Chapter 9 #3
At the time, she’d been too distracted by the revelation—and her steamy climax to Vorik’s lovemaking—to consider it fully. But it had to mean something. Didn’t it?
Syla turned her head to consider Vorik’s face. Eyes closed and breathing even, he didn’t seem to have noticed the glow.
By the light of the lantern, she admired his profile, the strong line of his jaw, and she let her gaze roam over the rest of him.
Old scars marked his body, signaling all the battles he’d survived.
He wasn’t that much older than she, but he’d lived a hard life and endured much.
That he could smile and joke so easily—and find pleasure in the little things like a fruity dessert—was a testament to his resilience and his steady and agreeable attitude.
All of him was agreeable, and her heart ached at the thought that the world would soon force them to part again.
“If you wanted to become a leader of your tribe, you’d do a better job than you think,” she murmured, though she believed him asleep.
He wasn’t entirely and emitted a muzzy, “Hm?”
“You’re capable in a lot of ways, and you want what’s best for your tribe. For all your people, I’m sure. You’d be a good leader.”
“Are you suggesting this because you’d prefer to negotiate with me over Chieftess Shi?”
“Anyone would prefer you over her. She’s insulting and difficult. I doubt her loyalty could be won by a blueberry cobbler.”
He snorted softly and patted her hand. “I doubt that too.”
“I suppose my words are motivated by what I want for my people. I said I wouldn’t try to connive or manipulate you, and urging you to duel for the chieftainship of your tribe might count.”
“I don’t think that’s conniving.”
“Manipulative?”
“Well, maybe a little. Especially if you start stroking my ego and telling me how magnificent I would look wearing the ceremonial headdress.”
“What if I stroke other things?” She shifted so that she faced him and rested a hand on his chest.
His lashes drooped, but some of the sleepiness left his eyes as she trailed her fingers over his muscles.
“I do enjoy that,” he murmured. “It might work. I must warn you, however, that we have almost twenty tribes in our loose coalition. Even if I was willing to duel Shi and attempt to take control over ours, it wouldn’t change anything for the Kingdom.”
“You’d have a stronger voice, though, wouldn’t you? They’d have to listen to you, at least, right?”
“A month or two ago, they would have, but given my current questionable status with my people… I doubt I’d survive long as chief. As I mentioned, our people have a tendency to fix leadership situations they do not find palatable.”
“Meaning you’d get a dagger in the back because you might speak fondly of the Garden Kingdom queen?”
“Most assuredly. And I’ve made the mistake of speaking more than fondly. I’m composing a ballad, you know.”
“I didn’t know, but I doubt you’re unwise enough to sing about my glory or how wondrously the sunlight glints off my spectacles to your people.”
“So far, I’ve only shared a few lines with Agrevlari. As it so happens, I have consulted him on rhymes for spectacles. We came up with sentinels as being fairly close, but I’m mulling over how to fit that in.”
“That’s better than the words that popped into my mind.”
“Such as?” Vorik raised his eyebrows.
“Tentacles and testicles, neither of which I’d care to share lines of a ballad with.”
“No? I might be able to make those work logically into the tale. I’m creative.”
“To think, you don’t believe you have the talent to lead a tribe.”
“You know what I do have talent for?” Vorik drew his fingers along her arm and then down her side, stirring heat and gooseflesh, and making her body tighten with anticipation.
“Are rhymes with spectacles involved?”
“You’ll find out.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, and for a while longer, she let herself forget her duties.
Vorik?
The telepathic inquiry woke Vorik from sleep, the glorious and exhausted sleep of a man who’d enjoyed a wonderful time with a woman. And not just any woman. Queen Syla, healer, defiant adventurer, and blackberry-cobbler-maker. His Syla.
Full darkness enshrouded the cabin when he opened his eyes, night pressing against the portholes, the lanterns having burned out.
Syla lay breathing evenly in his arms, and he wished the world hadn’t intruded.
He wanted to enjoy the feel of her warm skin, her full curves pressed against him, the appealing way her hair lay tousled about her shoulders and breasts.
Ah, those glorious breasts. How he loved their shape, their weight in his hands, the taste of their skin under his tongue. The line of thinking made his groin stiffen, and the last thing he wanted was to answer a telepathic summons. Maybe if he didn’t respond…
Vorik?
It was Jhiton, his voice sounding distant but insistent. Was he leaving Harvest Island on a new mission?
I’m here, Vorik answered, though he didn’t want to.
He wished his brother and all his plans to take over the Kingdom would disappear, at least for a time.
Vorik wanted to stay where he was, not mull over ways to kidnap Syla or whatever else the general had in mind.
Since Vorik could still sense Wreylith up above, he wouldn’t be tempted to try that, even if Jhiton wished it.
Getting past the soldiers onboard might not be that hard, but a dragon could fly much faster than he could swim, especially with a captive in tow.
Do you know where the queen is? Jhiton asked.
I have a notion.
Are you in her bed?
In her bed as he contemplated her breasts and remembered the way she’d thrashed at his ministrations and groaned his name. Gods, that had been hot. She’d been hot.
Cheeks warming, he looked at the wall and willed himself to focus on satisfactorily finishing the conversation so that his brother would leave him alone.
How under the eyes of the moon had Jhiton known where he was?
Had Agrevlari said something? The dragon had an undesirable knack for knowing what Vorik was up to even from a distance.
I remain a captive, he answered.
A captive in her bed? You took much longer to wake than is typical for you.
He smiled, remembering his discussion with Syla of who was the captive and who the captor. All he replied to Jhiton was, I’m tired.
Thus my assumption. That ship is still in the harbor, right? That’s what the dragons report.
I think so. From the bed, Vorik couldn’t see anything but the night sky through the porthole, but the gentleness of the waves suggested the ship remained in protected waters.
Are the fleet officers taking orders from the queen, or is she only along to operate that device?
We didn’t discuss the fleet’s chain of command.
Did you discuss anything of importance?
Vorik thought about summing up his conversation with Syla, and offering to be an earnest spy, especially since he would need to do a lot to redeem himself when he returned to his people.
But Syla hadn’t drugged and questioned him when her people had wanted her to—when, by all rights, she should have.
In all their meetings, she’d never hurt him when she had the opportunity, never betrayed him.
His honor kept him from knowingly sharing anything that might be used against her.
Testicles came up, he answered.
Jhiton sighed into his mind.
You can’t deny their importance.
If she is in charge, do your best to keep her in bed until morning, eh?
I don’t think that will be difficult.
Since she was breathing evenly, probably exhausted by all that the previous day had involved, Vorik doubted she would wake until well after dawn.
Should I ask why? Vorik added when Jhiton didn’t respond.
No.
Vorik gazed bleakly into the darkness of the cabin, realizing his brother had been checking on the location of the ship—of that weapon—and the queen because he was up to something. Of course he was. He wouldn’t let his feelings for a woman deter him from the future he wanted for their people.
Maybe Vorik shouldn’t have either, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted his future to involve Syla. But how could he possibly make that happen?