“Oh, yes,” came a relieved statement. More than one.
Vorik nodded. “Follow me, men.”
15
The island lord’spalace was almost as large and sprawling as the castle back home, and Syla brimmed with impatience as the guard led her, Fel, and the Royal Protectors through marble-floored hallways laid with blue runners. They passed destroyed statues and busts, as well as artwork that had been ripped from the walls, the work of annihilation-loving humans rather than dragons. It was a reminder that people could be as savage as the ruthless predators.
Though the sights distressed Syla, it wasn’t until they reached an infirmary that she lost her temper. The door had been blown open, and tools, beds, and equipment were strewn about, many destroyed and all covered in soot.
“Those animals!” Syla stumbled and gripped the doorjamb. “Did they hurl anexplosivein here?”
“You didn’t mind the rest of the destruction, but a slight to the infirmary is worth an outcry?” Fel poked her in the shoulder and pointed after the guard, who hadn’t stopped his trek.
“Aslight? It looks like drunken yetis swatting at wasps rampaged through there.”
“This way, Your Majesty.” The guard had reached stairs heading upward and waved for them to come.
Syla forced aside her affront and hurried to catch up. “We’re taking a long way, aren’t we?”
It had been more than a decade since she’d visited the palace, so her memory of it was fuzzy.
“Yes. My apologies for the circuitous route,” the guard said as they climbed. “The main stairs collapsed under the roof. One of their explosives dropped on it. Or was intentionallysetin that spot. That’s where the lord and lady were when the roof came down.”
“We’re lucky the stormers don’t use explosives more often,” Syla said.
“They don’t have the capacity to make them,” Fel said. “If they’ve got them now, it’s because someone gave them to them.”
“Or they took them from one of our armories? They’ve had access to Harvest Island for weeks.”
“True. We’re lucky they haven’t thought to hurl them through the barriers.”
“That’s been tried in the past, at least according to the history books. I don’t know if black powder had been discovered yet when the gods walked the world, but they probably anticipated attempts to get dangerous weapons through. Explosives apparently blow up on contact.” Syla slowed when the guard stopped in front of another uniformed man standing in front of double doors that wereleanedclosed instead of truly closed. No doubt because the hinges were warped or gone completely. Soot covered the wall opposite the doors.
“How comearrowscan get through the barrier?” Fel touched his hip. Had one of his own wounds come in that manner?
“Maybe the gods thought you would be fast enough to move out of the way if you saw an arrow coming from a mile up in the sky.”
Fel looked sourly at her. “It’s the arrows youdon’tsee coming that you have to worry about.”
A woman’s pained moan came from within the suite as the guards moved one of the heavy doors aside.
“She’s here,” the guard called into the room before stepping inside.
There were probably more armed guards inside protecting the lord and lady.
“The healer?” a man asked. “Send her in.”
Syla hadn’t spoken with Lord Oyenar for several years but recognized his voice. Though he was in his sixties, it remained firm and authoritative. She recalled that he’d been a high-ranking Fleet officer before retiring to serve.
“Yes, my lord. It’s the healer who came in person with a fleet of ships and stood on a great weapon of the gods to fire magical projectiles that struck and killeddragons.” The surprisingly enthusiastic guard curled his fingers into a thank-the-gods circle in front of his heart and waved for Syla to go in.
“That… doesn’t sound like any of our usual healers,” Oyenar said.
“I believe she’s from Castle Island,” one of the guards inside said, smiling.
Lord Oyenar, a white-haired man with a broad jaw and eyebrows like caterpillars, sat in a chair beside a four-poster bed and held his wife’s hand. She lay under a blanket, dyed red hair sprawled around her face on a pillow, and a pair of spectacles on the bedside table. Her eyes didn’t open, but Oyenar’s bushy brows rose in surprise when Syla entered.
“Princess Syla,” he blurted. “QueenSyla. I’d heard…” He waved to the guard who’d done the introduction. “That’s what I heard, but I didn’t expect you to come personally into the city. It’s dangerous right now.” He grimaced, as if its state represented a failing on his part. “You shouldn’t have risked—I don’t even understand why you’re sailing about with the fleet. I am grateful that you brought the ships, and I suppose your mother would have come with them too, but you’re…”
