Chapter 8 #3
“I believe so. I feel no guilt. Relvin set that up, saying a woman not married and birthing babies by twenty-five is a waste on society. As if that’s the only way one might contribute.
I’ve had papers published in the leading scholarly journals on archaeology and had a theology publisher recruit me for a well-researched article on what prompted the storm god to go mad and think creating dragons was a good idea. ”
“What was your conclusion on that?” Syla finished healing the contusion and leaned back, thinking of Wreylith flying about, looking for someplace to drop her haunch of meat.
“There’s evidence that when he spent time in the mortal world, he ate mukroog root for its supposed brain-boosting effects.”
“Mukroog root is a hallucinogenic and, at higher quantities, a poison.”
“Exactly. Slow-acting. It makes you sharp before it gives you kooky visions, but it also builds up in the brain and ends up being deleterious. The records show that he either voluntarily took it, because he liked the visions, or some human underling who sought to get rid of him was putting it in his food. This was more than a thousand years ago, so it’s hard to find real evidence.
There are supposedly paintings on ancient ruins in the rainforests of Froha.
” Teyla looked wistfully toward the room’s high window.
“I’d love to visit the continents one day, but Mom…
never came back. I’ve always been hesitant. ”
“It’s dangerous out there.”
“Danger is everywhere these days. Even in the streets of our capital.”
“Unfortunately true. You’d better increase your sword-fighting practices to two hours a night.”
“Tell me about it.” Teyla smoothed her hair where the wound had been.
“While I wouldn’t normally discourage you from your studies and adventures—maybe from wanting to travel to a continent full of gargoyles and wyverns—I need you here in the capital, Teyla.”
“You’re not going to try to put me down as an heir to the throne, are you? After you, it should be your father’s brother, though his brain is going early, speaking of kookiness, but what about his nieces and nephews?”
“None of them are moon-marked.” Syla waved her hand, reminding her cousin that the gods-gift only sporadically appeared on offspring born to relatives who weren’t directly in line for the throne.
Beyond that, it was less predictable, usually requiring only that one parent had a mark, but it had been known to skip a generation too.
Scientists had studied the phenomenon, inasmuch as the royal family had allowed, but results hadn’t been definitive. Those who believed the gods hadn’t abandoned mankind, as so many thought, attributed the appearance of the gifts to their ongoing intervention.
“I still can’t believe Relvin got a moon-mark,” Teyla said. “And me, for that matter. Mother had one but not Father. Relvin is a brat and doesn’t deserve one.” Teyla looked frankly at Syla. “You need to watch out for him.”
“Relvin?”
“Yes. He craves… I wouldn’t say power, exactly, but to be important.
To matter. He’s been snubbed a lot for his work with the newspaper, as if that’s terribly pedestrian and only for those who want to read Garden Kingdom gossip, and it galls him.
He wants to rule over all those who wouldn’t talk to him for a story or suggested he wasn’t doing noble work.
He’s hoping you’ll name him as your heir, though he’s also campaigning, I guess you’d call it.
Working with all those he’s managed to make friends with, usually those who share his vices, and hoping he can convince enough of the right people to insist that you’re not qualified to run the Kingdom—and he is. ”
“I did get that gist.”
“I don’t know if you’re qualified, Syla, but he surely isn’t. And he wants it too much. He wouldn’t be good for our people.”
“I agree. And I will watch out for him, though I’m more concerned about those lurking out there who are less vocal and will enact their schemes in silence.”
“I’d worry about that too.” Teyla met her eyes again. “Do you want the throne? I never thought you had any interest in that.”
“I didn’t, and no. I’d prefer to continue to work in the temple and do what comes naturally to me, but I worry about stepping aside and losing all say in who does end up in charge and how the Kingdom is run.
We have external threats we need to worry about right now.
Chaos and in-fighting wouldn’t be good for us. ”
“Agreed. The stormers have been scheming for generations, but now…” Teyla again touched the spot where her wound had been. “They’re serious now.”
Syla thought of Vorik’s statements about how the climate had changed and how hard it was getting for his people to survive out there. “Yes.”
A knock sounded but was cut off, and the door banged open.
In the hallway, Fel glowered as the white-haired General Dolok strode in. His dark eyes burned with accusation as his gaze landed on Syla.
She stood and mentally braced herself. Earlier, she’d been annoyed that he and so many of his troops had allowed themselves to be lured off, chasing the dragon ship and its fireworks display, but she could tell he was annoyed with her as well.
“Are you in need of healing, General?” she asked, partially to be polite, in case he was interested, but mostly in the hope of derailing what looked to be a tirade poised to erupt.
“I’ve more than a dozen men dead and another dozen injured,” Dolok said.
“Please bring the wounded here, and I will tend them.”
“You’d better tend them. And what about the dead? How will you heal them? This is your fault. You invited those people here.” Dolok thrust a finger in the direction of the harbor.
Syla exhaled, willing her body to remain calm at the accusation. But there was an unsettling truth in it that put her on edge. He wasn’t wrong.
“I invited them to bring diplomats in the hope of negotiating for peace, yes.”
