Chapter 7
I would cheerfully rescue you, Agrevlari spoke into Vorik’s mind, his voice distant, but the weapons platform remains in place on that vessel, and the corpses of my kin are floating in the waves.
What’s the status of our forces? Vorik lay on the floor of a cell, his ankles and wrists shackled. The occasional bump against the door and a loud sneeze earlier suggested he had at least one guard.
Outside, wind railed against the hull of the ship, and creaks and groans came from within, but the craft wasn’t rocking as much as he would have expected if it were in the open sea.
The Kingdom fleet must have sailed into the harbor for protection from the storm—and to ensure his people and dragon allies didn’t return to the city around it.
The storm rages, so we are hunkering in caves in the volcano on the far end of the Island of Eliok while the human leaders decide what to do next. The dragons are discussing that weapons platform. We believe it has a limited range.
How limited?
Perhaps five miles.
That’s not very limited.
No cannonball had ever sailed that far. With the unerring accuracy of the magical projectiles, and their ability to twist and turn to chase a target, Vorik wouldn’t want to test them at even the edge of that range.
No, Agrevlari agreed, but the ship carrying it would have to sail in this direction to reach us here. We may still hunt on this end of the island.
Does that mean the dragons aren’t that concerned?
As I said, we lost kin to that contraption, Agrevlari said with atypical grim seriousness. We are concerned. We are joining with the general in contemplating how it might be destroyed or sunk and rendered inoperable.
I understand. I’m sorry you lost kin. Vorik closed his eyes, questioning his decision to volunteer to capture Syla. If he hadn’t argued to take her alive, and his people hadn’t been worried about hitting him, might they have succeeded in sinking the ship?
Maybe, maybe not. The arrival of Wreylith and the Freeborn Faction dragons had made everything more difficult.
If it makes you feel better, Vorik added, I’m shackled in a cell. When I was thinking of trying to leap overboard, Wreylith blocked me, knocked me to the deck, and planted a taloned foot on my back while the gardeners disarmed me. It was humiliating.
“To think, I claimed to like challenges,” he said aloud to himself.
I would have enjoyed having Wreylith touch me in any manner, Agrevlari said.
Her talons aren’t as appealing as you might think. In the next ballad you compose to screech at her, I would not suggest highlighting their magnificence.
All of her is magnificent. I’d hoped that our romantic time together would have left her pining for me and eager to join again, but when, after your queen fell unconscious and no longer manned the weapons platform, I flew close… Wreylith snarled at me.
Didn’t she do that while you were joining too? I remember a lot of activity up there. For the most part, Vorik had been distracted by his own joining with Syla, but having the dragons overhead with rocks falling off the platform they’d used as a bed—a nest—had distracted him a couple of times.
Yes, but, in that context, I believed they were affectionate snarls of arousal. She was not affectionate when she was keeping me from reaching you.
Wasn’t she fighting with Ozlemar earlier? That probably made her crabby.
That is a good point. Encounters with Ozlemar make everyone crabby.
My brother doesn’t mind him.
Your brother is a rare human and not easily perturbed.
Vorik wagered Jhiton was perturbed now and didn’t look forward to meeting up with him again. He especially didn’t look forward to seeing Lesva again and grimaced as he imagined the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder and facing him.
Perhaps Wreylith is not displeased with me and was only expressing her ire which was naturally roused after her encounter with Ozlemar.
Now that you mention it, that does seem likely.
While I wait for you to extricate yourself from your predicament, I may see if I can hunt down an eliok or other tasty morsel that I might offer to share with Wreylith.
After her battle, she is undoubtedly hungry.
Undoubtedly.
Do you know what her favorite meals are? Perhaps I should have asked. An offering is always welcomed by a dragon. Perhaps a delicacy would win her regard more effectively than a ballad.
I think that’s likely. Syla mentioned that Wreylith likes tongue but did not say which creature’s tongue she was consuming.
Hm. Tongues are quite ubiquitous among herbivores. I should not think that slinging one toward her from a less favored prey would be effective.
Probably not. From what I’ve observed, women don’t care to have tongues slung at them, regardless. Now, if the tongue was attached to an appealing mate and used in an evocative way, that might be different.
Do you refer to acts of coitus?
Among humans, yes.
