Chapter 31
Never in Syla’s life had she known such pain.
Captain Lesva’s dragon magic ripped through her veins, biting into every nerve, as if every horrible creature the storm god had ever made was tearing through her body.
Over and over, Syla tried to summon her own magic to defend herself, but the rider’s power was too great.
She screamed until she was hoarse, choosing to do that rather than spitting the words that wanted to burble forth, the answers to Lesva’s questions.
At least her magic helped her in that arena.
She didn’t know how much longer she could last, but she hadn’t yet spoken of Fel and Tibby—or the locations of the shielders.
Lesva, her cold face inches from Syla’s, watched her writhe in pain. There was no hint of sympathy in the rider’s eyes. Only cold calculation laced with irritation, irritation that Syla hadn’t yet spewed forth her secrets.
To either side of them, wax melted as the Candles of Serenity continued to burn.
The scent of eucalyptus and dragonquell hung in the air but not as thickly as Syla was accustomed to.
This wasn’t an enclosed room. Since the cave had an exit, the salty sea air swept in with the tides, keeping the odor from pooling deeply.
Or so she thought. In the middle of one of Syla’s screams, Lesva yawned.
It was the first sign that she might feel the sedative power of the candles. And did the pain scouring Syla’s nerves lessen slightly?
Outside, thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed in the dark clouds over the sea. Lesva yawned again.
Too disheartened at failing and too flustered to concentrate, it had been some time since Syla had attempted to use her magic to push away Lesva’s, but she gathered her flagging strength to try again. Maybe this time…
Lesva shook her head, as if to push away the fatigue. She also looked at one of the candles. The look turned into a suspicious squint.
Had she figured out the scent was affecting her?
With the captain’s attention shifted, the pain lessened a little more. Afraid Lesva was on the verge of kicking over the candles to put them out, Syla called to her magic, willing it to drive out the enemy power and heal the damage Lesva had done.
This time, perhaps thanks to fatigue creeping into the captain, Syla had more success. Like a broom cleaning detritus from a hall, her power swept the dragon magic out, pushing it back toward Lesva, toward the glowing dragon tattoo from which everything originated.
Scowling, Lesva faced her. Syla sensed the woman summoning her power again, intending to fight back. But then her head twisted toward the cave entrance.
Had she heard something beyond the roar of the sea? Syla used the distraction to thrust the rest of the rider’s foul magic out of her body.
Instead of fighting her, Lesva released her and stalked toward the entrance.
Without the support of her enemy pinning her, Syla’s legs gave way, muscles rubbery from all she’d endured.
She collapsed to her hands and knees and gulped in air, as if she’d half-drowned.
Her entire body shook in the aftermath of the experience, of minutes—or had it been hours? —of enduring the pain.
Syla almost collapsed completely, flopping onto her side, but movement at the cave entrance drew her eye. Not only did Lesva stand there, her sword in hand, but another person had arrived, a dark figure outlined against the stormy night sky.
Shadows hid his face, but Syla knew who it was, even before lightning flashed behind him, the white light limning his body.
Vorik.
“You’re not taking my prisoner, Captain.” Lesva crouched and raised her sword, prepared to fight.
Though Syla was relieved to see Vorik, she also worried for him. Lesva looked like his enemy, not his ally. If she killed him, with only a kingdom woman for a witness, would Lesva have found a way to achieve the promotion she wanted? By eliminating their general’s right-hand man?
That close to the entrance, she was probably far from the candles’ influence and wouldn’t be slowed in a fight.
Had Vorik and Lesva been normal human beings, Syla would have assumed a man would have the advantage in a physical confrontation, but she’d experienced for herself how strong Lesva was, how dangerous and deadly the dragon magic made her.
“You’re torturing her for no reason.” Vorik’s voice was icier than Syla had ever heard it.
Though he also carried his sword, he looked past his colleague to Syla. More concerned for her than for the battle at hand?
Syla waved to indicate she was all right, even if she wasn’t. She didn’t want to be a distraction.
“Oh, there’s a reason,” Lesva said. “I will find and destroy the shielder. Without lowering myself to some smarmy seduction scheme. You are a noble warrior, Vorik. It’s beneath you.”
“I am following our general’s orders.” Vorik glanced at Syla again.
