Chapter 4
Something awakened Vorik from his sleep around the campfire he shared with a few other unmarried officers from his squadron.
Earlier, he’d sparred with them for a couple of hours, exercise always ensuring good rest for him, but he sensed that it was still early in the night.
The embers in the fire hadn’t yet burned low.
He listened intently in case he’d been woken by the distant screech of wyverns or other predators that could threaten them in their cave.
A woman walked toward his campfire, a faint silver glow limning her, as if the moon shone upon her from behind. Vorik blinked in confusion. She wore spectacles, a dress that hugged voluptuous curves, and had a cute nose and full lips. He would recognize Syla anywhere, but how had she gotten here?
In the dim light, she paused and peered around the cave.
Vorik sat up, his first thought that she’d come to steal back the components and that he had to stop her. But his movement drew her attention, and her face brightened when she saw him, pleasure filling her eyes.
“Vorik,” she said with the same pleasure in her voice, and her gaze dropped to his chest.
He hadn’t put his tunic back on after sparring, and his sleeping fur had drooped to his waist when he sat up. His bare muscled chest sparked interest in her eyes—no, lust—and his body responded instantly, aroused by her perusal.
“Syla,” he said, his voice already husky with anticipation. “Come to me.”
Her gaze lifted to his face. “I don’t think that’s why I’m here.”
Despite the words, she walked past other burning fires and headed straight toward him.
The silver light provided enough illumination for him to appreciate her curves, which he did, but he also glanced at her hand.
Not the one with the quarter-moon birthmark on the back but the other.
As Jhiton’s spies had reported, it was now tattooed with a red dragon. Syla and Wreylith were indeed bonded.
“Do queens not visit handsome dragon riders who pine for their company?” Vorik lifted his gaze to her face as she neared.
“Well, I would, but your people would shoot me if I did.”
Strangely, the scouts always at the mouth of the cave hadn’t called alerts about her presence, and nobody was waking up and looking over at the sound of Vorik’s voice.
A haziness had settled about the camp everywhere except between him and Syla, and he suspected he was dreaming.
That made sense, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d dreamed about her.
He adjusted his fur to make room and patted the spot next to him.
He was tempted to pat his lap, inviting her to sit there.
She smiled, settling beside him, but her weight didn’t rustle the fur, and when he reached for her, his hand met only air.
Disappointment swept through him as he realized they couldn’t touch.
The silver moonlight that continued to limn her, even here, in the back of the cave, should have clued him in that this wasn’t real.
Syla blinked, seeming surprised that she hadn’t felt his fingers, and reached for him.
Her hand swept through his shoulder, and he didn’t feel anything except a faint draft.
He touched his chest, half-expecting to find his body also incorporeal, but it was solid.
Did that mean that he was real and she was a vision?
Or only that he couldn’t expect his unconscious mind to conjure up a world that fully made sense?
“Is it a dream?” Syla wondered aloud and looked around again. “Or…?”
There was a question in that or, but she didn’t finish it aloud.
“Usually, when you’re in my dreams, we can touch.
With great physical vigor.” Vorik smiled.
“It always seems real until I wake up alone and…” Remembering that she was a queen now, he hesitated.
Maybe it wouldn’t be respectful to speak bluntly about the state of his penis in the mornings.
“Is there a word that’s polite and acceptable to use around royalty that means, er, stiff? ”
Her mouth twisted. “I’m the same as I’ve always been, Vorik. Besides, I always spent more time in temples than at court. I’m more familiar with medical terms than what’s polite and acceptable.”
“Ah, is there a medical term appropriate for lower-extremity stiffness?”
“Well, I suppose we’re talking about rigidity. Probably not spasticity. And arthralgia refers more to joint stiffness.”
“My joints are fine. Due to my youthful vigor.”
“Vigor comes up a lot with you.”
“When I’m with you, yes.”
“Hm.” Though she sat next to him, Syla looked thoughtfully around the cave again. “I may have been sent to spy. Do you think it believes I should find the shielder components? There weren’t instructions, so I’m not sure.”
“What is it?” Vorik scratched his jaw. She wouldn’t refer to Wreylith that way.
Syla hesitated. Were they, even in their dreams, to be evasive with each other and avoid answering questions?
