Chapter 19 #2
“It’s not that long of a trip.” Syla gazed into Wreylith’s faintly glowing golden eyes, though it was unnerving. Everything about the huge muscular dragon and the power she emanated was unnerving. “We can find our own way back.”
Where did you get the krendala? Wreylith looked toward the pocket where Syla had tucked the statue.
“From my father, who apparently got it from his mother.” Syla glanced back, and Tibby nodded.
You are descended from Queen Erasbella?
“Uhm, yes.” Syla blinked in surprise that the dragon knew anything about her lineage. “She would have been my great-great grandmother. She passed long before I was born.”
Long. Wreylith’s eyes slitted, and she snorted out a breath. Was that… a laugh? Maybe the dragon equivalent?
“To humans,” Syla said, reminded that dragons could live for centuries.
Humans are so inferior. Why the gods deemed them important enough to give them wondrously fertile islands and protect them, I cannot imagine. Wreylith looked at her foot, flexed it, then sprang into the air, wings flapping.
Syla stepped back before remembering that Vorik was behind her.
He lifted a hand, stopping her with a light touch before she would have stepped on his foot.
Oh, if she had but half the coordination and athleticism of a rider.
She would even delight in Fel’s somewhat aged and injury-affected athleticism.
“I don’t think that dragon is carrying us anywhere,” Tibby said.
“Good.” Fel grunted. “Ships don’t have fangs.”
But could they find a ship? Exhaustion made Syla’s shoulders slump as she imagined having wasted the last hour.
“This is magnificent,” Vorik said.
She looked at him and realized he was holding the cobbler rather than his sword. It was still sheathed in its scabbard on his back while he wielded the spoon, the dessert half gone.
“Stormer cultural norms would suggest I share it with the others of the tribe, but nobody here is of my tribe, and I don’t feel kinship to your aunt or bodyguard.
” A baleful glower toward them should have accompanied the words, but Vorik smiled at them instead, as if the dessert was putting him in too amiable a mood for harsh gestures.
A little zing of awareness went through Syla even though his gaze wasn’t directed at her. As she’d noted before, Vorik was striking when he smiled, the gesture softening the hard, lean lines of his face.
“I don’t think they feel kinship for you either,” she said.
They nodded.
Unconcerned, Vorik turned his smile toward her and gazed at her through his eyelashes. Her awareness of him intensified. More than that, she felt drawn and wanted to step closer, to rest her hand on his chest. The word striking floated through her mind again.
But even if Tibby hadn’t warned her about what Vorik was likely up to, Syla wouldn’t have let herself act on her attraction. She stepped back, not even wanting to acknowledge it. There could be no attraction. He was the enemy. She couldn’t forget that.
“I appreciate you making this for me,” Vorik said, ignoring or unaware of her reaction to his smile. “We don’t have any of the ingredients in it, I don’t think. Is it honey that makes it so sweet? It’s more than the berries themselves, though they are amazing.”
“Sugar. We grow beets on several of our islands and process them for it. I do have recipes that use honey too. We have a lot of hives throughout the kingdom.”
“Hives that aren’t raided relentlessly by honey-loving predators?
” Vorik brought his berry-stained fingers to his lips, bits of the sugary crumble from the top of the cobbler on them.
“That’s amazing too. I only once ever found a beehive in the wild, and it was way up in a tree.
I climbed up and got stung repeatedly before I got a taste, but it was worth it.
” He licked the crumbs off his fingers, his tongue sliding along them as he closed his eyes, visibly enjoying the treat.
Syla stared, almost hypnotized at his tongue dancing along his fingers. She didn’t think he meant the gesture to be sensual, but it made her think of what else he might do with that tongue, and her body tightened. Storm-cursed seas, she was attracted to him.
His eyes opened again, still slitted as he watched her through his lashes. Maybe he had meant the gesture to be sensual. An… invitation?
“How old were you?” she asked.
“Eleven or twelve, I think. I haven’t spotted such a delight since. As I said, hives are rare out there.” Vorik didn’t quite polish off the entire pan, leaving a third of the dessert and setting it on the fence before waving that Fel or Tibby could finish it if they wished.
