Chapter 15 #2
One of Wreylith’s horns clipped the side of the hole, knocking pieces of wood free.
Her great head seemed to fill the entire wheelhouse, and Syla tried not to feel trapped with her back to the console.
She also tried not to feel embarrassed that she was going to converse with a mighty dragon from the same position where she’d moments earlier been brought to ecstasy by Vorik.
Well, not the exact same position. Her cheeks heated as she remembered dropping back and throwing her legs wide for him, utterly unashamed about the crew outside, close enough to hear.
No, not unashamed, precisely. Just… too distracted to remember or care that people had been nearby.
As Wreylith gazed at her with her golden eyes, reptilian slits for pupils, Syla tried to push the memories from her thoughts. Dragons, she reminded herself, could read minds.
“Greetings, Lady Wreylith.” Syla stepped around her head, glad the dragon’s maw wasn’t open to reveal her long, pointed fangs, and shut the door after holding up a wait-please finger toward Radmarik.
“Thank you for coming. Dare I hope you’ve decided that you’re willing to carry me to collect the shielder components?
I would be surprised if it was Agrevlari’s allure—his screeching allure—that drew you. ”
Wreylith exhaled a warm breath that stirred Syla’s hair. Was that how dragons snorted?
I am certain that no female ever has been drawn by that male’s allure. Also, his screeches are off-key.
To say the least. Syla doubted, however, that she would recognize on-key dragon screeches if she heard them.
“You don’t think he’s handsome when he keeps his mouth closed?
” Syla didn’t know why she asked, other than that she cared about Vorik, and his dragon ally seemed earnest. Agrevlari had been aiding Vorik, who’d also aided her, so she felt an obligation to put in a good word for him. “He did help us during our battle.”
I did not need the help of an inferior domesticated dragon!
“Of course you didn’t. I didn’t mind it.” Maybe Syla shouldn’t have admitted that. She was, after all, supposed to be proving herself worthy to Wreylith, who had yet to say she’d come to offer a ride. Maybe she was still deciding?
It wasn’t entirely unamusing when he turned on his own superior to end the battle. Wreylith’s lips parted, revealing the fangs Syla had been appreciating not seeing. Fortunately, it seemed more a smile than a threatening gesture. Like a content dog lolling its tongue out after a run.
Wreylith’s jaws snapped shut, and her lids came down to narrow her eyes. Syla reminded herself about the mind-reading possibility. No, the likelihood.
“It was amusing, yes,” she said. “And very helpful since I longed not only to live and complete my mission but keep this whaling vessel from being destroyed by dragon fire.”
Poor Captain Radmarik. His ship had been set upon and damaged twice now because of her.
She would have to arrange payment again so he could finance a second round of repairs.
How she would manage that, she didn’t know, since General Dolok might already have taken over the castle—and its coffers—in her absence.
We await another, and then we may begin your journey.
“Oh? You’re willing to take me? Us? Will the other carry one of my allies?” Syla waved toward the doorway to indicate Fel and Teyla outside.
I will carry you. The inferior domesticated dragon has agreed to port the others. Unlike superior wild dragons, she was born to weak dragons who kowtow to puny humans, so she is accustomed to the idea. No wild dragon that I tangentially broached the subject with showed interest.
“I would be delighted and honored to have the assistance of another dragon, no matter what her origins.”
After the words came out, Syla questioned them.
What Wreylith called domesticated dragons were dragons allied with the stormers, those who let riders on their backs and battled her people.
Even though they retained their independence and were only allies—not at the beck and call of the stormers—would it be safe for Fel and Teyla to get on the back of one?
What if this new dragon was coming along so that she could spy and report back to the stormers?
Of course you are honored. Dragons are vastly superior to your kind.
“You’re right. I should have brought you an offering.” Syla thought of the cookies she’d given to Vorik but doubted the carnivorous dragon would have enjoyed them.
That would have been appropriate, but you’ve promised me numerous delicious animals in exchange for my help. In particular, I look forward to the horn hogs.
“After we get back, I’ll get those animals, yes.
It’ll just take me some time to arrange for hunters to acquire everything on the agreed-upon list.” Syla didn’t mention that it might be as hard for her to arrange that as to get money out of the castle coffers.
