Steelhands - Jaida Jones [118]
“So it sounded like metal, then,” Luvander said, resting his arms against the table. “That’s not so bad, really, Balfour. I’m sure there are worse things it could be. If Rook were here, he’d begin naming them all in order: beginning and ending, I’m sure, with one of the illustrious workers over at the ’Fans claiming you’d knocked her up. Now that’d be something I’d run away from.”
Balfour huffed a quiet laugh and I sat back in my chair, hoping the damned little thing wouldn’t turn into a pile of kindling under my weight. I didn’t like it—not one bit—but I wasn’t a physician, either, and it wasn’t my place to make any diagnosis. Stress did funny things to people, and for all I knew, this was just another simple case. It didn’t make much sense to me that it’d turn up now of all times, considering the kind of stress Balfour’d managed to weather before the war ended, but that was luck for you.
“Yes, but there’s more,” Balfour said quietly, staring hard at a knot in the tabletop. Whatever it was, I knew we probably weren’t going to like it.
“Out with it,” Luvander said, reaching across the table to put his hand where Balfour’s would’ve been if he hadn’t been hiding them under the table. “It’s only us, after all. At least half the men at the Airman could’ve outdone you with stories of the things their minds conjured up when they weren’t paying attention. You know that. What’s more, despite my penchant for gossip, I’ll have you know that I am extremely good at keeping secrets. Once you tell me something, it’s gone forever. Locked away like that story about the Margrave’s daughter in the tower, only somewhat less gruesome at the end, I hope. Also, you needn’t worry about Adamo saying anything because he hasn’t any friends to speak of. Just look at him.”
“If I did,” I said, “meaning if I did say something, it’d be because I want an expert’s opinion and not just my own to go on.”
I wasn’t going to tell a lie for anyone’s comfort, and I had a feeling Roy might’ve been helpful with this one. He wasn’t a velikaia, but he knew his fair share of them. Besides that, he was smart as a whip and spent so much time learning about everything I was certain he’d have an answer or two about all this.
Maybe Balfour would be able to listen to him since he didn’t seem able to trust me just yet.
“I realize what this is going to sound like,” Balfour said, looking up from the table at last. There was a look of resolve on his face I’d seen only a handful of times, and usually right before he was about to do something stupid, like marching into the belly of the beast to get his favorite pair of gloves back. “Just so you know—before you have me committed to an institution, I suppose. But after a while, I began to recognize the noise. I thought I must have been mistaken, or perhaps that I really had taken leave of my senses and this was the form it had chosen, but I refuse to accept that now. I am not mad. I know what I heard, and it sounded exactly like a dragon.”
Balfour paused, letting that sink in, but not so long that the silence would get too out of hand, forcing Luvander to start talking again.
“It’s simply unmistakable,” Balfour continued. “I’m sure either of you, or even Ghislain, would have recognized the sound straightaway. It’s only that I’ve spent so much time telling myself not to think about it that … well, I suppose I’d made myself resistant toward that particular conclusion. Yet I’ve heard it in my dreams enough times that I can’t pretend for the sake of avoidance. I knew that if I at least told you two, you’d have a better chance of understanding