House of Dragons

by K. A. Linde

  “There is?”

  Gelryn just turned away from her and folded himself up to sleep. Kerrigan sighed and then headed back down the endless stairs. She didn’t know who was waiting for her, but she couldn’t get over the giddy feeling of knowing that she was a spiritcaster. Not just a strange girl who needed to hide her abilities, but she was also from a line of great workers. The first in a thousand years.

  When she stepped off the last stair, Fordham turned to face her. He looked every inch the prince she had first seen him as. Tall and broad with the soft black silk and thick silver embroidering. The silver House of Shadows seal on his breast. But now, she saw so much more than that. Not just the pampered prince, but also her friend. The man who had stood by her side through everything, who had kissed her after a night of poetry, who had told her he was cursed and that they could never be together.

  Her heart panged at the sight of him. They had walked the path together through the tournament and come out on the other side. But they couldn’t walk this path, the one she actually wanted. He might have gone out on a limb for her to have her join the House of Shadows, but it didn’t change anything between them. And she could see that in his swirling gray eyes, the same color as that insufferable orb.

  “I heard Gelryn was back and thought I might find you here,” Fordham said, his hands slipping into the pockets of his pants.

  “Are you going to chide me for not going on my morning run?” she joked. She fell into step beside him as they walked away from the dark depths and into the main opening to look out over the city of Kinkadia.

  “You needed the sleep.”

  “Not even going to volley with me. This must be serious.”

  Fordham frowned and ducked his chin. “I’m sorry for offering you the spot in the House of Shadows.”

  “Sorry? You saved me, Ford.”

  He shook his head. “They were right. No half-Fae should want to have a place in the Dark Court.”

  “But I want to.”

  “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

  “Then tell me.”

  He looked off into the distance, resigned. “I can’t take you back there.”

  “Fordham, if I’m with you, then I’ll be fine. Together, we’re unstoppable.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “How can I when you’re speaking in riddles?” Kerrigan asked.

  “I don’t know how well I will be received back home.”

  “Why? You came here and got a dragon. You’re part of the Society. The first time in a thousand years, the House of Shadows has representation in the government. They have to be pleased. It has to look like the first step to rejoining the world.”

  A lock of hair fell onto his forehead and blew in the breeze as his face hardened further and further with every word she said. “I thought that would be enough to regain my place there, but now, I’m not sure.”

  “Regain your place?” she asked in confusion. “Is this about your curse?”

  “No,” he said forlornly. “I’m not who you think I am, Kerrigan.”

  “You’re exactly who I think you are, Ford. I’ve spent the last month with you. I know precisely who you are.”

  “I lied.”

  “About what? You cannot lie with actions.” She forced him to look at her. “I know who you are.”

  “I was exiled,” Fordham bit out. “That’s why I came to get a dragon and join the Society. I’m no longer welcome in the House of Shadows, and I should never have brought you into this with me.”

  Exiled. Gods!

  “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, the hurt seeping into her voice despite everything.

  His face went dark. “Why should I have told you?”

  She took a step back at the viciousness in his voice. “Ford…”

  “It was a mistake to invite you to join the House of Shadows, and if you come home with me… I can’t guarantee your safety.”

  “Guarantee my safety? Since when have you ever been able to do that?” she snapped back. “I’m the one who has been running straight into danger. How is this any different?”

  He met her own hardened gaze. “Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. We’ll leave tomorrow at dawn..”

  Then, he strode away from her, leaving her standing before the opening to the mouth of the cave with more questions than answers. She had never dreamed that she would be able to join the Dragon Society, and now, here she was. She had done the impossible. She could survive Fordham’s exile and the House of Shadows and Society training with the same perseverance.

  Nothing was going to hold her back now.

  55

  The Red Mask

  Isa

  Isa slunk through the deepest, darkest shadows of Draco Mountain. She curled into those shadows, and they claimed her as their own. She passed the sleeping guard. The nightshade draught she had given them all had worked wonders, but she wasn’t careless, and she wanted to make sure that no one else had come down to see why the screams had ceased. The dungeons were a playroom for the depraved.

  She snatched the large brass keys off the guard and then moved silently down the path through the reeking corridors. Finally, she stopped before the last door, the most recently occupied. The man who had once held such esteem was nothing more than a disgrace.

  Basem Nix was bolted upright to the dungeon wall. His arms hung limp from where his hands were secured high above his head in magicked manacles. He could barely hold his weight after the beating he’d received from the Guard as they tried to extract his secrets. He’d even pissed himself in the process.

  “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk,” Isa crooned.

  Basem jolted at the sound of her voice. “Who’s there?”

  “A phantom,” she breathed as she came into the light, her black mask covering her face.

  He shuddered. “So… he sent you after all?”

  “My father is nothing if not thorough.”

  “He’s a bastard.”

  She wagged her finger at him. Though she detested the man who had raised her and was doing everything in her power to escape this wretched hellhole, no one else could speak ill of him in her presence. “That’s not nice, Basem. I could get you out of here.”

