Chapter 9
Vorik scraped his fingers through his damp hair and rubbed away water dripping down the back of his neck. The clouds had thickened and rain fell as Wreylith flew toward the royal farm, leaving Teyla and her beleaguered coachman to follow in the recovered carriage.
Judging by the dragon’s leisurely pace, with numerous stops to peek into valleys and at rock outcroppings—any spots that might have caves—Syla had told her she didn’t need to hurry. She probably wanted to match Teyla’s speed in case her cousin ran into more trouble on the highway.
Understandable, but, with his deadline in mind, Vorik itched at the idea of dillydallying.
He considered volunteering to go ahead and sneak into the city himself.
He might be able to manage during daylight hours.
Then he could gather intelligence—if not slip into the castle and assassinate Lord Fograth.
Oh, his honor would prompt him to challenge the man instead of sneaking up behind him with a dagger, but if the challenge weren’t accepted, he would strike anyway.
Better his tarnished honor than to allow the man to continue to plot Syla’s death.
But Vorik didn’t know if he could sneak all the way into the castle and find and kill the man before being caught.
Though he’d fought numerous Kingdom soldiers before and knew he could handle multiples of them at once, the capital would be on high alert, and Vorik didn’t even know what Fograth looked like.
Syla shifted and looked back at him. “Wreylith has finished cave hunting and is taking us to the farm now. I’ve been thinking of our first day there together.”
“And the delight of baking that cobbler for me?”
“Actually, I was remembering how Aunt Tibby almost shot you, and you tried to convince me of how earnestly you wanted to protect me.”
Vorik hadn’t been remotely close to being shot, but all he said was, “So, you’re dwelling on fond memories.”
“There are worse ones that could be in my mind. You also earnestly told me how you were a member of the Freeborn Faction. Strange how, the first time we encountered them, they drugged you and wanted to use you in a prisoner trade.”
“They’re a fickle group.”
“You don’t have any idea where they are now, do you? I haven’t heard from them since stormer dragons forced their winged allies away from Harvest Island.”
“I haven’t heard anything about them lately, no. If I do, should I invite them to the big stormer tribe meeting?”
“You should, but do you have the authority to hand out invitations?”
“Not in the least.”
We approach the farm, Wreylith informed them.
Syla rested a hand on her back. “Before landing, fly around and make sure there aren’t any enforcer wagons on the premises, will you, please?”
I will take care of them if there are.
“Don’t forget those are my people. Please don’t light any more of their wagons on fire than necessary.”
Your people keep trying to slay you.
“I know. It’s complicated. At least the fishermen who gave you food aren’t against us.”
They were most pleased to learn that you lived.
When I informed them thusly, that was when they brought out the sturgeon.
And did I mention there was caviar too? Such small little eggs barely register to a dragon’s palette, but the nutty and briny taste did carry through as they used an oar to smear the eggs over my tongue. Most delectable.
Vorik wondered whose job it had been to smear fish eggs on a dragon’s tongue. Someone either very brave or… very low in rank.
“I don’t know if I talked her out of lighting wagons on fire or not,” Syla said over her shoulder.
“Dragons do what dragons wish to do. For that matter, queens should be able to as well.”
“If only.” She smiled wistfully. “May I speak with you, Vorik, of more than memories? Of the future? As a representative of my people talking to a representative of your people?”
“Can we do that? You’ve been ousted from your throne, and I… I’ll be placed in exile if not slain outright as soon as I show my face back at our camp.”
“You’d better make your challenge for the chief position quickly then. Before they can formalize your status.”
“All right. I’ll plan to blurt the words out as I’m jumping off Agrevlari’s back upon landing.” Vorik cocked his head. “What do you want to say? As a representative of your people?”
“Well, I’d like to give you… I’m not sure I can make a promise yet, but I’d like to make an offering or at least a suggestion that you can take back to your people, something that might help you convince them to make peace with the Kingdom.”
Vorik doubted he would end up in a position where he could convince them of anything but nodded for her to continue.
“I could write and sign something to send along,” Syla said, “but if your people don’t read, that might not be useful.”