He supposed he should be wary about giving her information about the components, but it wouldn’t truly matter, would it?
Not if he was dreaming. It wasn’t as if she, halfway across the Sea of Storms, could be having the same dream.
“I shouldn’t tell you,” she said.
“No? I’m curious.”
“I have no doubt.”
“I could reward you.” Vorik waggled his eyebrows and gave her chest a leer.
Too bad she hadn’t come to him without a top on.
Though that might have made matters worse since they couldn’t touch.
How disappointing would it be to have her here—to seem to have her here—and only be able to touch himself?
That, he supposed, was also something one shouldn’t do in front of royalty.
Wistfulness crept into her eyes. “Without touching?”
“It would have to be a promise to do so the next time we meet.” Vorik gave her a sultry, half-lidded look. “Like in the wheelhouse.”
“That was amazing.”
“Good.”
“So amazing that I forgot the crew was standing outside and your dragon’s belly was visible through the hole.”
“I enjoy thoroughly distracting women with my abilities. Especially one woman.” He lifted his hand, wanting to trace his fingers along her jaw, and then trail them lower, but again found her incorporeal. He sighed.
“Do you think we’ll meet again soon?”
Vorik opened his mouth, but this time he paused. Was she asking because she longed to see him and be with him? Or because she hoped to learn about his next mission? In case this was more than a dream, he dared not share any intelligence with her.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think our paths will cross again soon.
You’re on Castle Island, right? I can’t visit you there.
” Technically, he could swim or kayak through the barrier and reach the castle.
After all, that was what he would have to do at Bogberry Island to implement the kidnapping.
A brief fantasy of visiting her island first came to him, but he doubted he could sneak past all the troops defending her castle to reach her suite.
Even if he had the skill to avoid human detection, Wreylith might be perched on her roof, and she would sense him.
“I am. It’s where queens belong, I’m told. At least by Sergeant Fel. There are those who would appreciate the opportunities presented by me traveling.” A furrow creased her brow.
“Queens should be able to go wherever they wish,” Vorik said before realizing what kind of opportunities she might be referring to.
“You’d think, but there are assassins about, and your Captain Lesva is out there too.”
“Have you encountered her?”
“Earlier this evening, yes.”
Vorik blinked. “On Castle Island?”
“Above it. I went with Wreylith on a hunt.”
“A hunt outside your shield?”
“Hm.”
“Were you spying on our troops on Harvest Island?” Vorik guessed.
“Maybe a little. From a distance.” Syla shrugged without apology, as if to say it was her duty.
And it was. He couldn’t blame her.
“I’m trying to help my people,” she whispered, then drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and gazed toward the mouth of the cave and the night sky beyond it.
She looked cold. Or maybe… vulnerable. Having assassins—and Captain Lesva—waiting for an opportunity to kill her couldn’t leave her resting easily.
“I understand.” Vorik wished he could wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her close to him, to offer his support. “The next time our dragons presume to fly close to your castle, you should use that weapons platform to knock them out of the sky.”
Maybe he shouldn’t have suggested that since it would be an attack against his own people, but Lesva shouldn’t have been near Castle Island anyway. If her ambition and desire to slay Syla got her killed, she would deserve it.
“You heard we have that now?”
Maybe he shouldn’t have admitted that; she would know that Jhiton had spies in her city, maybe even among the staff or soldiers in her castle. But she had to suspect that already, didn’t she?
“I heard,” was all he said.
“My people would love to use it against enemy dragons, but, so far, I’m the only one who’s been able to activate it.”
“Ah.” That was something she shouldn’t have told him. But if this was a dream, he couldn’t rely upon what she said, anyway, right? But was it a dream? That it she’d spoken of… “Is the weapons platform what you were talking about when you said it sent you here?”
Still looking out to the sea, Syla didn’t glance at him or answer. But she also didn’t promptly say no.
“Does it have the power to do such things?” Vorik asked. “More than sending out magical projectiles?”
“It was made by the gods, so I can only guess at its powers. Back in the desert laboratory when we were trying to figure it out, a voice spoke into my mind. It said to protect humanity.”
“That’s fascinating.” Vorik remembered his conversation about the possibility that the gods were helping Syla, and he shifted, again uneasy at the idea. “Could it have sent you here to spy?”