Rysha grinned, remembering Trip pausing to peer at the frame underneath the mattress and make suggestions regarding the support brackets and a cracked board. Naturally, she had tugged him back into her arms and informed him that repairs could wait. It hadn’t been hard to divert his attention back to her, but she had woken at dawn to find him using his magic to improve the bed. He hadn’t yet added cup holders, but it was just a matter of time.
“Good morning,” Trip said, strolling out of the stable leading a mare. He must have caught her smiling—or grinning in remembrance—for he offered a return smile.
“Good morning.”
“Shall I saddle you a mount or do you want to ride together? It’s not far to Sardelle and General Zirkander’s house, so I’m sure the mare could carry two.” He wiggled his fingers toward her waist. “Holding would be involved.”
“Sedate holding or vigorous holding?”
“Well, the mare might object to the latter.”
“You think so? She seems placid.”
Greetings, Storyteller! Shulina Arya announced into Rysha’s mind from wherever she was this morning. You’re not going to ride somewhere on that inferior beast, are you?
We’re going out to visit Sardelle and the babies. Do you wish to come?
Naturally. It is most enjoyable for me to spend time among magical beings. Also, I have not had any tarts in almost three days.
That is an eternity.
It is. I was especially depleted after the battle and would have relished sweets. There should have been tarts waiting for us when we returned.
I’ll suggest it to my superior officers.
I’ve already informed your king of this necessity.
Rysha grimaced, hoping the dragon hadn’t been wheeling around the castle on a scooter as she’d made the request.
Trip, gazing skyward, didn’t seem to notice Rysha’s long silence.
“Your dragon is coming,” he informed her, though Shulina Arya wasn’t visible in the sky yet.
“I know. We’re chatting. She thinks it would be beneath me to ride a horse.”
Trip’s eyebrows drifted toward his hairline. “I knew when I started dating a noblewoman with her own castle that she would be accustomed to the finer things in life, but I didn’t know a horse wouldn’t qualify. Especially elite army horses from quality lines.”
“It’s a manor, not a castle,” Rysha said, smiling at the old joke, though it prompted her to remember her mother’s visit.
When she’d gone out to dinner with her and Aunt Tadelay, she hadn’t been able to extract any more information from them about the troubles at home. And they’d said no more about that hint that her father might be considering selling the family land. Rysha found that inconceivable, but the mere suggestion made her want to go home to dig further. Perhaps, if Shulina Arya was willing to fly her around today, she could make it down there later and talk to everyone at dinner. Of course, she might be met with silence on the matter of her concerns, and she couldn’t imagine asking Shulina Arya to telepathically poke into her parents’ thoughts. Someone subtler would be ideal for that. Someone she needed to officially introduce to her parents anyway, even if that would be more awkward after the barracks room incident. Maybe they wouldn’t recognize him in clothes.
“Do you want to go to dinner with me tonight?” Rysha asked.
Trip appeared puzzled at the topic change, but promptly said, “Yes.”
“At my family’s home?”
“Er.”
“You’re not going to change your answer, are you?”
“No. I just… Are you sure it’s allowed? That I’ll be invited? After…”
“It’s my home. I can bring anyone to dinner that I wish.” Rysha was on the verge of adding that she could use his help in sussing out information, but the mare squealed, her brown eyes growing large.
She reared up on her hind legs, almost pulling the reins from Trip’s hands.
Rysha scurried out of the way. Trip made soothing sounds and tried to catch the mare’s gaze.
Suspecting what was coming, Rysha didn’t think he would be successful in calming her. More alarmed whinnies came from the stables, and a shadow blotted out the sun.
Surprisingly, as Trip gazed into the mare’s eyes, she settled down. Her nostrils continued to flare—she surely knew a great predator was drawing close—but she didn’t rear up or try to jerk away again.
“Am I correct in assuming Shulina Arya has offered to fly you to Sardelle’s house?” Trip asked.
“I believe that was implied.”
“If she’s willing to take me, too, I’ll put the mare away.”
“Yes, I think the mare would like that.”
As Trip led the horse into the stables, Shulina Arya landed in the yard in her full golden majesty with her wings spread wide. The alarmed whinnying—or was that screeching?—from inside escalated. Rysha winced, imagining Trip being struck in the head by hooves as horses reared in their stalls. But the whinnies grew quieter, and much of the noise subsided.
“Are you doing that?” Rysha asked Shulina Arya.
No, it is difficult for a mighty predator such as myself to calm prey animals. I could, but your mate is doing a sufficient job. He has admirable power for a human, and he is conscientious and appealing.
The compliments startled Rysha. She hadn’t realized Shulina Arya had noticed anything about Trip. I hope I can get my parents to think so.
If you decide you no longer desire him as a mate one day, I may take him as mine.
Rysha almost fell over.
Trip walked out at that moment, lifting a hand as if to catch her. She steadied herself on a hitching post. He looked at the ground in puzzlement, no doubt wondering what had tripped her.
Rysha, cheeks flaming red, hoped he hadn’t heard the telepathic conversation.
“Is it all right to climb onto her?” Trip asked, waving at Shulina Arya.
