Decades ago, after the tower was heightened and the blue dome built, the widow’s walk was open to all. People came from every city in the League and every town in between. Lines wrapped all through the plaza, whatever the weather. Couples signed partner agreements on the walk. Owners signed contracts. People picnicked and shouted. They dreamed and escaped. Then they started to jump.
One a month, five, ten. Leathers and silk. Rookery, Harbor, and Crest. The walk drew so many visitors the Council didn’t want to close it, so guards were stationed on the walk and trained to identify jumpers. One of those guards eventually jumped. Some jumpers had been ruined. Many saw no way to fortune. A few were successful and apparently content. Countless were the couples that couldn’t afford to partner. And one man tossed his three sedated children into the plaza; he didn’t jump himself. The terrace became a death trap.
A woman named Uly was the person who lived. A huge councilor broke her fall. He died, and as a result the walk was closed, the doors above the offices were locked, and Uly, still in a coma, was put in a gibbet with her shattered legs and hips.
The smallest chance is better than none, Ject thinks. Just tip back and let go.
He can’t. He says, “But the girl’s all right. We could find a way to make things work out.”
“I’m done trusting this city.”
“You could rule it. You have a dragon. And you could confiscate . . .”
“I only wanted to serve. Look where it’s gotten us.”
Ject can’t look at the dragon, so he looks past Jeryon and sees a shadow appear above the wall of the cupola. It’s Herse with a loaded crossbow.
6
* * *
As Jeryon circles the cupola Tristaban squeezes her eyes shut. She’s grateful Herse had the foresight to leave her bound. Otherwise, Jeryon might have had the dragon eat her before she got away. And if she had escaped, who knows what he might have done in retaliation. He knows where she lives. He knows where her father lives. He might have burned them out.
Herse thinks of everything. He’s played the Council as perfectly as she played her father when it came to partnering with Livion. What they could do together. Yes, he was born in the gutter, but look how he’s risen. And once he plunders Ayden, his wave will crest. She should ride it. His share could make him nearly as powerful as her father, maybe more so. What’s Livion in comparison? A pair of boots. Herse is the whole uniform.
Why did those boots make her so foolish? At least Livion was the bigger fool. His feelings made him blind to their contract’s bottom line. She severs it, and he’ll be due just a small dowry. She could, in fact, pay it herself. She will, she decides, and she’ll arrange her next partnership herself. The way Herse touched her cheek: She can make him sign just like Livion did. And let her father squawk if he doesn’t like it. She’s won’t be his Little Doll anymore. It’s time to put herself on the top shelf.
When she hears it land on the dome below the cupola, she rolls aside and thumps the trapdoor with her heels. Herse opens it from below, having had the foresight to hide on the ladder when the dragon started circling in order to find whoever fired the bolt. He climbs up with the crossbow. She says, “He’s down there.”
“I knew you were tough,” he says, and returns to the wall. Before hiding, he’d seen how Jeryon maneuvered the dragon, making it move and turn, dive and rise, with a combination of whistles, reins, and knees. It shouldn’t take him long to master. Herse aims the crossbow at Jeryon’s back.
Jeryon removes his sandals and ties them to a cord he takes from a saddlebag. He casts them over the edge of the dome to his right like a fishing line, plays it a bit, then whistles three times. The dragon’s head lashes out. It catches something and rises. Ject’s face appears. The dragon shakes him ruthlessly, but Ject can’t be thrown over the balustrade. The dragon lets go.
Ject bargains with Jeryon. Herse can barely hear what they’re saying, but Jeryon’s posture is unmoved and Ject looks resigned. Then Ject meets Herse’s gaze. For a second the thought flares in Ject’s eyes to tell Jeryon where Herse is. Surely he’s complained that one of his men didn’t fire on Jeryon. Ject knows Jeryon wouldn’t buy it, though, so he pleads with his eyes, “Shoot him, Herse. Shoot him now.”
Ject watches Herse rest his arms on top of the low cupola wall to steady the crossbow. He takes careful aim, then looks at Ject and shakes his head.
“Comber,” Jeryon says.
No one can doubt, Ject thinks, that a dragon, this dragon, not Ayden, destroyed the wolf pack. Jeryon’s wearing the goggles Solet had specially commissioned. Herse’s lies will come out. He’ll be ruined. Chelson will be too. As the flames envelop him, Ject thinks, I’ve won.