He grunts. “Not when the Dragon is already dead.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“Are you saying the Fervor Dragon guarding the Garden of Epoch in the Seventh is dead?” If so we may not need to solve a riddle. Fine by me. We still need Em to get in, Dragon or none.
“I’m not saying she is; I’m not saying she isn’t.”
He can lie all he wants, but . . . “I’ve heard Fervor Dragon skin is as difficult to cut as mirrorglass. In fact, rumor has it mirrorglass alone can cut a Dragon’s hide.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear.” Licking his lips, he eyes my knife once more. He’s practically drooling. Got ’im. “There are other ways to attain such commodities. My dagger, for example, was already wrapped in Dragon skin when it came into my possession.”
The hope I’d placed on a guess fails. “So you haven’t been to the Garden or the Fountain?” Crowe, I was counting on this.
“No.” His tone falls flat.
I grab the hilt of my knife. Our business is done here.
Gage grabs my wrist. “Tell me this. How did you recognize the Dragon skin? I am merely curious.”
I shrug. “As a boy I loved Dragon stories. Learned everything I could about the beasts. Fervor Dragons are said to be myth, unlike the common Dragons of the air and sea. A Fervor Dragon cannot fly, and all are female. Her breath is so hot it turns her skin black as ash, welding it into armor with every exhale.”
“You know your mythology.” He releases my wrist and sheathes his weapon. “I am not giving you my knife, though.”
I incline my head. “Are you saying you do have something to trade?”
He considers me for a good while. Then he unscrews the handle from his blade and out spills a vial identical to the one I carry. “The Fountain gives one drink to each. I have never ventured to the Seventh myself, but Mistress Isabeau is generous when she so desires.”
I’ll bet she is. I shake my head. The man has no clue we’ve discovered the Rose and the Fountain are one and the same.
“This knife and its drink belonged to none other than the infamous Dimitri Gérard,” Gage goes on. “I am sure you have heard of him?”
Is my mouth hanging open? Because I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open.
“If I sacrifice my drink for you, I may never have the chance to change a moment in time again. Who knows if I will ever make it to the Fountain myself.”
Typical. Gage thinks a sip from the Rose Fountain works for his personal use. Do I break the bad news? Explain what the dew actually does?
Nah. I’d rather humor him. “What moment would you change?”
“Honestly?” He gives me the sort of look only a defeated man can offer.
I nod.
“The day I was born.”
If you’d told me I’d one day feel compassion for this scoundrel, I’d have laughed in your face. Now empathy raises the hair on the back of my neck. Gage carries no Calling. No true friends. No family that I’m aware. He’s a loner. He has no one. What must that be like?
With a flick against the dark glass, he says, “Here. It is probably expired by now anyway.”
Did the son of a Soulless just make a joke? “Thanks.”
“Use it wisely.” He grabs my weapon.
I stop his hand before it retreats with the blade I will never see again. The weapon that’s been with me since boyhood. An unwelcome lump forms in my throat. She’d be proud this is what I traded her gift for. I know it.
“Use it wisely,” I tell him, repeating his warning. One can only hope he’ll heed it the way I have. Doubtful, but I’ll hope so just the same.
He says nothing, stumbles off the stool, and staggers away.
I’d like to say this is the end, but I know better. With the full vial in my possession, I can’t deny the truth.
This is only the beginning.
ASIDE