If Wreylith helped her, she would find a way to make good on her promise.
Even if she had to wander the countryside herself, bartering healing for meat.
You might have brought a preliminary morsel, thus to ensure my willingness to stick with you throughout what might be a tedious journey of many days. An image of a sheep standing in a pasture accompanied the words.
“You’re right. I should have thought of that.” Syla also didn’t mention that she’d had to flee Castle Island and that carrying a sheep draped over her shoulders would have made that more challenging than it already had been.
Wreylith’s warm breath filled the room. Another snort? The domesticated dragon will arrive soon.
“So we can go? Let me tell Captain Radmarik that we’ll depart.” Syla lifted a hand for the door latch but paused, making sure Wreylith truly did intend to take them.
We can go, yes.
“What made you decide that I’m… worthy of helping?”
Maybe Syla didn’t want to know. She wasn’t proud of having killed that man and worried that was what had swayed the dragon.
Had Wreylith been able to see or sense that all the way from Harvest Island?
Syla didn’t berate herself for defending her own life, but she wished she’d been able to incapacitate the man instead of killing him.
If there’d been more time and she hadn’t been reacting on instinct—on sheer terror—maybe it could have gone differently.
You successfully defended yourself from an assassin, Wreylith said.
Syla nodded grimly and unfastened the door latch. It was what she’d expected the dragon to say.
And you lured what humans would consider a powerful individual to kneel before you and satisfy your sexual needs.
Syla almost fell through the door. That wasn’t what she’d expected the dragon to say.
How could Wreylith have known what was going on in the wheelhouse from so far away?
From any distance. The door had been shut, Agrevlari’s belly had blocked the hole, and there was nothing but sea beyond the front windows.
Wreylith’s jaws parted, again bringing the thought of contented dog-tongue-lolling to mind. And did those golden eyes glint with humor?
Riders are, of course, still puny humans, but those who’ve convinced dragons to lend them power are less puny than most.
“Er, yes.” Syla imagined telling Vorik that Wreylith had described him as less puny than most.
To have won such a mate for yourself speaks to your prowess as a female, Wreylith added. Whether you’d ever be worthy enough for a dragon to desire to bond with you, I do not know, but I believe you are correct. As you said, you have potential.
“Because Vorik, uhm, satisfied me.”
From his knees!
Syla bit her lip, barely keeping from saying that it hadn’t signified anything like Wreylith seemed to believe, and that she would have happily knelt before Vorik to satisfy him in a similar manner.
Maybe one day, she would correct Wreylith, but for now…
she needed a ride. With the stormers threatening Harvest Island, and continuing to plot against the Kingdom as a whole, her people needed her to have a ride.
Perhaps one day, Wreylith added, not commenting on her thoughts, you will be like Queen Erasbella.
“She sounded like a capable ruler.” Syla looked forward to reading about whatever secret side of her great-great grandmother was in the book she’d found. “I would be proud to be like her.”
Only belatedly did Syla think to wonder if the dragon was implying her great-great grandmother had led a… lurid life. The other books hadn’t mentioned sexual escapades, so that would indeed be a secret side.
Yes. Now climb up here and get onto my back. Not my tail. Igliana has arrived.
Syla grimaced, knowing that she would not only have a hard time pulling herself onto Wreylith’s back but that even clambering onto the roof of the wheelhouse—what remained of the roof—would challenge her athleticism. Oh, to have even a tenth of the ability that Vorik possessed.
Curious about who Igliana was, Syla affixed her pack over her shoulders and walked outside.
Some of the crew had started on repairs that could be done while at sea, but many continued staring at Wreylith and also at a smaller dragon that had arrived.
A vibrant orange dragon, it—she, Syla reminded herself—perched on one of the harpoon launchers, balancing easily considering how small it was compared to a dragon.
The newcomer might not be as large as Wreylith, but she was still capable of carrying two riders.
And, Syla thought, her earlier concerns returning, capable of flying back to the stormers and reporting the group’s activities.
Greetings, humans! The orange dragon sprang into the air, flew vertically dozens of yards, then turned and tucked her wings in close to dive.