“There can be no peace with the people who just invaded our capital—our entire island—and killed thousands while destroying centuries of history, our buildings, our culture, our city. And they’re still in the Kingdom, stealing all the crops from Harvest Island while their dragons denude the wilds of animals.
And they’re angling to get the rest of our islands.
You heard them. That’s the negotiating they were interested in.
I can’t believe you brought them and gave them the opportunity to try again for our shielder…
I relieve you from serving in any capacity to make decisions for the Kingdom. ”
“I’m not an officer, General. You can’t relieve me of duty.”
“I can have you forcibly removed and thrown in the dungeon.”
From the doorway, Fel growled like a guard dog.
“Your single bodyguard isn’t going to stop me.” Dolok didn’t even bother glancing at Fel.
Syla took a moment to collect her thoughts before responding. Dolok might already have gathered troops and be able to call people in to grab her and restrict her freedom. She couldn’t let herself be chained. There was too much to do.
“General Dolok, I agree that the night did not go well, but we still have the shielders, both the existing one and the one my aunt has been researching how to repair.” Syla didn’t mention the stolen scrolls.
“She needs my help to return a working shielder to Harvest Island. The Kingdom needs my help.”
“You’re not the engineer. What can you do to help the Kingdom? Except send letters through which our enemies will exploit us?”
“I can help in many ways. By healing your troops, to start with. Bring all who are injured to me.” Doubt creeping into Syla kept her retort from being as strong and certain as she wished.
“As to the stormers, that may have been a mistake. I agree. But I felt I had to reach out to them because… I’ve seen them in action, General.
Our troops aren’t a match for their riders. ”
“Only because they command dragons.”
No, not only that. But Syla, not wanting to further offend the general, didn’t argue that the stormers were better—faster and more agile and deadly—warriors even without the dragons. “I need you and the military to focus on defending the islands.”
“We can’t do that when you’re inviting our enemies inside the barrier.”
“I won’t do so again.”
“I would hope not.” Dolok shoved a hand through his short hair. “What Venia did has nearly destroyed us, and you— you want to help things along by letting that Captain Vorik into your bed, or whatever under the moon you have in mind there.”
“Not that. Focus on defending the Kingdom, General, and I’ll find a way to repair the Harvest Island shielder and get it back into place.”
“It’s not a kid with a bruise. You can’t heal it.”
“No, but we are researching what can be done.”
“We.” Dolok scoffed. “Your aunt is an agricultural engineer. And your only use is here, using your magic to heal people who do have the power to keep the Kingdom safe. If not for that, I would have already had you thrown in the dungeon. I may yet.”
Dolok spun to storm out the door, but a boy of thirteen or fourteen wearing the whites of the kitchen staff had arrived. He clutched a silver platter with a haunch of meat resting on it.
“Uhm, Your Highness?” He peered past the general to look at Syla. “I stood in the courtyard, as directed, and a huge red dragon dropped this from the sky. What… should I do with it?”
“A dragon?” Dolok stared at the meat.
“I heard… I mean, we think it’s eliok, Your Highness.” The kid looked reverently at the meat. “It’s supposed to be really good when it’s all seasoned and prepared properly.”
“Cook it for dinner,” Syla said. “The meat is indeed eliok, and it’s… a gift.”
“From a dragon?” Dolok demanded. “It must be poisoned. You should throw it in the ocean.”
“The military is not to be consulted on kitchen matters,” Syla told the boy. “Season it as you deem proper, and cook it up.”
The kid eyed the fuming general, the red tint to his face reminding Syla uncomfortably of the stormer whose airway she’d temporarily cut off. Next, the kid considered the meat, eyeing it with more pleasure than Dolok.
“I’ll give your order to the kitchen staff, Your Highness,” the boy said, then darted away. “Eliok,” he could be heard calling. “We’re going to have eliok for dinner. A gift from a dragon!”
“You may be too stupid to even be allowed to walk freely to heal people,” Dolok told Syla and fondled the sword hilt at his belt.
Fel watched his movement through slitted eyes.
“Just handle the military, General,” Syla said. “Let me get the shielder repaired and back up on Harvest Island. After that… if you want to stage a coup and lock me up, we can discuss it. With shackles around my wrists if you want.”
Teyla’s eyebrows flew up. Maybe Syla shouldn’t have gone that far.
“After I ensure the shielder is repaired,” Syla said again.
Dolok growled and stalked out, deliberately knocking his shoulder against Fel’s as he left. A testament to his size and fitness, the big bodyguard didn’t budge.
“I may have been mistaken when I told you to heal him,” Fel said to Syla. “I’d hoped he would feel magically bound to you.”
“That doesn’t always happen.”
Fel grunted, saying, “Too bad,” as he returned to standing guard in the hallway.
Syla tried to exhale some of her tension.
At least Fel was still on her side. She didn’t entirely know why he was, as the bond he’d felt after she’d healed him should have faded by now, and, as much as she hated to admit it, Dolok was right.
She’d invited the stormers here. This disaster had been of her making.
More than ever, she felt the need to see the other shielder repaired and returned to Harvest Island. She had to fix the damage she’d done.