Chapter 2
Pregnant? Agrevlari was the one to respond first to Vorik’s comment.
Syla merely gazed at him, her jaw descending.
You don’t think so? Vorik asked his ally. A dragon craving eggshells and bones is common with pregnancy. They need the nutrients in them to form their own shells to protect the embryos, right? And doesn’t Wreylith seem a touch… moody?
A dragon has many moods, and Wreylith has always been intriguingly tempestuous. From his perch on the wheelhouse, Agrevlari looked in the direction Wreylith had flown, though she’d disappeared from view over Harvest Island.
Vorik hoped Wreylith didn’t run into any trouble over there.
The last he’d heard, Freedom Faction dragons had been fighting against stormer-allied dragons, vying over the only Kingdom island without a barrier to protect it.
At least for the time being. Vorik glanced at Syla’s aunt sitting with her book beside the magical components that Syla had stolen from his camp.
He smiled at the memory of her temerity.
She hadn’t admitted it to him, but, more than once, he had wondered if she’d let him kidnap her so that she would learn where the components were and could retrieve them.
That almost hadn’t worked since Jhiton had extracted the location of the Bogberry Island shielder when he’d questioned her, but she’d still come out on top.
It was almost as if Syla had designed it that way from the beginning, knowing she could lure Jhiton and other stormers to their demise when her aunt had flooded the mine.
Oh, Vorik doubted it had been that premeditated, but Syla had proven herself capable of outmaneuvering him enough times that he wouldn’t want to cross her.
Vorik lamented that his brother had. Jhiton had been too obsessed with obtaining the Kingdom islands, and he’d paid the ultimate price. Many of their people had.
Vorik shook his head, wondering what the chiefs and whoever would be promoted to lead the Sixteen Talons in Jhiton’s absence would decide to do.
If they were wise, after losing so many fighters in the mine—not to mention all the dragons that had been killed by the weapons platform—they would send a party to negotiate a peace treaty with the Garden Kingdom.
But with Chieftess Shi and other leaders with strong voices—strongly bellicose voices—remaining, his people might not make the wise choice. Unfortunately.
“I didn’t think…” Syla said, finally recovering from Vorik’s statement. “I mean, I thought Wreylith was older. Past the age of having babies. Er, laying eggs. She’s said she’s lived many centuries. She knew my great-great grandmother.”
“Dragons are long-lived.” Vorik spread his arms, not having further details, probably because he was bonded to a male dragon rather than a female.
Had he been like Lieutenant Yarvorin, who kept getting left out of missions because the fecund—and promiscuous—female dragon he rode was always taking time off to lay eggs and care for her young, Vorik might have learned more on the topic.
Agrevlari’s contribution to the creation of offspring was rather brief and limited.
“This wouldn’t be their typical breeding time of year, but… ”
“The cactus flowers,” Syla said.
Fel grimaced and looked away from Aunt Tibby, though she was immersed in her book and didn’t appear interested in the conversation.
Ah, the cactus flowers, Agrevlari rumbled into Vorik’s mind.
“The cactus flowers,” Vorik agreed, a flush creeping into him as he remembered Syla with her dress hiked up against that rock formation, and him… doing the hiking. And other things. “Erm.”
He looked away, aware of numerous crew watching them from within hearing range. Didn’t that major and captain have a fleet to command?
As if Vorik’s look had summoned him, the major stepped forward. “Are you all right, Your Majesty? We heard the cannons. You and your dragon were spotted, I take it.”
“And fired upon, yes.” Syla gazed toward the point on the end of the island. With her small fleet sailing inexorably toward it, it would be visible to the ships in the harbor before long. “I have a feeling our vessels might receive the same welcome home.”
“We could fire back.” Instead of looking at the cannons mounted along the railing, the major pointed to the weapons platform. “Effectively.”
“Wreylith is effective too, but I stopped her from attacking. I don’t want to attack our own ships.
” An aggrieved expression crossed Syla’s face.
“I need to take back the throne, but we’re going to have to find a way other than sailing directly into the harbor, disembarking, and walking up to the castle. ”
“I could have told you that wouldn’t work earlier,” Fel said. “Whoever is behind this—was it Lord Fograth from the beginning, or did your cousin Relvin or another scheme it up?—has had days to plan. Maybe weeks if they started before you left.”
“Before I left to try to take back Harvest Island. And save Bogberry Island.” Syla looked in exasperation at Vorik, and he braced himself to be blamed for the attacks.