Tongues are involved? How strange. Would you perhaps speak to your queen and see if she knows Wreylith’s favorite prey? I am certain she enjoys eliok, but they’ve been hunted extensively these past weeks and may be difficult to find on this island.
I can ask her the next time I see her, yes.
Someone spoke in the corridor, words muffled by the thick walls and doors. In case someone was coming to question him—or torture him?—Vorik rolled into a crouch, ready to spring, though the shackles would hinder him.
Syla wouldn’t order him tortured, but if she hadn’t yet recovered from using the weapons platform, some overly assertive military officer would be in charge.
It was bad enough that several of the soldiers had slammed punches into Vorik’s sides as they’d dragged him down here.
With Wreylith looming nearby, Vorik hadn’t even been resisting them.
A key turned in a lock, and the door opened.
Sergeant Fel ducked his shaven head to enter the cell, his mace and a dagger in his hands. Vorik straightened to face him, their eyes meeting.
Earlier, Fel had kept the soldiers from killing Vorik, instead giving orders to have him locked up, but he didn’t look pleased about the situation.
More men lurked in the corridor. Wearing the blue uniforms of Royal Protectors, they all gripped swords or crossbows.
They didn’t step into the cell behind Fel, however. Syla did.
Clad in a blue dress damp at the hem and neckline, with her equally damp hair fallen from the bun it had been in earlier, she had bags under her eyes and stood with a weary slump.
That didn’t keep Vorik from looking at her with appreciation, admiring everything from her engaging curves to her full lips to the warmth in her gray eyes when she looked at him through her spectacles.
She wore new ones, the red frames bright against her auburn hair.
Someone must have crafted them to match Wreylith’s scales.
Syla looked at Fel, as if she wanted to ask him to leave, but she must have known he wouldn’t. Instead, she closed the door, stepped around him, and hugged Vorik.
He hadn’t expected that and lamented that he hadn’t tried to free his wrists so that he could return the embrace.
He could feel not only the warmth of her body through their clothing but the energy of her power, more noticeable than it had been before when he’d been with her.
The dragon bond must have added to the magic she already possessed.
“Thank you for coming,” she whispered into his neck, brushing her lips over his skin.
A thrum of heat coursed through Vorik, and he wished she had sent her bodyguard outside. He shouldn’t want to be with her after she’d killed his allies, but they’d attacked her, so how could he blame her for the result?
“I would say you’re welcome, but I would feel guilty if I did.” As he so often was with her, Vorik felt compelled to honesty—far more than was wise. “I came to kidnap you.”
Syla leaned back to look at his face, though she left her hands on his shoulders. “I thought you saw Lesva attacking and decided to rescue me from her again.”
“When I flew down, I had no idea she would pop out of the water like a hyperactive dolphin.”
She snorted softly. “Is kidnapping me what your general ordered?”
“No, he wants…” Vorik looked away. “Since you are the one who can control that weapons platform, he wanted another fate for you.”
“My death?”
Vorik shrugged vaguely. Since she hated Jhiton already, he didn’t want to make it worse by voicing his brother’s desires.
“He’s loathsome,” Syla said.
“You’ve stated that opinion before.”
“It’s not an opinion. It’s a fact.”
“He’s not overly fond of you either, if it helps. He’s keeping track of all the times you’ve tried to kill him.”
“Can he count that high without using his thumbs?”
“He’s rather bright, actually.”
“Uh-huh. I hate him.”
“I know.” Vorik shrugged again, not blaming her but wishing the situation were different. Wishing… He sighed. He didn’t even know what to wish.
“Did you volunteer to attempt to kidnap me as an alternative to killing me?” Syla asked.
“Yes. I knew you would hate me as well if I succeeded, but… I didn’t think there was any other way you would survive the battle.”
“I doubt I would have survived if your general had come after me. He would have helped Lesva.”
Vorik closed his eyes, hating to imagine that situation, but he agreed that it could have played out that way. It almost had.
“I think you’re right that I would have resented you for kidnapping me. I probably would have railed at you and not understood your sacrifice.” Syla smiled wryly, her evocative lips drawing his eye. “I guess it’s a good thing we captured you instead.”
“Calling this situation good is overly optimistic, at least from my point of view, but if you don’t resent me, I am pleased about that.”
“I should, but I don’t. You saved my life, Vorik.”
Syla stepped forward and hugged him again. This time, instead of brushing her lips along his neck, she kissed him on the mouth. Hard.