He’d have to distract it. Convince it to focus on him, give Sophie time to swim. If shewouldswim.
The dragon’s enormous wings were just visible under the water as it swam toward the beaches of Mislia, and Iason tightened his arm around Sophie, bracing for impact. Sure enough, the dragon flung them off, sending them barreling onto the sand, and Iason only had a moment to draw enough power to slow Sophie’s fall. She landed on her side with a grunt, and Iason hit with a force that knocked the air from his lungs. Sea-foam surged around him as he rolled painfully to his back, and a shadow blocked the stars as the dragon emerged from the sea with a triumphant roar.
Iason hadn’t been trained to fight with his magic. He knew weapons, poisons, how to slink unnoticed in the shadows and flee when he must. But as the dragon’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight, Iason pushed himself to his knees and pulled at the closest source of magic he could find. A weapon. He needed a weapon.
The sand boiled beneath him, and he felt something hot and smooth press against his hand. He hauled it up to reveal a jagged, twisting spear made of glass and chunks of seashell, and he leveled it at the dragon as it reared back to strike.
The dragon hissed and grabbed the spear between its teeth, tossing it into the ocean, and Iason just had enough time to throw up a shield of pure magic before it turned on him again. Great claws dug furrows into the sand, and wings beat the air, forcing Iason to his knees. The dragon lunged for him, mouth open. He ducked out of the way as it snapped at the air where he’d been, then met its gaze as it glared at him from less than a foot away. It swung its head as though to toss him back into the ocean, and Iason frantically called on the magic again, letting it create a pit beneath the dragon for Iason to slide into. It narrowly missed him again, and the dragon dug at the sand around him, letting water rush into the pit as Iason tried to scramble away.
It struck again, and Iason closed his eyes as a black maw opened to swallow him whole.
There was no pain. No rush of terror as he was thrown into the air. No enormous teeth rending his flesh. Iason opened his eyes and stared into the open mouth of the dragon, which had stopped just shy of clamping its teeth around his torso. He felt a blast of its hot breath, and then it drew back and struck again—
Only to stop once more, its teeth mere inches from Iason’s throat. A growl rolled through the air like thunder, and Iason heard shouting behind him, voices calling out in Morrey. The dragon let go of him, fury in its wild eyes, and Iason only had enough time to cover his face with an illusion before a group of people came rushing to his side, weapons drawn. A line of mages flanked them, and Iason felt firm hands gripping his collar, pulling him back.
“Careful, brother,” a voice said, and the Mislians on the beach staggered as the dragon roared again, wings outstretched, before turning to dive into the ocean. “No one follow it. East patrol, I need eyes on the beach at every watch point until further notice.”
A wave crashed over the gathered Mislians, and Iason turned to see a young man with his hair tied in short braids holding Iason’s shirt with one hand and Sophie’s arm with the other.
“Sophie,” Iason said, and grunted when she threw herself at him, clinging to his shoulders with her face pressed to his chest.
The man who’d barked out orders to the others grinned and patted Iason’s back. “No one will believe this,” he said. “An Old One in Mislia after all this time? I don’t know if I should call you lucky or cursed.”
Iason glanced around the beach. The Mislians were in uniforms he didn’t recognize, black robes with red flowers on their left breasts, and they were all laughing or shaking with nerves. Some were sitting in the sand, as though just standing before an Old One was enough to drain the strength from them. Iason could relate.
“Cursed, I think,” Iason said, and the man laughed.
“I don’t blame you. Good thing we were patrolling the beach, eh?” He held out a hand, and Iason let go of Sophie long enough to warily take it. “Lazaros, first officer. Why don’t you come with us to HQ, and you can get something to drink while we figure this dragon thing out.”
“HQ?” First officer? Were they special forces deployed by the mage circle? Surely not—all news out of Mislia indicated that the mage circle was in ruins.
“Headquarters,” Lazaros said. He tapped the rose insignia on his chest. “Not to worry, brother. The foot soldiers of Summer’s rebellion are here to help.”
* * *
The Tempestraged.
It had been some time since Leviathan had felt more like the storm than like its progenitor. He had no idea what had happened, only that he’d been resting in the deep waters off Mislia and then something—someone—had tapped into his very being, the core of his godhood, andpulled. It felt like his wings were being torn from his back—the sensation was intense, and at first he had no idea what it was. He inhaled seawater with the force of his surprised roar, wings stirring so much silt that he could barely see where he was going. It wasn’t until his head broke the surface that he realized what he was feeling waspain. It had been centuries since he’d felt such a thing.
Not since he’d lain with a mortal on a sandbar and bled from a wound on his shoulder.
The memory made him furious, but he still couldn’t understand what was happening… and then the sensation changed. It wasn’t pain anymore, but pleasure. And that was strangest of all, that something could assail him so suddenlyandhurtand then—then—
Leviathan lived in the moment, and he went hurtling toward the thing that had so brutally shaken him awake. That the pain became pleasure didn’t soothe his ire in the slightest. Leviathan was not actedupon. Dragons and gods were prideful beings, and Leviathan was both, so he headed to the source to make itstop.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find, but it certainly hadn’t been a wizard with a scarred face, holding a young girl in his arms. The sharks in the nearby nursing ground had very little to tell Leviathan other thanfresh blood and meat,and they’d seemed a bit miffed to have their meal interrupted.
Well. The sharks would have to wait, because this flotsam belonged to Leviathan. He took the man and the girl to the shore before attempting to devour the man who’d used him like some sort of magical touchstone. A wizard, then—that’s what they did, drew on the magic around them. Leviathan wasn’t magic, exactly, but apparently it was close enough for this one. The man must be very powerful, to do such a thing to a god, but Leviathan didn’t much care about that. He’d stopped caring about individual humans long ago, and now he barely cared about them as a species. Wizard or not, Leviathan’s teeth would make short work of him.
The wizard fought him, once again drawing power from Leviathan, though the man’s concern was clearly for the girl’s life, not his own. Leviathan still wouldn’t let him live—you didn’ttake powers from a god—but he wouldn’t harm the girl. She wasn’t the one who’d stolen from him.
Except, when it came time for the killing blow, Leviathan wasn’t able tobite. Which presented a new problem, one he couldn’t solve because it shouldn’t exist. Leviathan’s power was astronomical. No human wizard’s puny mortal form could defy the Tempest in a rage. And the wizard hadn’t even tried to escape, as if he were content to let Leviathan finish him off.
There must be something else, some outside influence, keeping the wizard alive. Which meant Leviathan needed to speak with Azaiah. A mortal who couldn’t die must be under his protection. Azaiah was compassion incarnate and cared far too much for humanity, but that was how he was meant to be. Leviathan was not. And a human who tried to strip him of his power was no one who deserved to be warded by a god.
The only problem wasfindingAzaiah. When he wasn’t guiding his boat to take souls across the river, he was in his little house on the riverbank with his companion, Nyx. But that realm was not one Leviathan could visit, in this form or any other, so there was only one way for him to summon Death.
Leviathan dove deep, thinking perhaps he’d head to Thalassa. There were always boats in those waters, trolling for fish or simply carrying tourists to look at the water. Leviathan understood the fishing boats, the necessity of his creatures dying to feed others; that was simply the way of things. But a boat of people pointing at the sea was useless, and they were not always respectful of his realm.
