Chapter 1
Queen Syla Moonmark plucked seaweed off the marble post of the weapons platform strapped to the deck of the Fanged Whale, one of five ships Lord Oyenar had lent to her for the return voyage to Castle Island where her usurped throne waited.
She bared her teeth at the thought of dealing with the upstart Lord Favrik Fograth, who’d taken advantage of her being away, fighting dragons and stormers invading her kingdom.
He’d swapped out her family’s flag on the castle and presumed to anoint himself…
whatever he was calling himself. King? She didn’t yet know.
“Will it perform less adequately if it’s draped in seaweed?” Dragon-rider Captain Vorik asked as he walked up behind her, his hands clasped behind his back, his wrists free of shackles.
Over the course of the day’s voyage, Major Hixun had attempted numerous times to try to talk Syla into chaining her prisoner. Even now, the uniformed officer stood nearby, eyeing Vorik balefully, a set of shackles draped over his shoulder in case she changed her mind.
“I’ve seen it dropped a thousand feet by dragons, assaulted with explosives, and sunk to the bottom of Prominence River.
I’m positive a piece of seaweed won’t keep it from firing magical projectiles at enemy dragons.
” Syla plucked off a clump of dried grass.
The adornments were courtesy of the recent river-sinking.
“It’s a good thing we don’t have any of those around here.” Untamed black hair tousled by the wind, Vorik looked toward the wheelhouse.
The great red dragon, Wreylith, perched there, gazing suspiciously at another dragon.
A few minutes ago, Agrevlari, the green dragon bonded to Vorik, had dared soar close, but he hadn’t presumed to land on the ship.
Instead, he’d settled behind it, lying on his back and floating on the waves, his fanged maw fastened lightly to a rope dangling from the stern of the Fanged Whale.
In the aftermath of numerous storms, the sun was out, and Agrevlari appeared to be tanning his belly. Could scales tan? Perhaps not.
“Also, for your edification, a single explosive tucked into one of four massive cannon-like columns,” Vorik said, waving at one of the posts supporting the bed and canopy of the marble structure, “doesn’t qualify as an assault.”
“We could check a dictionary when we get back, but I’m fairly certain the flinging of even a single explosive does indeed count as an assault.”
“My people have an oral tradition. We don’t use dictionaries.”
“So, you can make up and adjust the definitions of words on the fly?”
“Yes, it’s delightful.” Vorik smiled, though there was a haunted aspect to his emerald-green eyes that had been there since he’d pulled himself from the flooded mine, and he gazed past his sunning dragon toward the horizon.
Bogberry Island, where her people had battled his, was no longer in view, but he was probably thinking of his lost brother.
Syla wished she could say something to help Vorik deal with the choices he’d made.
She’d already told him that she loved him and wouldn’t say the words again while Major Hixun, Sergeant Fel, and several Royal Protectors stood within earshot.
Aunt Tibby was also present, sitting cross-legged on the weapons platform with a book in her lap and the collection of magical components for repairing Harvest Island’s ancient shielder beside her.
She, too, occasionally lifted her head to shoot Vorik baleful looks.
All the crew might have preferred if Syla had put him in a cell, but she didn’t truly consider him her prisoner, and she had no doubt he would be able to help when they arrived at Castle Island.
She didn’t yet have a plan for reclaiming the throne, so she would have to…
wing it. That was the dragon term, wasn’t it?
“That spot may need your attention.” Vorik pointed at dried mud caking a corner of the weapons platform.
“Maybe you should wipe it off.” Syla offered him the kerchief she’d requisitioned from Fel for the job. “It might think more fondly of you if you polished it.”
“Oh, I don’t think touching it in any manner whatsoever would be wise. Not for me. The peeved aura it’s giving off makes me think… It may have, like you, classified my small explosive placement as an assault.”
Syla considered him. “Are you being funny or can you sense that it’s… peeved with you?”
Since the gods-crafted weapons platform had, not that long ago, knocked her unconscious to give her a vision, she wasn’t surprised by the idea.
It had feelings of a sort. Even an intelligence.
An unpredictable one. Earlier that morning, she’d touched one of the hand marks, hoping to receive another vision, maybe one letting her see what was going on in the castle, but it had merely thrummed cheerfully under her palm, as if it were happy to be heading back to the island.
