“Is that likely to happen?”
“Probably not. And I doubt he’s going to be in the mood to accept anything from me.” Vorik grimaced.
Syla wished she hadn’t brought Jhiton up. She didn’t want Vorik to leave feeling grim.
“You can give him a cookie if you think it will help.” She gripped his shoulders and kissed him. “That’s in case…” In case he didn’t survive this and she never saw him again. But she didn’t want to say that. That was evengrimmerthan the reminder that his possibly vengeful brother would be waiting for him. “Just in case,” she said.
“Yes.” His return kiss promised he understood the unspoken as well as the spoken.
It was tender and sweet rather than raw and passionate, and tears threatened Syla’s eyes again. She was the one to withdraw and whisper, “Goodbye and good luck, Vorik.”
“I’ll bid you the same luck. No,betterluck.”
“Thank you.”
He bowed again to her, arranged the sack over his shoulder, and walked off into the night.
“Where’s he going?” Teyla asked, walking past with water jugs in her arms.
Syla barely resisted the urge to blurt the words,To get himself killed.
She hoped that wasn’t the case. Even if it was, she wanted to be supportive.
“Back to his people,” was what she said, “to challenge his chieftess for control of his tribe.”
“Huh.” Teyla, who didn’t yet know what had happened in the salt mine, didn’t know what an impossible task that would be. “Do we want that?”
“I think, for the future of the Kingdom and the stormers, we should, yes.”
“Huh,” Teyla repeated.
11
“Doesit seem strange to you that you’re riding in a carriage with a wobbly wheel when you have a dragon?” Teyla asked as the horses took them down the highway toward Lyvor. She, Syla, Captain Vonla, and the Royal Protectors all rode inside. Celena, perhaps not wanting to squish in with everyone else, had volunteered to sit with the coachman. “Sorry about the wheel, by the way,” Teyla added. “That happened when it went careening off across a field after your dragon toasted the enforcer wagon.”
“It’s fine.” Syla looked out the window at the dark countryside, already missing Vorik.
They hadn’t seen him along the way, or Syla would have offered him a ride to the coast, but he could run fast and had probably traveled miles before the carriage had departed the farm. She hoped she hadn’t laden him down with so much food that he would struggle to swim out beyond the barrier and reach Agrevlari. No, Vorik could probably manage that feat while carrying an entire kitchen pantry on his back. Or maybe a pie safe filled to the brim. She smiled at the thought.
Syla herself had been tempted to ride on a horse, but the carriage hid them from the curious eyes of travelers—and spies.That was why she’d ordered the Royal Protectors, with their signature gold-trimmed blue uniforms, to ride inside with them, though the broad-shouldered men made it a tight fit.
“I’ve ridden in all manner of conveyances lately,” Syla added, thinking of the armored carriage in which she’d been taken prisoner back on Harvest Island—and the handsy sergeant who had wanted to force an heir upon her. “This isn’t the worst, by far.”
“It was quite nice before the wobble,” Teyla said, then fell silent again.
She had also been gazing pensively out the window for much of the trip. Thinking of her father’s passing, perhaps. A few times, she’d started conversations, and it had seemed like she was trying to distract herself. Haunted by the deaths of so many of her family members, Syla understood all too well the need to do so.
She rubbed her eyes and yawned. The group had rested for a few hours before taking off, but everyone had agreed that traveling in the dark would make them less likely to be spotted—or intercepted by enforcers—so they’d departed after midnight.
“Wreylith is still on the island, right?” Teyla asked. “In case we need her?”
“Yes. She’s soaring about to vex and confuse the spies.” Syla didn’t mention that Wreylith was hunting for real estate—caveestate—and probably ignoring the humans on Castle Island completely. She didn’t know if the dragon would appreciate her informing everyone about her pregnancy.
“Maybe she should soar over the capital,” Vonla suggested, “in case she spots Fograth traveling to or from the castle.”
“A beheading-by-dragonwouldbe the most efficient way to remove your competition from the throne, Syla,” Teyla said.
“You don’t think a dragon slaying someone in a public city street would alarm the populace?” Syla asked, though she mightnot be that upset if Wreylith efficientlyremovedFograth for her. Too bad there were so many other ambitious people who wanted the throne. Such an act wouldn’t necessarily end the problem.
