“Let’s just see if your rider passes her tests first,” Angulus said.
Rysha could feel that panic threatening to bubble to the top again, but she forced herself to nod and look confident in her ability to pass any test placed before her. After all, she wouldn’t want Shulina Arya to be bereft of pastries.
* * *
As daylight faded, Trip paced back and forth on the walkway in front of General Zirkander’s house. He felt like a father waiting for news on the delivery of his baby.
He had provided as much assistance as he could with the stasis chambers and removing Agarrenon Shivar’s offspring—they had started with the animals to ensure they had it down—but once the scientist Tolemek had arrived and the stasis chambers had been moved inside, Trip had felt like he was in the way. It had stopped being a matter of mechanical things, where his expertise lay, and a matter of squalling babies and pups and whelps and foals and… whatever baby lizards were called.
Earlier, he’d watched seven women, most with small babies of their own, arrive and enter the house. For nursing duty. Would they stay here to do that or take the babies back to their own homes? He wasn’t sure. That did seem more realistic than his thought of raising all eight together in one house, especially since he couldn’t provide milk, but he wasn’t certain how he felt about the babies being separated. Further, how had Sardelle recruited people? The women didn’t have dragon blood—he and Azarwrath had checked. What would they do if the babies they were nursing did something… odd?
Had he done odd things when he’d been a baby, or had his quirks not come out until later? He imagined toys floating across a room behind a nursing mother.
Even if the babies acted normally for the first few years, how would he pay these women back for feeding and caring for them? Making toys hardly seemed sufficient. He touched his cargo pocket where the fish puzzle he’d made was still secured. It was hard to believe it had survived all he’d been through, but he’d checked on it during the flight back. There had been a few dents to work out, but that had been an easy task. He wasn’t sure when to give it to Sardelle. Before his next tutoring session? After all the babies were out? It seemed such an inadequate gift.
“Hello, Trip,” General Zirkander said, strolling off the road and down the walkway.
He’d ridden back to the fort hours earlier with Angulus, and Trip realized it had to be the end of the workday now.
“Sir.” Trip came to an attention stance and saluted him.
“You going to come back to work tomorrow or loiter in front of my house for another day?”
“I don’t know, sir. I mean, of course I will come to work, but I need to make sure everything—everyone—is taken care of. And… I have no idea how to do that.” He turned what was surely a bleak expression toward Zirkander, then immediately regretted it. He shouldn’t be foisting his problems onto his CO. Zirkander wasn’t even his direct commanding officer. If he was going to foist problems on anyone, it ought to be Colonel Tranq, Wolf Squadron’s leader. Even if he barely knew her.
“Sardelle, Angulus, and I have been discussing that. Blazer gave us some warning, you know. Did the surrogate mothers come?”
“Yes, sir.”
“They all live in the city and are willing to take one or two of the babies to care for as long as they need a mother’s milk. I think one woman even lost her baby in childbirth just a few days ago and was glad to have one to take its place. Sardelle figures they won’t do anything dragonly for the first couple of years, but even so, she made sure to select women who aren’t concerned about magic. Several of them—don’t hold this against them—are among Bhrava Saruth’s devotees. I don’t think any of them believe he’s a god, but they bring him treats in exchange for his blessings. You can visit the children any time, of course. And once they’re old enough to start learning magic… Well, Sardelle has been longing for more students.” He snorted. “She’s had a terrible time finding people in Iskandia with enough dragon blood to learn how to do magical things. Those who purged the Referatu three hundred years ago did an efficient job of it.” His lips thinned.
“So, they’ll be adopted, sir?” Trip asked. That probably made sense, especially while they required a mother’s milk, but a twinge of guilt flowed into him at the idea that he might be abandoning them.
“Unless you object. It seemed the most logical choice. Trip, I know you’re a capable young officer, and apparently, you’re becoming a capable young sorcerer, but you don’t strike me as someone ready to raise eight children.”
“No, sir, but I want to do the right thing.”
Adoption into families where they would have other siblings sounded better than going to some strange orphanage, but Trip was still skeptical. It felt like shirking responsibility. He supposed he could still be a part of all their lives—the mothers wouldn’t object to that, surely—and he could make toys and give the parents money if they needed it. He doubted he would become a great healer of warts, but Rysha was right. He ought to be able to find some way to make extra money with his unique skills.
This is a wise choice, Telryn, Azarwrath said. Raising babies is women’s work.
Only if the women want that work, Jaxi instantly responded. There’s nothing that says a man can’t help with childrearing.
Trip had returned Jaxi to Sardelle that morning, but since the soulblade was in the house, it wasn’t as if Jaxi was too far away to participate in discussions.
I do agree with Ridge that Trip would be an awful father, she added.
That’s not exactly what he said, Trip protested.
“The right thing for you is to be in the sky and hurling fireballs at dragons that want to take over Iskandia,” Zirkander said.
“Has that been a problem, sir? While we’ve been gone?”
