Page 13 of The Dragon King's Assassin

“Then answer my question. Why this career?” He started cutting into his meat—he always had steak for breakfast.

“Why this?” I repeated. “I don't know. It's not as if I grew up with a desire to sneak into homes and kill people.” I thought back, really considering his question. “My family was poor. I've always lived in the Broken.”

“The Broken?”

“Yeah, the Broken. You've never heard it called that, have you?” I snorted in the way that everyone from the Broken does when some rich fucker says they've never heard of the place. Not that people from the Broken meet a lot of rich fuckers.

“No, I don't know what you're speaking of.” He set his utensils down. “Where is this place?”

“It's the poorest part of Mhavenna. The southeast section along the wall. Bracken Road curves around it, separating it from the rest of the city and the difference between one side of the road and the other is really fucking obvious. One side is Bracken where people eat regularly and the other is—”

“Broken,” the King finished. “Where they don't.”

“Yes.” I lifted my chin as if being from the Broken was something to be proud of. “I'm not surprised you've never been there. It's not a place fit for royalty.”

“As the King, I know all of my city. I have been to the area you call the Broken. I just didn't know it had a name.”

I lifted my brow again, this time in surprise. He had been to the Broken? When? A visit from the King would have been noted by, oh, everyone.

“I assure you, I have seen the derelict buildings and shanties,” the King said to my look. “I have even sent the Scales to offer assistance to the residents. But they were turned away every time.”

I snorted. “Yeah, social workers aren't welcome in the Broken. It's a funny thing, the pride of the poor. You have to be really desperate before you take a handout. We'd sooner steal.”

The King shook his head. “I don't understand that. I can't help people who won't accept my help.”

“I didn't know you sent the Scales.” I stared at him for a second, wondering if I would have done anything differently. Or if I would have tried at all. Honestly, I was impressed that he even knew the Broken existed. “That's . . . well, it's good that you tried. Maybe you should send them more regularly. There are some people desperate enough to accept their help. Though, usually, those people will go to the Halls of Scales to seek charity instead of waiting for it to come to them.”

“Yes, so I've been told.” He scowled down at his steak a second before looking up at me. “You were telling me of your family.”

“Yes, uh, we couldn't afford any of the vocational schools. I've been working since I was, oh, five years old. I'd do odd jobs. Whatever I could find. We struggled but got by. Then . . .”

“Then?”

“You don't want to hear this.” I looked back at the window. “It's a common enough story and not suitable for breakfast entertainment.”

“I'm not looking for entertainment,” he said softly. “I want to know what brought you to me.”

Brought you to me. The words seemed intimate. Enough that I looked back at him. He lifted his brows as if daring me to answer.

“All right,” I said. “But it's not a pretty story.”

“As long as it's the truth, I want to hear it.”

“My family died in the Ricarri Riots.”

“The Ricarri Riots? That was ten years ago. From what I recall, the Ricarri were protesting the unsafe working conditions in a light orb factory.” He motioned at the chandelier above him. “Something about spells misfiring. The protest got out of hand, and the factory was destroyed, but I was told that no one was hurt.”

I grimaced. “No one important was hurt. We lived in a tiny apartment above that factory, along with several other families. The Ricarri used their metal magic to bring the building down. I wasn't home. I was working, doing some carpentry for a rich man who didn't want to pay the price a professional would demand. But my family was there, all of them. They were crushed to death along with many of our neighbors.”

“I'm very sorry, Lock.”

“My mother, two sisters, and younger brother. All gone dying while I hammered nails.”

“What about your father?”

“He left when I was six. I don't know what happened to him, and I don't give a fuck.”

The King's brow furrowed. “How old are you?”

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