  She held the keys up as bait. He greedily lunged forward, as she had known he would.

  “Then get me out of here!”

  “First, I want to know everything you told the Society about our little organization. What did you spill other than your own piss?”

  He glared at her. It would have been more formidable if he weren’t chained and one eye wasn’t swollen shut. “I didn’t tell them shit.”

  “Persuade me.”

  “They beat me near to death, and I didn’t tell them anything. I let them think that I was the leader of the Red Masks. I didn’t even give them information on the cache of weapons.”

  “That’s good. What about my identity?”

  “As if they’d be able to find you.”

  She grinned devilishly. “True. What about headquarters?”

  “No.”

  “Our numbers?”

  “No!”

  “Our plans for the future?” Not that she thought Basem was high enough up to actually know future plans, but she let him think he did.

  “No! I’m a Red Mask through and through. I swore a blood oath to the Father.”

  “Then I believe it is time for that to be called in,” another voice joined in.

  Isa slowly disappeared back into the shadows at the sound of her father. Terror shot through her, as it always did when he seemed to materialize out of nothing but thin air. But Basem… Basem was now shaking. A putrid smell came from him, and it was clear that he was pissing himself again in fear. He was utterly broken. There was no redemption in him.

  Her father appeared then in the dark black robes with red stitching for the highest-ranking members of their organization. Covering his face was the original red mask. A metal alloy that molded to
his face when worn and could only be removed by the wearer. So, even in death, his identity would be obscured.

  “Father,” she gasped, sinking to a knee and reverently bowing her head. “I thought you wanted me to finish the job.”

  Her father held out his hand, and she carefully placed hers in his. He slapped it away as if she were no more than a fly. She retracted in haste.

  “The keys, girl,” he said with lethal calm.

  She swallowed and passed him the guard’s keys. “Of course, Father.”

  The leader of the Red Masks pressed the key into the hole and turned it. The door creaked open, offering Basem the first taste of freedom. But Isa knew better than to think that her father would offer forgiveness. It had been a test. He had wanted her to get the information he required from Basem. To see how far his treachery went and then come here himself to enact judgment.

  “You have disappointed me, Basem,” the Red Mask said, stepping into the cell, carefully avoiding the pool of liquid coming out of Basem’s pant leg.

  “I never meant to, Father. I was only doing your work. The work of the Red Masks.”

  “False. You were doing your own work. Going against the girl and enacting revolution. I never called for these things. The timing had to be perfect, and you’ve ruined years of work.”

  “I’m sorry, Father. I’m so sorry.”

  “You were a brute, Basem. Nothing more. I gave you everything, and this is how you repay me.”

  “I can do better. I swear I can.”

  Her father dismissively waved his hand. All three of them knew that Basem could be no more or less than what he was. He had been a risk from the start, but he had the zeal. He wanted humans’ and half-Faes’ heads on a platter. He wanted to eradicate the diseased breed. But his zeal didn’t equate to intelligence. And he had proven it with his stupidity in the Artisan Village.

  “I can give you one more chance, Basem.”

  “Yes, thank you, Father. Thank you.”

  “You must forget your vengeance for the girl Kerrigan. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, of course. I can do that, Father.”

  Isa was shocked. She’d never thought her father would offer mercy. Not to someone like Basem when she had never received it herself.

  “I just require one other thing.”

  “Anything,” Basem gasped.

  “A sacrifice,” the Red Mask said.

  “Of course. Yes, I offer whatever you require.” Basem was in tears now, wet pouring down his face as he stared at her father with reverence. His last salvation.

  The Red Mask scoffed, and then as swift as Isa had ever seen, he sliced open Basem’s throat. Basem gargled on his own blood for a few seconds, gasping for breath, but there was nothing he could do, tied up as he was. There would have been nothing he could do regardless. No mercy. Basem had offered himself up as the sacrifice, and her father had taken it.

  He cleaned the knife on Basem’s shirt and then slipped it back into his sleeve. He stepped out of the cell and turned to face her. “Come, daughter. We have much work to do.”

  Isa followed in her father’s wake, knowing she had no hope of escape now. Not without the money from Basem. But she had to find a way, or one day, she would be the one with the knife at her throat, and her father never showed mercy.

  Thank you so much for reading HOUSE OF DRAGONS!

  I hope you loved Kerrigan’s story and of course, Fordham! If you want to see more of Kerrigan and Fordham, the sequel to the first Royal Houses book, HOUSE OF SHADOWS, is coming October 2021! Preorder now!

  If you loved House of Dragons, meet Cyrene, the human who entered the tournament and started all this madness, in her own Ascensions series. Grab book one, THE AFFILIATE for free now!

  Sign up for my newsletter to find out when I have new books!

  You can also join my Facebook group, Ascension Series, for exclusive giveaways and sneak peeks of future fantasy books.

  Thank you for all of your help in spreading the word, including telling a friend. I greatly appreciate every reader and hope that you will consider leaving a review. Reviews help readers find books that they will enjoy! Please leave a review on your favorite book site.