Rysha couldn’t keep from making a choking noise. “Yeah, more than all right, I gather.”
Trip tilted his head in further puzzlement, seemingly unaware that the dragon’s violet eyes were regarding him. Not with sexual consideration, Rysha hoped.
Fear not, Storyteller. I would never take a mate from my rider. That would be a most despicable practice. And I do not feel sexual attraction for humans when I am in dragon form. I only note that some human males are more appealing than others. That Captain Duck has very noble thoughts regarding me too.
“Are you all right?” Trip touched Rysha’s sleeve. “You look dazed. Did something happen?” He frowned around the stables yard, no doubt ready to leap to her defense if someone had passed by and slighted her.
“Sorry, I’m fine. I was just having a conversation with Shulina Arya that I didn’t realize she was old enough to have.”
Really, Storyteller! I am a fully mature and fertile female.
Rysha thought of Shulina Arya racing around the castle on her scooter, her ponytail streaming behind her, but only replied with, I apologize. I hadn’t realized you were, uh, fertile.
I’ve had two mating cycles now. I have not let any male dragons breed with me, however. I do not desire young at this time. And so many males are so ridiculously full of themselves.
Like Bhrava Saruth?
Indeed!
“Yes,” Rysha said out loud, realizing Trip was gazing at her, waiting for an explanation. She decided not to offer it, instead waving to Shulina Arya’s back. “I believe we can climb on.”
The dragon settled onto her belly to allow easy access, but Trip waved a finger, and Rysha, who wasn’t carrying around Dorfindral on her day off, floated into the air. They settled atop Shulina Arya’s back together.
See, conscientious, Shulina Arya observed.
Yes, I’ve noticed.
Fortunately, the dragon hopped into the air and flapped her wings without remarking further on Trip’s attributes.
From behind her, he slipped his arms around Rysha’s waist and
rested his chin on her shoulder. She leaned back into his warm grip, though it was hard not to forget Shulina Arya’s words and comments on being fertile.
Perhaps a dragon might be less likely than a mare to object to vigorous holding, he murmured into her mind, kissing the side of her neck.
Uh, I think we’d be far more likely to get commentary.
But not objections?
No, I think Shulina Arya might like seeing your vigor.
What?
Never mind. As they soared over the walls of the army fort and toward the city walls, Rysha decided it was time for a subject change. I confess to having an ulterior motive for asking you to dinner.
Oh? You want to lure me off to a higher-quality bed that doesn’t creak so much? I believe I fixed that this morning, but a little grease would—
That’s not the reason. Rysha knew he was joking, but she was mortified at the idea of having sex in her parents’ manor. In the bedroom she’d grown up in. That was just down the hall from her parents’ bedroom. And Aunt Tadelay’s bedroom.
Trip squeezed her shoulder. Go ahead. I’ll be serious.
Rysha wished she had responded with a joke instead of horror. He was always serious. And so often grim. Hadn’t she been the one to tell him to have fun more often?
She reached back and patted his thigh. When my aunt and mother came to visit, after you absconded with my pillow, they said they were worried about riots in the countryside and trouble among Iskandia’s subjects, due to worry about the future. The potentially dragon-filled future.
I’ve heard similar stories and read about a rise in crime in the newspapers.
I think there’s trouble in my own home. They alluded to something, but wouldn’t go into details. I was hoping that a telepathic sorcerer might be able to sneak into my father’s thoughts in particular and try to get information.
You want me to intrude upon your father’s privacy?
To help me help them. If they need help.
Don’t you think I’ve, ah, caused affront enough to your family already?
By being naked in my bed?
That was the affront I was thinking of, yes.
If it makes you feel better, you could have Azarwrath do the spying.
How’s the food at your castle?
Rysha glanced back, startled by the question. We have a chef. It’s always good.
Azarwrath may be distracted then. Especially if there’s a sommelier too.
We don’t have a sommelier, Rysha said, surprised he knew of the occupation. She’d never heard him mention enjoying alcohol of any kind. We’re not that rich.
Right, only a chef, a butler, and a maid. Quite impoverished.
Keep teasing me, and you’re never going to get vigorous holding.
You would withhold holding? Even after I fixed your bed?
It wasn’t broken. It was old and had character.
If it’s like everything else on the army installation, it was built by the lowest bidder.
Shulina Arya, who had set a leisurely pace flying them to Sardelle’s house, tilted her wings and soared toward the rooftop. For some reason, she liked to land on it, rather than in the yard.
I’ll lift you down, Trip told her. Even though you’re potentially withholding holding and also officially an elite troops officer now, and I know hopping off a rooftop is a simple matter for you, perhaps preferable to using stairs or ladders.
You’re very kind.
I’ll also go with you to dinner and spy on your father.
Extremely kind. I withdraw my objection to vigorous holding.
Excellent.
So long as it’s not done in front of my father. Or my mother. Or my aunt. Or my sister.
Are we allowed to touch at all in your castle?
We’ll see.
