Chapter 15 #2
“Well, now.” Enplencourt stared down warily at the little beast. “We can’t have that. You’ll be better trained than that, of course,” she said to the dragon, tucking him against her like a child.
The draconarian looked relieved to finally be packed up. “If that will be all. Good day to you.” The man took his things and walked out, leaving us with a sleeping baby dragon.
When the man’s footsteps had vanished down the hall, a girl from Sapphire moved forward to look at the little dragon. “Thanks, Professor. You saved him.”
Enplencourt nodded firmly. Then she turned toward the blackboard, a dragon asleep on one arm, and picked up her chalk. “All right, class. Here is your homework.”
That afternoon, I penned a letter to Merlon, telling him in as vague a language as possible, in case the words were intercepted, that I was afraid our secret was out.
I had no way of knowing if Covington would keep his word, and I felt the need to call in the cavalry just in case.
Not that Merlon would be capable of saving Myth, should word get out that he was wild, but I knew I certainly couldn’t, and I needed to feel like I was doing all I could to keep my dragon safe.
Autumn was making a bold entrance, with cooler temperatures than normal for this early in the season. When I walked to the lair that night, well after Vanya had gone to sleep, I shivered under my uniform’s blazer.
Covington was waiting for me, leaning up against the wall on the far side of the rotunda. He watched me from across the wide dark space, the only light the moonlight from the oculus.
He peeled away from the wall, grabbed his unlit lamp, but said nothing.
“Hello to you too,” I said.
He snorted, leading the way to Myth’s den. He heaved open the door and slipped inside, then closed it again after me.
He set down the lamp, lit it with a match, and replaced the chimney over the flame. Then he withdrew a small glass jar from his pocket, his face eerily lit from below like this was some bizarre seance.
“What’s the glass for?” I asked again, moving to greet Myth, who’d hopped off the hammock when we entered.
Covington unscrewed the lid and eyed me narrowly. “Just tell him to burn it.”
One hand on Myth’s side, I turned to him. “No.”
“Don’t be difficult. Remember that I hold his life in my hands.”
“Ever the gentleman.”
He licked his lips, which appeared dry and chapped now that I looked. “Just get on with it, Miro.”
“Tell me what you’re up to, and I will.”
Myth snorted, signaling his approval, and I smirked.
Eyes on Myth, Covington sighed. “I’m not giving you anything. I’m letting you be here. That’s all.”
“Letting me? Oh, thank you. I appreciate your generosity. I might decide to visit Azeron and poke him with a metal lance.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, storming forward.
My brows lifted. “I’m not really into torturing other people’s dragons.”
A snort preceded his reply. “You’re prickly.”
“And you’re arrogant. I might just tell him to flame you, erase my problem.”
“Go ahead.” He was nearly chest to chest with me now, and I had to stare up at him.
“Myth, I need you to give us a few sparks. Please,” I added as Covington grinned at me. He stepped back toward the door and removed his blazer. The worn journal was crammed behind his suspenders at his back.
Myth didn’t do anything. Good boy. He sensed that I didn’t want this to be easy for Covington.
“What do you want to do with the glass bottle?” I asked. At Covington’s silent scowl, I rolled my eyes. “Maybe if you told me, I could get Myth to do what you want.”
Covington stepped toward Myth, the bottle held aloft. “I’m trying to capture a spark.”
“You can’t really capture flame.” His stoic frown made me add, “Can you?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, letting his arm fall to his waist. “That’s what I want to try.”
“Your journal said it was possible?”
Covington pulled the journal out and thumbed through it. “The notes are spotty. A few pages are missing. But yes, it indicates that it’s possible.”
I sucked in a breath, thinking of all the horrible things people could do with bottled dragonfire.
“Now, get him to do it. You said you could.”
“Could doesn’t mean should,” I muttered.
Covington turned as if to go. “I’m sure Headmaster Vaughan will understand why you brought a fire-breathing dragon here.”
“Wait.”
After six more attempts to get Myth to spit sparks, Covington moved to lie down in the massive hammock. “Wake me up when he decides to cooperate.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said, stomping after him. “If you’re going to sleep, I’m done here.” I’d had a hard enough time staying awake today, after last night. Tomorrow would be worse.
He perched on the edge of the hammock, which barely moved with his weight. “If he won’t give you sparks, there’s no point in you being here.”
Giving him my best glare only made him chuckle. I seethed as blush rushed into my cheeks. “I won’t allow you near him.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. My father will be delighted to know I’ve found the dragon he’s been hunting.”
I reached back to slap him, but he caught my wrist. The hammock swung gently, pulling me toward him.
“I’d be careful, if I were you,” he whispered, his legs moving around me as I tipped forward against the heavy ropes.
Scrambling backward, I rubbed my wrist where he’d touched me. His grip hadn’t been painful, but it had been firm.
“Myth,” I said, still staring at Covington. “I need you to show us your flame this time.” Carefully, I edged back toward Covington, reached for the glass bottle, and slipped it from his hand. He didn’t resist.
Turning, I approached Myth with the small bottle, still warm from Covington’s hand. I set it on the ground and stepped away. “Burn it,” I said.
Myth tipped his snout toward the bottle and sniffed. Then he parted his fangs, just barely, and breathed out a shower of sparks.
Covington leaped up.
“That’s it!” I shouted, clapping.
The sparks hopped across the stones and burned out. A few that had fallen into the jar whirled and then went out.
Covington bent to grab the jar.
“Wait!” I said. “It’ll be hot.”
Squatting, he balanced with one hand on the ground. “And here I thought you preferred when I was injured.” He glanced around the den, searching. Then he moved to scoop up his blazer. “Make him do it again.” He wrapped the jacket around his hand.
After the second shower of sparks, Covington darted forward and grabbed the jar.
But as soon as his hand touched the glass, he cursed and dropped it. It shattered. He ripped the blazer away from his hand and examined the skin. There was a burned hole in the fabric.
“Is your hand okay?” I asked, stepping over glass.
“Sorry to disappoint.” He held up his hand. It was pink but looked unharmed.
I frowned at him, annoyed that he considered me so shallow. “You made another mess.”
He stared at the shards of glass. “Back to the supply closet, then, I guess.”
When the mess was cleaned up, the tools returned, I was aching for sleep. “You need a…better way to hold the glass,” I said, words broken by a yawn.
“Oh, now you’re trying to help me?” He glanced at me as we strolled under the massive rotunda.
I lifted my arm back toward Myth’s den. “To keep you silent, remember?”
A small laugh escaped his lips. “I’ll think on it. Until next time.” He offered me a salute and walked out into the night, toward the school.
“Wait, when is next time? Please not tomorrow.”
Striding backward, his ruined blazer slung over one arm, he shook his head. “Not tomorrow. There’s a night race tomorrow.” At my look of surprise, he flashed a broad grin that practically glowed in the moonlight.
“Do you ever sleep?” I called out.
He opened his arms wide. “Sleep is for the dead.”
I watched him until he was inside the school, then I shoved my hands in my pockets and trudged back down the hill, wondering if I would ever get invited to a night race.