“As I’ve informed you on many occasions, I like to store fat in my belly in case famine ever comes to the islands.”
“As of last night’s dinner, you were storing cranberry tarts and hazelnut cookies in there.”
“I’m relieved the blow to your head didn’t affect your memory,” Oyenar said. “A roof fell on you, you know.”
“I did see it coming down, yes. It was rude of you not to fling yourself atop me to nobly protect me.”
“I did try, but age is catching up with me, and I’m not as fast as I used to be.”
“It could be cranberry tarts slowing you down.”
“I suppose that’s possible.” Oyenar reached over to Syla and clasped her hand. “Thank you. It’s been dreadful not having anyone to tease and torment me this past day and night.” His words were warm, and his eyes twinkled as he looked at his wife.
“He must have been terribly bereft,” Abrya said, then squinted thoughtfully at Syla, a hint of recognition kindling in her eyes. “You’re Princess Syla.”
“QueenSyla,” Oyenar said, though he’d also forgotten her title at first.
With the coronation so recent, it would take people time to grow familiar with it. And not everyonewantedto become familiar with it. Syla hadn’t missed Oyenar’s comment about one of the minor lords back home hesitating to accept thesuccession, and she remembered Relvin skulking around the castle with his aristocratic dice-playing comrades.
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you right away, especially since we’re relatives.” Abrya smiled, but it faded as she considered Syla. “You’ve changed though. And you’re not wearing a healer’s robe, like you usually do.”
“No, though maybe Ishouldbe wearing one. Fewer people and dragons might try to kill me.”
No dragon has any concern about what garments a human wears.Back to perching on the rooftop, Wreylith was monitoring the conversation.
“Kill you?” Abrya asked.
“Even as we speak. A stormer invasion force including at least one bonded rider with enhanced abilities is in the tunnels under the palace and could attack at any moment.”
Oyenar blinked and looked at Syla. “How do you know that?”
“A powerful ally with keen eyes and senses told me.”
Abrya looked at Fel.
“Not him,” Syla said and pointed upward. “Though his eyes are keen compared to mine.”
Oyenar looked at her thick lenses but didn’t say what he was probably thinking, thatmostpeople’s eyes were keener than hers. Alas, true.
“Wreylith, the red dragon up there, is working with me,” Syla told Abrya, who’d been unconscious when the guard had reported Wreylith’s presence.
“Someday, you’ll have to explain to us how you managed to wrangle the assistance of a dragon. They generally like toeatpeople.” Oyenar rose and waved for his guards to come into the room.
“They’re predators and enjoy a little wanton destruction here and there, but Wreylith assures me that humans aren’t tasty,”Syla said. “She prefers eliok, sheep, and horn hogs, the latter of which I believe I’ve promised to populate a farm with.”
“Horn hogs aren’t easily domesticated,” Abrya said. “They don’t get along well with humans or other animals, and those horns are sharp.”
“Yes, but I understand they’re delicious so I’ll have to find a way to make it work.”
Near the cave lair I will claim,Wreylith said.
Certainly. Then if there’s trouble at the horn-hog farm, you’ll be nearby to put an end to it. To them.
Oh, yes.If a dragon could telepathically purr into a person’s mind, Wreylith did.
Oyenar had turned his attention to the guards. “Silor, Hilks, tell everyone to be alert, and check the storm drain grates in the courtyard. That’s the only way people could get into the palace from below. They’re very strong and locked to ensure that doesn’t happen, but if someone were enhanced…”
“Yes, my lord.”
