“You must be confused,” Vyrathion says with a dangerous mildness. “But I will explain. This village obviously has gold. Gold leaf, perhaps, but still. There may be more of it. Indeed there certainly is. Because that tribe values gold. And if they lost this outside their walls, and they’re not desperately turning the jungle upside-down to find it again, it means they can afford tonot care. That means they have more of it. And I will go and get it. Now do you understand?”
I look away. “Oh, I get that part. I understand there could be gold in that village. But I have to help the girls first. And they may have gold, too.”
“You said that before,” the dragon scoffs. “I remember a lot of ‘if’ and ‘maybe’ and ‘perhaps’ about it. Release yourself from that fantasy and come to where there’scertainlygold. Certainly!”
Shit.He’s really not coming with me. He’s willing to go in a different direction even if I won’t come.
I blink back sudden tears. “Vyrathion. It’s only maybe two days of delay. The time will pass faster than you think.”
“Time?” he snarls. “What do you know abouttime?For years I’ve been reduced to trod through the mud along with all these lesser species. Always getting weaker, always having to hide. Do you know I was kept in a cage that was half underwater for months? Can you imagine the humiliation? Don’t talk to me about time. A single second that separates me from my gold is an intolerable eternity! Now,come.”
“I didn’t know about the cage,” I tell him. “Sorry that happened to you. I’m sure you didn’t deserve it. But I have to see these girls.”
“Morgan,” he says in a deadly, flat tone. “Come here.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
He lowers his voice. “Those girls are likely dead already. And you will only be eaten by a monster yourself. Why do you think you survived this long? It’s because you were with me! They didn’tdare attack, unless they were unusually stupid! But if they find you alone, you’re dead.”
“I know it’s dangerous,” I tell him. “That’s why I want you to come with me and keep me safe. Only you can keep me safe, Vyrathion.”
He opens his mouth to say something, then changes his mind. “I’m not used to issuing the same command several times. This is the last: come here.”
“What if you find the gold and you Change?”
He smiles. “Excellent. You will see me as I am.”
“But you might not come to help the girls.”
His eyes go narrow. “Did I mention the folly of demanding a dragon to promise something?”
I love Vyrathion. But I may not love the full dragon as much. And the dragon may not feel the same about me as he does now.
“If you find gold - will I still be important to you?”
“That would depend on the circumstances,” he says airily.
One last try. I take a deep breath. “I understand that this is hard to accept. But it really is true that Praxigor doesn’t have a hoard. He has Astrid. He loves her. She is his hoard. It really is true. Didn’t you hear what he said? ‘She loves me, you see’ when he was referring to his hoard.”
“Yes, it was quite insulting that he’d try such an obvious ploy with another dragon,” Vyrathion seethes. “But I shall seek him out. It’ll be the first thing I do. I will find him and destroy him and seize his whole hoard!”
No, this is getting nowhere and I’m running out of time. “I’ll go to the girls. You’ll go get your gold.”
In two long strides he’s next to me, towering over me in all his terrible beauty and anger. “This is getting tedious. You are coming with me.” He reaches for my throat with one clawed hand, but stops two inches away, trembling fingers curled in the air. “Don’t draw a dragon’s fury!”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I tell him. “I know you will never harm me. I just want you to come with me and help the girls. You can get the gold later. I can help. The other girls can help! It’ll be easier!”
He stares me down for three heartbeats.
Then he turns on his heel. “No.”
He marches right into the jungle. Most of the Plood follow him.
For several seconds I remain where I am.
Vyrathion's broad back grows smaller as he strides through the jungle. Branches bend aside for him. Ferns sway in his wake. Around him the Plood stream forward in a silent procession, still clutching rocks and scraps of metal and bits of yellow debris as if they are treasures beyond price.
I keep expecting him to stop. The argument is over, but it doesn't feel over. Surely he'll notice that I'm really not following. Surely he'll look back and realize I've actually stayed behind. The farther he gets, the more absurd it seems that he would simply leave.
