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me,” he said. “I need you far too much.”
His words were a blade that slashed through Finch, making him flinch. Hugh’s grip tightened
on his hand. After a stunned moment spent composing himself, Finch found himself able to
reply. “Thank you, sir, but you survived many centuries before I was born and will carry on for
just as many after I die. I have faith you’ll be fine.”
Hugh grunted, looked at Finch skeptically, and said no more for the rest of the trip.
He didn’t, however, let go of Finch’s hand.
* * *
It had been several years since Hugh had last taken Finch to his father’s home, but it was
every bit as impressive as Finch remembered. The exterior was stately and imposing, as was
to be expected of the head of the Amethyst clan, and beautiful in a stoic and orderly way. It
was the kind of estate where messes were never tolerated, and as such, it appealed to Finch
at a fundamental level.
The interior was just as lovely.
From its impressive architecture to the tasteful furniture and displays of wealth kept within its
walls, the place was a showcase for the wealthiest of all the Jeweled dragons. In particular,
Finch found himself attracted to a dragon sculpted out of purple jade that sat on a plinth not all
that far from the main entrance. Hugh was not the only Drake fond of purple, it seemed. The
whole family appeared to have an affinity for it.
While Hugh exchanged strained pleasantries with his father’s manservant, Carsons, Finch
occupied himself by spotting other instances of the color around the room. There were the
paintings on the walls—Renaissance, if he had to guess—in which bursts of purple sneaked
in unexpectedly in small, mostly unnoticeable ways; and the blooms of flowering plants basking
in the natural light pouring into the room. As they were led deeper into the residence, Finch
spotted other subtle occurrences of the shade, from crystals sparkling in the depths of a
chandelier to pocket squares worn by Grimbold’s staff. It was quite lovely to behold. So lovely,
in fact, that he was almost taken by surprise when Carsons stopped them in front of an ornate
door and knocked crisply three times.
“Mr. Hugh Drake, sir,” Carsons declared. “And his secretary, one Mr. Finch.”
There came shuffling from inside, as of someone stiffly rising from an armchair by the door. It
