Steelhands - Jaida Jones [210]
I steeled myself—I wished I’d had the chance to hear the now-infamous song about me before I died—and saw Antoinette do the same. I didn’t want to die with the guilt of implicating the Esarina on my conscience. I didn’t want her to die because of our pleas for assistance.
Then, without any warning, the floor exploded beneath us.
Is it Royston? I wondered, as I did my best to pull the Esarina away from the epicenter. I placed myself between her and the blast, feeling little bits of stone cut into my back as shouting began among the guards. They didn’t seem so well trained now that disaster had struck; they were running every which way, boots trampling anything that tried to stop them. I heard something that sounded like a cry of triumph, cut off abruptly in the rush of falling rock. The Esarina tripped over her skirts—I thought I heard her curse, though it could have been my imagination—then the voice in my head returned, louder than ever.
Balfour! it said. At last!
I was startled enough that, this time, it was the Esarina who kept me from falling.
We did stumble, my metal hands gripping her sleeve and tearing it as we kept ourselves from toppling over, and I was forced to turn around, to face the direction from which that voice had originated.
I found myself face-to-face with a metal snout, flared nostrils, and sharp teeth. The expression was a familiar one—its owner could have been related to my girl—but the craftsmanship revealed a different aesthetic. This was a dragon, unmistakably so, just smaller, as Adamo had warned us the new ones would be. Her jaw was made of darker-colored metal than the rest of her body, and some of her scales were a steely blue color. She looked ragtag but beautiful; her eyes were pale, jeweled orbs, staring straight into mine.
Who are you? I asked. It was only polite.
I don’t know yet, she replied quite honestly. But I think I hurt someone.
I realized all at once that the shouting had stopped. Those members of the Esar’s guard who hadn’t fled were all cowering from the dragon, in a corner of the chamber far away from the fissure in the floor, and around a body lying still amidst the debris.
“My husband,” the Esarina murmured. Somehow, despite the dragon between them, she hadn’t been distracted from what—in her estimation—mattered more.
“Damn it, Nico,” Antoinette said.
Neither of them moved to his side; they couldn’t, as they had no reason to trust this beast wouldn’t attack them the moment they moved. My mouth was dry, but I thought I was beginning to understand what had happened. Slowly, carefully, ready to pull back at a moment’s notice, I reached out to close the distance between us, preparing to stroke the dragon’s nose with my fingertips.
Then again, it wasn’t as though I’d lose any natural part of my body if the dragon were to bite off my hand. She’d find it difficult to chew, at that.
What happened? I asked.
He was in the way, the dragon replied. He called to me, but it wasn’t strong enough. I like your smell better. You were in danger. I couldn’t let anyone hurt you.
I inched closer to her to get a better view of the other side of the room. The body sprawled across the floor did, indeed, belong to the Esar; whether he was dead or merely unconscious wasn’t something I could determine from this distance, with my limited expertise.
It was an accident, the dragon explained. I hit him with my tail. They keep us inside; no room to stretch. Our tails are too long for that. You aren’t sad, are you? I didn’t like him, but you creatures get so finicky when someone gets hurt. You should know better than anyone, we can all be rebuilt.
As if to drive the point home, she sniffed gently at one of my fingers; or, at least, I felt hot air roll across my fingertips, singeing my gloves.
I was grateful for my training as an airman since I was certain that it was all that was currently keeping me together. I had