Chapter 14
“What are you doing?” I bellowed, frozen in shock in the doorway.
“None of your business.” His white shirt was half-unbuttoned.
“That’s my dragon.” I stomped forward, struck by how warm the den was. The blanket around my shoulders slipped down to my elbows. Myth was pacing back and forth, but as soon as I entered, his pulsing fear ebbed. “It’s okay,” I soothed, edging around the broken glass. “I’m here now.”
I reached for Myth’s long face and pressed my forehead to him. His scales were warmer than usual. “What were you doing to my dragon?”
From my periphery, I saw Covington grab something off the floor.
“I wasn’t doing anything to him,” he snapped.
“Liar.”
“Saints, Miro.” He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, where sweat was dampening his hairline. “You’re the liar.”
My hands stiffened against Myth’s face.
“This dragon still has his flame, and I’m going to prove it.”
My brow pinched and I turned slowly to face the duke’s son. “Did you take this up with the breeder we purchased him from?”
Covington waved a folded slip of paper at me. “This breeder? His letter says he never sold a black and gold dragon to a Merlon Fairfax.”
With a lunge, I crossed the distance to Covington and snatched the letter. As he danced backward, he crunched glass under his heel. In the shuffle, I caught a glimpse of a worn leather book in his other hand.
My eyes scanned the note, and each word felt like nails driven into my coffin. Covington knew the truth. Slowly, I lifted my eyes to meet his gaze.
“You’re harboring a wild dragon in this lair, and you’re putting everyone here in danger,” he said, his words smooth, cold, damning.
“Myth, burn this,” I said, lifting the letter high.
A tiny spray of sparks flitted from Myth’s mouth and lit the note. I released it and stepped out of the way, watching it crackle and spin as it fell to the ground.
“Reeking ash,” hissed Covington, rubbing his hand down his chin.
“I can ask him to burn you next.” My chest was heaving, my blood a reeling mix of fury and fear. I might have given Myth away, but there was no backing down now. Covington already knew my secret.
“You wouldn’t.” Covington stared at me with fierce defiance.
“You have no idea what I would do to save my dragon.”
For a moment, we glared at each other, the scent of ash burning my nose.
“What’s that?” I finally asked, pointing at the book now hanging at his side. It was small, the pages uneven, some torn and stained.
“This,” he said, lifting it, “really is none of your business.” The leather was smooth and shiny, except for the edges, which looked cracked.
“Myth, burn it,” I said flatly.
“Oy!” Covington leaped out of the way, making a run for the exit. More glass crunched against stone.
“Stop him.”
Myth’s wings extended and his tail whipped forward. In a breath, Covington was on the ground, wheezing curses. The book tumbled from his hand and lay sprawled, pages waving.
Covington’s eyes landed on the book, but I got there first. He scrambled to his feet, yanking a piece of glass from his palm.
“Don’t!” he shouted.
Curling away from him, I glanced down at the first open page I flipped to, which was dog-eared. Handwritten notes were scrawled across the thick paper. Myth, sensing the game, bumped Covington with his snout, holding him back as he swiped for the book.
At first, my eyes couldn’t make sense of the words. The handwriting was elegant, slanting, and so narrow and faded it was hard to read.
Covington was hurling curses at my dragon, trying valiantly to get around him but failing. I hurried to the other side of the den and pored over a single page.
…Enough provocation, a dragon will flame. Tested metal and stone and glass. Glass so far the best receptor. Caution: it gets hot. Wear gloves.
Gaping, I flipped a few more pages, ignoring Covington’s string of maledictions.
Aloud, I read, “‘Today I took Reggie and Rushland to the townhouse. Edgar was angry after losing the auction against an Avencian.’”
“Stop.” Covington’s tone sent a chill down my arms.
I glanced up. “What is this?” I asked again, my voice barely above a whisper.
Myth must have thought it was okay to stop blocking Covington, because he lifted his head. Covington shot forward and ripped the book from my hands. His blue eyes were wild, feral.
Edgar was the duke’s first name. Reginald was Rushland’s older brother.
That book must have been… “Your mother’s journal?
” I breathed. Two or three years ago, I’d read in the papers about the duchess’s death from typhoid.
And not long after, the duke’s wedding, which had been a grand affair.
I placed my hand over my stomach, suddenly remembering the day we’d gotten the news about Pa.
Without a word, Covington spun, grabbed his lamp from the floor, and once again marched toward the door, cradling his bleeding hand against his side.
