“Oh, no, Argo’s fine, he’s just, uh, you know, new,” Sophie babbled, looking wildly at Iason and Levi in turn. “I’m not used to having him yet.”
“Argo’s a good name,” Lazaros said kindly. “And the houses are empty. Some of them were damaged, but we’ve got one that should work. Families should be together, and I… You should have privacy,” he said. “I was about your age when I was sent to the brothels. That’s one of the things I hated the most, not having my own room anymore.”
“She’s thirteen,” Iason said.
“Fourteen,” Sophie corrected. “My birthday was while we were on the ship.”
“Oh—sorry, you look younger,” Lazaros said. “I was eleven. Must be worse, then, for a young lady.”
“You were eleven?” Iason’s eyes narrowed. “That’s too young.”
“Yes, well, the younger we were, the easier to break.” Lazaros’s friendly smile faded a bit. “But if you wouldn’t mind taking the house, it’ll leave your tent available for people who need easier access to healers or supplies. If it’s a problem—”
“It’s not,” Levi said. “Thank you. Which house is it?”
“The one on the end, there, by the dune—there’s a magelight on the porch. It has two bedrooms, a kitchen that’s mostly functional, spelled water purifiers, even a bath. Good for your new dragon,” Lazaros told Sophie. “There’s bedding, some fishing supplies, firewood, food staples.”
Sophie told him about the fish she’d caught, most of which she’d left down by the beach thanks to Iason’s magical display, and Iason gruffly thanked Lazaros before the three of them headed to the little house. The interior was a bit musty and had clearly been ransacked, though it had been swept and the furniture repaired as much as possible. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was a fair sight bigger than the tent, and Sophie immediately made a little bathtub haven for Argo with water from the spelled taps and some soap she found on the edge of the tub.
“I’ll go get our things,” she said, once Argo was flopping around happily in the bath, chomping at bubbles and flipping water onto the floor with his fins. “From the tent. Figure out what room is mine, okay?”
“I’ll go,” Iason said. “You heard what Lazaros said. There may be more mages, and someone’s trying to hurt them—”
“Iason,” Sophie interrupted, with that youthful attempt at dominance, “I’m fine. I’m going to the tent, and I’ll be right back.”
“She’ll be all right,” Levi assured Iason. “You need to let her have some independence. It’s more than just having her own room.”
“As if you know about raising children?” Iason raked a hand through his hair. “It’s not about independence. I’m trying to keep her safe.”
Sophie stood in the doorway, illuminated by the late afternoon sun. She looked strange in her borrowed Mislian clothes with her hair in her face, dust motes drifting about her. Levi could see the divinity she’d been given in the pulse of her blood under her skin. She wasn’t immortal, she wasn’t a god, but the magic was there, changing her in ways none of them would anticipate until they manifested. She was a bit like a siren, Sophie: proud and defiant, saving water dragons who tried to bite clouds and defending an assassin who would have been happy to let Levi devour him as long as she was safe.
Sophie walked over, put her arms around Iason, and hugged him. “It kinda makes me mad when you do that, act like I’m in danger all the time. I’m not. I’m… Ilikeit here, Iason. I think I can be useful. I used to cry a lot, too.” She pulled back and smiled up at him fondly. “It’s nice to know someone worries about me. I just wish you didn’t get so mad about it.”
Levi laughed as Iason, overcome by Sophie’s expression of gratitude and affection, groaned and closed his eyes, face going red as he hugged her back. “I’m not upset, Sophie. I’m realistic. They’ll figure out who I am, eventually. And they won’t let me stay here.”
“They will,” she said, and kissed his scarred cheek. “What’s the point of a revolution if you don’t change things?”
Iason didn’t answer, but he watched her go, smiling only after she’d closed the door behind her. He turned to Levi, and there was still a hint of that softness in his gaze, though his voice was gruff, not quite as gentle. “You said you liked her.”
Levi nodded. “I do, yes. She reminds me of a siren. I made them, and they became what they wanted.” He thought about the siren who’d warned him of the mortal who would steal his godhood, but he didn’t want to dwell on that. “I like independent beings. Swimming against the tides takes courage. She’s very brave.”
“She is.” Iason was still watching him. “And she thinks the best of everyone. Even me, when… well. You were in my head, dragon. You know I’m not a good man.”
“You’re better than some, worse than others,” Levi said. “But that’s true of all beings, even gods.”
Iason laughed, and for once, it didn’t sound brittle. “I don’t know why I find that a comfort.”
“The sea simplyis, Iason. Sometimes it rages, sometimes it doesn’t. I have drowned ships, destroyed islands no one even remembers the names of. There are creatures in my deepest ocean that you think are legends, and some you could not have dreamed up at all. But my storms clear the red tides. They send ships to the seafloor that provide shelter so fish can spawn, and those fish feed the people in Thalassa. I am what I am, and so are you.”
“What you are, dragon, is fond of speeches,” Iason said, but again, he didn’t sound angry. Only tired, and perhaps a bit cautious. “I don’t know how to return your form to you, but I will, because it was not mine to take. But they— You said people left offerings for you. At your shrine. What did they ask for?”
“Good weather, smooth sailing, storms to water their crops. Fish to fill their nets, their bellies, their coffers. Why?” Levi studied him. “Do you seek to make an offering to me, Iason of Mislia?”
“Aye,” Iason said. “Well. No. I want to ask you for something.”
Levi raised his eyebrows, listening to Argo splashing about in the tub, the sound of distant voices from the beach coming in through the open kitchen window. “What would you ask me for, then? A proper supplicant would kneel.”
“I’m hardly that.” Iason met his gaze. “Again, I don’t know how to give back what I took. But I meant it when I said I would. No matter what. The thing is, I think… if it can be done, I won’t survive the process.”
