The Dragon Round (Dragon #1)(102)

Ject bargains with Jeryon. Herse can barely hear what they’re saying, but Jeryon’s posture is unmoved and Ject looks resigned. Then Ject meets Herse’s gaze. For a second the thought flares in Ject’s eyes to tell Jeryon where Herse is. Surely he’s complained that one of his men didn’t fire on Jeryon. Ject knows Jeryon wouldn’t buy it, though, so he pleads with his eyes, “Shoot him, Herse. Shoot him now.”

Ject watches Herse rest his arms on top of the low cupola wall to steady the crossbow. He takes careful aim, then looks at Ject and shakes his head.

“Comber,” Jeryon says.

No one can doubt, Ject thinks, that a dragon, this dragon, not Ayden, destroyed the wolf pack. Jeryon’s wearing the goggles Solet had specially commissioned. Herse’s lies will come out. He’ll be ruined. Chelson will be too. As the flames envelop him, Ject thinks, I’ve won.

As the heat from Gray’s breath flows back over him, Jeryon looks across the bay. The sun is perfect; the water so blue the fishing boats and galleys look like they’re flying. Eryn Point gleams, and the sea beyond sparkles. It still draws him as strongly as it did when he was a boy. Tuse was right. He should have taken Everlyn into the dawn.

He’ll go to Yness. Not many people know him beyond the beaches, and he isn’t the man they knew. If the poth made it to land, she likely passed through the area. At the very least he could send out agents from there to find her. He has a fortune in render. He could hire the best.

His focus pulls to the Castle. He could light it on fire as he leaves, a parting shot. Why bother, though? He’ll leave the girl too. Let her be a reminder to Livion and her father every day that he’s out there and he can get to them. Maybe that’s the best revenge, the constant threat of revenge.

Jeryon feels relieved. He’s won.

The last drops of fire sputter from the dragon’s mouth, and Herse shoots. The bolt goes clean through Jeryon’s neck, and blood fountains over the dragon and the dome. He drops the reins and grabs his throat, curious what happened.

The dragon doesn’t notice. It’s watching Ject burn the way children stare at candles.

Herse kicks off his sandals, vaults the cupola wall, and walks gingerly down the dome to the dragon. The tiles are cool on his feet and easier to grip than he would have thought, being rough with the barnacles of old raven droppings.

Jeryon sways in the saddle. He puckers, but his whistle is a froth of blood. As Herse reaches him, he flails his knife until Herse catches his wrist. Jeryon flops onto him. Herse reaches into Jeryon’s lap to undo the strap securing him to the saddle, slides him off, and lays him on the dome.

Jeryon’s eyes struggle to focus. He lays his hand across Herse’s cheek.

“I know what they must have done,” Herse says. “I know how you must have suffered and wanted and waited for vengeance. I know. I understand. You will have it. We will have it. I promise.”

Jeryon squeezes Herse’s cheek and mouths, “Ev.” His hand drops to his chest. His head rolls slightly, and the sun flares his goggle lenses pure white.

Herse stands up and finds the dragon staring at him. Its eyes slit. Its head rears. Its jaw drops.

The plaza has emptied considerably. Rego stayed with Husting while Birming got the wagon back to Gate.

“It’s odd,” Rego says, “working on this side of the wall.”

“Don’t make a habit of it,” Husting says. He looks at those who’ve remained to watch the drama on the dome and those who’ve returned, wanting a better view than the side streets offer. They’re dead silent like at the end of a close hip-ball match.

“Maybe we should round up the stragglers,” Husting says. “The general would want to salvage something.”

“Doesn’t matter. Look.”

They can tell Ject by his clothes as the dragon snatches him from cover and shakes him and sets him like a potted plant on the balustrade. When the flames engulf him a few people applaud. Most cry out in horror and fury. Ject was a bastard, but he was their bastard.

Husting points two guards at the clappers. There will be some profit in this day yet.

When the rider arches and grabs his throat, the plaza is confused until Herse walks down the dome, and they cheer as if he’d just scored the winning goal. When he dismounts the rider they roar.

Rego clenches his whole body. If Herse can take the dragon, everything they’ve ever whispered about since they were children becomes more possible. If he can’t, Rego won’t know what to do with himself. So when Herse faces the creature and it rears its head Rego feels like he’s strangling his own heart.

Before he can question his sanity, Herse grabs the dragon’s halter, nearly slipping on the dome, and whistles twice. The dragon pulls back, closing its mouth. Herse holds on tighter and whistles again. The dragon, incredibly, sits. He makes sure of his footing then rubs its neck. It pushes against his hand. He rubs more aggressively.

If this were a horse he were trying to break, he’d give it an apple or carrot. If it were a dog, a piece of meat. Herse points the dragon’s head at Jeryon’s body and whistles three times. He’d been wondering what he’d do about this evidence against Chelson and, by extension, him.

The dragon sniffs Jeryon, looks at Herse, and tilts its head. Herse whistles three times. The dragon shrugs and gnaws its way into Jeryon’s belly.

Herse mounts the dragon. He’s not particularly comfortable, but the saddle is cleverly designed; his saddlers will enjoy making something better. He holds the reins loosely so the dragon can keep eating. It burrows its whole snout under Jeryon’s rib cage to tear out his heart. The dragon tosses it back then goes to work on Jeryon’s face. The glass and leather goggles don’t slow it down.