Chapter 8 #4
“I’m sorry, Syla.” Vorik came to her chair and lifted his arms so that he could drape them around her, but the chain linking his shackles made that hard.
She ended up as bound as he, but she didn’t move away from his embrace.
Instead, she leaned her head against his chest. “I wish I could stand with you against all who threaten you,” he said. “You deserve loyal allies.”
He rested his face against the top of her head and inhaled her scent. She must have found a moment to wash since the stormy battle, for her hair smelled lovely. A lush floral and fruity scent that was far more appealing than what lingered in the air from the candle.
“I wish you could stand with me too. I’d like that a lot. Instead, you’re here to kidnap me.”
“I’m not doing a good job of it.”
“You do have me trapped in your embrace.” She poked at the chain.
“How trapped do you truly feel, given that there’s a powerful dragon perched ten feet above us? Close enough that she could swing her head down, smash her snout through that porthole, pluck me up, and snap me in two?”
“Her snout wouldn’t fit through the porthole.”
“She could smash through the entire hull.”
“That is true. She once extricated me from my room via the roof.”
“And thus you don’t feel trapped at all.”
“Not by you. By my duty perhaps. But I’m alive when others aren’t, so I guess I can’t whine.”
“It’s all right to whine a little when the world is unfair.” Vorik kissed the top of her head as he enjoyed the warmth of her body—of her—in his arms.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Syla tilted her head back to gaze up at him. Her expression was more contemplative than adoring, though she wasn’t trying to escape his embrace, so he trusted she enjoyed having him close. “Since you saved my life, I’m struggling with what my duty dictates I should do.”
“Question me under the influence of that drug?”
“Yes. I know you would feel it a betrayal to your people if you let anything important slip.”
“I would.” Vorik smiled. She had also come to know him well.
“How would you feel if I tried to trade you to them in exchange for the shielder components?”
“The shielder components that would, if turned into a shielder, effectively end our ability to attack your islands?”
“Yes, wouldn’t that be delightful?”
Vorik snorted, certain Jhiton wouldn’t agree. Nor would any of the chiefs. But all Vorik had ever wanted was a way to feed his people. If that could be achieved by other means, would he object to a cessation of hostilities?
The problem was that, once all the islands were protected again, the Kingdom wouldn’t have any reason to concede to demands—or even polite requests—made by the stormers.
More, they would undoubtedly hold a grudge.
He was amazed that Syla wasn’t holding a grudge.
Oh, she hated Jhiton and kept trying to kill him, but, even though she should, she didn’t hate Vorik.
He couldn’t help but wonder if a deal might be struck if he were involved.
But his people wouldn’t let him make deals—he wasn’t even as trusted as he should be right now.
And Syla… There wasn’t a guarantee that she would remain queen, not with so many plotting against her.
“If our people could get food to see them through the harsh winters,” Vorik said carefully, aware that she was still watching him, her words perhaps not as much of a joke as they’d seemed, “I wouldn’t care if your islands had all their shields back. But my people wouldn’t trade much for me.”
Especially now, he thought grimly. At that very moment, Lesva was probably explaining in great detail to everyone who would listen how he’d betrayed her. Betrayed all of them.
“Your brother would,” Syla said. “He brought all those dragons and riders a thousand miles to get you back from the Freeborn Faction.”
“He had superior numbers and wouldn’t have believed there was much risk in coming for me.
He would also be the first to sacrifice me if it would lead to a victory for our people.
He’s sworn to put his duty as the leader of the Sixteen Talons ahead of personal wishes, and I’m a lowly captain anyway, not anyone worth risking the military or the tribes over. ”
“You could be a chief if you dueled yours for the position. Right?”
Vorik gazed at her, remembering that they’d spoken of that in the middle of the night in his cave. When she’d been limned in silver and appeared like someone in a dream. This was confirmation that it hadn’t been a dream. He’d already suspected, but he made a note of her new power.
“I’m not qualified for the job of chief,” he said.
“Not being qualified doesn’t mean that you can’t lead,” she said with a smirk, waving at herself. “Sometimes, when the gods place you in a position where you’re needed, you have to figure out how to qualify yourself along the way.”
“You’re doing a good job of that yourself.” Vorik kissed her, in part to end what seemed a dangerous discussion and in part because her lips were so close, so appealing.
She sank against his chest and let him. With a fumbling hand, she pushed the key on the desk toward him.
“What will we do with the next few hours?” he murmured against her lips, not yet picking it up. “If you don’t drug me and interrogate me?”
“This is nice.” Syla raised her hands to his shoulders, then slid them up the side of his neck to thread them through his tousled hair. “Or did you want to instruct me on how to juggle? Someone gave me balls, and I’ve longed for a teacher.”
Vorik snorted softly, leaning his head slightly into her touch, and she kneaded his scalp. “Maybe later. I do enjoy participating in safe discussions and hobbies with you.”
“Those where neither of us betray our people?”
“Quite.” Smiling, he deepened their kiss.