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 smallclink, 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?”
