Steelhands - Jaida Jones [211]
I have to check the Esar’s body, I told the dragon, marveling at how strange it felt. Minutes ago, the Esar had almost certainly been willing to arrest and execute the three of us—his wife and mistress included—and now here I was in the unique position of checking whether or not he was even still alive.
But it was the right thing to do, whether or not he would have done it for us.
Why? the dragon asked, cocking her wide head curiously as I got to my feet. You’re safe now, I think. He won’t get up. I hit him hard. It was an accident, but I’m not sorry.
I know, I told her. But if he’s still breathing …
I trailed off. Not because I didn’t know what to say but because I honestly didn’t know what would come after that.
He’s not dead, the dragon said, peering up at me. We’d stop working if he were.
Why’s that? I asked, curiosity getting the better of me for a moment.
We’re tied to him by blood, the dragon explained. Just a little. Not enough to wrangle me, but if he broke, then so would we. I think.
I still have to check on him, I told her.
Even his guards don’t seem very worried about that, the dragon said, swishing her tail thoughtfully.
They’re scared, I explained.
Sissies, she replied, but she sounded pleased to know I believed they were scared of her.
The Esarina sucked in a breath, perhaps still anticipating some further attack. I was acting as though in a vacuum—I was still the only one who knew the dragon was on our side. Or at the very least, she seemed to be on my side. But it wasn’t kind to keep this to myself any longer.
“It’s all right,” I said aloud, holding up a hand slowly, so as not to startle anyone. “She isn’t going to hurt us. She came to find me.”
Balfour! the dragon said, proudly. I thought I’d bust a gear with all that waiting.
I probably looked as though I’d busted a gear, attempting to have two separate conversations at once. Still, I did my best to apologize to her. I didn’t know you were looking for me, I explained.
“This …” the Esarina faltered, not knowing what words to use. “This creature belongs to you?”
“I wouldn’t put it like that, exactly,” I said; everything had happened so quickly, I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.
Are you embarrassed of me? the dragon asked.
I wouldn’t put it like that, exactly, I repeated, this time for her alone.
“It’s one of Nico’s dragons, Anastasia,” Antoinette said. “Balfour looks as surprised by her appearance as the rest of us—if not more so.”
She wasn’t wrong about that, I thought. Skirting the edge of the hole my dragon had torn in the floor—while she watched me curiously, wondering why I cared—I knelt near the rubble half covering the Esar’s body. His skin was pale, coated in dust from the white stone of the floor beneath the mangled carpet. His condition didn’t look promising, but I steeled myself—there was that word again—and leaned in closer, with my head nearly up against his chest, to see if he was breathing. I could have checked his pulse, but I didn’t want to trust something as crucial as the Esar’s life to the particular sensitivities of my hands. Even after all this time, I was still getting used to them.
Antoinette started across the floor toward us, then stopped herself, standing just short of the dragon behind me. The Esarina herself hadn’t budged but was as still as a statue, with her hands clasped tightly together.
A faint, guttural rasp filled my ears, and I felt the Esar’s chest rise weakly, then fall.
“He’s alive,” I said, breathing a considerable sigh of relief myself.
“These damned dragons,” Antoinette muttered. She didn’t appear to be happy or sad about the news, just angry. “He couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
“We’ll take him with us to the Basquiat,