Chapter 19 #2
“You don’t think I’ll be historically significant even if I don’t survive and reclaim the throne?”
“Well, your reign was so brief. You might be turned into a footnote in the pages of history books.”
“Disheartening after all we’ve done.”
A dragon’s scales are as magical as she is, Wreylith said, commenting on her grooming for the first time.
You should be honored that I’m tending myself in your presence.
Usually, a dragon only risks shedding old scales deep in the wilderness where potential enemies aren’t likely to stumble upon them.
They can be used to create krendala and other magical idols and tools that a dragon may not wish to have made from a portion of her essence.
I’m always honored when you’re in my presence, Syla replied, especially when you’re helping me thwart enemies.
As you should be. When I finish, you may remove the scales and toss them into the sea or place them in such a place that they cannot be taken and used inappropriately. It is a sign of my trust that I will allow this.
Oh, thank you.
“You’ve got a strange look on your face,” Teyla said.
“Wreylith is letting me know I’ll be honored to pick up her scales. She’s apparently shedding them, not molting them. In case you were wondering about the appropriate term.”
“That makes sense. Dragons are more like lizards than chickens.”
Dragons are like neither lowly creature. Wreylith flicked her tail, and a scale flew over the railing. A crewman gaped as it disappeared into the waves.
“Of course,” Teyla said. “My apologies, mighty dragon.”
“She’s been a little temperamental of late,” Syla whispered, the word moody floating through her mind again. “But what did you want to talk about? More than that there’s gossip, I’m sure.”
“I do actually want to talk about the gossip, the content of it specifically.” Teyla raised frank eyebrows. “There are people wondering if you ordered Lord Ravoran killed.”
“Oh.”
“If his head had been snapped off by a dragon, they would be sure you’d done it, but the throat-slitting has left the event open to debate.”
“Why would I have ordered him killed?” Syla felt defensive, but she remembered that many people had seen Ravoran yelling at her and threatening to throw his power behind Fograth. “Never mind. I can guess.”
Teyla nodded. “He essentially declared himself your enemy in front of witnesses.”
“But I’m a healer, Teyla. I don’t order people killed. Even enemies.”
“I know that, but others aren’t as familiar with your personality and what you might and might not do.”
“You would think they would assume that anyone who’s a healer would have a non-murder-ordering personality.
” Syla noticed her fists had clenched, and she loosened them, but it was hard to make her frustration go away.
It came both from moral grounds and because she worried there would be personal and political ramifications.
If her enemies succeeded in convincing others that she had murdered someone who’d gotten in the way, they could claim she ought to be thrown in a dungeon or executed, not returned to the throne.
“I have to apologize because I may have made matters worse,” Teyla said.
“You? How?”
“I’ve spoken to Captain Vonla and Major Hixun and a few others about my father’s death and how it’s upsetting and I don’t know who was responsible.
Hixun asked how he’d been killed, and I said what you told me, that his throat was slit.
This was before Ravoran’s death. I had no idea another person would be killed in a similar manner and that someone might link the two murders. ”
“I don’t see how there can be a link between the two,” Syla said, even though the same thought had crossed her mind.
Teyla raised her eyebrows. “They were both supporters of the other side. Your opponents, essentially.”
“So, naturally, I killed them.”
“People don’t think that. Just that you had them killed.”
“That’s so much better.”
Teyla spread her palm toward the sky. “I wanted you to know in case someone in power hears the rumors and tries to cast… aspersions.”
“All right. Thank you for letting me know.”
Teyla gazed toward the city as their ship drew closer to the docks, crewmen readying ropes. “I admit I’m a little concerned for Relvin, that he might be targeted too.”
Syla opened her mouth, but she didn’t know what to say. Since she had no idea who’d killed the others, and if there truly could be a link with them being her opponents, she couldn’t assure Teyla that her brother would be fine.
“He’s an ass, and we don’t adore each other, but I wouldn’t want him murdered. With Father already passed…” Teyla blinked to clear moisture from her eyes.
“It’s hard to lose your family,” Syla said.
“Yes, you know that better than anyone.” Teyla swallowed.
“Unfortunately, I do. Well, in case it needs to be said, I didn’t order anyone killed and am not after your brother.
” Syla hated that she felt the need to state that, and it was especially strange after she’d wondered if Teyla might have been responsible for her father’s death.
