“They’ll shoot you.”
They fell into a rapid, hissing argument, but Magdala couldn’t make it out. She wondered now where her father was, if his hatred for Asherton had overgrown even his love for her, but the faces in the crowd glowed inhuman, almost demonic. This, she thought, was what Hell must be like.
Huxley prodded the shotfire in Zephyr’s ribs. “Come with me.”
“No,” Zephyr said flatly. “I won’t leave Asherton here.”
“I will shoot you.”
“Please do.”
“I did it!” Asherton persisted. “Why is this difficult for you to understand? I hated Julian because he was cruel to me at school. It’s that simple.”
Huxley rubbed his chin. “Let’s play a game.” He turned the shotfire on Asherton. “Zephyr, if you don’t come with me, I will shoot him and have it over with. I don’t really think he did it anyway. It was one of you two, but which one? Which one?”
“Please, Ash,” Zephyr begged. “I’ll be fine, you know I will, but … but I am your father in every sense that matters. I am meant to protect you. Let me do this or condemn me to a life of sorrow.”
“You may tell him who,” Asherton assented. “Not how.”
Zephyr was on his feet in a blink, his hands fisted. Huxley pushed him to the river’s edge, and they scrambled up the steep bank. Once safe on higher ground, Huxley drew two keys from his pocket and held them up.
“This key”—he held up the key in his left hand—“goes to the king’s shackle, and this one”—he held up the other—“goes to Magdala’s. Tell me who killed Julian and I will give you one key. You may rescue whoever you choose. Tell me how he was killed, and I will give you the second.”
Zephyr met Asherton’s eyes.
“I did it,” Zephyr said. “I killed Julian in a fit of rage because he meant to kill Asherton.”
Huxley smiled. “As I thought. You may have the first key.”
Zephyr reached for Asherton’s key. Magdala let out an involuntary sob.
“NO!” Asherton shouted. “Release Magdala first!”
She straightened. “No, it’s alright, Zeph. Asherton first.”
Because, of course, he should save Asherton first. That’s what she wanted. That was her duty, to protect him, and the only thing she could imagine worse than drowning would be watching Asherton drown.
She squared her shoulders and calmed her breathing, but she saw Asherton’s cheek ticking.
“It’s alright,” she said. “You’re more important than I am.”
“Not to me.”
“I’ll be alright. I’ll hold my breath.”
Shaking his head, he looked at Zephyr and said with measured command, “Magdala first, Zeph.”
The light went out of Zephyr’s eyes. He seemed to shrivel, to cave in on himself. “Ash, please …”
A thunderous cracking shook the earth. Silver piles of frothing water crashed through the dam and tumbled toward them. Magdala’s mind washed blank with terror.
Zephyr lifted Asherton’s key.
“Koirian, I forbid it!" Asherton cried.
Zephyr’s hand froze and he looked at Asherton, his face pale with horror. “Don’t do this to me.”
Magdala knew Asherton—a dreadnought dragon could not turn him from his resolve. For the second time that day, he said two words that shook Magdala to her very foundation.
