Chapter 3 #2
When they’d been lovers, he’d delivered insults as often as she, always feeling the need to compete with and defend himself against her.
She’d gotten turned on by it, and their verbal sparring had led to sex more often than he could remember.
He’d felt more disgruntled than satisfied by the encounters, as if snapping at her hadn’t been honorable, but she’d always seemed to want to fight with him.
The sex hadn’t been bad, but he hadn’t found the relationship relaxing.
Whether Lesva wanted sex now, he didn’t know, but he’d made a conscious decision, after they’d broken up, to stop being lured in by her bait.
Lesva squinted suspiciously at his comment. “Does that mean that you and your lazy dragon didn’t get any of the Moonmarks?”
Verikloth peered over the edge at Agrevlari, his blue tail going rigid.
They were probably also insulting each other.
Their relationship was almost as contentious and Lesva and Vorik’s, though Vorik didn’t think they’d ever mated.
Agrevlari, when he wasn’t busy tending to his muscles and talon sharpness, always pined for Wreylith.
“We battled many castle and city defenders and helped Lieutenant Navor take out their stockpiles of explosives,” Vorik said.
Fortunately, that was what his orders had been.
He’d objected to outright assassinating members of the kingdom’s royal family.
Oh, Vorik had no reason to adore the Moonmarks, those ultimately responsible for not allowing the stormers access to their ancestral lands, but he believed in facing opponents in fair and honorable fights, not slipping through the shadows to stab daggers into their hearts from behind.
“That means no, then. Really, Vorik. I don’t know how you got your rank.
” Lesva glanced at Jhiton but didn’t do anything to suggest that it might have been nepotism.
That would have been insulting to Vorik and his brother.
If anything, Jhiton had always worked Vorik harder than anyone else, ensuring he grew up to become a warrior their father would have been proud of.
And Vorik, who knew how many enemy ships he’d sunk and duels for rank he’d won over the years, didn’t have any self-doubt.
He’d earned his position and knew it. Lesva knew it, too, and was just trying to get a rise from him.
Maybe she did feel randy after the battle.
“What did our spy report, Captain?” Jhiton’s tone suggested he didn’t want her to waste more time sniping with Vorik.
“He wasn’t sure where Lieutenant Mavus was, but, as far as he was able to determine, all except one of the royal family is dead.”
“One escaped the attack?”
“She wasn’t at the family gathering, as our spy had predicted. Had she been at the castle, per the royal family’s own plans, we would already have gotten her.”
“Is that the youngest princess?” Jhiton asked. “Syla Moonmark?”
“Yes. Our spy is looking for her. The moon-god temple where she lived and worked was destroyed, and he thinks she may have died inside when it collapsed.”
Vorik blinked, realizing he’d seen that girl. Not in a temple but in a shop in the merchant section of town.
“She’s not dead,” he said. “Well, I’m not actually certain of that.
Agrevlari flicked his tail and brought a roof down on her and what was probably her bodyguard.
It just wasn’t a temple roof.” Before they’d disappeared under the rubble, he’d glimpsed the bodyguard throw himself onto the princess to protect her. “She’s probably not dead.”
Jhiton flickered an eyebrow at his uncertainty.
“Why didn’t you ensure she was dead?” Lesva asked. “The whole point of this attack was to kill the Moonmarks.”
Vorik shrugged. “The war horn called.”
Lesva gave him a scathing look.
Vorik shrugged again. He’d been half-glad Agrevlari had been the one to take the initiative.
He’d known the mission and its goal as well as anyone, and he’d spotted the birthmark on the princess’s hand, but he hadn’t wanted to attack her.
On the plump and curvy side, she hadn’t looked like a warrior, especially not when she’d peered up at him through those thick-lensed spectacles.
Trying to kill such a weak opponent wouldn’t have been honorable.
“If she’s alive, she has the power to activate the shielder,” Jhiton said.
“It’s been destroyed, hasn’t it?” Vorik asked. “That was Lieutenant Mavus’s mission, right? Why he spent months wooing the older princess?”
“It was his mission,” Jhiton said, “and the shield dropping suggests he completed it, but we won’t know the details until he arrives to report.”
Lesva lifted her chin. “I volunteer to go back for the princess, to find her and kill her.”
Jhiton started to nod but paused and gazed thoughtfully toward the city.
