Acid Breath sighed. <I won’t eat you. Or boil you.>
“There, he promised.” I tried not to show my reluctance as I approached Acid Breath’s face, but my heart pounded and it seemed strange that of all the things that had happened tonight, this should scare me so much. What was one short ride in lieu of stairs?
I crouched and waited for him to part his teeth a little so I could hook my arm around the fangs. “You too.” I motioned for Sam to do the same as me. He used his good arm to brace himself, staring stoically at me as he did. I reached forward and helped steady him before telling Acid Breath we were ready.
The drop was sudden and swift, as though the dragon wasn’t used to such weights in his mouth. Which was ridiculous. I’d seen him eat a bear midair.
His chin thudded on the ground, jarring us as we landed. Sam leapt away, staggered, and leaned on the Councilhouse for support.
<You’re all tangled together now. Ugh. I should eat you both.>
Dragons just couldn’t be nice.
“Thank you.” I rested my hand on Acid Breath’s snout. The scales were cool, coated with ash. He’d breathed in too much, probably burned his lungs, too. He was dying.
<Go away.>
I nodded and left him. It was my fault he and his army were here. My fault they were dying in this city, rather than in the north, moving all the dragons to a safer location. Safer for now, anyway. The ash would rise into the upper atmosphere. It would block sunlight and smother the world.
I hoped Orrin and his group were far away.
“Let’s go.” I linked my arm with Sam’s good one and helped him around to the front of the Councilhouse and the half-moon steps. “Do you need to rest?”
He was pale and trembling, but he shook his head. “I’m fine. I can do this.”
“I know you can.” I paused halfway up the stairs and let him catch his breath. “But if you need a quick rest, I understand.” He’d lost a lot of blood.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just upset that you’ve made me ride that dragon twice now.” He flashed a weak smile, and my heart folded up with fear and hope and anxiety. He was being so brave.
“That’s the last time, I promise. No more dragons.”
He nodded a little and started climbing the stairs again. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
I held his hand while I considered what we were doing, how unlikely it was to succeed. Did I even have a plan? It seemed like I was doing what I always did: rush in blindly with one ambitious goal.
Ruin Janan’s life by saving the phoenix.
“Maybe I can annoy him to death,” I muttered.
“I’ve never heard a plan more likely to succeed.” Sam paused as we reached the top of the stairs. “Inside, I think. We can exit through one of the side doors.”
“Good idea.” The glass on the double doors had blown out at some point, probably during the eruption. Our boots crunched the shards, and inside, we had to stop so I could pull out the biggest pieces. I didn’t want either of us to slip.
The Councilhouse was dim and silent. The air smothered our steps, and Sam’s rasping breath. We paused in a washroom to better clean Sam’s shoulder and rinse the blood and grit from our faces and mouths, but after a few long drinks of water, we hurried on. Janan wasn’t moving quickly, but there was no time to waste.
“I wish I knew what he planned on doing with the phoenix,” I muttered as we headed through the library. Then I realized how stupid I’d been. How blind.
I’d assumed we would all die in the first eruption, and that would be it. No reincarnation. Nothing. But Sarit had been right when she said Janan needed people to rule. He wouldn’t let them die.
Five thousand years ago, he hadn’t become the leader by lying to his people. He’d have needed to be strong, able to protect them. He would have kept his promises.
He’d promised to become immortal, then return to do the same for them. That didn’t mean they’d have equal power. It meant he ruled them for eternity.
I dropped to the nearest sofa and buried my face in my hands. “Sam,” I said. “Janan is going to make you immortal.”
31
VOICES
SAM COLLAPSED NEXT to me, breath heaving.
I studied him, the bloody mess of his hair, the gray pallor of his skin, and the red of injury and infection on his shoulder.
He wasn’t doing well. His body was giving out, and unless we found a medic soon, I couldn’t imagine he would recover. Sam was dying, slowly and painfully, and we both knew it.
“Are you sure?” His expression held a terrible mix of hope and despair. He didn’t want to die. No one did. And if everyone would soon be made immortal, maybe Stef and Armande and Whit and Sarit would be reborn.
But not me.
“I think so,” I whispered. “That’s why he wanted a phoenix. That’s why he has that knife.”