Chapter 22
As the dragons flew above the forested foothills and angled upward, leaving a brilliant blue sky to soar under gray clouds that grew darker as they neared the Everfrost peaks, Igliana took the lead.
That surprised Syla, and she blinked and put away her book, sensing they had to be getting close to something. Until now, Wreylith had been in the lead and clearly in charge.
“You’re letting someone young and perky fly ahead of you?” Syla looked at Teyla and Fel. His face had grown less green so Igliana must have calmed her early-morning exuberance.
She knows the way.
“To… the ore?” When Syla had described the components to Wreylith, the dragon had been indifferent. She certainly hadn’t implied that she knew where any could be found.
The ore you seek lies in Scar Peak. She knows of an area where deposits are exposed.
“I’ve only seen that mountain on maps.”
Maps. Wreylith grunted. Or maybe that was a scoff. Our kind all know where that mountain lies. It has been a meeting point for centuries.
“Does it or the ore inside have some significance to dragons?”
You will see. You are welcome.
“I’m sure I am.”
I chose Igliana on purpose. Wreylith sounded smug.
“Not because you enjoy her youthful enthusiasm?”
I tolerate that.
Syla looked toward her comrades again, wondering if Igliana had told them anything, but they were flying too far away for her to ask. She wished Teyla were sharing Wreylith’s back with her. Or even Fel.
Not only would she have liked to share what she was learning about her great-great grandmother, but she felt lonely riding by herself.
No, she felt lonely in general. And not without reason.
After losing her family and so many colleagues—friends—who’d worked at Moon Watch Temple with her, she had few people to confide in.
Or just to chat with. Her missions had kept her busy but not so busy that she hadn’t noticed the lack, and tears threatened whenever she let herself think about those who’d passed.
Since she still had a mission, Syla lifted her spectacles, wiped the moisture out of her eyes, and attempted to focus on it.
But, as the dragons soared toward a snow-capped peak that rose higher than those around it, she thought of Vorik.
Too bad she had to pit herself against him to get the amphora back—and, ideally, beat him to the ore.
A part of her almost wished she’d let him kidnap her.
It had been his officer who’d been about to toss her over his shoulder, but she trusted she would have ended up with Vorik.
Maybe he could have shown her how to use the juggling balls he’d given her.
She couldn’t imagine figuring out how to toss them about on her own.
Unfortunately, if she were kidnapped, it would be because the stormers wanted to use her against her own people. She couldn’t allow that.
Igliana led them around the peak of the mountain, slushy rain falling from dark clouds hanging over the range, and soared into a deep canyon that gouged the slope, running from the peak down its bare side and into the trees at a lower elevation.
Presumably, it was the “scar” that had given the mountain its name.
Thunder rumbled as Igliana flew toward a cavern within the canyon. High up on one of the vertical sides, it was large enough for a dragon to fly through. Fel looked around and pulled his crossbow into his lap.
Probably glad to escape the storm, Wreylith followed without hesitation, wings outstretched to glide into the cavern behind Igliana.
Though the entrance was high and wide enough for dragons to soar through, Syla ducked her head, the dense rock on all sides feeling as if it were closing in on them.
Unless one counted the tunnels under the castle, she hadn’t been in many caves in her life.
Surprisingly, the scents of roasting meat wafted to her nose, and they soon flew into illumination provided by campfires, lanterns, and a teal glow from the back of the cavern. Syla blinked. There were many people and several dragons inside.
The humans had claimed a portion of the cavern where the ground was relatively flat.
Old mine carts and shovels in one corner suggested some of the area might have been intentionally carved out long ago.
The humans living there now had used hanging hides to section off rooms against one wall.
Many people sat or stood around the campfires, the scents of roasting meat originating there.
With platters and flagons in use, the inhabitants were finishing off a communal meal.
Ignoring that area, Igliana flew straight toward the dragons roosting in the back, some curled on their sides and snoozing and others perched right atop the glowing teal spots.
“Is that…” Syla started.
The teal ore that you seek. Igliana landed, and a larger orange dragon stood, stretched, and ambled toward her. Though male, he looked much like her except for a horn that had been broken off in the past. And my father, she added.
Wreylith landed in the center of the cavern, neither getting close to the dragons nor the humans.
Clad in leathers and furs, the men and women gazed without surprise toward the newcomers.
