“Yes.” Syla set the jars aside in a safe spot. “That’s what I did before to prompt it to hurl projectiles at enemies.”
“Well, don’t hurl anythinghere.” Tibby pointed her book toward the courtyard walls. “Think about establishing a connection, such as when you mind-link with someone, and will the platform to come out of dormancy.”
Syla had only mind-linked once, and Tibby had initiated it, but she nodded, believing she understood the gist. Teyla scooted off the platform to make room, and Syla took a deep breath and stood, stretching her arms between two posts and resting her palms against the cool marble.
Immediately, magic buzzed appealingly against her skin, as if the marble had been eager and waiting for her touch. A silver glow flared around the edges of her hands and fingers.
“Is that all I needed to do to activate it?” Syla asked.
Tibby responded, but surges of power swept from the posts and up Syla’s arms, making her gasp. The energy went through her shoulders to her spine and up into her head, and blackness blanketed her eyes as it overwhelmed her. The last thing she was aware of was crumpling onto the platform.
4
Something awakenedVorik from his sleep around the campfire he shared with a few other unmarried officers from his squadron. Earlier, he’d sparred with them for a couple of hours, exercise always ensuring good rest for him, but he sensed that it was still early in the night. The embers in the fire hadn’t yet burned low. He listened intently in case he’d been woken by the distant screech of wyverns or other predators that could threaten them in their cave.
A woman walked toward his campfire, a faint silver glow limning her, as if the moon shone upon her from behind. Vorik blinked in confusion. She wore spectacles, a dress that hugged voluptuous curves, and had a cute nose and full lips. He would recognize Syla anywhere, but how had she gotten here?
In the dim light, she paused and peered around the cave.
Vorik sat up, his first thought that she’d come to steal back the components and that he had to stop her. But his movement drew her attention, and her face brightened when she saw him, pleasure filling her eyes.
“Vorik,” she said with the same pleasure in her voice, and her gaze dropped to his chest.
He hadn’t put his tunic back on after sparring, and his sleeping fur had drooped to his waist when he sat up. His bare muscled chest sparked interest in her eyes—no,lust—and his body responded instantly, aroused by her perusal.
“Syla,” he said, his voice already husky with anticipation. “Come to me.”
Her gaze lifted to his face. “I don’t think that’s why I’m here.”
Despite the words, she walked past other burning fires and headed straight toward him. The silver light provided enough illumination for him to appreciate her curves, which he did, but he also glanced at her hand. Not the one with the quarter-moon birthmark on the back but the other. As Jhiton’s spies had reported, it was now tattooed with a red dragon. Syla and Wreylith were indeed bonded.
“Do queens not visit handsome dragon riders who pine for their company?” Vorik lifted his gaze to her face as she neared.
“Well, I would, but your people would shoot me if I did.”
Strangely, the scouts always at the mouth of the cave hadn’t called alerts about her presence, and nobody was waking up and looking over at the sound of Vorik’s voice. A haziness had settled about the camp everywhere except between him and Syla, and he suspected he was dreaming. That made sense, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d dreamed about her. He adjusted his fur to make room and patted the spot next to him. He wastemptedto pat his lap, inviting her to sit there.
She smiled, settling beside him, but her weight didn’t rustle the fur, and when he reached for her, his hand met only air. Disappointment swept through him as he realized they couldn’t touch. The silver moonlight that continued to limn her, even here, in the back of the cave, should have clued him in that this wasn’t real.
Syla blinked, seeming surprised that she hadn’t felt his fingers, and reached for him. Her hand swept through hisshoulder, and he didn’t feel anything except a faint draft. He touched his chest, half-expecting to find his body also incorporeal, but it was solid. Did that mean thathewas real and she was a vision? Or only that he couldn’t expect his unconscious mind to conjure up a world that fully made sense?
“Is it a dream?” Syla wondered aloud and looked around again. “Or…?”
There was a question in thator,but she didn’t finish it aloud.
“Usually, when you’re in my dreams, we can touch. With great physical vigor.” Vorik smiled. “It always seems real until I wake up alone and…” Remembering that she was a queen now, he hesitated. Maybe it wouldn’t be respectful to speak bluntly about the state of his penis in the mornings. “Is there a word that’s polite and acceptable to use around royalty that means, er, stiff?”
Her mouth twisted. “I’m the same as I’ve always been, Vorik. Besides, I always spent more time in temples than at court. I’m more familiar with medical terms than what’s polite and acceptable.”
“Ah, is there amedicalterm appropriate for lower-extremity stiffness?”
“Well, I suppose we’re talking about rigidity. Probably not spasticity. And arthralgia refers more to joint stiffness.”
“My joints are fine. Due to my youthful vigor.”
“Vigor comes up a lot with you.”
“When I’m with you, yes.”
