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“The knife,” she said, holding out her hand before he could say anything that would make Dozan not help them.
“You’re healed,” Fordham said.
“You actually seem pleased by that fact,” Dozan said, his words one second away from striking him down. “I wouldn’t have guessed that from your kind.”
Fordham looked at Dozan as if he were the scum under his boot. All of Dozan’s carefully worded criticisms of Fordham’s home and character came to the surface in that moment. He looked the imperious prince, hatred flaring across his features at being addressed by a lowly human. But what came out of his mouth…
“My kind or not, she was in my care,” he snarled at Dozan. “And thus, my responsibility.”
“You two can bicker all day if you’d like—after we figure out where that knife came from,” she snapped, stepping between them.
Fae prince versus human crime lord. She had a guess who would win that fight. Especially after seeing Fordham’s dark magic unleash against the assassin. She knew Dozan had tricks up his sleeve. He ruled here after all. But it wasn’t something she wanted to witness. Men!
Fordham slowly retrieved the knife from his cloak and passed it to Kerrigan.
“Thank you,” she said as she turned the blade in her palm. It was light, about eight inches long, and as sharp as death. The pommel wasn’t fancy, but it had a small bird engraved into the handle. “This is the knife the assassin tried to kill me with. Can you tell us who made it?”
Dozan gripped the handle and twirled the blade in his hand. Show-off. He’d always been skilled at blade work. Kerrigan had taken lessons in the mountain to try to catch up, but he stayed one step ahead of her. As infuriating as it was.
“Tendrille steel,” he said faintly.
“Well, that explains how she cut through my shield,” Kerrigan grumbled.
Tendrille was a pure metal found north in the heart of the Cascade Mountains. Legend said that when the dragons had been exiled from their homeland of Domara, the gods had cast them from the sky and to this world. That act left behind enough Tendrille to fill a mountain—the Holy Mountain. The dragons’ most sacred site and a place where Tendrille would never be mined.
Making it as precious as it was rare. It was the strongest substance on earth, light as a feather, and immune to magic. Most weapons were made of an alloy with just a small percentage of Tendrille. They couldn’t cut through shields, as this one surely had, but it made them strong and light and valuable.
“Whoever owned this is wealthy,” Dozan continued. “Must be to have this much Tendrille in this blade.” He frowned down at the bird sigil she had seen earlier. “And a raven on the handle.”
“What does that mean?” Fordham asked gruffly.
“A raven,” she whispered. “Like Rahllins’ men?”
“Indeed.”
Kerrigan saw Fordham’s look of confusion and explained, “Clare Rahllins is a rival gang and weapons dealer on the north side of the the Dregs. I didn’t think that she worked in Tendrille.”
“Nor did I,” Dozan said. “Interesting.”
“Do you think she sent the assassin?”
“It’s more likely that she sold this blade to whoever sent the assassin,” Dozan said.
“Could you find out who that is?”
Dozan’s sharp golden eyes met hers. A small smile spread across his sensual lips. His russet hair was almost brown in the dark lighting. “And what will you give me if I could?”
She should have seen it coming, and still, it felt like a punch to the gut. Healing her could be done for free or a small collection from her winnings. He had an incentive to keep his fighters alive. But information… well, that was something that came for a price.
“What do you want?” she asked with a frustrated sigh. Of course, it could never be this easy. Especially after she had rebuffed him earlier.
“A big fight with all the elements.”
She just met his triumphant stare. This was what he’d wanted from her for so long. He’d wanted to put her abilities on display in the ring and watch her best his opponents. Not any of these small peanuts fights she had been competing in the last year, but a high stakes, high profit fight. He wanted to use his little half-Fae girl to destroy anyone in her wake. He knew that she’d draw a crowd, that she’d bring him a lot of money, but she’d never wanted that. She hadn’t wanted the fame or the money or the target on her back.
“No yields. No tap-outs. A fight to the death.”
“Out of the question,” Fordham spat.
“Fine,” she ground out. “You get us the information. Help us figure out who is trying to kill me and why. And I will fight for you. One fight.”
Dozan held his hand out, and she put hers in his.