“Neither our spies nor Lieutenant Mavus have learned where the shielders on the other islands are. Harvest and Vineyard Islands are the true gems that our people seek to acquire. Not only could the crops there feed all our people, but the dragons seek to hunt prey found only in those sheltered locales. Lieutenant Mavus hoped to unearth a map or instructions on how to reach the shielders on those islands, but, the last I heard, he had not. To truly fulfill our mission and nourish our people for generations to come, we’ll need access to the prime agricultural islands.
” Jhiton cocked a somewhat amused eyebrow as he looked at Vorik.
“Castle Island isn’t where the majority of the berry patches and orchards are. ”
“I do long to stroll through the rows and rows of pear- and apple-filled trees on Harvest Island,” Vorik allowed himself to say wistfully before remembering Lesva’s abrasive presence. He eyed her, expecting more sarcasm.
Surprisingly, she looked wistful too. Maybe it was simply human nature to desire sweet things, a change from the meat, fish, and various fibrous plants and seaweeds the stormers scrounged from the harsh world they lived in.
“From the pictures I’ve seen of the youngest princess,” Jhiton said, “she’s not a threat, not a combatant like her older siblings and the queen were. Reputedly, she’s a healer and uses her hereditary magic for that.”
“I’m sure she can still activate the shielders, sir,” Lesva said.
“I have no doubt of that. But she doesn’t sound like someone capable of rallying a nation or rebuilding a kingdom.”
Lesva snorted. “No, sir. I’ve seen the same pictures. She’s chubby and soft and probably blind, or close to it, without those weird things on her face.” She waved to her eyes. “She would be easy to kill anytime.”
No dragon riders, and very few stormers, had poor vision, so Vorik didn’t know much about what the spectacles implied, but the princess certainly hadn’t had the mien of a warrior.
He wouldn’t have called her chubby though.
Voluptuous, maybe. She had the kind of curves that a man would enjoy exploring.
“I could go kill her tonight.” Lesva leaned forward. Eager for the assignment, was she? “That would bring my kills of Moonmarks up to three. More than anyone else.” She shot a look of superiority at Vorik.
Jhiton, gazing toward the mainland, didn’t respond to the captain’s offer. “As a direct descendant of the throne, however low she was in her family hierarchy, it’s likely she knows the locations of the rest of the shielders.”
Lesva blinked. “Oh, do you want her captured? To interrogate? I could get that information out of her without trouble.” She flexed her hands in the air, as if demonstrating strangling.
Apparently, she had no qualms about killing—or torturing—a weak opponent.
Vorik knew from experience that Lesva liked to challenge herself with duels and athletic competitions against strong adversaries, but she’d never been that bogged down by the need to be honorable.
In some of the stormer tribes, that was more ingrained in the psyches of its members than in others.
“Those with the magic of the moon-mark,” Jhiton said, “are as susceptible to pain as anyone, but they can supposedly use their power to lock off their minds and keep from uttering truths when under duress. Reputedly, moon-mark healers even have some power to control the minds of others. Of course, that’s supposed to be only those they’ve healed, but I’ve heard tales of them healing someone who didn’t wish it and didn’t have significant injury, and then gaining sway over them. ”
“Like when we were young and that spy got information from one of our people?” Vorik asked.
Jhiton nodded. “Exactly like that. I’m surprised you were old enough to remember, but the healer treated our chieftess after a battle, and then she, for weeks afterward, wanted to be with him. To please him. In bed and elsewhere. Even though she had a mate back home.”
“It would be easy enough to keep a soft princess from using her magic on me.” Captain Lesva patted her sheathed sword.
Jhiton’s thoughtful gaze swung toward Vorik. “I believe… I have another idea.”
Vorik raised his eyebrows.
“Captain Lesva,” Jhiton said, “I do not want the princess slain at this time. You did excellent work today, though, and I’m making note of your dedication to your duty.
The Storm Guard and Sixteen Talons will combine to host a great celebration once we finish here and return to the caves. For now, you’re dismissed.”
Lesva opened her mouth, as if she might object, or request again to add a third Moonmark kill to her list, but Jhiton’s eyes closed to slits in a silent warning.
He was a powerful warrior, and Lesva had never challenged him in practice or in truth.
Vorik, who’d sparred often with his brother, wouldn’t have challenged him either.
Even among the sometimes-reckless riders, few were that suicidal.