“Right now, they’re avoiding the capital, thanks to all the chapaharii swords located here, but we’ve received reports of dragons eating livestock all over the country. A few have attacked towns and killed people too.” Zirkander pulled his cap off and scraped his fingers through his hair. “I heard your sire was an ass, but it’s too bad he’s dead. We could have used an ally that has sway over dragons. Bhrava Saruth is useful to have around, and Shulina Arya seems exuberant, but I doubt either of them has the influence to sway other dragons. We’re going to have to find another solution to protect Iskandia, to protect young dragonlings being born today.” He waved toward the house. “The only good thing to come of these dragons is that Cofahre is having as much trouble with them as we are, if not more. Prince Varlok should be too busy with them to contemplate invasions of Iskandia, at least for the foreseeable future.”
“Oh,” Trip blurted, remembering the dagger and the mission Grekka had appointed him with. “I forgot to tell the king this morning. I should have. I’ve been distracted.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
Blushing, Trip found his pack, dug out the dagger, and shared what he’d learned from Grekka.
“Do you want to touch it, sir?” he asked in the end—he didn’t think a person needed dragon blood to receive the blade’s vision.
“I try to avoid touching other men’s daggers.”
“I’m serious, sir.”
“I know. You should laugh more. Have fun.”
“Ry—Lieutenant Ravenwood said something similar to me.”
“Maybe she’s wiser than her five months out of the academy suggest.”
“That’s definitely the case, sir.” Trip almost said that she was certainly wiser than he, but Zirkander would likely agree with that, which wouldn’t be good for his morale.
“Bring it with you tomorrow morning.” Zirkander waved at the dagger. “We’ll take it to the king. He can touch it. He was the one who thought up the exile, after all. I suppose that’s not much of a state secret at this point, so I can share that information with you.”
“I assumed nobody else would have been brazen enough to kidnap an emperor.”
“I’m a little more
concerned about finding a way to get these dragons to leave our country alone right now than worrying about the Cofah,” Zirkander said.
“I wish I could say that I’m sorry we didn’t find my sire, but after all I learned about him, I’m not.”
“I see. Well, we’ll figure out another way to get the dragons to leave us alone. Perhaps Wolf Squadron can drop tarts onto other nations’ continents to lure them all to distant shores.”
“Rysha might lose her dragon if we did that.”
The front door opened, and Sardelle stepped out into the deepening night holding her baby wrapped in a blanket in her arms. She gave a sideways nod to the left, and a porch light flared to life.
“We have all the animals and all the human babies delivered,” Sardelle said, “if you can call it that. Some are almost a year old. Trip, would you like to come in and meet your siblings?”
“Of course.” He squeezed his hands together, feeling excited and nervous and like he would throw up all at the same time. How had he come to be so invested in siblings he hadn’t known existed until a couple of weeks ago?
“The plaques didn’t come with names. Perhaps you can assist us in naming them, Trip. Before Ridge’s mother comes to visit.” Her eyes crinkled.
Trip didn’t understand the comment until Zirkander smirked and said, “Rosemary, Tarragon, and Lavender are perfectly fine name suggestions for a little boy.”
“Perfectly fine name suggestions that we ignored.”
“I thought it would be nice if my children went through their school years without being teased,” Zirkander said.
“That’s unlikely to happen.”
“Because all children get teased or because they’re my children?”
Sardelle’s lips curved up. “Yes.”
Zirkander made a disgruntled sound.
“Trip,” Sardelle said, “would you like to hold your little sister?”
“Oh? That’s one of them?” He blushed, feeling silly for not having realized. But he hadn’t been sending his senses out to check, and from what he’d seen, the auras of newborn babies were rather indistinctive. They were vague blobs of life to his sixth sense.
Babies don’t get interesting—and less blobby—until they’re older, Jaxi said as Trip walked tentatively toward the stoop.
Yes, I seem to remember you mentioning you don’t start to like them until they’re age twenty-five or thirty, Azarwrath said.
Age is no guarantee that I’ll like them. The odds are just better that they’ll start to talk about something besides themselves by then.
Trip ignored the soulblades and stepped up beside Sardelle to peer down at the bundle. The baby girl was mostly wrapped up, but her face was visible, her dark green eyes identical to Trip’s—and their sire’s. She was looking at the porch light Sardelle had turned on, and he wondered if she sensed that magic had been used to light the wick.
He couldn’t tell how old she was, other than to note she was larger than Sardelle’s baby. Her eyes were more alert, and she smiled when she focused on Trip. It probably had nothing to do with him—maybe she’d liked the porch light—but he found that encouraging.
“Do you want to hold her?” Sardelle asked.
“Is it all right?” Trip looked down at his hands, thinking about all the battles they’d been in lately, all the violence they’d helped perpetrate. It had been in service to his country, but he wondered whether it was appropriate to touch such new and innocent life after handling rifles and swords.
“It’s not much different from holding a screwdriver or pliers,” Zirkander said. “Babies just squirm a little more than tools.”
“You’re so helpful,” Sardelle told Zirkander.
“That’s why they made me a general.”
“You’ll do fine,” Sardelle assured Trip. “After you hold her, we’ll go in to see the rest of your siblings, and I’ll introduce you to the surrogate mothers I found. If you object to any of them, you can let me know, but they’re already eager to have more children in their households.” She tilted her head toward the living room.