How unsettling to have people now wondering about her motives.
“Oh, I know you didn’t and aren’t. But, like I said, I wanted to warn you that others who don’t know you well are spreading rumors.”
“Thank you.”
Before long, the ship had docked and Fel waited by the gangplank with several Royal Protectors and Captain Vonla.
“Your Majesty?” Fel called, then pointed toward the dock.
Lord Oyenar waited at the bottom of the gangplank with several uniformed troops of his own as well as a senior officer Syla recognized from the war room where they’d met before the stormer invasion.
Wreylith had finished her grooming and hopped onto the wheelhouse again.
Syla held up a finger and jogged over to pick up the discarded scales.
Each was about the size of a teacup saucer though much thinner than a plate.
They were sturdier, too, with faint magic detectable in them.
Most were a faded red, almost translucent at the edges.
Though they weren’t as vibrant as the new scales that must have grown in to replace them, they were still attractive with an almost iridescent quality about them.
It would be a shame to toss them into the sea so Syla carried them to the gangplank.
“What are you going to do with those?” Teyla asked.
“I don’t know yet.” Syla wondered if any of her historical alchemy books had formulas for medicinal substances that called for dragon scales. She wouldn’t suggest that aloud since Wreylith might object if they were used in a salve, especially one that might have the attribute of being slimy.
“I bet they’re strong,” Teyla said.
“They look like appetizer plates.” Fel stepped onto the gangplank to lead the way down.
“You’ve got enough for a matched dinner service set,” Teyla said.
“I’m not making plates out of dragon scales.” Syla followed Fel onto the gangplank.
“People might pay for them,” Teyla said, coming after her, with the Royal Protectors following them. “If you’re not able to get the throne back and need to find another way to make a living, you could sell them in one of the street markets.”
“One would hope ten years of experience as a healer would get me a job that doesn’t require selling my ally’s body parts.”
By then, they’d reached the dock, and Lord Oyenar must have heard the last comment because he wore the expression of a man who didn’t know what to say.
“Welcome to Castle Island, Lord Oyenar,” Syla said. “I’ve appreciated the use of the ships that you lent me for what turned into a rather indirect trip home, but I wasn’t expecting you.”
“When the ships didn’t come back, and nobody sent a report, my wife suggested I come check on things in person.”
“While wearing your old uniform?” It hadn’t occurred to Syla to send a report back to Oyenar, but maybe it should have. She would have had to send away one of the ships for that, though, and she’d been outnumbered from the beginning.
“My wife always finds me dashing in it.” Oyenar looked toward the head of the dock.
Two squads of gray-uniformed enforcers were marching in their direction.
“It might be more correct to say that she always found me dashing in it. It doesn’t fit as well as it once did, and there may have been teasing when I got it out of the closet and put it on. ”
“I’m sure it was good-natured ribbing and nothing more. You two seem to have a healthy, loving relationship.”
“Yes. And I ribbed her back, as is appropriate.”
The enforcers marched straight toward Syla, and she couldn’t hold back a grimace, well aware that the last enforcers she’d encountered had tried to capture her.
She almost hid her moon-marked hand behind her back as they approached, but it wasn’t as if they didn’t know all about her—and her hand.
She had allies with her, but… maybe it had been a mistake to return directly to the harbor.
Fel shifted to stand in front of Syla, his hand dropping to his mace. Lord Oyenar also stepped forward to force the squads to halt.
“Are you here to escort Queen Syla and myself to speak with Lord Fograth?” he asked.
“We are here to arrest Qu— the moon-marked lady.”
Goodness, Syla had been demoted all the way down to the moon-marked lady? Maybe she should have risked coming to the capital sooner.
“That’s not going to happen.” Fel stepped forward to stand beside Oyenar and create a front the enforcers wouldn’t be able to pass.
“You will speak respectfully of and to Queen Syla,” Oyenar said.
The enforcers eyed each other, some reaching for their weapons while others considered all the Royal Protectors and soldiers gathered behind Syla. The enforcers didn’t look like they wanted to start a confrontation. No doubt some nebulous orders had sent them on this mission.
“You can escort us to see Fograth,” Syla offered, rising on her tiptoes to look over the shoulders of the taller men.
“We don’t know where he is, ma’am.”