A cold wind howled through the alleyway beside the house. Chimney smoke hung on the breeze, and my arms prickled with goosebumps. All this time, Covington had been trying to keep Myth alive.
In my silence, Covington continued, “He attacked when we arrived. He was already in defensive mode, and I don’t blame him. I was trying to provoke him, after all. I do, however, still hold a grudge against him for hurting Azeron.” He laced his arms over his chest and threw a halfhearted scowl up at Myth.
Myth snorted, zeroing in on Covington.
“He’s smart,” Covington said, stepping back. “I’m pretty sure he knows exactly what I’m talking about.”
I placed both hands on Myth’s smooth neck scales. “It’s okay, boy. You keep that up until he tells us all his secrets.” I tossed Covington a smile and caught his brows rising in alarm.
Covington, to my surprise, backed up even farther and slid the lair’s heavy stone door open with a heave, leaving only enough room for a person to slip through. “We both need to be able to get out of the way when he flames.” Covington waved me toward the lair. When I hesitated, he said, “You do know dragonfire is deadly? Even a little bit can kill.”
“One less annoying aristocrat to worry about.”
Covington smirked. “Is my provocation working, then?”
“You wish.” My stomach knotted, and my eyes dropped to his hands. I could still feel them on my skin.
Myth, sensing the jitters in my stomach, pranced around the courtyard in jumpy little circles. His tail knocked over an empty ceramic pot, which cracked against the brick. I gasped, which made him hop onto the back of one of the benches, but his claws splintered the wood.
“Myth! Stop breaking stuff! We’re not supposed to be here.”
He hung his head, eyeing the broken pot. Then he hopped off the bench and shot a stream of sparks toward the wood.
“Ari!” Covington wrapped his arms around me and hauled me aside as I shouted, “Wait!”
In a breath, the bench was consumed with glowing sparks.
But the wood did not go up in flames. Instead, the sparks danced and whorled, then vanished all at once. The bench remained, and where his claws had broken the wood, there were no more marks at all.
For a moment, I stood there, Covington’s arms circling my stomach, his heart beating against my back. For a moment, he didn’t let go.
When the smoke stopped rising from the bench, we broke apart and raced forward. I didn’t say anything, and he didn’t either, about the way he’d pulled me away from danger. But as I moved, the heat of his arms around me lingered.
I hovered over the bench, afraid to touch it, afraid to look away. The wood was unmarred, and there was not a touch of black scarring from the places the sparks had fizzled against the wood.
Behind me, Rush’s presence loomed.
“Saints,” he whispered.
I glanced up at Myth, who snorted proudly at me. “What did you do?” To Rush, I said, “That was…”
“Magic,” his word was not directed at me, but at Myth.
We stared, shoulder to shoulder, at the bench.
Then, “Ari.” His voice was deep, a warning.
“I know.”
It suddenly made sense.
To steady myself, I placed a hand on Rush’s arm. “Their flame…”
“Yes.”
“It’s…” I trailed off, unable to say it, barely able to comprehend it.
“Yes.”