“Oh, it’s absolutely peeved with me. A bit like Ozlemar when I respond to Jhiton’s orders by saying something insouciant.” Vorik started to smile, but it faltered, and he looked toward the horizon again.
Syla hadn’t seen their final confrontation, but she knew Vorik had fought his brother on her behalf, and to save Aunt Tibby as well. She clasped his hand. “So, it’s emanating the same displeasure as a grouchy black dragon.”
“Precisely so.” Vorik returned the hand clasp. “I’ll leave cleaning it to you.”
“Queens aren’t supposed to clean weapons,” Fel grumbled.
He was also looking toward the horizon but in the opposite direction, toward where Castle Island had come into view, the shoreline lush and green in contrast with the pale blue sky.
From this side of it, they couldn’t see Sky Torn Harbor and the capital—or the dozens and dozens of Kingdom ships that had been summoned from the various islands, apparently to defend the interests of the usurper.
“Queens aren’t supposed to man weapons platforms to battle dragons either,” Aunt Tibby said, “but Syla has done both this week. She’s atypical for her role.”
“I won’t be a queen if I can’t get the castle back.” Syla waved toward the island ahead of them. “I’ll have to go back to being an atypical healer and nothing more.”
“Should you look wistful when you say that?” Vorik murmured.
“Probably not, but I can’t deny the feeling.”
“We’ll get your throne back. You’ve the assistance of a dragon.
Look, she’s surveying the island now.” Fel pointed at Wreylith, who had indeed turned from glowering toward Agrevlari to considering the way ahead.
That morning, she’d flown to Castle Island and confirmed that all the ships Vorik had seen the day before were indeed in the harbor—all of them and more.
I believe that back portion of the island there—see where the seagulls are flying about the rocky outcroppings?
—may be a possible place for me to establish a cave residence, Wreylith stated, her telepathic voice booming in Syla’s mind.
The water looks shallow in the area. Is there a lagoon?
Do you think venomous sword iglets might be found on that side of your island?
I know they proliferate in the shallow eastern waters.
“My dragon ally is distracted today,” Syla said.
Wreylith’s words must have been shared with her alone because Fel raised his eyebrows.
Doubtless familiar with people adopting absent expressions as they communicated with dragons, Vorik didn’t look confused. “Simply having Wreylith present should deter many of your enemies.”
“I hope so,” Syla said.
“And she can eat the ones it doesn’t deter.”
“She prefers sword iglets to humans, from what I understand.”
Vorik opened his mouth to reply but paused and cocked his head. “Agrevlari agrees that sword iglets are delicious and wishes that he could fly over the lagoons of your Castle Island to fish them out of the protected waters. They’re rare elsewhere.”
“I don’t think the gods were thinking through all the ramifications of what would happen when they shielded these particular islands.
” Syla waved to encompass the entire chain that made up the Garden Kingdom, though it sprawled over hundreds of miles and most of it wasn’t visible.
“There are too many fish and animals that dragons find delicious on and around them.”
“What they didn’t realize was that dragons would hunt them to extinction anywhere they weren’t protected,” Vorik said. “There used to be iglets in a lot of lagoons, and let’s not even talk about elioks.”
Elioks, Wreylith purred into Syla’s mind.
I would enjoy one of those later today. I also find myself craving the eggs of the giant two-fanged turtle.
It’s unfortunate that it is not nesting season.
Perhaps I might enjoy the meat and then munch on the turtle shell.
Yes, something crunchy sounds appealing.
Are there giant Sea of Storm lobsters in the area?
“Are turtle and lobster shells edible?” Syla caught herself answering aloud.
Fel’s eyebrows climbed higher.
“I suppose if you’re a dragon, anything is edible,” Syla said.
“I once saw Agrevlari floss his teeth with a cedar snag. It didn’t seem to bother him that slivers went down his gullet.
” Vorik held his hands out wide to demonstrate the size of the slivers.
“He said the fiber helped him process his meal. I understand that without proper processing, bones and such can come up, like owls hawking up pellets.”
Fel’s eyebrows hadn’t descended. Maybe this wasn’t the kind of conversation he’d expected dragon riders to have. To be fair, Syla hadn’t expected it either.
“It’s good that you’ve joined me, Vorik,” she said.
“I need an experienced rider in my life to inform me on dragon-related matters that I wouldn’t otherwise have known about.
I’ve read widely on numerous topics, and you know of my love for anything related to medical history, but our science books cover less on dragon processing than you might expect. ”