Page 131 of To Kill a King

The cat turned to him and blinked, unimpressed. She tilted her head to the side, working his hand up until he scratched one side of her neck.

“You’re right,” he said. “I should probably just take their magic and be done with it. But if it works, and draws my wife out of whatever corner she’s hidden away in, it will be worth it.” He let his gaze drift off into the distance.

“Mrow?” A soft headbutt to his hand brought his focus back to the present.

He raised an eyebrow and resumed scratching her head. “Sorry.” He couldn’t believe Brooks had let Aliya get away. Again. Even after he’d imbued the man with a magestone and given him the ability to track her, she had still managed to escape.

The curly-haired mage had barely a wisp of power…she wouldn’t even fill a quarter of a whisperer on her own. He’d have to come up with a suitable punishment for Brooks. Nothing too permanent, but a warning he wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

After the man brought Aliya to him, of course. At least she was nearby, somewhere in town. He’d have her soon.

Malkov stared, unseeing, at the pile of documents on his desk. Tonight should be quite entertaining, if nothing else.

A deep boom followed by a loud roar shook the foundation of the castle.

He shook his head, pushing to his feet. There were no military exercises scheduled for today, so there was no cause for any explosions in the parade grounds. Ice twisted in his gut as his heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be the shadow dragon…that thing was trapped behind the best physical and magical locks his artificers could create. It must be a sudden thunderstorm.

Striding to the window, he glanced outside. The sky was perfectly clear and blue, not a cloud in sight.

Running his hand through his hair, he leaned out for a better view. Off to the north, in the port district, a cloud of black smoke and flames rose above the rooftops.

His knees went weak. Thank goodness…the shadow dragon wasn’t loose. Some idiot merchant or worker had improperly stored something, resulting in a fire. It had better not spread to the warehouse his army’s supplies were stored in. They were going to be short enough on food in the next few weeks as it was.

The warehouses were close enough to the river, it would be but a few moments before the dockworkers and city guard brought the flames under control. There was nothing for him to worry about.

He stroked his chin with a thumb and forefinger.

Perhaps he would chat with Garrick, his Master Artificer, and see if they could add another layer of protection around the shadow dragon’s prison. Just to assuage his concern.

He turned back to his desk and the missives in a tidy pile on the right side. With a sigh, he shook his head. He may as well get these done before Brooks presented Aliya to him, so he could take his time with her lovely magic tonight. Groaning, he settled back into his seat.

A horn rang out, three short bursts, coming from the far side of the city. The echoes still reverberated as another three blasts sounded.

An alarm. Damn. What now?

He rose from the chair and glanced back out the window. The horn came from the Eastern Gate. Since his window faced northwest, he’d learn nothing from here, and sending a page to discover the source of the alarm and report back would take too long. “Why must I do everything myself?”

“Mrow?” Shadow glanced up where she lounged.

“Because good help is hard to find in these trying times,” he told her.

She yawned and closed her eyes.

Oh, to be a cat.

“Guards!” Malkov slung his cloak over his shoulders and stepped into the hallway. “Ready my carriage.” The sentry scuttled off to carry the message. At least he had one servant who still knew how to do his job.

Drawing his hood over his face, Malkov hauled himself up into the coach a handful of minutes later. “To the Eastern Gate. As fast as you can.”

The door shut behind him, and he jostled as the horses lurched forward. The three horns sounded again.

His driver took him to the outer border of the noble district. The bells were much louder now and echoed from the other gates.

The carriage rolled to a stop.

He stuck his head out the window. “What’s the delay?”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I don’t think I’ll be able to get you closer,” his driver called back. “The market is in disarray.”