Page 103 of The Artist and the Dragon

“Is it?” Malik asked.

The boy turned, eyes widening. Could he truly have missed him? “You are not the Dragon!” He pointed an accusing finger at him.

“Am I not?” Malik crossed his arms. “How curious, I thought I was.”

“It’s a trick!” Nevitt yelled. “I’ve met him, and he is not you. You’ve done nothing but sign your own death warrant!” The man pulled the sword strapped to his waist. “You were always in the way,” he snarled, as if Malik was something he’d stepped in. “He’ll be relieved to know I’ve removed you from his path.”

Now this was getting far more interesting.

The sword shook as Nevitt held it aloft. Poor fool. He certainly had more experience wielding a cigar or quill than a sword. He wasn’t even holding it right. Yet, somehow, he’d become a close ally of the Dragon. Curious.

“Help me, you idiots!” Nevitt shouted to the others, not bothering to look back at them.

“Such disregard for family or rank,” Malik tsked. “Though … I don’t think they’ll be much good for anything now.”

He gestured toward the small cluster of men still gathered around the seating area. Chairs fell back and tumblers were dropped as the final step of Malik’s plot went off without a hitch. Lord Osric stood, swaying on his feet, gaping. Blood ran from his nose and coated his hands. Another man already slumped in his seat, motionless. Lord Buell’s face was purpling at an alarming rate.

Nevitt turned, his features paling. “You! What did you do to them?”

Malik wiped at the trickle of blood running from his own nose. “What I must to protect those I love.”

“I—” The young man looked toward the door, but Malik had already blocked the way.

“Now, then.” He pulled two of his concealed daggers and angled them at the newcomer. “Finally, someone with the information I need.”

Chapter 43

Bronwyn

BronwynstillstaredatMr. Yarwood’s letter as if it could somehow save her from the realization crashing down on her.

“It can’t be,” she said for about the tenth time.

“I’m afraid it is true, Miss Kinsley.” His voice held a touch of softness now, more than she’d ever heard from him. “I believe I did tell you to beware the prince? I’ve had my suspicions for some time.”

Goddess. He had, hadn’t he? It felt like so long ago, but really it had been mere days. Bronwyn clutched at her chest as if she could hold together the pieces of her that were breaking apart.

Malik. He’d cursed her sister. He sought Drystan’s throne.

Yes, he’d been present for so many accidents but never involved. At least, she hadn’t thought he was. He often stayed with her, protected her … or kept her from learning the truth? Was that it?

The dawning horror chilled her to the bone.

She’d never felt more complete than in the last few days, but maybe she hadn’t found her missing piece. Instead, she’d let in a monster who had destroyed her from within. It was her greatest fear.

He knew that.

Yet … yet…

Bronwyn bit her bottom lip hard to hold back a sob. Her teeth cut so deep she could taste the metallic tang of blood.

No, she could not break. She could be her own strength. She was a strong woman. She could get through this. However much it hurt, she would not—could not—fall apart.

Mr. Yarwood was speaking, asking her something. Had she handed him back the letter or had he taken it? She couldn’t be sure.

Bit by bit, the words started to come back, to register: “…Only figure out what Briar Rose was.”

Briar Rose. She’d heard it before. Part of a code. Something Malik had been working on with Drystan. Had he figured it out?

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