Chapter 25
Bushy cactuses spread from red-rock wall to red-rock wall of the dusty box canyon, growing without trouble out of the dry earth, even thriving there.
A hint of magic permeating the area made Syla wonder if the storm god had found them useful for ingredients in his various creations and cultivated them.
Something about the magic was comforting, even relaxing, which surprised her.
Shouldn’t a canyon near the storm god’s laboratory reek of malevolence or at least unstable madness?
The air was fragrant with a heady scent wafting from orange flowers that grew from the edges of the cactus pads—the nopales, she corrected, thinking of diagrams she’d seen of varieties of cactus in her herbalism books.
She wouldn’t have guessed this was the time of year for anything to flower, but the climate was so different from that of her island home that she couldn’t know if it was atypical or not.
Walking on foot now, with Vorik at her side, her pack on her back, and the amphora in her arms, Syla followed a path through the cactuses toward the pillar-shaped rock formation.
Fel and Teyla trailed right behind them.
Wreylith had already flown ahead and perched atop it.
Agrevlari found a different perch, though he’d flown close to her, eyeing the wide platter at the top with speculation, as if he’d wanted to join her on it.
She hadn’t flicked a wingtip in invitation or even looked his way.
“I’m wary about this path.” Fel’s hand never strayed far from his mace.
“There’s magic in it. And in that formation there. It’s practically calling to me.” Teyla waved her hand, showing him her moon-mark. “The whole canyon seems significant. And those flowers smell wonderful. I had no idea cactuses were so fragrant. Archaeology books never mention that.”
“Do they mention cactuses at all?” Syla asked.
“More than you might think. Ancient peoples found a lot of uses for their parts.”
“Modern people do too. I have salves that call for the fruits and flowers. Some of the farmers that work for the royal family have greenhouses and grow them, but I haven’t seen this variety before.
I’m not familiar with it at all.” Syla would have been tempted to take a sample, maybe some of the flowers to dry, but bristly clumps of sharp thorns protruding from the nopales didn’t invite one to stray from the path.
A screech came from above, a wyvern flying over the valley. It saw the dragons and veered away.
“The best sky watchers you can have.” Vorik smiled and waved toward Wreylith and also Agrevlari, who’d found a perch along the rim of the canyon where he could observe without intruding upon the red dragon’s space.
Surprisingly, she was looking in his direction now. She’d even shifted to gaze at him. Maybe there was something else interesting in that direction.
“Have you had an opportunity to practice your juggling yet?” Vorik gave Syla a sidelong look.
“Between being attacked by gargoyles and soldiers from my own kingdom, my schedule has been oddly busy.”
“When you ride a dragon, there are many hours spent idly on his or her back.”
“Are you suggesting I attempt to learn an entirely-new-to-me hobby involving throwing and catching balls while flying a thousand feet in the air? That sounds like a quick way to lose all the balls someone gave me as a gift.”
“That is true. Starting on the ground is ideal since even the most dexterous and agile of people drop the balls a lot in the beginning. Or any time they’re trying to learn a new trick.”
“The words dexterous and agile do not describe me.”
“Well, the juggling might help with that.” Vorik winked at her.
“I thought it was to improve my peripheral vision.”
“When you do that, it helps with the other things. Vision is a big part of balance and knowing where you are in the world.”
Maybe Syla should have sighed and felt defeated by the idea, since she couldn’t remember a time when she’d had sharp vision, but she found herself smiling and clasped Vorik’s hand.
This was a safe topic. It didn’t involve being subtly interrogated for Kingdom intelligence.
She enjoyed speaking with him about nothing of importance.
“Here’s a tip,” he offered, pantomiming juggling with his free hand. “Wait until you’re home, and stand in front of your bed when you practice so you don’t have to bend as far to pick up the balls.”
“That sounds more practical than trying to learn from a dragon’s back.”
“Likely so. I can say from experience that if you drop a ball—if you drop anything—your dragon is unlikely to turn around and dive down to get it. I lost my water gourd once and asked Agrevlari to fetch it. He turned, dove, and incinerated it, then said dragons don’t fetch.”
“Wreylith’s reaction would be similar.” Syla recalled the newspaper she’d been attempting to read.
“She might incinerate you as well as the water bottle.”