Trip stuck his head through the doorway to look. Four women sat on Zirkander’s giant made-from-scrap-flier-parts couch, and three others were in chairs, all chatting amiably, all holding babies to their breasts to feed them. Their unabashedly bared breasts.
Trip jerked back, his cheeks flaming, and stumbled off the stoop. He hadn’t meant to look in and intrude on their… naked parts.
“Maybe he’s not ready to hold a baby, after all,” Zirkander noted.
“Are you appalled by the couch or the women breastfeeding?” Sardelle asked Trip, her blue eyes twinkling.
“Uh. Well. I’ve seen the couch before.” Trip waved, looking for words to articulate his embarrassment, but decided he would be better served by not talking.
“This is what happens when you’re raised as an only child.” Zirkander’s eyes did some twinkling too. “If you’re not around when little brothers and sisters come out, you don’t get an education in the mysteries of womanhood. Until later.” He quirked an eyebrow at Trip. “Much later, in some cases.”
Trip’s cheeks continued flaming. He was fairly certain his commanding officer now believed he was a virgin. Or close to it. “I just haven’t been around many babies. Or mothers.”
“You were an only child, I seem to recall,” Sardelle told Zirkander.
“Exactly why I understand why Trip just put a boot print in your flowerbed.”
“Oh well. There are dragon talon marks in it too.”
A giggle came from the baby in Sardelle’s arms.
Trip stepped back onto the stoop, turning his shoulder so he wouldn’t accidentally look through the doorway again, and Sardelle shifted to hand the little girl to him. He took her with the utmost care and only after making sure he couldn’t possibly fall off the stoop and into the flowerbed again.
The baby giggled again.
“Is she always cheerful?” Trip asked. “Or is she amused by me?”
“Probably the latter,” Zirkander said. “I’ve noticed that small children are inordinately tickled when I stumble, trip, or otherwise hurt myself in front of them.”
“Some of your commanding officers have that reaction too,” Sardelle said.
“The world is a cruel place.”
Trip wasn’t quite sure what to do, but he rocked the girl in his arms. He thought about trying the cooing and oohing noises that people always seemed to make when holding babies, but he would feel goofy doing that in front of his commanding officer.
The baby stretched a hand up toward his nose. Not certain if she wanted to grab it or to investigate his face in general, he lifted her higher and bent his head. A finger poked into his nostril.
“Is this normal?” Trip asked.
“Your nostril or a baby with inquisitive fingers?” Sardelle asked.
“I guess she’ll let me know if the nostril isn’t.”
The baby giggled again and lowered her finger. Maybe it was silly, but Trip felt as if they’d bonded somehow. She had investigated him and found him acceptable. Even though he still worried about what kinds of people the babies would grow up to be, some of the tension eased from his shoulders as he rocked her. Sardelle had known how to handle eight babies needing milk, and the king hadn’t mentioned raising them to be used against the enemies of Iskandia. For now, the world seemed… if not peaceful, then at least tolerable. Maybe even hopeful.
Trip started to think of toys and maybe educational games he could make for the children as they got older. He hoped he could find time to build a few things before he was sent off on another mission. Even though he couldn’t fault Shulina Arya for showing up and helping them, he had been a little sad that he hadn’t needed to build a submarine to retrieve the swords.
“Do you want to name her?” Sardelle asked. “She’s the oldest of the girls.”
“Uhm, do you think Zherie would be all right? That was my mother’s name. She was more adventurous th
an I ever realized when I was a kid.”
“It’s a lovely name,” Sardelle said.
“If he doesn’t want to go with Tarragon, it’s all right,” Zirkander said.
“Ready to come in and meet the mothers, Trip?” Sardelle asked.
“You better ask them to drape blankets over themselves,” Zirkander said. “He has the look of a rabbit about to flee from a wolf. Trip, if you’d prefer, we could have a beer in the duck blind.”
“No, sir.” Trip attempted to smooth the alarm off his face. He’d faced enemy dragons and enemy sorcerers. He could handle breastfeeding women. “I’m ready. I want to meet them and make sure…” He almost said he wanted to make sure they were worthy of raising his little siblings, but that seemed presumptuous. The gods knew he wouldn’t have been ready for the challenge. “I want to introduce myself and make sure they know I’ll do everything I can to help.” Inspired, he added, “I can help them create playrooms for the babies. Or build cribs with toys integrated into them. Do they need any new gear or equipment for their houses, do you think?”
Trip wasn’t sure yet what kind of “gear or equipment” babies or mothers taking care of babies would need, but he would do some research. There had to be all manner of useful gadgets for childrearing.
“We’re still waiting for a new coffeemaker,” Zirkander said. “In case you’re making a list of handy things to do before your next mission.”
“Do you know when that mission will be, sir?” Trip was glad to be done with Rakgorath and hoped not to go back any time soon, but he missed his flier and itched to be in the sky again, in a craft under his own control.
“Soon.” Zirkander’s face lost some of its affability. “Soon.”
Trip, sensing the general knew a lot more than he did, decided he better make the coffeemaker and baby toys soon. It sounded like Wolf Squadron would be up in the air again before long.
THE END
Lindsay Buroker, Unraveled