“He’ll be delighted,” Vorik said, not commenting on the rest.
“Can I get you anything, Wreylith?” Syla closed the chicken book, relieved she hadn’t needed to assist with stuck eggs or anything else daunting. “Are you sore from passing all those? Do you want a soothing salve?” She smiled, not expecting the dragon to accept.
A trickle of smoke wafted from Wreylith’s nostrils as she looked over. At least her eyes had stopped glowing. And was that a… considering expression?
Bring the astringent healing substance. I will test it and inform you if it is suitable for dragons.
“All right.” Syla donned gloves from her medical kit since the stuff was unpleasant against mere human skin. “Do you want me to apply it to your, uhm...” She waved in the direction of the dragon’s cloaca.
Thatiswhat is sore,Wreylith said,though, naturally, a dragon can endure discomfort of all kinds and has no need of human intervention.
“Naturally.” Syla grabbed the jar and headed toward her.
“Maybe I’ll leave to give Agrevlari the news now.” Vorik headed for the exit. Quickly.
“You don’t want to help me smear healing salve on a cloaca?” Syla called after him.
“It’s possible you have a greater bond with your dragon than I do with mine.” Vorik called back.
Males,Wreylith said.So inferior.
Syla thought about arguing that Vorik was, in fact, quitesuperior, but she might not be able to convince the dragon of that. At least she’d called himappropriately respectful.That was high praise from one of her kind.
After admiring the eight golden eggs, Syla set to work with her tincture. She tried to ignore the long neck crooking so that Wreylith could watch her, and were those eyes laden with suspicion? Maybe she expected the tincture to be slimy, as she always called Syla’s healing concoctions. But this one could not possibly be labeled so.
Syla applied the new substance carefully sinceshecouldn’t imagine wanting anything stinging or astringent near herbirth canal, but Wreylith let out a contented sigh. Several sighs. Then, her body relaxing fully, she laid her neck and head down.
Finally, you have created a substance acceptable to dragons.
“I’m glad you’re content.”
That feels magnificent.Wreylith let out a soft rumble, almost like a cat purr.
“I had no idea this would have the ability to mellow a dragon,” Syla murmured.
Another contented rumble came from Wreylith as she closed her eyes and went to sleep.
27
Vorik smoothedhis hand down his newly made set of black riding leathers, ceremonial wyvern-scale-and-sea-shell bracelets rattling on his wrists. Numerous sets of eyes—mostly Kingdom guests that Syla had invited to the wedding—were turned toward him, and he felt self-conscious. Earlier, he’d let the castle staff shave his jaw closer than he’d ever managed with a knife, and they’d also scrubbed him down with an abrasive sponge while trimming his fingernails, his toenails, and his hair before attempting to comb the wildness out of it. They hadn’t been entirely successful there, but he expected his people would tease him later when he and Syla flew to Harvest Island for the stormer version of their wedding. A few dragon riders and Freedom Faction men and women were in attendance here in the castle courtyard, but most would go to the ceremony that was more familiar to them. And where nudity rather than painstakingly cleaned, ironed, and fussed-with clothing was expected. He’d warned Syla about that, and she was probably as nervous about appearing like that for his people as he was like this for hers. Maybe they should have simply declared themselves wed and flown off together on their dragons.
Sergeant Fel stood nearby, looking similarly out of place in what the Kingdom subjects called a frock coat and a high-collared shirt that he kept tugging at. He was, Vorik had been told, there as a newly appointed island lord, not as Syla’s bodyguard, but he was wearing his weapons belt with his mace and dagger close at hand. After all he’d been through in her wake, he probably believed trouble could break out at her wedding. Understandable. Already, a few people who weren’t on the guest list had tried to sneak in, but the guards had caught them and turned them away.
Vorik looked wistfully toward the gate. The last time he’d seen his brother, he’d shared the wedding date and asked him to come. Though Jhiton would be more likely to show up at the stormer ceremony, Vorik couldn’t help but wish he would stride into the courtyard. Jhiton had been, even if he hadn’t meant to be, instrumental in Vorik and Syla coming together. But he’d been scarce since the peace treaty had been signed. He’d been around more often in the beginning, rounding the riders up for training sessions, but he’d been perturbed to realize people wanted toenjoy some time off, as they’d said, andget used to their new lives.Riders, Storm Guard soldiers, and regular stormer civilians had been delighting in wandering around under the islands’ shields andnotwatching the sky. As a lifelong military man, Jhiton had seemed a little disgusted by it all, and he’d flown off with Ozlemar for long hunts.
Vorik was as happy as his non–sky-watching kin and wished Jhiton could be happy too. After all he’d endured, didn’t he deserve some happiness?
Two kitchen staff in white uniforms whispered to each other as they hurried past carrying… were those bird cages? And… tongs? Vorik watched them for a moment before understanding dawned.
“Ah,” he said. “I did warn Syla that dragon hatchlings are quite adventurous and not that prone to staying in their nests, even if they haven’t yet learned to fly.”
Fel gaped as the tong-wielders paused to look behind the foundation and under cloths dangling from long tables laden with food. “Are you saying those little dragons might be up here? They were just born, er, hatched the week before last, weren’t they?”
“Dragons are relatively small when they come out of their eggs, but they’re not helpless. They hatch with scales, talons, and tiny fangs. Tinysharpfangs. Like piranha teeth.”
“So… they may not only be up here but the guests might be in danger?” Fel asked.
“In danger no higher than their ankles. Knees at the most. Hatchlingscanbe prone to biting anyone and anything though. At least they’ve probably not developed the ability to breathe fire yet. That’s not until the fourth or fifth week, if I recall correctly. Though it’s probably a good thing this courtyard and most of the castle are made from stone. Once theydodevelop that ability, they take great satisfaction in employing it liberally. In all directions.” Vorik considered the material of Fel’s trousers but didn’t point out that it looked flammable as well as bitable.
