Page 45 of House of Embers
Kerrigan laughed. “Well, do we trust Dozan’s judgment?”
“He trusted you before anyone else even listened to a word from your lips. He saw the real you first.”
“He did,” Kerrigan said quietly. Where would she have beenwithout the confidence of the king of the Wastes? Dead in a gutter, likely. Yes, she trusted him, and he trusted Wynter, who had proven herself time and time again. But sometimes Wynter driving a knife through Fordham’s side and nearly killing him niggled at the back of Kerrigan’s mind. “She’s playing Barron.”
Fordham nodded. “She’s good at that. We’ll get her assessment tomorrow. Tonight, we have to survive this party.”
Kerrigan leaned her head against Fordham’s chest as he twirled her around the room. She could hear the soft thrum of his heart, the beat that connected her to him. All she wanted to do was leave this stupid party with its stupid politics behind. They had more important work to do tonight, but here they were instead. Waste of time.
They were still spinning around the room hours later when a hand clamped onto Fordham’s shoulder. “Might I cut in?”
Kerrigan glanced up to find Prescott drunkenly careening toward them. Her stomach twisted at the sight of him. He wasn’t doing all right, no matter what he said. But he had volunteered for this, and they had gotten the invitation early because of his involvement with Barron. She hoped that whatever Fordham was about to do wouldn’t push Prescott further down this dark road.
“I thought I told you to go home,” Fordham snapped.
Prescott laughed. “You were joking.”
“I was not.”
But Prescott seemed to not hear him as he chuckled and leaned forward. The red wine of his drink cascaded down the front of her dress. Kerrigan swore and jerked back, watching the red liquid seep into the beautiful silver of her gown—an irreplaceable silk that would never be clean again.
“Prescott!” she gasped. An attendant rushed forward to hand her something to try to clean herself up with, but it wasn’t going to work.
“You insufferable idiot!” Fordham raged. “All you’ve ever beengood for is getting in the way. You hide behind your cheeky little smile, but we all know the brains came from Arbor, who you let die.”
Prescott jerked back at the insinuation. A hush fell over the crowd at those words.
“And because you never had an original thought in your head, no one even questioned whether they should kill you too,” Fordham said. His shadows licked at his hands, and Prescott’s eyes widened in alarm. Fordham’s voice was low and dangerous as he said, “You might be family, but you bring the Ollivier name shame.”
The shock on Prescott’s face was enough to send a knife through Kerrigan’s heart. It was all true. He’d sat back and let Arbor do the scheming, and he’d survived her death because no one had cared much about him. She hated for him to have to hear it—hated more that Fordham had been forced to say it, even if it was all to plan.
“Ford,” she whispered, putting her hand to his sleeve. “I don’t know…”
“Leave,” Fordham told Prescott. “And don’t show your face again until you learn decorum.”
Prescott practically fled from the room. The rows of sycophants feeding on his humiliation, reveling in his pain and their ruler’s wickedness, didn’t see the pain in Fordham’s eyes. Not just because of what he had said to Prescott but because of how easy it was to revert to the spoiled prince he had once been.
She tightened her grip on his arm, trying to bring him back to the present. “We too should go,” she said, gesturing to her dress. “We need a change of clothing.”
Fordham whisked her from the room without a second thought. Her shoulders relaxed as she left the cesspool. Fordham blew out a heavy breath. They still had a few hours before daylight. They needed to get changed and up to the aerie as soon as possible if they wanted to train and reach their allies yet tonight.
“I hate myself,” he whispered.
“You did exactly what we planned.”
“It was easy.”
“I know,” she whispered, threading their fingers together.
“I hope we both can regain our souls by the end of this.” He brought her hand up to his lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles. “My queen.”
They turned down the next long corridor. The lamps burned low as they traipsed in. Fordham opened his mouth to say something else when a dagger flew through the air. The rasp of the blade being drawn alerted them, and at the last second, he threw up a shield to block the movement. It hit the magic an inch away from his heart before falling harmlessly to the ground.
Kerrigan reached for her own shield, unsure where the knife had come from or how many assailants there were. Another blade flew at her back, and she whipped around as it sliced into her shield. She yelped at the spark of pain as the blade nearly cut through her magic.
The House of Shadows had used oleander-tipped arrows in the Battle of Lethbridge, taking out more than one dragon with the poison. It seemed they were back to their old tricks. If that touched her, she didn’t think any healing could save her.
“Position,” Fordham said, his voice going low and rough.
