“Aunt Tadelay? You’re, uhm…” Rysha waved to the tray. “Bringing us refreshments?”
“I do know how to carry a tray, dear.” Tadelay smiled quickly if somewhat sardonically at Rysha, then looked at Trip and sighed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Captain, but I was hoping not to see you again.”
Trip scratched his jaw, debating if he should stay silent and not ruffle feathers or stand up for himself. He had a feeling “standing up for oneself” was considered rude among the nobility. At least if one wasn’t of the nobility.
“What would be the right way to take it?” Trip asked.
Tadelay set six drinks down on the table, ice cubes clinking in the pale pink liquid—it smelled slightly of cranberries—a testament to an icehouse somewhere on the property. Trip wasn’t surprised. What was the point of living in a castle if one couldn’t have ice cubes on demand?
“Trip is smart, brave, loyal, and one of the best men I’ve ever met,” Rysha told her aunt firmly.
Tadelay made a clucking noise—was that disappointment?—and walked out with the empty tray.
Wondering who else would join them, Trip reached for a glass, making sure to choose one that wasn’t close to him. “This isn’t going to be poisoned, right?”
“My family isn’t that dreadful.” Rysha rubbed the back of her neck. “Maybe this was a bad idea. I should have waited until times were more settled before bringing you. Or at least until the memory of us together in bed had faded from my aunt’s and my mother’s minds.”
“You don’t think the image of my magnificent form will stick with them forever?”
She swatted him. “More likely, the image of your magnificent form falling on the floor. Then hiding itself behind a pillow.”
I have detected a few things in your father’s thoughts, Trip said, switching to telepathy. He was aware of several people in a nearby kitchen. Give me another hour, and I may have a better idea of what’s going on here. I’ve already learned that a silver dragon seems to be involved.
Trip sensed Rysha’s alarm, though she only reacted by dropping her hand on his forearm. What?
I don’t sense another dragon in the area right now besides Shulina Arya, but perhaps, the next time she contacts you, you can ask her if she’s aware of any silvers visiting your valley.
Rysha looked like she wanted to say more, but men’s voices sounded in the hallway. Trip sensed three people about their age approaching. Her brothers?
She rose and faced in that direction. The three tall men who ambled in appeared to be in their twenties, all sturdy and athletic, one with spectacles similar to Rysha’s. They all grinned and came forward to hug her and thump her on the back.
“Congratulations on passing your army thing,” the one with spectacles said.
Trip sensed a little disgruntlement from Rysha at having the elite troops—and the intense training she’d gone through to get in—summed up as a thing, but she was also glad to receive a modicum of support. And she was pleased none of them had opened up with a suggestion that she promptly leave the army and return to the estate.
“This the one we heard about?” One of the brothers frowned as he looked at Trip.
Trip had sat back down after Tadelay left, but he stood again, since he felt towered over, especially as their collective attention turned to him. A little over six feet in height, he wasn’t used to feeling short, but the men were all several inches taller than he. He could imagine what they had “heard about” if Rysha’s mother and aunt had been the source.
“This is Captain Trip Yert,” Rysha said. “Trip, these are my brothers, Krey, Severin, and Jhory.”
Krey had a chipped tooth, and Trip remembered the story Rysha had told about wayward piggyback rides in her youth.
“Yert?” Severin asked. He was the tallest of the men, with a thick brown beard that took up most of his face despite being tidily trimmed.
“No, he’s not noble,” Rysha said, “and no, you’re not going to tell me it matters.”
“Oh? Glad we got that straightened out.”
“This isn’t the new Wolf Squadron pilot that they say is a witch, is he?” Jhory asked, lifting his spectacles and squinting at Trip.
Trip froze. Thanks to that newspaper article, he knew there were rumors about him in the city, but he wouldn’t have guessed they had made their way out into the countryside. Or to Rysha’s family.
He looked at Rysha before answering, not sure if sorcery was typically brought up the first time a noblewoman brought a boy home to dinner.
“Male mages are called sorcerers, not witches,” Rysha said. “Even female magic-users prefer the term sorceress.”
Jhory exchanged long looks with his brothers. They all oozed worry and two out of the three wondered if they had a brotherly obligation to protect Rysha by pounding Trip into the floor. Though Severin was now worried Trip would shoot fire out of his nostrils if they tried.
Telryn, Azarwrath said, turning the name into a long sigh. Simply stop dampening down your aura, and let these people see the real you. If you wish, you can turn on your allure to charm them, though that’s not necessary and admittedly not your strength—besides, you don’t want your lady friend’s mother and aunt drawn to you sexually.
Trip made a choking noise. Fortunately, the brothers were too busy muttering darkly among themselves to notice. Rysha noticed, gave him a concerned look, and glanced at the cranberry beverage he’d tasted.
I believe if you let your aura show, Azarwrath continued, the family will treat you with respect, not like some idiot delinquent who seduced their little girl.
Respect or fear? Trip already did not care for the unease he sensed from the brothers.
Perhaps some of both, but either way, it will be an improvement over this shrinking into yourself that you’re doing. It’s unseemly. You’re not thirteen. You are a half-dragon man and a sorcerer coming into your powers. A trickle of disappointment came from Azarwrath along with the words. Maybe even embarrassment, as if he didn’t care for riding on the hip of someone who acted subservient.
Was Trip truly being that? He just didn’t want to make trouble for Rysha. And the plan had been for him to be incognito so he could more easily spy on her father.
Are you all right? Rysha asked silently, touching his hand.
Yes, I just didn’t expect to be recognized. Or have my power recognized, I should say. Azarwrath thinks I should try less hard to quash everything. What do you think? I came to help you. I’m not sure if it’s better to be seen as my normal self or as a powerful sorcerer.