“Wait,” I said, hurrying after him.
“In the morning, this infernal creature will be gone,” he said over his shoulder.
“But you need him.”
Covington paused, his hand on the doorframe.
“You were trying to get him to flame. You’ve been out here all week, haven’t you?
Provoking him. Not because you want to turn him in.
You could have done that when you got that letter.
” My eyes fell back to the journal. If Covington walked out of this lair right now, Myth would die.
I was certain of it. I had to keep him here, change his mind.
“But you want to try to capture his flame. The journal said use glass. I guess that’s what that was?
” I pointed at the shards scattered across the floor.
Desperate, I said, “I can get him to flame. You’ve seen it. ”
Like the massive waterwheels on the Granton River, Rushland Covington turned around as if propelled by a force he could not stop.
I waited for him to speak, my heartbeat echoing in my ears.
Finally, he said, “If we do this, you can speak of it to no one.”
“Of course.” I had no idea what this even was, but if it meant keeping him silent, I would do it.
He stepped closer. “If I get wind that you are even thinking of telling anyone what we’re doing, Myth dies.”
“I know.” The truth of those words stung, but having the power to silence Covington felt like a victory.
I had to know how badly he wanted this. “You tell Headmaster Vaughan or Bryce or your father about my dragon, I’ll tell him about what you did here tonight—about that, too. ” I pointed at the journal.
He scoffed and edged closer, forcing me to look up as he loomed over me. “You think your word will mean anything against mine?”
He had a point. I was no more than a copper swin in this world of wealth and power. He’d never get kicked out of school, not with his father’s influence. “I’ll tell your father about what I saw on race day,” I said, desperate to have something to hold over his head, some form of leverage.
“Be my guest,” he said. Then, after a glance at his hand, he spat another curse.
“You’re making a mess.”
“And whose fault is that?”
My brows lifted. “You’re the intruder here.”
He stepped through the door.
“You’re not leaving until you clean this up.”
Whirling, he flashed me a smile. “Giving demands now, are we?”
“Bryce checks our dens every morning to make sure we’re keeping up our duties. I’m not cleaning that up. If you want to explain to Bryce how it got there, be my guest.”
With a heavy sigh, he stepped back through the door, pressing me backward until my heel shattered more glass. “You’re good with a shovel; why don’t you help? Otherwise, I might slip and tell Bryce that the ash on the floor was left by your dragon.”
I’d forgotten about the ash from the burned note.
We worked in silence until the glass was swept and the blood washed away. Covington had torn a strip of fabric from the hem of his shirt and tied it around his palm. By the time we finished, the white fabric was mottled with red.
When we replaced the shovel and broom in the supply room, which smelled of rusty tools and cold stone, Covington turned to me and said in a low tone, “He’s gone the minute I think he might hurt Azeron.”
My eyes narrowed. “How can I trust you not to march straight to your father right now?”
“Grant me access to Myth, help me capture his flame, and I won’t say anything. Your secret for my secret,” he said, a fury in his gaze that stirred a twitch of unease inside me.
I studied his face. It was close. I could punch him if I wanted to. I did want to, but he was the only person who knew the truth about Myth. I shouldn’t make him hate me any more than he did. Only now I had something of his, a secret. Leverage. “That journal means that much to you?”
He was breathing quickly. I’d hit a nerve, and for some reason, it rattled me. This boy who lived above the rules was frightened of being discovered.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” After another beat of silence, I added, “What exactly do you want with Myth’s flame?”
Covington stormed out of the cramped room. “No questions, Miro. We do this my way.”
“No, we do it mine,” I called, hurrying after him. “You want access to my dragon, you only get it if I’m with you.” I crossed my arms over my nightgown, suddenly more self-conscious about my attire.
A second’s hesitation, then, “Fine. Tomorrow night.” Before I could protest, he added, “One word of complaint, and I’ll expose him.”
Seething, I offered a firm nod.
“Now, I’ll wait until you’re back inside before leaving,” he said.
“Not a chance. You first.” I jerked my head toward the night waiting outside the long aisle of the lair.
“Saints. Fine. But you might want to cover up with that blanket, or someone’s liable to see you heading up the path.” He stormed from the lair, blew out his lamp, and disappeared into the darkness.
A few minutes later, wrapped in the dark wool blanket, I hurried back across the grounds, hoping no one was watching from the many windows of Cardan Lott.