The Dragon Round (Dragon #1)(52)

Jeryon sits up so sharply the dragon jerks, alarmed. Jeryon holds up a hand to calm it.

Encouraged, Tuse goes on. “We thought they’d ask questions about you and what happened, but they only cared about the dragon. They even off-loaded the render before the medicine. They made a fortune. They bought more boats and more companies. They bought two seats on the City Council. They practically run the city now.

“Blood money. I hinted at what really happened, even if it risked me ending up in a gibbet, but they were only too glad to trade you for the render. Solet and Livion too. Solet sold them on the idea of hunting dragons. They gave him three galleys to do it. And he’s been successful. He just set out to bag one roaming the coast between Yness and Hanosh. This one could set him up for life.

“Livion made out best. He married the daughter of a shipowner, Chelson, and that got him his own command. Now he’s in the Castle. He was given shares. He’s an owner now. He’s set. And here we are.”

Jeryon nods at Tuse. So does the dragon.

“I never wanted to be silent. I never wanted a command. I’m no good at it, and everyone knows.” Tuse widens his eyes. “I got what I deserved.”

Jeryon’s mouth twists. His knuckles whiten as he grips his knife.

“Listen.” Tuse tries to get on his knees. “If you want justice, leave me here. That would be fair. I should have been here with you from the start. You have a dragon. Take the poth and go. Just leave me here. Give me the captain’s chance. It’s only fair.”

Jeryon stands and sets the waterskin in a fountain of seagrass and the shega on the skin. He licks his knife clean and tucks it away. He flips one of Tuse’s boots with his toe. “Nice boots,” he says. He scratches under the dragon’s chin and heads inland.

The dragon watches him go, then turns back to Tuse, its mouth slightly open.

“Don’t leave me here! Not with that.”

Jeryon pushes into the trees.

Tuse can’t help himself. “They’re coming,” he yells. “They know what a dragon’s worth. They’re coming, and you’ll pay.”

Jeryon turns around. “I used to think that too,” he says, and dissolves into the greenery.

When he doesn’t return, Tuse stares at the waterskin and shega. The dragon lays its head on the scrub and watches them too, as if daring Tuse to try and grab them before it can. Tuse won’t chance it. The dragon waits.

4



* * *



In the morning, Tuse’s shivering wakes him. Or he thinks he wakes up. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He only remembers the dragon’s eyes glowing in the moonlight and not seeing the Hopper.

Scrub crunches. He hopes it’s not the crabs. They won’t come near the dragon, but the way they goggle at his fingers and toes is unnerving.

Jeryon carries a spear across his shoulders. At either end a huge blue crab dangles, their bladelike claws tied together to form a loop. If that’s what lives on this island, Tuse isn’t sure he wants to be left here.

When the dragon sees Jeryon, it stands up and stretches. It flings out its wings and flaps them to get the grit off. It twists its neck this way and that, then does the same with its tail. Jeryon dumps the crabs before the dragon. It folds its wings and, almost primly, sits. Jeryon whistles three times, and the dragon eats. Not primly.

Tuse hopes that’s enough food for its breakfast.

Jeryon looks out to sea. “Any sign of your galley? I didn’t think so.”

Tuse’s hunger turns acid. He’s doomed. And he doomed Rowan too. You can’t stop a ripple once you’ve cast your stone. The crew, they knew the risks of the sea. The rowers, they put on their own chains. Rowan did nothing except be his father’s son. Tuse ducks his head and clamps his teeth as hard as he can. Something is trying to get out of him, something less physical and more vulgar than vomit, and he can’t let it.

Jeryon picks up the waterskin and takes a long pull. He leaves it open and props it on the seagrass again.

Tuse looks at the dragon. When the dragon doesn’t move to stop him, he pushes his mouth toward the skin. What does it matter anyway?

“No,” Jeryon says, “you look to me.”

“What?”

“You don’t ask the dragon for permission,” Jeryon says and snatches up the waterskin. “You ask me.”

“I’m not your dog.”

Jeryon replaces the skin on the seagrass. Tuse stares at it. He stares at Jeryon’s old and oft-repaired sandals. He stares at the dragon’s haunches.

The dragon rips off a crab leg and crunches it.

Tuse cranes his neck to glare at Jeryon.

Jeryon whistles once, long and rising, once short and backs away.

Tuse worms forward, unable to feel his arms and legs. He gets his mouth onto the spout of the skin then rolls on his side to drain the water out.

“Good,” Jeryon says. He yanks the skin away. “The poth did survive,” he says. “She’d want you to live. She’d bear you no ill will. She’d want me to bear you no ill will. You led her to the wheel, but she put down her own coin.”

“If I could have rigged—”

Jeryon holds up his hand. He puts down the skin. He waits. Tuse looks at him. Jeryon whistles and Tuse drinks more water. Tuse tells himself he’s training Jeryon to talk.