Their whispering was ridiculous. Icarus had gone for the night. No one would hear if they screamed at each other, let alone spoke at full voice. And still she whispered.
“Just once,” she sighed. “Just once, can I walk along the shore? Just once, can ye let me outside? No one will see me in the dark. No one. Please.” She whined the last as she could already see his head shaking in the shadows beyond the gate.
“I cannot open the gate. Every night, Icarus takes the key with him. Even if I wished to?—”
“Gaspar! I will go mad if ye doona let me outside this night! I have done my penance. This room is little different than my tomb. I have light. I have life. But what good are either of those without hope? Ye may as well begin collecting wood for me fire, for without hope, any death is welcome.”
He came forward and grabbed the bars to either side of the gate. His chest was bare, his hair mussed and wild, making him seem a different sort of beast, something much warmer than a dragon. His arms were immense but his wide hands and knuckles looked like bones in the moonlight from the way he gripped the barrier between them.
“Say you do not mean it,” he growled.
The sound conjured chills up her spine and into her hair. Or perhaps it was the sight of him that did so, for she was sorely tempted to go to him, to reach through those bars and prove that he was real—not some shadow that had stalked her each night. She placed her hands on the wall behind her and struggled to stay put.
“Yes, Gaspar. All yer instruction has been for naught. I would confess to witchcraft, or murder, or both, if this prison were my only alternative.”
He was agitated, but not enough to bend to her wishes. She had to push him further.
“Ye never planned to release me, did ye? Ye’ve known it from the first.”
She turned back to the window and grabbed the bars there for strength. She looked down, trying to see the path that led tothe dock, to judge the distance for the thousandth time. If she were somehow able to squeeze through the bars, the fall might not kill her. But anyone who jumped from such a height was a fool, even if the dragon might someday leave her alone long enough to work the bars loose.
“Isobelle. You must believe me. I will allow you to leave when I believe you to be ready. I will even send word to Ossian where to find you. I only need time to…accept it.”
“No, Gaspar,” she said sadly. “I am prepared to leave this prison, or leave this earth. But I canna stay another?—”
“Yes! Yes, you must. One more day. Be patient one more day. I will keep the key tomorrow, when Icarus leaves. I will allow you to walk along the shore, though you must allow me to tie a rope?—”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Why would ye need a rope?”
“You might try to swim?—”
“I dinna ken how to swim.” She turned back to view the darkening waves.
“But you tried, that first day, before you saw the sharks.”
She shrugged. “I was going to drown myself, ‘tis all. I thought ye were taking me away only to burn me, so I’d have no body in Heaven. ‘Tis what they did to Joan of Arc, is it not? If I drown in the sea, I might have kept my body, aye? But not if sharks got me.”
“You cannot swim?”
“Nay.”
“Then you might try to drown yourself again? You’ve just said you are ready for death.”
“I want to live, Gaspar, as much as ye yearn to feel alive, aye? If only I could trust ye to keep yer word, that ye’ll return me to Venice…”
He sighed heavily. “No, Isobelle. Not Venice. You would not be safe there. But I will have your things collected and sent to you. Wherever it is you wish to go…”
His voice trailed off. He was unhappy to suddenly be bound to that promise. She could hear the regret in his voice.
Well, damn the man for sending the key away every night. If he hadn’t, she could have ended their little habit much quicker. Now she was going to have to wait another day.
“I will bother you no more tonight,” he murmured. “Sleep. You may walk along the sand tomorrow.” It was the first time she’d heard him leave the room so late. His footfalls were heavy, as if he were stomping down the steps.
Isobelle sighed and moved to the bed. Even though the night was warm, she did not welcome the coolness of the metal wall beside her. Just as she teetered on the edge of sleep, listening to the receding waves, she thought she heard a man’s voice. Arguing. Coughing. Arguing again.
It became part of her dream.
She was in her tower. A much higher tower now. The people of Venice carried bundles of sticks across the water, walking on the water. They placed their sticks at the base of the tower, then hurried away for more. They were building a bonfire. They were going to burn her, tower and all.