  * * *

  Turn the page to read a sneak peek of THE AFFILIATE now…

  The Affiliate

  Prologue

  “Let them in.” King Maltrier pulled in a shuddering breath and then coughed raggedly for a minute.

  “Your Majesty, are you sure?” his longtime servant asked. He had the same relentless attitude that he always had, but he sounded more earnest than ever, as if he could will the King not to die.

  “Get them, Solmis. Now.”

  Solmis walked wearily across the darkened room. He heaved open the weathered door to the King’s bedchamber and spoke to the pair of guards standing watch, “Get the boys. The King wishes to speak with them.”

  One guard punched his right fist to the left side of his chest in a formal Byern salute and then walked into the outer chamber. A moment later, he returned with two young boys with the same dark hair and blue-gray eyes that marked them as Dremylon heirs.

  “This way, boys,” Solmis said. He was one of the few people who could get away with calling the Princes boys.

  “Thank you, Solmis,” Edric, the crown prince, said with a smile and the confidence of someone who never wanted for anything.

  The second son, Kael, pushed past them both, mimicking his brother’s stride. His face was set in a scowl. Some of his youthful exuberance had already drained out of him, and in its place was cynicism from losing a mother too young and from having a sick father, but mostly, it was from being second.

  “Father,” he called out.

  “Come here, Kael,” the King said. He patted the side of the bed. “You, too, Edric.”

  Edric walked to his side and settled into a chair while Kael hoisted himself up onto the bed.

  With Edric being fifteen and Kael at thirteen, both were much too young for this kind of loss.

  The King had seen his youngest, Jesalyn, earlier that day. She had cried the entire time, understanding what was coming and knowing she could do nothing to stop it. In tears, she had run out of the room and straight into Consort Shamira’s arms. She had all but raised the child after his wife, Queen Adelaida’s unceremonious death.

  But he couldn’t waste thoughts on that now. He was tiring with every passing moment. The boys…they had to know.

  “Solmis,” the King said, regaining a shred of strength.

  His servant, his old friend, left the room, giving them the privacy they needed.

  “Father,” Kael repeated impatiently.

  “I’m dying,” King Maltrier said.

  Silence followed the declaration. Kael looked aghast. Edric tried to hide the shock of what he knew would be coming next.

  “Edric will succeed me.”

  “I’m too young to be king,” Edric whispered.

  “Fifteen is not too young.” The King thought that was questionable, but he would not dispute it with his son. Edric had to be strong. He had to rule. “You have the Consort and my High Order to help and guide you.”

  Edric swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Father.”

  “Trust in yourself, and all will go as planned. I have formed an alliance with Aurum for Jesalyn to be queen and another with Tiek, who has offered you their young Princess Kaliana. Honor these matches to keep our people safe. A strong king is one with an heir.”

  The King leaned over and coughed into a handkerchief for several minutes. His throat was raw, and his lungs ached. He didn’t know how much more he could take, but he had to pass on their legacy.

  But could he put that burden on them?

  He had to decide now.

  No. He would tell only one. He would pass it on to the boy most like himself—the one who could handle the knowledge, the one destined to rule.

  The King turned to one of his sons and said, “I need to speak with your brother alone for a
moment.”

  His eyebrows knit together as hurt and confusion clouded his features. “But, Father—”

  “Go,” King Maltrier commanded.

  He clenched his jaw, stood, and left without another word.

  It was the last time the King would ever see his son.

  The door closed roughly behind him.

  King Maltrier turned to his other son. “You know the story of our ancestor Viktor Dremylon.”

  He nodded, but the King continued anyway.

  “Viktor struck down the evil Doma court that subjugated our people. Then he claimed the throne for himself with the sole purpose of ruling in a fair and just system.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “History is told by the winners.”

  “What do you mean?” He tilted his head and looked concerned.

  Perhaps he thought the King had already lost his mind.

  “Viktor did destroy the Doma court, and he ushered in a new era of Dremylon rule that has persisted two thousand years up until you today. But what is not in the stories is that the Doma court had ruled because they had powerful…abilities.”

  His son laughed like his father was telling a fairy tale.

  “Listen!” the King snapped. That sent him into another fit, and his son helped him sit up, so he could cough into his handkerchief.

  When King Maltrier leaned back again, the King saw blood had coated the white silk.

  “Father, you should rest.”

  “I need to tell you—” He was interrupted by another cough. “—the truth. Viktor beat the Doma court and the most powerful leader they had ever known, Domina Serafina, by stealing magic—dark magic, a magic that cursed Viktor and all his ancestors. It cursed me…and you…the entire Dremylon line.”

  His son remained silent and still. The King had gained his attention.

  “Now, I must leave you with this, Son.” The King retrieved a heavy gold key from around his neck and placed it in his son’s hands. “A lockbox in the wall in my closet contains Viktor Dremylon’s writings. Collect it, and tell no one. You must continue our legacy. Anyone who has Doma blood and discovers their magic must be eliminated. They threaten our power, your power. They threaten the very world we live in.”