Chapter 19 #2
He paused, placed a hand over his chest, and scoffed. “Your manners are truly delightful.”
Without any more pleasantries, he withdrew a glass bottle, this one apparently an empty bottle of some form of alcohol, and set it on the ground.
“Don’t tell me you drank all that before coming here?”
His grin was looser, his eyes bloodshot. “And if I did?”
My arms crossed. “I’m not going to tell Myth to shoot sparks at something that was just full of liquor. Besides, your breath might cause the whole room to explode.”
He laughed, but it was a dry sound. He moved toward the platform where Myth rested and leaned against the stone, one elbow propping up his weight. “Funny, Miro. But we don’t have time for your prickly sense of humor.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I spotted a bruise reaching up from his poorly buttoned shirt. “Are you…all right?” My hand darted up to my collarbone.
His weight sagged, and he stumbled against the platform. Myth quickly spun, his snout now facing Covington, his tail sliding down to the floor.
“You’re not okay,” I said, stepping forward but unsure what to do.
He exhaled slowly. “Worried about me?”
“More worried about my dragon, truth be told.” But something in my chest flickered with unease. “You really don’t sleep, do you?”
His eyes flashed up, then he slapped his hands on the stone platform, head bent low between his arms. That was when I noticed his knuckles were bleeding on his right hand.
“You were in a fight,” I said, taken aback. He didn’t strike me as the type. Unless someone had jumped him on the streets—it happened every day in Treston. I touched my lips with my fingers, mind filled with questions.
His back expanded and fell as he stood there, braced against Myth’s platform, head down. Finally, he stood straight and squared his shoulders. “Yes. Anything else?”
I reached for Myth, curling my arm around his head. “We don’t have to do this right now.”
He ran both hands down his face. “The more time we waste not getting that flame in a bottle, the…” He trailed off.
“What, Covington? What is all this about anyway? We know dragonfire can kill. We know it can’t be bottled. It’s pointless. Whatever that journal says, it’s not worth it. Even if it did work, which it won’t, what could you possibly want with it? All it does is hurt people.”
He turned and walked to the small bottle, snatching it up.
Panic lanced through my veins. “Wait. We can try it.” I rubbed my tired eyes.
Chuckling, he glanced back at me with a glint in his eye. “Worried I’ll tell?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve considered it.”
I swallowed. “You’re despicable.”
“Don’t worry; I know.”
My arms tucked in tight over my chest. It hadn’t felt as good to say those words aloud as I’d hoped. But they were true. In the snap of his fingers, Myth could be taken from me.
“So, let’s try it one more time then,” I said, walking over to take the bottle from him.
There was liquid in the glass, but when I sniffed it, I only smelled water.
I set it on the ground with a small clink, trying to ignore the pressure on my back from his gaze.
“Myth, can you try, one more time, please, to put a few sparks in there?” I peered back at him.
He was watching me with a blank expression.
“It would help if I knew what all this was for.”
Pushing his hair from his eyes, he said, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
“Very funny.” I watched Myth slide off his platform and amble over to the bottle. He sniffed at it, then hissed in frustration. “I know, boy, but this godspawn over here wants you to. So, please? So we can be done with this?”
“Godspawn?” His voice was closer now, over my shoulder.
“It’s what my brother always called dragon riders.”
“That makes you one, too,” he whispered, his words warm against my neck.
I stiffened. “You’re drunk.”
His laugh breezed over my shoulder. “You sure do think you have me all figured out, don’t you?”
“I know enough.”
“What if everything you think you know is a lie?”
He was standing close enough that I could feel his warmth. If I moved the wrong way, I’d brush against him.
Myth opened his mouth and let a small shower of sparks fall over the bottle. Covington produced a pair of pliers and edged toward the bottle. He bent down and took the bottle carefully with the metal pliers, lifting it toward his face.
The sparks hissed and died as they hit the water in the bottom of the glass.
“Water tends to put out fire,” I said. At his smirk, I added, “What’s the point in bottling sparks that always go out?”
“I’m testing a theory.”
“You and your evasive answers,” I said, annoyed.
Still holding the bottle with the pliers, he strode toward the door.
“Do I really not get any answers? And don’t try the whole I’ll have to kill you thing.”
Pausing in the doorway, he said, “You will. I wish there was a way that you could stay out of this, but…” He gestured toward Myth in a way that said I’d picked my fate already. “After the next night race, I’ll show you.”
Practically seething, I shook my head. “What if I’m not invited to that? What if Vanya doesn’t get invited either, and I can’t go?”
“I'll make sure you both are,” he said, cramming his hands in his pockets as he strolled away. “If you want answers, you do this my way.” As my lips opened to protest, he held up a finger to silence me, even though he couldn’t see my face.
“My way, Miro.” When I said nothing, he lowered his hand and disappeared out the door.