Page 20 of The Dragon King’s Claw (The Dragons of Serai #17)

The grinding sound it made while in motion would have alerted anyone on the other side. So I gave up on being silent and put more effort into speed. Quickly but carefully, I moved through the passage. I continued to be aware of everything I encountered even as I dashed into the room beyond.

Bare walls. Soft light. A single chair. A glass box. Above it, a mechanism—pulleys and weights. A control panel at the bottom with a clock inset. Ticking away. With every tick sand flowed out of a funnel above the glass box. I rushed forward to inspect the panel and the contraption it controlled.

Because I wouldn't be able to save the boy if I looked at him.

One glance had been enough to see the fear in his tear-soaked eyes.

The way he clutched his blanket. How he trembled against the back of the box while a stream of sand fell before him, slowly filling the glass container.

A glass coffin. That's what it would become if I didn't stop that sand.

The hourglass has been turned. Sand is running out.

Damn him! It was Hallaxgral's way of telling me that the boy was already in danger.

“You're going to be all right.” The King pressed a hand against the glass.

I didn't hear a response. Which meant that the boy couldn't hear us. He didn't know if we were friends or foes. It didn't matter. All that mattered was stopping the sand.

The clock wasn't keeping time, it was counting down. I knew at a glance that if I had waited to look for the boy, I wouldn't have had enough time to save him. It was a precise device and would have smothered the child at eight the following evening.

“What are you doing with that thing? I'll just break the glass.” The King pulled back a fist.

“No!” I held out a hand.

He lowered it. “Why?”

“Do you really think this madman would make it that easy?” I pointed at the seam of the glass box where thin wires exited the glass and ran back to another device.

“I don't know what that is, but I'm betting it's a bomb of some sort. Either that or breaking the glass will trigger something that will kill the child.”

The King peered at the wires. “Then let's cut the wires first.”

“Do you understand what we're dealing with? This man may be insane, but he's also a genius. And this is his game. I have to play by the rules, Tor'rien. If I don't, I lose. And that means, his targets die.”

The King blinked. “You just called me by my name.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

He smirked. “Focus, Tekhan. You need to figure out how to open this box. And I know you will.”

I sighed, rolled my eyes, and focused. There were no keyholes. I inspected the device, moving around it as much as I could. I looked over the pulleys. I looked over everything. The only thing that stuck out to me was the clock face. It wasn't normal. Instead of having twelve hours, it had thirteen.

I sat down before it. “Why thirteen?” My mind spun, diving through information that most people would find odd and unnecessary.

Thirteen. What was the relevance? No significance to me.

To the King maybe? What did thirteen mean to Dragons?

I couldn't recall anything. What about Ricarri?

Ricarri! They believed the number thirteen was bad luck. Bad. Luck.

My hands hovered over the clock face. Thirteen was the key, but how?

Did I move both hands to the number? That seemed too easy.

What had the note said? Bad luck on this one.

You almost figured it out in time. Unfortunately, you were late to dinner.

Maybe you'll be faster tomorrow. Bad luck on this one .

You almost figured it out in time . Maybe you'll be faster tomorrow .

Bad luck would equal thirteen. One was obvious.

Time, also obvious—just a confirmation of what the key was.

Dinner was more complicated. It would have to be a Ricarri reference as well.

When did they usually eat their last meal?

I remembered thinking it was too early for dinner.

When was it? Five! Ricarri liked to eat at five in the evening, especially if they had children.

And then there was tomorrow. What did that mean?

My hands trembled as the answer came to me. What if I was wrong? I was rarely wrong. Go with my instincts.

I turned the hour hand to thirteen. It clicked.

I turned it to the number one. It clicked.

Clenching my hand, I prayed I got the time right and pushed the hand to the number five.

Another click! Finally, I pushed the hand around the face again to make a full circle.

But that was only half a day. So, I took it around again to bring it back to one and take it into “tomorrow.” The click that came this time was much louder.

A whirring started. The tek, tek, tek of the clock stopped.

The sand petered out. And then, with the victorious chiming of a bell, the front panel of the box opened.

“You did it!” the King yanked me into an embrace and kissed me.

It was so wrong. A terrified little boy was watching us.

But it felt natural. I kissed him back. Just a few seconds to taste him again.

This time, without the blood. Just the man.

And damn me, but he was just as addictive without liquid life enhancing him.

I clutched at those strong shoulders and realized it was partially relief that had me abandoning my boundaries.

With that thought, I pushed him away and caught my breath.

A child's sniffle brought me fully back.

“It's all right.” I rushed over to the little Ricarri boy and held out a hand. “Your daddy sent us. See my badge?” I motioned at the emblem on my coat. “I'm a claw with the Talons. And this man is the King. We're here to save you.”

The boy looked from me to the King and back, his face gleaming with tears. Then he launched himself at me.

I caught him with an “oof” sound. He looked small, but he was still a Ricarri, and that made him solid.

“It's all right now. I've got you.” I stood up and hurried out of the hidden room before we sprung another trap and got stuck in there. Hallaxgral would have a plan in place in the event that I won the game, and I didn’t think it would be a cake and a pat on the back.

So, I didn't stop or even pause when I entered the corridor.

Instead, I rushed up the stairs to the first floor.

Past paper-making machines, I ran, toward the light of the glass doors set into the front of the building.

The King got there first and opened the doors for us.

I barreled out into the silent street and kept running.

I ran and ran and ran with that child in my arms, even when my breath burned my lungs.

The little boy clung to me, his wide eyes on the King who ran beside us.

I didn't stop until we reached the Hall of Talons.

Only then, when we were safely inside, did I fall to my knees and rock the little boy.

He had to know he was safe, but he was still crying.

I didn't blame him. It was scary. I was scared.

My fear had probably encouraged his. He knew by my reaction that we weren't away from the bad guy until I stopped.

“I want my mommy,” the child finally spoke.

“She's coming,” I said. “She'll be here soon with your daddy and sister. You're safe now. You're safe, I promise.”

I looked up and saw that we were surrounded by Talons.

They gaped at the odd sight of me holding a child.

But they weren't just there to gawk. These people knew me.

They knew that this wasn't normal behavior, and they were smart enough to deduce that protecting me might be a good idea.

So, after a quick look, they turned to face out, hands going to their swords.

I had never felt more like one of them or more proud to be one of them.

It was a touching sight indeed—all those talons guarding me, the child, and the King against whatever might come.

And I'm not a man easily touched. The King could attest to that.

It wasn't long before the circle broke, but not by force. The talons parted willingly. Through the gap came the General, his wife, and their daughter, all three of them calling the boy's name.

“Rellen!”

I will never forget that name or the way the General bent over me to take his son, but before he lifted the boy from my arms, he pressed his forehead against mine in silent gratitude.

Nor will I forget how that boy clung to me even as he reached for his father.

Or how his mother wailed in relief and kissed my cheeks.

I will not forget the dazed look on his sister's face as she clung to her mother.

And I will never, ever forget the way the Dragon King smiled at me—with pride, adoration, and something tender that I couldn't name.

Hero. The word circulated, working its way deeper into the Hall.

I couldn't take anymore. It was all too much.

The day too long. Too exhausting to my mind and body.

I used the crowd as cover while more and more talons poured out of the corridors to see what was going on.

They moved past me without realizing that I had brought this into the Hall of Talons.

In every definition. I was not a hero. I was the target.

What did that make me beyond responsible? Was I a villain? No. But I was far from heroic. And I couldn't handle hearing the word. It turns out that all it made me was tired. So, I snuck through the corridors and out a side door.

It was time to go home.