Trip held his chin up as he walked along the lakefront road toward the sprawling stone manor. He did his best to look stately and acceptable. Since he kept nervously smoothing the jacket of his dress uniform, he wasn’t positive he managed the look. Also, mud spattered his boots and his shins, since the gravel road featured a lot of potholes brimming with rainwater. Even though the calendar promised summer was only a few weeks away, the frequent precipitation in this part of Iskandia made it hard to tell.
“Can you de-mud us before we get up to the front door?” Rysha glanced down at the slacks she wore, they, too, being adorned with damp spots. The sandals she’d chosen, perhaps dressing according to the current pleasant and calm weather rather than the rain that had dominated previous days, left her skin exposed to the elements.
Though Shulina Arya had offered to land on the rooftop of Rysha’s manor, she had adamantly told the dragon that it wasn’t necessary, asking her instead to drop them off on the opposite side of the lake. A wise choice. The charred remains of her grandmother’s house remained near the shoreline there, and Trip doubted her family would appreciate the appearance of a dragon, even a friendly one.
“De-mud?” he asked.
“With your powerful magics.”
“Hm.” Trip eyed the mud spatters. “I’ve never turned my power to de-mudding.”
“Surely, cleaning clothing must be within a mage’s repertoire. It’s at least as important as incinerating enemies.”
“If Jaxi were here, she would recommend incinerating the mud.”
Rysha touched her shoulder where she’d been shot the month before. “I remember her tendency to consider that a solution to all problems.”
With enough precision, you could incinerate mud, Azarwrath chimed in.
“Oh dear,” Trip said.
“What?”
“Jaxi may have rubbed off on Azarwrath.”
Hardly that. Azarwrath sniffed loudly into his mind. I’ll ensure you look fabulous by the time you reach the door. Later, I’ll give you grooming tips.
That sounds like something to look forward to.
If your lady wishes her attire cleaned, a good sorcerer should be able to assist her. Ah, but what is that I detect? Do you smell it?
Probably. Trip sniffed and turned his nose in the direction of smoke rising from one of the twelve—no, fourteen—chimneys poking above the rooftop of the sprawling manor. I assume you’re sensing things through my nostrils.
I am, indeed. Meat is being smoked. Pork, I believe. And is that the hint of a sweet barbecue sauce simmering in a pot over an open flame? Barbecue was invented in Cofahre, you know. It was originally considered a peasants’ dish, but a couple of centuries back, it grew trendy for culinary experts to refine the sauces and the smoking methods. A good chef today can ensure the meat falls off the bones and melts in your mouth. Telryn, is your mouth watering now?
Trip could smell the meat smoking, but he had no idea about the barbecue sauce. And he was growing more concerned that he and Rysha approached the front doors and were still bedewed with mud.
Worried that Azarwrath was unduly distracted, he focused on his trousers as he and Rysha climbed the three wide flagstone steps. Avoiding thoughts of incineration, he tried to envision every speck of mud that stuck to them, willing them to fly away from their clothing, leaving it pristine.
One of the doors opened as his magic was in the middle of working. All at once, the mud flew from their legs and feet toward the man who stepped onto the threshold. Countless brown droplets spattered against his legs.
Trip cursed to himself, checking the man’s face, hoping he hadn’t felt anything, and also hoping this was the butler or some servant who wouldn’t be horrified by a few dirt smudges. Or make that a few dozen. He certainly had concentrated the grime, hadn’t he?
“Father,” Rysha said at the same time as Trip recognized the man from their previous meeting.
Her father’s lips started to curve upward at Rysha, but he noticed Trip right away, and those lips shifted into a frown. Not one of recognition, Trip decided, sensing the man’s surface thoughts. Maybe because Trip was clad in his dress uniform instead of the fatigues he’d worn when
he flew Rysha down to see her family a couple of months earlier? Or maybe because on that day, the man had dismissed Trip as someone worth forgetting.
“Rysha,” her father said—Trip groped for his name, but didn’t think she’d ever given it. Lord Ravenwood would have to do. “It’s good to see you.” He stepped forward and gripped her wrists, but then decided a hug was preferable and gathered her into his arms.
Trip sensed surprise from Rysha—apparently, her father wasn’t one to show affection through physical means, especially in front of others. From Lord Ravenwood, Trip sensed a mixture of relief and sincere happiness at seeing Rysha.
Feeling uncomfortable witnessing the man’s emotions, Trip almost walled off his mind so he wouldn’t sense them, but he remembered this was the reason he was here. To spy.
“Your mother didn’t lead me to believe you were coming down,” Lord Ravenwood said.
“Just for tonight.” Rysha returned the hug. “For dinner. I’ve missed you all and wanted to make sure everyone is all right.”
Trip sensed her discomfort at the partial truth.
“Only for dinner?” Lord Ravenwood released her and stepped back to look her up and down.
She had chosen not to wear her military uniform or the newly awarded badge that proclaimed her a member of the elite troops. Only her civilian clothes. Trip knew she was proud and would have loved to come in the military attire, but also that she knew her family wouldn’t appreciate it. It stung her that they couldn’t accept her choice and that her parents wanted her to leave the military, that they had no interest in celebrating her achievements within it.
Trip looked away. He hadn’t meant to spy on her thoughts.
“Yes, sir,” Rysha said. “I have work tomorrow.”