Belatedly, it occurred to Syla that Tibby’s idea that they poison it might have worked. He’d not only eaten it, but he’d not hesitated to do so, at least not that she’d seen. Did he trust her? Or simply not think she was the kind of person who might poison someone?
“I’ll take you to Harvest Island if you wish.” Vorik pointed at her and waved at Agrevlari. He didn’t look at Fel or Tibby. Nothing had changed. He couldn’t—or wouldn’t—take them.
As much as Syla wanted to hurry up and find a shielder to protect her people, she couldn’t go without her aunt, and she didn’t want to go without Fel either.
“And once we’re there, I’ll protect you from whatever threats may await,” Vorik added.
“It’s my job to protect her,” Fel said. “We’re finding a ship.”
Vorik’s gaze remained on Syla, intent. He wanted badly to take her away from her aunt and bodyguard. She had no doubt. Whatever the reason—maybe it was exactly what Tibby suspected—that alone ensured she couldn’t go off with him by herself.
“Would you take me to see the leaders of your faction?” Syla asked.
His eyebrows rose. “What?”
“I think I’m going to need more allies for my quest.” Earlier she hadn’t had any interest in being flown off to meet any stormers, and she still didn’t want to go, at least not until she had the shielder installed under the castle, but she asked it as a test. If Vorik was working with them, he wouldn’t object to taking her to see them, right?
He scratched his jaw. “They do want to see you alive and even wanted me to bring you.”
Oh, right, he had mentioned that before.
“But I thought you were set on visiting Harvest Island.”
“I am, but perhaps we should see your people.” She’d hoped to catch him in a lie, but, so far, he hadn’t reacted as she’d thought he might. Was it possible that, despite what Tibby believed, Vorik was working with that faction?
“That’s fine. Agrevlari and I will be happy to take you to see them. But—”
Wreylith returns, Agrevlari said to all of them.
The red dragon was flying back in from the sea, zigzagging through the sky and even rolling and diving, like a dolphin frolicking in the waves.
And is playful, Agrevlari’s telepathic voice came across as shocked.
Syla had a feeling playful wasn’t an adjective often attributed to the red dragon.
And beautiful, he added wistfully.
“My dragon is pining,” Vorik noted.
“Will that affect his ability to fly?” Syla asked.
“I don’t think so.”
She didn’t get to find out. Wreylith arrowed down and caught Syla in her jaws, just as she’d done back at the castle. Syla gritted her teeth at the pressure from those fangs, but they didn’t pierce her skin. To her surprise, Wreylith tossed her into the air.
Utter fear clenched her for a moment, and she flailed, spectacles sliding down her nose despite the twine, until the dragon’s broad scaled back came into view. More through luck than adroitness, Syla managed to land stomach-first atop it, arms and legs splayed for balance.
Wreylith banked and came around again, this time plucking up Aunt Tibby.
Tibby yelled in alarm as she, too, was tossed into the air. She managed to twist and come down astride Wreylith, her backpack still on her shoulders. Terror widened her eyes, however, and she sent a few quick prayers to the sun god.
Without waiting for them to settle themselves, Wreylith took off to the south, in the direction of Harvest Island.
On the ground, Vorik and Fel gaped after them. It didn’t take Vorik long to recover. He sprang atop Agrevlari’s back. Fel shouted something. An entreaty to take him along?
After the cross words—and crossed weapons—they’d shared, Syla expected Vorik to embrace an opportunity to abandon Fel.
To her surprise, his dragon banked and came back, plucking up Fel, much as Wreylith had plucked up Syla.
A moment later, he rode behind Vorik on Agrevlari’s back, and the green dragon flapped after the red dragon.
After adjusting her spectacles—thank the gods she’d thought to secure them with twine—Syla met and held Vorik’s gaze.
He looked more amused at everything than angry at how things were turning out, and she wondered… was it possible he was on her side? Maybe she could trust him. She bit her lip. If only she knew.