His people had been behind them, after all.
But what Syla said was, “I’m affronted that they were staging a coup while we were defending the kingdom. ”
“That does seem rude,” Vorik offered, not sure how much he should advise or suggest when he was, as the officers kept pointing out, nothing more than a prisoner from an untrusted people.
“Very.” Syla turned toward the major. “Do you think Fograth would think to have put ships in the Lyvoran Freight Harbor?” She waved toward another section of Castle Island.
“Maybe, maybe not, but there are always two military ships stationed there to guard the cargo that’s loaded, especially now that we’re deep in harvest season.
Though, the last I heard, the delivery of potatoes and grains to the southern islands has been paused because of the stormer threat.
The harbor may be packed full of cargo vessels waiting for an opportunity to depart. ”
“It’s always busy this time of year. There may be a way for us to slip in, barely noticed. From there, we could go overland and sneak into the castle and… figure out a way to get the throne back.” Syla looked at Vorik again.
“Are you going to throw your prisoner at them?” the major asked.
“With a sword and dagger in his hands, maybe,” she said.
“I would be happy to make myself useful,” Vorik said, “by challenging your usurper to a duel and slaying him.”
“Lord Fograth wouldn’t accept a challenge from anyone who could defeat him,” Fel said.
“Well, I’m less eager to participate in an assassination,” Vorik said. “I find them dishonorable, but, for Queen Syla, I might kidnap someone.”
“You’ve kidnapped me,” she said.
“Yes. I’m more practiced at such methods than my honor would like.” Vorik’s smile was rueful.
Syla returned his smile, equally ruefully, then looked to the south. “I wish my dragon hadn’t stormed off. It would be handy to have her check the freight harbor. How long do you think my ally is going to be moody?”
“For dragons, the gestation period is about two months,” Vorik offered. “And then it takes another two to three months for the eggs to hatch.”
“Goodness, that’s not very long compared to humans.”
“They’re magical beings,” Vorik said. “The rules don’t apply. Though I understand many lizards have similar gestation and incubation lengths.”
Lizards! Agrevlari said. We’ve discussed before how dragons are not like lizards.
“I believe with chickens, the whole process only takes about three weeks,” Vorik said.
We are even less like chickens! Agrevlari lowered his head to glare sufficiently at him.
“I hope I have time to resolve the monarchy problem,” Syla said, “and find a suitable cave—and a soon-to-be-built horn-hog farm—on Castle Island for Wreylith.”
“Please tell me that’s not the motivation for your actions,” Aunt Tibby murmured while turning a page. Apparently, she was paying more attention to the conversation than her immersion in the book had suggested.
“It’s a motivation,” Syla said. “Wreylith is important, and her assistance has been a great boon. I want her to be happy.”
“It’s crucial that a dragon feel his or her bond to a human is reciprocally beneficial.” Vorik waved at Agrevlari, pointedly ignoring his glare. “We can scout that harbor for you.”
“The town of Lyvoran has a glassworks, doesn’t it?” Tibby looked up. “With one of our distant moon-marked relatives running it.”
“Is that the artisan Tabuvar?” Syla asked.
Tibby nodded. “He makes magical baubles from time to time as well as mundane glasswares. I wonder… He might have special tools that could help with our project.” She patted the shielder components.
“In case we can’t get to the tools in the castle?” Syla asked.
“I’m afraid neither of us would be welcome there at the moment.”
“Or even able to reach the front gate,” Syla said grimly.
“Ships ahead!” a crewman called from the crow’s nest.
Vorik spotted three Kingdom warships cruising around the point that Syla’s small fleet was heading toward.
The major swore.
“We outnumber them,” the captain said, “unless there are more coming after those three.”
“Yes, but we don’t want a fight,” Syla said firmly. “Turn us around and start toward the freight harbor, Major Hixun.”
“Turning tail and running won’t help you get the throne back, Your Majesty,” the major said. “And they’ve already seen us.”
Syla hesitated. Not from fear, Vorik knew—if anything, she was far too willing to risk her life for the good of her kingdom. But when it came to battles with her own ships—her own people—even if she won, she would lose.
“They’ve sailed outside of the shield.” Vorik pointed to the trio of vessels. “Agrevlari and I will scare them off.”
“By streaming gouts of incendiary flames at them?” Syla shook her head.
“Lighting people on fire is an excellent way to scare them off.”
Her face turned pale.