Chapter 20
As Agrevlari flew after Wreylith, the afternoon sun gleaming on Syla’s auburn hair, Vorik wished she were on the same dragon as he.
Instead, the odious Fel sat behind him, the bodyguard doing his best to stay astride without touching Vorik.
That suited Vorik fine, but Fel didn’t have any experience riding dragons and kept sliding sideways whenever Agrevlari banked.
Each time, he would have to clutch Vorik’s waist for support.
Vorik only sighed, wondering what impulse had prompted him to collect the bodyguard.
Only a vague sense that Syla would be pleased if he brought the man along.
The aunt had been talking to her, telling Syla that she couldn’t trust Vorik, and she had been unsettlingly close in her guesses about his true intentions.
He’d been careful when Syla had questioned him about the faction and relieved when Wreylith had shown up.
What under the moon’s eyes would he have done if he’d actually had to take Syla to the leaders of the Freeborn Faction?
He didn’t even know where they lurked these days.
Agrevlari flapped his wings faster to catch up to the powerful Wreylith, and Fel had to clutch Vorik’s waist again.
Had Syla been doing the clutching, Vorik wouldn’t have minded.
She’d made him a blackberry cobbler. He would have cheerfully invited her into his furs, regardless of his general’s orders, simply because of that.
The dessert had been amazing. And that she’d made it for him had been even more amazing. Why had she bothered?
Oh, Vorik was aware that Tibby had wanted Syla to poison it—Agrevlari had telepathically monitored that conversation and let him know—but Syla hadn’t considered it for long. And it hadn’t been on her mind at all when she’d decided to make the dessert.
Maybe she wants to seduce me, Vorik mused telepathically.
What? Agrevlari asked.
Syla made me a dessert.
Oh, I’m aware. You’ve wiped your grubby blackberry-stained hands on my scales twice.
Sorry about that.
You can wash up when we aren’t able to fly all the way to shore and have to dump our riders into the ocean.
Yes, that will be an opportunity for a thorough bathing.
You could use it. After the night’s many battles, you’re aromatic. Dragons have keen senses of smell, you know.
It’s a great sacrifice your kind makes to bond to us lowly and odorific humans.
It is indeed. You should give me smoked salmon more often.
Noted.
Vorik looked toward the red dragon. Tibby lay on her belly, her arms tight as they draped Wreylith’s back, the side of her face pressed to the scales and her eyes squinted shut behind her spectacles.
In front of her, Syla sat straighter, peering curiously to the left and right at the ground below as they flew over her homeland.
Soon, they sailed over the southern coast and out to sea, heading for the next island, one of two in the chain that were visible on the horizon.
Wreylith was still sashaying back and forth, banking and almost dancing in the air, no doubt feeling good since her wound was healing.
Her vigor didn’t make the easiest of flights for a new rider, but Syla hung on, her enthusiasm for the experience seeming to override what would have been natural fear.
Even many stormers, who grew up climbing cliffs and trees to scavenge for food, were terrified during their early rides and worried about falling.
Maybe Syla was less concerned since she’d ridden once with him.
Or maybe it was that she had, as he’d been thinking earlier, a lot of determination and confidence for a healer.
Or for anyone. Vorik smiled, thinking of her facing Wreylith as the great dragon approached, intent unknown. Syla must have been worried, but she hadn’t stepped back either time the dragon lifted one of those deadly taloned feet.
His groin tightened, the memory stirring arousal, and Vorik rolled his eyes at himself.
It would be useful for this mission if he was genuinely attracted to Syla, but he didn’t want to let sexual interest develop into feelings.
He already found his orders morally ambiguous.
He was a warrior, not a spy, not someone who seduced women for their secrets.
He preferred facing opponents openly, honorably. This rankled.
Other dragons are circling the Island of Eliok, especially the north end, Agrevlari said. They are from Captain Lesva’s squadron.
Vorik sat straighter, peering over the twin horns on his dragon’s head as he pushed his musings aside.
My brother must have sent them so that I could defend Syla again. Vorik grimaced and rotated his shoulder. He’d wrenched it during his last battle and wondered how many more fights against his own people he would have to endure.
Since he hadn’t slept the night before, the idea was more wearying than usual.
Further, it was hard to feel zeal for attacking his comrades.
