Page 100 of The Artist and the Dragon

“I’ll just … take a walk,” she said. “If my carriage returns before me, have them wait here.”

The men asked further questions. One might have offered to go with her. She wasn’t sure, could barely hear them over the thoughts and emotions roaring like a gale inside her.

It was a beautiful day: clear skies, an unseasonably cool breeze that was a balm against the heat as the sun rose higher in the sky. Birds chirped. People went about their business, oblivious to the tragedy nearby. It was the type of day Charlotte would have loved in the city that she called home. Yet it didn’t notice the hole her absence left in it. It was bitterly ironic.

Bronwyn hadn’t made it more than two blocks when a raised voice snared her attention.

“You there! Miss Kinsley!”

The sound of her name rooted her in place. Though she’d been looking ahead, her gaze was unfocused, or, rather, focused inward—everything given over to taking one breath after another and not losing herself to sorrow and shattered hopes.

As the world came back into focus, the sight that greeted her was of Mr. Yarwood marching toward her, his dark face set in a scowl, his brisk and determined pace in sharp contrast with his impeccable attire.

“What do you want?” Bronwyn snapped as he stopped feet from her and stared her down in a rage. Her tears dried up at once, burned away by her own fury as she crossed her arms and glared at him. Common courtesy be damned. He’d thrown that out the window in his approach, anyway.

“Did you know? Were you part of this, too?” he demanded.

“Part of what?” she scoffed. The man had lost his mind.

“Oh, go on, deny it,” he all but snarled. “He always had an eye for you, and you for him. My sister never had a chance, did she? Was it all a game?”

Bronwyn leaned back but refused to budge. “Your sister? What does Lady—”

“It was bad enough, breaking her heart, but this?” He’d had a folded piece of paper clutched in his hand and now he waved it in her face, nearly grazing her nose. “I hear the inspector is at the Davies’ manor. I’m on my way there to report this.”

“The inspector is a little busy this morning,” Bronwyn said coldly.

“He’ll make time for this,” Mr. Yarwood hissed.

“Doubtful.”

His eyes narrowed. “Inspector in your pocket, too, eh? Should have known as much.”

Bronwyn shook her head, at a loss.What in the Goddess’s name is he on about?“Sir, this isnotthe morning.”

She made to step around him, but he blocked her path, leaning down until he was right in her face. “Off to meet him now?”

The urge to punch him had never been quite so strong.

Then, something flashed across his features, and he drew back. “Or … do you truly not know?”

“Knowwhat?”

He took his time unfolding and smoothing the letter he clutched, a look of smug satisfaction on his face as he handed it over to her.

She scanned the first few lines, her brow knitting at the randomness of it all. “It’s nonsense.”

“It’s code.” He crossed his arms and stared down at her now, his features carefully even as if she was on trial and he was the judge deciding a sentence. “One used by the dragons.”

Her eyes flew wide. Immediately, she glanced around, looking to see who overheard, but no one was near. Almost like anyone nearby had gone out of their way to avoid them. Probably had.

Was that a confession? Was he a dragon?

“I see the damnation in your eyes.” His lip curled. “I’ve been trying to infiltrate their number for months.”

“To join them?” The words leapt from her tongue.

“To end them.” He held her gaze, unblinking. Where he’d been in a fury moments ago, now his eyes were full of cold resolution. Truth.

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