“Mm, does Chef need help preparing dinner?” Rysha asked. “She probably wasn’t expecting extra mouths. We don’t mind cutting vegetables.”
Lord Ravenwood looked at Trip.
“I don’t mind,” Trip said, though he wasn’t sure if that was the question in that look. “I’m amenable to anything.”
“I’ll bet,” Lord Ravenwood muttered, but waved for them to follow him inside.
“Does Tohomas have the day off?” Rysha asked as they entered a grand foyer, the flagstone of the portico giving way to large marble floor tiles. “I was surprised when you answered the door yourself.”
“Tohomas recently decided to pursue other work, and we haven’t replaced him yet.”
Rysha faltered, and Trip rested a supportive hand on her back as a feeling of loss radiated from her. “Tohomas left? But he’s worked here my whole life.”
“After the dragon attack, many of our workers left. They didn’t feel safe.”
Trip squinted at the back of Lord Ravenwood’s head, sensing a half-truth there. Should he start spying now? Or wait until Rysha steered the conversation to the topics she wanted information on? He didn’t want to pry only to discover something he didn’t want to know and that she wouldn’t want to know either.
Then she looked over at him. She didn’t form any words in her mind, but maybe she sensed her father’s evasion, simply using human intuition, and she wanted his opinion.
“Who else has left?” Rysha asked as they kept walking slowly down the long hallway, ignoring a piano room and guest wings opening up to the sides.
Trip let his awareness shift deeper into Lord Ravenwood’s thoughts, trying to keep his touch gentle so he wouldn’t be sensed and also trying to be tactful in what he pulled out.
As Lord Ravenwood answered Rysha’s question with a list of names, images flashed through the man’s mind of faces of workers—even friends—he’d known for years. In the beginning, after the first attack that had resulted in the death of Rysha’s grandmother, the workers had banded together with determination to fight off invaders. Trip was surprised at how many people lived on the property, some in the manor but far more up and down the valley in small communities near the areas they tended, orchards, farms, grazing and timber lands, and even a cranberry bog.
A few weeks had passed without further dragon attacks, at least not in their valley, and business had returned to normal, but then a silver dragon had appeared, flying over the family’s property every day, sometimes multiple times a day. For some reason, it had shown undue interest in them, and its frequent visits made everyone nervous. Occasionally, it plucked up livestock, devouring the animal from some rooftop while in plain sight.
After a couple of weeks of this, nervous workers had arrived at the manor, singly or in small groups. They’d reluctantly turned in their resignations, almost all of them saying the same thing, that they were moving to the city to be closer to the army installation and the king’s protection.
Lord Ravenwood had understood, but he’d also been surprised and stung at how many workers had deserted the estate over this, especially when no human deaths had been reported. Ravenwood believed the dragon was simply attracted to the fertile land and feeding off the wild animals and livestock here. Or at least, that was what he had believed until—
Trip bumped his shoulder against a coat rack he hadn’t noticed, and he grunted, hurrying to catch it before it fell. It clacked against the wall, and the heavy stone base rattled noisily on the marble as he righted it. Lord Ravenwood and Rysha both stopped to stare at him.
“Sorry,” Trip said. “I was distracted.”
“Officers aren’t what they were in my grandfather’s day,” Lord Ravenwood muttered, then gestured toward a sitting room. “Have a seat. I’ll round up the rest of the family. I’m sure they’ll enjoy having dinner company.”
Even though the bump had broken his link with Lord Ravenwood, Trip still sensed the lie, that the man thought Trip’s presence would ruin what otherwise would have been a nice family meal with Rysha. Having their daughter home—without a strange dinner guest with skin that was too dark and eyes that were an odd shade of green—would have been a welcome change from all the disruption the silver dragon’s presence had caused.
Rysha took Trip’s arm and guided him into a large sitting room with tall glass windows overlooking a garden. There were four different seating areas, some focused on the fireplace and others on gaming tables. She stopped at a trio of chairs and a sofa by the fireplace where wood crackled and flames danced, even though it wasn’t cold this time of year. Trip sensed that she wanted to sit on the sofa with him but knew her parents would object to such blatant closeness, so she chose a plush leather chair for herself.
“Normally, I would be depressed that my father’s first impression of you is that you’re a klutz and a meager officer,” Rysha murmured quietly, “but perhaps for tonight, it’s for the best that he underestimates you.”
“You can’t tell me I’m the first young man to visit your castle who’s bumped into the coat rack. It’s practically in the middle of the hall. And why is it so far from the door?”
“That was the second coat rack, in case people change their minds and want to remove some layers before sitting down.”
Trip paused, wondering what his grandparents would think of a house that required multiple coat racks, then shook his head. “Even so, I’m sure other people have bumped it.”
“Other people haven’t caused mud to go flying and spatter his trousers,” Rysha said. “I assume that wasn’t intentional.”
“No, he opened the door with unexpected promptness. And he didn’t notice that, so I know he’s not judging me based on that. I don’t think he knows I have any power at all.”
Rysha shook her head and patted him on the leg. “I’m just teasing you.”
“Good, because I only ran into something because I was concentrating on spying.”
“Already?” Her eyebrows rose.
“I thought you wanted me to when you gave me that look in the hall.”
“Oh. No, I was just thinking that you look dashing in your dress uniform. And then you bumped into the coat rack.”
“That diminished your opinion of my dashingness?”
“Sorry. I’m a shallow girl.” Rysha smirked at him.
“Yes, as shallow as the Zevian Trench.”
Sensing a woman’s approach, Trip looked toward the hallway.
Someone’s coming, he warned Rysha. In case you don’t want to be seen fondling my thigh.
Fondling it? I was simply attempting to make you feel less rejected.
I believe your aunt would object to that.
Rysha grimaced. Trip held back a similar expression as the familiar woman walked up, instead standing up and nodding formally toward her.
Aunt Tadelay’s clothing was fitted, perfectly matched, and immaculate, with her brown hair swept back into an elegant bun pierced with ivory sticks. Unexpectedly, she carried a tray of drinks.