Page 138 of Nine-Tenths

Now Simcoe stands. "His impertinence is wearing off on you."

"Or perhaps I am less inclined to be ruled by traditions that are of no benefit," Dav says, and I choke back a gasp becausefuckthat's bold. I'm being a little shit on purpose. But Dav's taking it a bit far.

I stand, partially because they're already talking over my head, and it doesn't need to be literal. But also because I want to literally be standing in solidarity with Dav.I'll be in the shit with you. I'm not going back on that. Not now that we're fighting to be happy, when everyone and everything around us is determined to force us into some definition of a relationship that fits like a flea-infested suit, three sizes too small.

I lay my hand on the small of Dav's back, and he twists his talon, unseen by Simcoe, to hook our pinkies together. Lt. Gov. Jerkface doesn't do anything so uncouth as look back and forth between us, but his eyes narrow further, and then land on the lapel pin hanging heavily and awkwardly on the collar of my wash-thinned shirt.

"Tradition matters," Simcoe hisses. At the corner of his jaw, the skin becomes dark brown scales.

"Not in the way it used to," Dav counters, just as forcefully. "Now it's all just celebrity gossip and tabloids."

"You think my work, the work of my family—"

"And what work is that? Your father created a beautiful colony, but acolonynonetheless." Dav cuts his free hand at the window, palm up, indicating the tightly manicured façade of control and opulence the world gets to glimpse through iron bars, never knowing the charm of the higgledy-piggledy working mess of barns and baby animals out the back. "There are different ways… better ways."

"Your idea of what this place was before we made it right is afantasy," Simcoe snaps. "With the privilege of your birth comes expectations."

"And what contributions have been allowed?" Dav sneers.

"Ef yw'r dewis anghywir," Simcoe replies.

Okay.

What the fuck language was that?

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Dav's whole arm flushes with scale.

I’m not scared of him, I remind myself.He’d never hurt me. Again.

"Nid eich dewis chi yw gwneud," Dav replies.

Is it a dragon language?

Simcoe’s pupils slit, his teeth growing larger in a mouth that's stretching to accommodate them. "Nid wyf yn caniatáu hynny!"

This is getting rude. "It's not fair to—"

Dav's ears start pulling back. "Nid oes angen eich caniatâd arnaf."

"You willrespectme!" Simcoe thunders, and suddenly his whole face is dappled with forest-coloured scales, hands hardening into claws, and okay, alright.

I'm alittlescared.

Dav pushes me behind him. I stumble, and go down hard on my ass. A red tail whips around my shoulders, steadying. My palms sting with carpet-burn. I lean sideways. I can't see. I don't know where the threat is—

"You've done nothing to earn it," Dav's shoulders drop forward, heavy with sudden muscle that tears through his button-down as his wings unfurl. He makes that hiss-click noise that features in the rare nightmares I have about Beanevolence burning.

"No!" I shout, and with nothing else I can do, I tug on his tail.

Hard.

Dav stumbles back and yowls like an affronted cat. I get myself on my feet and between the two dragons. Dav tries to push me aside, and I hold my ground, hands planted flat against his chest.

"Cut it out!" I shout. "You’re not setting him on fire!"

"Colin—!" Dav says, my name squealing through his elongating mouth like the screech from a rusty pulley.