And then, if he managed to survive this, Augustus would make Thorne’s death last for avery long time.
“The gods knowyou’renot going to do anything,” he murmured to the dronsian after that particular thought.
The beast had come through one of the slim windows that overlooked a courtyard. A place that constantly pushed at the back of his memory—a time when a woman screamed the song of his end, as he stared up at the blade meant for his neck.
Augustus pushed that memory of Nikos’s death as far away as possible.
The dronsian had remained inside the tower with Augustus every day. He must have gone out to eat while Augustus slept because he was always curled beside him in the morning.
“You’re like a barnacle,” Augustus whispered to him and tried not to succumb to the wide, innocent eyes that stared back. “Or a starfish. You know that, don’t you?”
The dronsian purred and rubbed his snout against the back of Augustus’s hand.
“Stop that.”
Then the thing crawled into his lap.
“Oh, come on,” he said, holding his hands out and away. “You’re being ridiculous. Go find Blaze. He’ll pet you.”
On the third night, well after midnight, with only slices of moonlight to see by, Augustus stared down at the snoozing beast. The way it curled beside him, tail tucked, head on his knee—just like she had, once, after a long night of wine and comfortable silence. A memory. A ghost. A weight.
“I miss her, too.”
The dronsian’s head came around, slow and sleepy, to nod.
“You’re more aware than I’ve ever given you credit for. But to be fair, I don’t give anyone much credit. It’s kind of why I’m in this predicament to begin with, isn’t it?”
The dronsian curled back into itself.
“You really need a name. I can’t keep calling you dragon, can I?”
A near-silent click of the lock sounded from the bottom of the stairwell.
Augustus set the dronsian aside and climbed to his feet as the steady scuff of footsteps ascended toward his tower prison. The dronsian skittered to the top of the stairs and waited like a little guard dog, a low growl in the back of his throat.
Augustus chuckled. “Stand down, barnacle. You realize only a friend would sneak into the tower this time of night?”
“Happy to know I still count as one,” Oskar said. His dark shadow scooped up the now-purring dronsian.
Augustus scrubbed his bearded jaw. “If you’ve come to break me out, I could’ve used you three days ago. But hey, I’m not picky.”
Chapter
Fifteen
Castona Bay vanished in theEntia’s crashing wake, the last curl of civilization swallowed by cloud-shrouded moonlight. Perean faded like the final flame of a bridge he’d burned himself.
A shiver ran along his spine, and Augustus chose to blame the water dripping from his freshly washed hair onto his shoulder.
Beside him, Oskar leaned forward on the railing, staring soberly across the sea. He was dressed, well, like a pirate in a pale tunic, dark breeches tucked into boots, and a bandolier of knives across his chest.
Augustus raised the parchment and read Dimitrios’s final words again. “Good luck.”
“I thought him a twat,” he said to the Master Blade. “I honestly thought he’d let me hang, the bastard.”
Oskar’s chin lowered. “We all thought the same until he showed up when he did. He couldn’t be seen helping, nor could there be any doubt of his innocence.” He rose to his full height. “I’m relieved to know we’ve left behind a decent man.”
Augustus studied Oskar, who’d always been a bit reserved, as if his mind and heart were somewhere else entirely. As if steered by honor alone. “You didn’t have to come. But I’m glad you did. Not many would risk it for me.”