Wishing she weren’t hearing this? The revelation of everything?
Since she’d already figured it out, it hardly mattered.
“You are the one who’s gone rogue and is going against his wishes,” Vorik added.
Thunder boomed, punctuating the sentence. It wasn’t raining on the island, not yet, but a storm raged scant miles off the coast.
“He won’t care how the mission is accomplished once the islands are laid bare for our people and our dragon allies. You know that.”
“You are disobeying his orders,” Vorik said. “He will care about that.”
“Not if he doesn’t find out.” Sword still raised, Lesva took a step closer to him, like a cat creeping up on its prey before pouncing.
Not looking concerned—or anything like prey—Vorik watched her approach without moving. “I’ve already found the shielder. Your disobedience and tormenting of an innocent woman is for naught.”
He’d found it? How?
Using the stone wall for support, Syla pushed herself into a sitting position.
“Innocent? She’s a gardener. A gardener princess from the very family who has for generations denied stormers an opportunity to return to their homeland.
My mother tried, and she was killed when her identity was found out.
Because we won’t bow down and grovel before their throne and embrace their stupid laws, they hate us.
And they resent us for our alliance with the dragons.
They’ve always resented us.” Lesva prowled closer to Vorik.
Unfortunately, every step took her farther from the candles’ scent. She wasn’t yawning now.
“Syla is a healer.” Vorik didn’t sound moved by his colleague’s rant. Thank the gods.
“A healer wouldn’t be so good at keeping her mouth shut when someone’s interrogating her.
I don’t know what she is, but she was trained to keep her secrets, the secrets that make these lands inaccessible to our people.
She’s an enemy, and I’m certain she’d happily see you or any other stormer dead.
You can’t possibly know if she’s innocent.
She could have killed our kind many times.
Or denied them healing when they washed up on gardener shores. ”
“I’m certain she has never killed nor denied anyone healing. I doubt she’s even looked crossly at one of our people. She healed me.” Vorik brushed the sutures in his side. “When she knew she shouldn’t have.”
Though her muscles remained weak and wobbly, Syla clawed her way to her feet. Since she was at the core of this conversation, she wanted to stand, not lie crumpled like a hapless victim.
“Is that why you’re defending her? She used her healing magic on you, and you’re bound?” Lesva’s words rang with realization, as if she’d found the explanation she sought.
“She didn’t use her magic on me. Only thread and bandages.”
“Then it’s that you like her soft body and big boobs and want to sink your cock into her.”
“Lesva, do not do this. Walk away. Your dragon is waiting for you beyond the barrier.”
“Why you’d prefer a weak, useless gardener princess to a powerful warrior woman who can make you scream—who has made you scream—I can’t imagine, but I suppose I’m not surprised.
Men will screw anything.” Lesva stepped closer.
“I thought you were too noble, too honorable, to be a spy and seduce a woman, but maybe your brother’s mission got you excited. Maybe—”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she sprang at Vorik, slashing at him with her sword.
He wasn’t surprised and flicked his own blade to meet her powerful blow, parrying it without obvious effort. When he backed up, Syla sensed it was only so they would have more room to maneuver, so they would be out in the open and not constrained by the cave walls.
Too bad. She looked wistfully at her candles, wishing she could have thought of a way to lure them both back here for long enough to sedate them.
Especially since Vorik had said he’d found the shielder.
She needed to slip away and discover if that was true.
What if he’d chanced upon Fel and Tibby?
And killed them after they’d found their way into the shielder chamber?
That awful thought propelled Syla along the wall toward the entrance.
Outside, clangs rang out over the roar of the sea and rumble of thunder as Vorik and Lesva fought, the magical gargoyle-bone blades sounding more like steel than natural material.
In the dark, on the rough footing of the lava rock, they leaped in and out, parrying and thrusting, as if they could see perfectly well and had the flattest battleground imaginable.
They were as evenly matched as Syla had feared, and their deadly dance mesmerized her, making her pause to watch.
Vorik, she thought, was a little stronger, a little faster, but he didn’t, she sensed, want to kill Lesva.
If they had, as Lesva had implied, slept together, maybe he had feelings for her.
It didn’t seem to go both ways. If Lesva felt anything for Vorik, she didn’t show it.
She snarled and grunted as she attacked, determined to defeat him. To kill him.