Some of the fitter individuals gripped bows, but they didn’t raise them.
Syla spotted a gray-haired woman with black fingerless gloves and shifted uneasily.
We are invited, Wreylith said, thanks to Igliana. Her parents live here.
With the… stormers? Syla responded silently since she didn’t know if she wanted these people to overhear. She trusted Wreylith would understand her.
I know and care little of humans and how they designate themselves, Wreylith said, but Igliana has informed me that these people broke away from the stormer tribes. Supposedly, they seek peace with your kingdom.
Wait, are these people in the Freeborn Faction? Syla looked again at the gray-haired woman—she was walking toward them. Or is this the entire faction?
She estimated sixty or seventy people living in the cavern.
She’d thought—or maybe hoped—that the faction was larger than that and had more resources they could bring to bear.
Not that she’d managed to arrange a meeting with them to speak of alliances.
The messenger she’d sent at the same time as she’d invited the stormer tribes to visit Castle Island for negotiations hadn’t known where to start looking for the faction.
Since the gray-haired woman was heading toward them, Syla slid off Wreylith’s back. The woman’s keen gaze followed her movement, and she stopped and nodded respectfully toward the red dragon before giving Syla her full focus. She’d only glanced at Fel and Teyla as they’d eased off Igliana’s back.
“You are Princess Syla,” the woman said.
“Yes. Are you— Is this the Freeborn Faction?”
“Yes. I’m a former captain of the Sixteen Talons. Now, my people call me Chieftess, though I don’t claim to be a ruler, just an organizer.” Despite the words, she had the mien of a leader. “You can call me Atilya.”
“Oh. You must be Captain Radmarik’s, uhm.
” Syla almost said wife, since he’d used that term, but he’d also suggested their marriage wasn’t legal, and when he’d spoken of the romantic encounters he enjoyed, she’d wondered if the stormer woman truly considered him a life partner. “Companion,” she finished.
Atilya snorted.
Not sure how to interpret the sound, Syla added, “The one who gives him sugar cane.”
“Yes, I like to reward him for enthusiasm under the furs.”
“Er, yes.”
Apparently, Atilya was going to be as open about discussing sex with a near stranger as Radmarik had been.
“I’ve heard that’s a good idea,” Syla added.
“It encourages good behavior and repeat performances.” Atilya didn’t wink, but she did smile slightly.
Syla had yelled at Vorik instead of rewarding him, but he’d arrived to steal her amphora and kidnap her. He’d deserved it.
“Are you also here for teal ore?” Atilya waved toward the large orange dragon, suggesting Igliana’s father as her source.
“I am hoping to acquire some, yes. It’s critical to repairing… something that was recently broken.” Maybe Syla didn’t need to be vague, but she’d just met this woman. She couldn’t confide in her.
“Ah, is that what it’s for? Repairing a shielder?” Atilya sounded certain of her guess.
“One of them, yes,” Syla admitted.
She adjusted her spectacles and noticed Fel and Teyla standing nearby, probably wondering if this was a private chat or if they should come over.
“You’re not what I expected from one of the royal family.” Atilya flicked two fingers toward her spectacles, then lowered her gesture to include the rest of Syla. “Your older siblings were all warriors, weren’t they? Even your sisters?”
Syla’s cheeks warmed at the insinuation that she was lesser. Captain Lesva’s words—insults—came to mind. Did all female stormers think of Kingdom women as soft and weak? At least those who didn’t study swordsmanship and keep themselves heroically fit?
“They were.” Syla didn’t want to talk about her deceased siblings. She wanted to negotiate for ore—and maybe the help of these people and especially their dragons.
Wreylith had been watching those dragons—maybe she was speaking telepathically with them—but now her head swung around, her eyes glowing golden as they locked onto Atilya.
The human princess has a magical gift greater than typical for your puny kind, and she’s proven the ability to use her power to slay an enemy.
Syla’s cheeks flushed further. Normally, she would be delighted to have Wreylith come to her defense, but she didn’t want her telling people that she’d killed that man. It had been self-defense.
“I’m a healer by training,” Syla said as Atilya’s eyebrows rose.
“I suppose that would give one the knowledge to kill by many means. Potions, poisons, and… magic?” Atilya’s eyebrows climbed further, as if she hadn’t contemplated it before, but she didn’t scoff or suggest it wasn’t possible.