Chapter 14 #2
Syla grimaced, reminded of her older brother’s love for the berries with his oatmeal and insistence that the farmers plant varieties that produce as late into the year as possible. Unfortunately, Serk wouldn’t be around to enjoy them any longer.
Tears threatened Syla’s beleaguered eyes again.
Oblivious, Vorik shuffled the fruit in his tunic, then decided to set the pears and apples on the porch railing, so he could trot over to investigate the garden.
Syla headed toward the kitchen. Strawberries had to be the least likely thing she ever would have expected to distract a deadly dragon rider, but as long as Vorik was preoccupied, she would check out the rest of the house. She grabbed a fireplace poker on the way past the hearth. Just in case.
Warily, she stepped through the kitchen doorway.
Another hearth with an oven and cooking spits and racks took up much of the wall beside the door, leaving an island with a pot rack above it in the center.
She crept around it with the poker in hand, but it was from behind a hutch that a threat leaped.
Syla opened her mouth to shout as a big man sprang upon her, and she swung the poker. He caught her wrist and flattened a hand over her mouth before she could utter her cry. Snarling, she tried to bite that hand.
“Your Highness,” a familiar voice whispered. “Ssh, please. It’s me.”
Sergeant Fel’s face came together for her in dim light coming through a shuttered window. He glanced between her and the doorway leading to the living room—and the garden.
Syla nodded to indicate she recognized him and wouldn’t yell, and he released her, drew his mace, and stepped back to guard the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” Syla also whispered, afraid Vorik would charge in and attack Fel.
As Vorik had pointed out, Fel had sent the soldiers after him in the tunnels. Vorik hadn’t seemed particularly affronted—or wounded in the least—by that, but he might try to take revenge on the bodyguard.
“I thought you were dead, Your Highness.” Despite remaining ready to deal with Vorik if he charged in, Fel took a moment to look her up and down.
His expression was aggrieved when he added, “I was too late to keep that dragon from getting you, and it carried you off in its jaws. I thought it would eat you.”
“It was a she, and I… do have a few bruises from being carried that way, but she needed the services of a healer.” Syla waved toward herself.
Fel’s mouth dangled open. “A human healer?”
“I think we’re the only kind. At least I’ve never heard of dragon healers. They probably have a tough time applying bandages with their talons.”
She meant it as a joke, but he only stared at her. Shocked that she’d survived?
“What are you doing here?” she asked again, glancing toward the window. With the shutters closed, she couldn’t see Vorik, but she worried about him hearing them.
“I… came to fulfill your request. To find your Aunt Tibby.”
“Did the soldiers send you? Colonel Mosworth?”
His mouth closed, jaw tightening before he answered. “No. He thought I was too old and injured to be of use, especially after we—after I—let the dragon take you.”
“The dragon would have killed you if you’d reached her. It wasn’t your fault.”
Fel shook his head glumly. “Colonel Mosworth ordered me to go to the temple on Fountain and Fourth for healing, but I knew that would be packed with truly injured people, especially since Moon Watch was destroyed.”
Syla winced at the reminder.
“Besides,” Fel said, “your instincts were right. We need to find someone who can fix the shielder or put in a replacement. We can’t simply regroup, station troops around the capital, and wait for the next attack.”
“Is that what the colonel is ordering be done?”
“For now, yes. They’re still looking for survivors and hoping to find one or more of your siblings yet alive.
The word has gotten out that the entire royal family may be dead, and people are…
Well, the kingdom subjects aren’t interested in listening to authority figures right now.
Not military ones, anyway. They’re crying that the kingdom will be dissolved and everyone is on their own.
People are either fleeing into the hills, afraid there’ll be more attacks, or hunkering down to defend what they’ve got from unscrupulous people preying on the weak instead of banding together. ” Fel curled his lip in disgust.
Syla thought of the looters and imagined the chaos that must be descending on the city.
“Come with me.” Fel pointed toward the back door. “I’ll get you away from your captor, and, once we retrieve your aunt, I’ll see you back to the castle. I’ve got a couple of horses.”
She almost said that she had a dragon, but that was…
complicated. She’d voluntarily gone with Vorik, and he wasn’t her captor, but trying to explain everything by whisper before he finished picking strawberries sounded daunting.
Besides, it would be best to get away from him, not continue on in his presence.
When Fel tried to lead her out the back door, Syla lifted a hand. “We do need to find Aunt Tibby, but I’m not going back to the castle to be locked in my room.” What was left of it. “And imprisoned by guards.”
“The people need to see that one of the royals is left.”
“I really doubt the people are going to stop looting and fleeing the capital because a healer shows her face.”
“A moon-marked healer descended from the gods-chosen.” Fel pointed at her hand, and then toward the door again.
“I’m not going be a figurehead for Colonel Mosworth or anyone else. If we get the shielder fixed, that’s what will stop the anarchy.”
“I don’t disagree with that.” Fel flexed his shoulders, as if he might step forward and hoist her over one of them. “And I know where your aunt is. We can take her back to the castle too. That’s what you want to do, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Of course. Where is she?” Syla glanced at the hutch as if her aunt might also be crouched behind it.
“Barricaded in a barn.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I found her, but she wouldn’t come out for me. I gather some soldiers came through and stole horses, so she’s irritated with everyone in uniform right now.”
“Why would soldiers steal horses?”
“It sounded like they were deserters.” Again, Fel curled his lip. “They probably wet themselves when the dragons showed up, and fled without helping. Cowards.”
Syla rubbed her face again. She couldn’t believe how quickly the kingdom was falling apart.
“The leaders from the other islands should send troops to help establish order soon. My cousins and aunts and uncles hold positions of power elsewhere in the kingdom, and I’m sure someone will come here to lend the authority the military needs to get the capital back in order. ”
Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure about that. The other islands might hunker down, worried they would be targets next.
“Take me to Aunt Tibby, please.” Though Syla doubted they could slip away without Vorik noticing, she nodded to indicate she would follow Fel.
“This way,” he said.
Leading, Fel stepped out onto the covered back porch, looking all around before heading toward steps that led into the backyard and toward an open gate.
The garden wasn’t in view, so Syla couldn’t see Vorik.
Was he still there? Munching down strawberries?
She didn’t know but hoped he wouldn’t be angry if she left without him.
Once he was convinced the way was clear, Fel, his mace in hand, eased down the back steps.
He waved for her to follow and captured her wrist to lead her, as if she might dart around the house and into Vorik’s arms if left unmonitored.
She bristled at that notion but didn’t want to make unnecessary noise by protesting.
At the bottom of the steps, before starting down the path to the gate, Fel once more looked left and right. The threat came from above, Vorik crouching on the edge of the roof.
Fel must have glimpsed him out of the corner of his eye because he released Syla and spun back toward the house while raising the mace. He wasn’t fast enough. Vorik kicked the weapon out of his hand as he dropped from the roof.
Fel sprang for him, but Vorik ducked and dodged so quickly that Syla couldn’t track his movements. Between one blink and the next, Vorik got behind Fel, immobilized his arms by yanking them behind him, and shoved at the backs of his knees to buckle them.
With a snarl of frustration, Fel found himself twisted about and kneeling before Syla. His strong shoulders flexed against the fabric of his uniform, but he couldn’t escape Vorik’s powerful grip.
Syla froze, worried about how the rider captain would react to her attempt to sneak away. And what he would do to Fel.
When Vorik met her eyes over Fel’s head, his face was cool and hard to read, far from the enthusiastic fruit picker she’d left out front. She feared her earlier thought was wrong, that she was his captive and that a captor had no use for a captive with a bodyguard.