“A distinct possibility.” Without conscious thought, Syla found herself walking more closely to Vorik, her hip brushing his. “I doubt I’d be able to learn to juggle, regardless, without an instructor.”
He squeezed her hand, his clasp gentle and warm. “Are you inviting me to visit you at the castle to provide tutelage?”
“I wish I could.”
“The flowers smell so good,” Teyla said from behind them.
Reminded that they weren’t alone—Fel, in particular, would have comments later about the hand clasp—Syla released Vorik and looked back.
Teyla had paused to lean close to smell one of the orange flowers, careful not to brush the thorns.
Movement among the cactuses to the left made Vorik and Fel start to lift their weapons. The oversized rabbits they spotted had huge ears and… were those fangs? Maybe everything out here had fangs or thorns. Nearly waist-high, the rabbits were moving together between a clump of cactus.
Despite their size, they didn’t appear threatening. They were not only moving, Syla realized, but busy engaging in… erm. She looked away to give them their privacy, not that the furry creatures cared.
“That’s a brave thing to partake in while surrounded by thorns,” Vorik said with amusement.
“Maybe they find it adds stimulation,” Syla waved that she would continue on to the pillar.
They’d drawn close enough that she could make out runes carved into the side, as Igliana had said. Was this the place where her moon-mark would be required? Would a secret door open in the floor of the canyon?
“Would you find thorns embedding themselves in your naked backside stimulating?” Vorik smiled, letting his gaze shift to her backside.
Warmth flushed Syla’s body, and she had the urge to shift to give him a better view. But sex was not a priority now, especially not with Teyla and Fel right behind them on the path.
Actually, they’d fallen back, Teyla still considering that flower and Fel lingering as he gazed about for threats that might creep up on them.
“No,” Syla said. “You’d have to pull them out for me.”
Vorik’s eyebrows rose, and a smile curved his lips. “With a gentle caress? While running my calloused hands lightly over your bare flesh?”
His eyes grew more heated, the smile fading as he likely imagined the scenario. Syla caught herself imagining the scenario, her libido coming to life, her body tingling in anticipation.
“While curling my fingers around the inside of your thigh,” he continued, his voice husky now as his gaze grew molten, “I’d enjoy your tender warmth, stirring your pleasure with my touch, sliding my finger up into—”
“Vorik.” Syla planted a hand on his chest, half embarrassed that he was speaking of such things and half turned on. Again, she glanced back, certain she would find Teyla and Fel gawking at them.
But neither was paying attention in the least. Though Fel still had his mace in hand, lest the randy rabbits turn threatening—or a more serious predator dared to sneak past the dragons and approach—he had shifted closer to Teyla, almost brushing her backside as she bent over.
She’d opened her pack and pulled out a magnifying glass to further examine the flower.
What could be that fascinating about it?
She must have been wondering if she’d read about it in an archaeology book that covered ancient desert cultures.
Vorik rested his hand over Syla’s, his warm palm as calloused as he’d described, thanks to all the hours of sword practice that he had to put in.
She immediately imagined his fingers brushing over her bare skin, just as he’d said, and then sliding into her depths to stimulate her, to pleasure her as he had in the wheelhouse.
That moment—and Wreylith’s commentary on it—made Syla look up, reminded that the dragons were also potential witnesses.
Wingbeats sounded as Agrevlari flew toward Wreylith’s perch on the platform atop the pillar.
She bared her fangs at him and growled, but he still dared land opposite her, a few pebbles falling over the edge as his weight settled.
He growled back, but it didn’t sound that threatening.
It also didn’t sound threatened, though the dragon had heretofore given her a wide berth when she’d glared at him.
“There’s something about this canyon,” Syla decided, her gaze shifting toward the rabbits and then the cactus flowers.
“Magic,” Vorik said. “You can sense it too.”
“Yes, but I don’t know what it does. If it’s dangerous or… I don’t know.”
“If this is the entrance to one of the storm god’s laboratories, I would expect danger.”
“Yes. We’d better figure out how to get in and out as quickly as possible.” Syla tried to extract her hand from Vorik’s grip.
For a moment, his fingers tightened, keeping her palm against his chest. His eyes flared with lust, as if he wanted to push her down onto the path and take her, the threat of thorns be damned.