“Some of them can read. Jhiton even likes it. Liked it. But, yes, we do consider oral oaths more binding than words on papers. Go ahead.” Vorik was curious about what she would propose.
But Wreylith had reached and was circling the farm, and Syla paused to look down.
Though harvest season hadn’t ended, no workers were out in the fields.
Vorik didn’t know if normal operations had resumed in the weeks since the invasion, but he would have guessed so. Did the stillness signify trouble?
Do you wish to land near the human abode? Wreylith asked.
“Take us down near the machine shop, please. If someone does come up the road, they’ll check on the farmhouse first, and, unless it’s Vonla’s team, we don’t want to be checked on.
” Syla touched Wreylith on the back again.
“After you let us off, will you fly around the island for a while again? If you appear all over the place, the reports that come in should confuse Fograth and the military leaders.”
I will scout along the eastern coast for caves. That is far from your castle and perhaps not ideal, but I do enjoy morning sun exposure and have not yet perused that area.
“Good idea,” Syla said as the dragon descended toward the road in front of the large barn-like structure she’d called the machine shop. The tractors that Fel and Agrevlari had damaged—in self-defense, of course—had been moved, so someone had been working on the farm in the past weeks.
After Vorik and Syla slid to the ground and Wreylith took off, they pushed open the doors of the building so they could step out of the rain.
“What next?” Vorik asked. “I might think you wanted to get me alone for frisky adult activities, but you were speaking of formality and written documents, so I expect plotting and scheming are more on your mind.”
“Yes. Also, I’m wet from the rain and expecting Teyla before long. Friskiness isn’t in my thoughts.”
“A shame.”
“Is it on your mind?” Syla plucked at his damp tunic.
“Usually. Especially when I’ve been riding on a dragon with you nestled just so.” He waved toward his inner thighs.
“Oh, Vorik.” She let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a moan of distress and slumped against him.
He wrapped his arms around her. “Tell me about your scheme. We can get frisky later, when we’re dry and your possibly murdering cousin isn’t apt to walk in on us.”
Her second groan didn’t have any hint of laughter in it. “I don’t think she murdered anyone.”
“Even though she casually spoke of lopping off the penis of your enemy?”
“Even though. But I do have a hint of a doubt. I wish I didn’t.
” Syla let herself lean fully against him, but she also took a resolute breath and said, “All right. Here’s what I’m thinking in regard to your people.
As I told you—and your chiefs—there’s no way I can give up one of our islands.
Further, I’m going to be blunt and say I don’t think they’re in a position to assume they can take any of them at this point.
You’ve lost your general, a lot of dragons, a lot of riders, and between the shielder and the weapons platform, we’re on the verge of reclaiming Harvest Island. ”
She looked at his face. To see if he would argue against her?
“I do believe we’re in a less strong position than we were the first time our chiefs visited you and were confident.”
“They were confident, condescending, and scheming.”
“Yes, such activities are recommended in war. Should my people be willing to admit that they’ve lost some of their advantages… what would you propose? We endure hard lives. We don’t give up easily.”
“If food and respite from the climate and all the storm god’s minions is truly what you want, then you don’t need to take over the entire Kingdom, right?”
“That’s right. Jhiton wanted it all because he’s… Well, he liked a challenge. But he agreed that if we could get perhaps your three northernmost islands and claim them… that would change the course of history for our people. It would be enough to keep our children from starving.”
“Well, like I said, I’m not giving up any islands, but what if the Kingdom agreed to allow stormers to create camps or even towns, if you wanted something permanent, within Kingdom borders?
Within the protection of the shields, more specifically.
Perhaps on some of the less populated but still fertile islands, we could find places where you could have independence and continue to live and rule by your laws.
You would, of course, have to agree not to break any Kingdom laws if you traveled out of whatever borders we established for you, but I understand that your people have no interest in being under the rule of mine and that was one of the reasons so many left. ”
“Are there such places where the land isn’t already claimed and used by Kingdom subjects?”
“There’s land on all the islands that is owned by the crown.”
“Hospitable lands that one could farm, forage, and hunt on?”