Vorik believed the men who’d targeted Syla at the lighthouse had both survived their falls—he’d done his best to make sure they dropped into the water instead of hitting the ground—but it had been close.
What if he had to kill his own tribesmen for the sake of this ruse?
There is confusion among the dragons, Agrevlari added. I’m close enough to hear some of their thoughts, and Pomplinor spoke directly to me. They know Wreylith, of course, and she’s always made her feelings on riders clear.
Seeing her with one must be puzzling. Vorik glimpsed two dragons angling in from the west. They were on a course that would intercept Wreylith. Was that Captain Lesva’s Verikloth?
There is debate going on about that very subject.
Pomplinor wants to know if the female—the princess—has been chosen and how it could be possible that a gardener could bond with a dragon.
Verikloth likes the idea of attacking and defeating Wreylith.
More, I believe, because he thinks showing his greater fighting prowess would make her want to mate with him than because he cares that she’s taken a rider.
He and Captain Lesva aren’t a match for Wreylith, Vorik said.
Normally, I would agree, but Wreylith carries two females who are not warriors. She will be hindered in a battle if she tries to keep them from falling off.
Vorik frowned, remembering how the red dragon had tossed Syla to the ground the first time. I don’t think she will worry about keeping them on her back. I’m surprised she’s carrying them at all.
As am I.
Worried at the prospect of Syla being tossed into the sea to drown, Vorik touched Agrevlari’s scales. Speed up, if you can, please. We need to be there to help if they attack Wreylith.
Agrevlari flapped his wings harder, the briny breeze tugging at Vorik’s clothes. From their conversations, I sense… I’m not certain those dragons and riders know that if they attack the princess, we will defend her and that it would be part of a ruse.
No, Lesva knows. She was there for that meeting with General Jhiton.
Of course, Lesva hadn’t heard the seduction plan.
She’d been dismissed before that. All she should know was that Jhiton had said no when she’d volunteered to capture Syla and bring her back for interrogation.
What if that was her plan now? Maybe she even intended to do that interrogation herself, whether the general wished it or not.
Maybe she was acting on her own. Taking… initiative.
Vorik grimaced. Catch up, Agrevlari.
I have been attempting to do so. You may have noticed that Wreylith isn’t old or infirm, despite her mature years.
I did notice.
Vorik also noticed when Syla spotted the threat, her gaze swinging toward the approaching dragons.
She glanced back, saying something to her aunt, though it was so windy that Vorik wondered how well they could communicate with spoken words.
White-capped waves frothed below. They were about halfway to Harvest Island.
More dragons came into view, also flying toward Wreylith and her riders. As Agrevlari had said, they were all a part of Lesva’s squadron. That meant they would follow their captain’s orders. The rider flying beside Lesva, her first lieutenant, Talvaya, especially would.
Vorik touched his sword, fearing he would have to use the blade today and that it might not be a ruse. He might be fighting for his and Syla’s lives against an ambitious captain on her own self-assigned mission.
He wished he had the power to speak telepathically with Lesva and learn her intentions, but the magic that came from his bond with Agrevlari only allowed him to communicate that way with his dragon—and other dragons in the area who might be using their innate power to listen to his silent words.
Maybe it didn’t matter. As Lesva and her lieutenant arrowed intently toward Wreylith on their mounts, Vorik believed he’d guessed their intentions.
They were going to try to capture Syla to interrogate her. And if she didn’t survive the fight they started… they wouldn’t care in the least.
Flying on a dragon’s back was the most wondrous thing Syla had ever experienced, and she dearly wished the circumstances were different and that she could enjoy the salty breeze tugging at her hair and the amazing view from high above.
Ahead, the somewhat lopsided Harvest Island, with its volcano on one end and lush verdant croplands stretching toward the other, was striking from the air.
Black cliffs alternated with black-sand beaches interspersed with inlets and coves all along the north side of the island.
A hint of green south of the volcano promised untamed forestlands where wild animals browsed. It was all beautiful.
What would it be like to live in Vorik’s world? To get to ride a dragon all the time? To swiftly be carried about the world on the back of such a magnificent creature, one lesser predators wouldn’t dare bother?
“Where did all those dragons come from?” Aunt Tibby asked from her position behind Syla.