Storyteller?
Yes, Shulina Arya. Reluctantly, Rysha lowered her arms and stepped away, though he hadn’t dampened down his aura, and she found it difficult to walk away from him instead of toward him. Thank you for trying to catch the silver. Maybe next time, we can set a trap. It’s my understanding that this dragon has been harassing my family.
A trap? Trip mused.
Goodness, did I give you something besides apple pickers to fantasize about?
Maybe.
She patted him on the arm, found his hand, and led him toward the dragon.
Your mate looks much healthier, Storyteller.
Rysha felt a moment of confusion before she realized Shulina Arya must mean Trip’s aura. Of course, she would have the ability to sense it too.
You think he should let his scylori out all the time?
Of course. This is natural.
Rysha looked at Trip, suspecting he’d heard that. Would he change? She didn’t know.
10
Trip walked into General Zirkander’s office, his guts twisting with the usual nerves. He’d been called up here numerous times now, but he still didn’t find anything ordinary or blasé about it. So far, Zirkander had always had a mission for him. Would he this time too? Trip would happily go on a mission, but for once, he wouldn’t have minded staying home. He was worried that Rysha’s family was in trouble, and he wanted time to find out what was going on. And maybe build a dragon trap.
“Morning, Trip.” Zirkander stood behind his desk with a mug of coffee in hand and a folder open. “We’re waiting for a couple more, and then we’ll start.”
Trip looked toward the other person—being—in the office, having sensed his presence long before he entered the citadel. Bhrava Saruth was in his golden ferret form, lying in an early morning sunbeam slashing through the window and onto the sofa. All four of his legs were in the air.
“Bhrava Saruth is not a morning dragon,” Zirkander said.
“I’m surprised he doesn’t have you rubbing his belly, sir.”
“Generals have lieutenants around to pet the dragons if needed.”
He was rubbing it earlier, Bhrava Saruth said sleepily into Trip’s mind. My high priestess’s mate is a most agreeable worshipper. He helped with the construction of my temple, you know.
I hear generals have to be versatile and have many skills. Maybe one day, Trip would find the courage to ask Zirkander if he truly considered himself one of Bhrava Saruth’s worshippers, but not today.
Indeed. And amenable hands.
Zirkander tilted his head. “Did you get your hair cut, Trip? You look different.”
“No, sir.” After his talk the night before with Rysha, Trip had decided to very subtly let some of his aura show to see if it changed anything. Maybe people like Colonel Therrik would treat him slightly better if they sensed he had some magical competency. But Zirkander hadn’t ever treated him disrespectfully so Trip didn’t know if anything would change with him. “I did comb it.”
“That must be it. Regulations do encourage that.”
Bhrava Saruth opened a green eye and looked over at Trip, but didn’t make further comments.
Trip sensed more people walking down the hallway to the office and stepped aside, happy to ride in the back seat for whatever mission assignment was coming.
Captain Ahn strode in, her sniper rifle strapped on her back, and she was followed by Dr. Targoson, who carried a satchel. Trip hadn’t spoken much to the man outside of their meeting at Sardelle’s house the night of the uncorking, as it were.
“Morning, Ahn,” Zirkander said. “Tee, you have my acid for me?”
“I’m still not a pharmacy, Zirkander,” Targoson growled.
“Are you sure? I have a memo here that says to keep copies of purchase orders sent to Deathmaker Pharmaceutical.” Zirkander held up a paper.
Frowning, Targoson walked to the desk to look at it. “This says Daybreak Medicinal. That’s the name of the business I formed to facilitate deliveries of my healing formulas to parties willing to pay.”
“Unfortunate initials, don’t you think?”
“Not to those who can read. Perhaps you need a vision correction.”
“Oh? Do you have a cream for that?”
Trip stirred, remembering his thoughts the night before when he’d been with Rysha. Mostly, he’d been contemplating how to get more information from Lord Lockvale, but he’d also been wondering, not for the first time, if he could learn to heal her vision so she wouldn’t need spectacles.
Targoson opened his satchel and pulled out a number of devices that looked like fragile grenades.
“Designed to break open on impact,” he said. “But Cas tells me the sword makes her averse to touching my dragon-blood-using formulas and devices, when she’s using it, so you may need someone else along who can throw them.”
Targoson extended a hand toward her—Ahn had moved over to the couch, or perhaps been drawn over to it, and was rubbing Bhrava Saruth’s belly.
“If Therrik wields Kasandral and Captain Ahn flies,” Zirkander said, “she can throw them.”
Targoson’s lips thinned in disapproval, though Trip didn’t know if it was at the idea of Ahn flying and throwing things at the same time or if it was for Therrik. Trip admitted he would be content not to go on any more missions with the man. Therrik hadn’t thanked him for helping in that stairwell or for healing him afterward. His concession to calling Trip Dragon Man instead of Dragon Boy had been the only change. And Trip suspected that had been more of a concession to Colonel Grady and his rhyming preferences.
“Perhaps Colonel Grady and his sword would be appropriate for this mission, sir,” Trip caught himself saying, even though he had no idea what the mission was yet. Well, not no idea. He’d caught Zirkander thinking of dropping the grenades onto a gold dragon’s head as Tolemek had been laying out the devices.
As soon as Zirkander looked at him, eyebrows arching, Trip blushed. Captains weren’t supposed to give their opinions when generals were assigning missions.
“Did you have a problem with Therrik in Portsnell?” Zirkander asked.
“He was just brusque. And called me Dragon Boy.” Trip’s cheeks warmed further. Surely, those were not legitimate reasons to object to a fellow officer’s presence on a mission.
“Be happy he didn’t run you through with Kasandral,” Ahn said, eyeing Trip. “You’re noticeably… dragony."
Her eyeing turned into a squint, and Trip wondered if she would also ask if he’d gotten a haircut.
Dragony? Bhrava Saruth asked, still stretched out in the sun on his back, one leg twitching as Ahn stroked his belly. This is a marvelous thing to be. You humans should all learn to appreciate the wonderfulness of dragons. In particular, dragon gods. Under the armpit, yes?
Zirkander blinked. “I’m hoping that last suggestion was for you, Ahn.”