Chapter 22 #2
“Talent stable. I’m not sure what else to call a collection of instructors.
Tutors, I suppose, but I never truly liked any of my tutors growing up, and I daresay I like you.
And ‘harem’ has salacious connotations, and I am certainly not in need of that kind of training.
Though”—she tapped her chin—“there always seems to be a sensuality about pirates, at least in their legends, so perhaps it is an area I must explore eventually.”
“Gimme the chalk,” the baby dragon said. “I’ll write Seduction 101 for you.”
“Now hold on here.” Sir Roger shooed Dirk away from the blackboard and rubbed out his name. “Miss Mille, I told you before, I cannot train you. I am still bound to Baron Demir Oremaster.”
Millie’s smile was as mischievous a goblin’s who’d just nicked a bottle of top-shelf bourbon. “Oh, but you can, Sir Roger, because you are a hedge knight under the governance of the Knightly Code of Conduct.”
“Exactly! Which means until I sever my oath to Baron Demir with words and blood, I am not free. I must do all in my power to rescue you from this dragon and bring you to him, whether that is the fate I wish for you or not.”
“You are forgetting Section Three of the Knightly Code of Conduct, Sir, the one pertaining to life debts.” She swept a hand towards Dirk. “This dragon saved your life when you fell to what would’ve been your death if he hadn’t interfered.”
“He was the one who snapped the rope to begin with!”
“Section Three says nothing about what causes the death-inducing incident; it merely governs what happens after. The fact that Master Dirk’s actions both imperiled and saved your life are of no consequence.”
“Dumb luck and powder sand saved me. Unless you’re telling me that dragon commands the air itself.”
“Technically the wind,” Dirk clarified. “But also the rain. Water in general, if you want to be precise, but ‘dragon of the wind and rain’ sounds far more poetic. My mastery over those elements slowed your heart and lungs to be undetectable by Sir Eustace, who declared you dead. At this very moment, he believes I’ve got you roasting on the barbecue.
Which I would never,” the little dragon assured the knight.
“I’m a pescatarian. But I love me eat a cricket now and then. So crunchy.”
Sir Roger blinked, baffled for the third time that morning.
“So,” the luck dragon concluded, “your life belongs to me until I release you of your obligation or certify it fulfilled. It will be fulfilled when you finish training my princess in Swashbuckling 101 and 201.”
Millie shook her head frantically, and the little dragon quickly amended, “Swashbuckling 101, 201, and anything else she desires of you. Basically just do what she says for however long she wants.”
The hedge knight sputtered, “This, this is extortion of some kind.”
Dirk grinned. “I happen to be an expert in the subject. You start training Millie tomorrow.”
“What kind of dragon are you?”
Bradley cleared his throat, a prompt for the luck dragon and a warning for the hedge knight to not press the issue.
Dirk swirled to his friend’s shoulders and layered upon them like a lounging cat, increasing the distance between him and a potential threat that the sorcerer apprentice would deal with.
While he didn’t have access to his magic, Bradley had still been born and raised on the Cut, and that was experience and training that would never fade.
Sir Roger’s bright eyes tracked the movement and noted the steely expression on Bradley’s face. “Sorcerer apprentice, resident grouch, and dragon bodyguard, eh? You talk at all?”
“No,” Bradley answered.
The hedge knight’s gaze strafed to Millie and back again.
The princess had been right: knights didn’t reach his age unless they are very good at knighting, and that included navigating court politics and interpreting body language.
Not only was the apprentice protective of the dragon—strange and noteworthy of itself—but he watched the princess with a fiery intensity.
Passion or ire, he couldn’t be sure just yet.
“When I start training Miss Millie to handle a sword, there are going to be cuts, bruises, scrapes, and more than a little shoving.” Sir Roger set his hand upon the hilt of his sword.
“She’s going to get hurt, but each injury is going to be a lesson and nothing else.
Is that going to be a problem for you? Because I don’t want to have to watch my back. ”
The sorcerer apprentice rolled his eyes and gestured to the door. “Cell.”
“He means your room,” Millie corrected. “You’ll be in the dungeon, of course, as you are technically a prisoner of the dragon, and, well, we just can’t have you nosing about until you’ve truly proven yourself trustworthy.”
“Makes sense,” the knight said. Far too reasonably, in Bradley’s opinion.
“I’ll need that sword, too.”
Here the knight balked.
“You’ll get it back, I assure you.”
“But isn’t that sword technically mine?” Dirk asked. “I defeated him, after all. And it’s very pretty.”
“Oathkeeper is not pretty,” Sir Roger admonished. “It is dignified.”