You’re either being sarcastic or hope that, despite your earlier clash, Wreylith will speak with you.
I long for her to domorethan speak with me.
Like growling and hissing?
And roaring as she envisions us putting aside our differences to come together for a joining. Did I tell you how magnificent she was in the desert?
More times than I’d like to remember.
Such athleticism! Such stamina!
Not wanting to encourage further details—details which he’d already received—Vorik didn’t reply. All he needed to know was that Agrevlari would be there when he kayaked or swam through the barrier.
Vorik eyed the crew visible on the deck of Syla’s ship and decided they weren’t yet distracted enough to miss a stormer in a kayak floating toward them. He gripped a half-submerged log sticking out from the bank to stop his progress.
More clangs rang out on the dock, and someone had reached the deck of the ship. The crewmen who’d been in view near the railing ran toward the sounds of fighting.
To be careful, Vorik decided to slither over the edge of the kayak and into the cold river water. The current tugged at his clothes and sheathed weapons, but he’d swum in far more difficult conditions. He pushed the kayak away from the log and, using it for cover, hung on to the back while keeping most of his body submerged.
It floated down the river with him kicking behind it. Distant booms reached his ears. They didn’t come from the docks but farther inland. Was Lesva attacking the palace? Cursed storms, where had his people come across so many explosives? They must have raided an armory here in the city.
Vorik kicked harder, willing his men to set the ships afire, whatever it took to draw Syla back in this direction before it was too late.
If anyone had spotted the empty kayak, they didn’t shout out about it. In the chaos, maybe they wouldn’t think anything of such a craft slipping free and floating down the river. That was his hope.
When Vorik neared the ship, he pushed the kayak so that it would float under the dock, hoping it would be caught in the pilings or the brush and that he could reclaim it after his sabotage. After he had Syla.
As the shouts and clangs of battle came from the docks and the deck of the ship, Vorik swam underwater until he reached the hull. He hugged it, hoping its curve would keep him out of view from the crew above, then maneuvered around it untilhe neared the weapons platform. Hoping its great weight would make the ship easier to sink, he started his sabotage.
“My apologies for trying to destroy your vessel, Syla,” Vorik murmured, thinking of the lovely night they’d spent in her cabin.
He applied his gargoyle-bone dagger and sword to the hull, regardless. Soon, the ship—and the weapons platform—would be on the bottom of the river.
The smell of smoke reached Syla’s nose as more booms thundered from the courtyard. Shouts, clanks, and thuds from the bottom floor of the palace promised the intruders had gotten in.
“Hide in the closet, Abrya,” Lord Oyenar urged, waving his wife toward a spacious room with chairs and trunks as well as racks of clothing and shoes. He’d found a sword and looked like he would stand with the guards if the enemy reached the suite.
“Is the roof more secure in there?” Abrya murmured and headed that way.
“If it helps, my dragon ally is nearby,” Syla said. “Right above us.”
“I don’t know if that means the roof is more or less likely to cave in on our heads,” Abrya said.
Wreylith roared. She sounded vexed. Because most of the fighting was going on inside, and she couldn’t assist unless she destroyed portions of the palace?
“I don’t either,” Syla admitted.
“Comforting.” Abrya, who’d probably had enough of being in the thick of the chaos, didn’t object further and stepped into the closet. “You should come in here too, Lord Oyenar,” she called.
“You must be sufficiently healed if you want me to join you for a closet tryst,” he called back.
“That’snotwhat I have on my mind. You’re not as fast with a sword as you used to be. A stormer rider will slice out your tonsils and toss them to the dragon.”
“It’s lovely to have the staunch support of one’s spouse,” Oyenar told Fel.
“I imagine so,” Fel said.
“They’re on the stairs!” someone in the hallway cried.
