Rakos has never had the patience for political scheming. He prefers action. Why does Vana want him out of Draskora badly enough to cover his abduction with a storm? Where were Indra and Zuzana taking him? House Dire is famously treacherous, but is this Vana’s scheme alone, or does Rakos have enemies he doesn’t even know about?
Is Sarka all right?
Nothing makes sense, though it’s not like Rakos doesn’t have enemies in the dragon corps. Irenka still resents him for making wing-captain quicker than she did. Kamil hates him because their dragons are feuding. But those are minor irritations. The sort of annoyance everyone puts aside when facing real threats.
Outside the dragon corps?
At least five dukes and generals would love Rakos dead or demoted, whether Rakos disagreed with them in strategy meetings or insulted them at stupid banquets.
It wasn’t Rakos’s fault Count Bernek’s hair piece looked like food was stuck in it. Itmighthave been Rakos’s fault for trying to helpfully pull it off and undoing the whole wig.
The last joint military meeting was contentious. The memory sits uneasily in Rakos’s head. Some generals were very insistent on expanding the dragon corps, and Rakos was equally insistent against it.
There’s no need to bond more dragons. Draskora isn’t at war.
This is close enough to treason that Rakos hasn’t told anyone, not even Sarka, but he doesn’t want to take Sarka to war again. She enjoys the challenge, but she enjoys the challenge of sky races too. Ocean fishing. Dragonroost hide and seek. Rakos doesn’t want to see her hurt.
So, he’ll argue against warmongering and military expansion whenever he needs to, unless it’s for a far better cause than the last war.
Rakos rubs his chest, a vain attempt to soothe the sudden ache. Plenty of people want him gone. Rakos just hadn’t counted Vana Dire among their number. He thought of Vana as a friend.
They run in the same circles, playing the same card games. Vana has a reputation, sure. A cold, unpredictable snake just like the rest of his adopted family. But Rakos has never seen that side of him. They never even talked about politics.
Irenka always said Vana wasn’t to be trusted. Rakos always thought she was just paranoid or jealous.
Fuck.
Rakos can’t even trust the minstrel currently slumped across his thighs. He’ll have to avoid using too much Tem magic in front of Bell. Maybe it’s his vanity talking, but Rakos is rather famous. Surely even a Silaisan minstrel will have heard of the Shadow of Draskora.
Bell makes a soft noise in his sleep and shifts in Rakos’s lap. His coat has fallen around his arm, baring the sharp line of his shoulder. Rakos resists the impulse to tug the garment back into place.
He can’t deny he was tempted by Bell’s offer last night. No, by Bell’s plea. Rakos didn’t care so much that Bell’s magic could be useful infiltrating the dragonroost. He was far more captivated by the panic glittering in Bell’s eyes. Beneath the shattered mask of confidence gleamed desperation.
Rakos didn’t like that look on Bell.
Some deep-rooted protective instinct urged Rakos to agree. To escort Bell hundreds of miles to the Draskoran border, his own mission be damned.
Protection and guilt. Rakos suspects the storm magic was Vana’s attempt to cover Rakos’s abduction. Which means Bell was stranded in some part due to Rakos’s predicament.
But guilt and predictive instincts can’t change the facts. Rakos’s side might be the least safe place Bell could stay. And Rakos can’t allow this fearful fawn to slow him down.
With another soft noise, Bell rolls over—putting his sleep-soft features far too close to Rakos’s hard cock.
Rakos bites back a groan and shoves Bell off his lap. “Morning, minstrel,” he says gruffly, clambering out from inside the tree. Bastard vanishes from his feet, and grasses rustle some distance away. “The day’s half gone. Time to get moving.”
Rubbing his eyes, Bell unwinds his huddled limbs. “How long did we sleep?” He glares up at the trees. “Wait, it’s barely dawn!”
Rakos stretches, muscle and bone creaking. His tangled teal hair falls in his face, then over his shoulder. “I grabbed some rations from the waystation, but there’s not much. We need to get moving. Pick a tree to piss on, then we’ll head out.”
Bell grimaces but doesn’t answer. Just slumps back on the ground, hand over his eyes.
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Rakos asks.
“I have a headache,” Bell replies, sounding more resigned than anything else. “It happens a lot, so don’t worry about it.”
Rakos snorts. “Why would I worry?”
He tries not to notice the way Bell flinches. “Great question.”
