Page 86 of Feralheart

Why had he been in the garden at all? He’d followed me like I mattered.

I didn’t.

The cut on my arm had stopped bleeding, but it burned where my sleeve rubbed against it. A shallow slice, barely worth calling a wound.

They’d tried to kill me, and I’d almost let them.

I washed and dried the blade, the black dragon-bone catching the light. Wicked and beautiful. A weapon I barely knew how to hold. I’d swung it in desperation and gotten lucky.

Next time, luck wouldn’t be enough.

I slid the blade back into its sheath and flexed my fingers until they steadied.

My reflection stared back at me from the mirror, a person with the same face. Except I’d crossed a line tonight I couldn’t uncross, and the taint under my nails proved it.

I turned and walked out into the corridor.

The prince stood in the shadows down the hall. He didn’t speak, just watched me pass with an expression I couldn’t read. I didn’t acknowledge him. Whatever debt I owed for him killing those men would have to wait until after I’d survived tomorrow.

If I survived tomorrow.

The ballroom swallowed me back in. Music and crystal and laughter too shrill. Every lord could be reaching for a weapon. Every lady could’ve paid for those men in the garden.

I made myself walk to the food tables and pick up a plate. Roasted fowl sat in its juices, and all I could hear was the wet sound Fenian’s blade had made punching through ribs.

I set the plate down.

The thin man appeared at my elbow. “You’re dismissed for the evening. Follow me.”

The others had already gathered near the servants’ entrance. Reece’s shoulders sagged with exhaustion. Kerrel stared at the floor. Lyndie leaned against the wall, rubbing her face.

We followed the man through corridors, up narrow stairs and down hallways until I lost track of which direction we’d come from.

The thin man stopped outside a door. “You two.” He pointed at Lyndie and me. “This one.”

He opened the door and gestured us inside the bedroom with the shared bathing chamber between.

Lyndie’s bright smile curved into something real. She gestured for me to enter ahead of her, and I did.

The room wasn’t much bigger than the open room at my cottage. Two beds sat against opposite walls with a washbasin between them. A single sat window above, high enough we’d need a chair to see out.

A canvas sack had been placed on each bed.

“Provisions for the Scorching,” the man said. His gaze slid to me and held for too long. “You’ll need to sign your papers first thing after breakfast. Don’t keep the clerk waiting.”

His tone made me stiffen my spine, though this didn’t feel like a threat. More like a reminder that I was being watched at all times—just like the others.

He left, closing the door behind him.

I tested the lock and deadbolt, grateful both worked. The prickling sensation on my skin finally eased.

I turned to find Lyndie already sitting on her bed, upending her sack.

Supplies tumbled across the blanket. She held each one up like a treasure. A bag of dried meat. Two small blocks of hard cheese. A water flask. Bandages. A tiny tin of salve. Extra clothing—leathers like real dragon riders wore.

“Look at this,” she said with a touch of awe. “They gave us everything.”

I went to my bed and opened my sack more slowly, finding the same supplies, though the water flask was larger. More bandages. The salve jar was the size of a child’s palm instead of my thumb.