

And it felt natural. Odd. I worked alone.

I didn't like or need a hand to hold. But this hand felt warm, solid, and steady.

It held without constriction. It offered support without interruption.

In short, holding the King's hand helped me concentrate.

The toy morphed in my mind. Images swam through that inner eye. The bones in ashes. The scales on the ground. The bleeding Brujai pointing at me. His wife lying in peaceful death, her hand on her mouth. Back to the toy. No, the note. The note!

“Where's the note?!” I let go of the King to grip his arm.

“Got the address!” Vasren shouted.

The carriage shifted as he climbed on, and then we were moving again.

Meanwhile, the King drew the note out of his pocket and handed it to me.

I took it. Inspected it. Sniffed it. Took out my light tube and shone it upon the note. Then I held the note in front of the light. That's when the image came forth—a mark hidden within the paper.

I sucked in a breath, excitement filling me.

“What do you see?” The King leaned over to look. “I know that symbol.”

“You should.” I tucked the note into my pocket. “It's on all of your stationery.”

“What?” He frowned, but that lasted only seconds before he saw what I did. “That's the watermark of Pruleng.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Pruleng, the Paper Crafters to the Crown. The elite papermakers in the city. And Hallaxgral wrote his note on their product.”

“Why?”

“It's another clue, of course.” I sat back and stared ahead, focusing inward. “A taunt left on paper that the King uses.”

“Is this a threat against me?”