Trip shrugged and walked out.
Even though Rysha had argued for him to cooperate, she flexed her hands in distress as she watched the big men turn him around and handcuff his wrists behind his back. She was the only reason Trip was in this situation. If not for her, he never would have crossed paths with Lockvale.
“I hardly think that’s necessary,” Sardelle said, then lowered her voice, “or going to be effective if he wants to escape.”
Trip smiled sadly back at her, and then at Rysha, holding her gaze longer.
“Ow,” one of the men yelped, yanking his hand back.
“What’d he do?” another asked, reaching for his pistol.
“It was the sword. It’s baking hot. You can’t touch it.”
“Witch sword,” one of the men in the yard whispered, making superstitious gestures.
“Remove it and hand it to us, Captain,” the MP captain said.
“If a soulblade doesn’t want you to hold it, you won’t be able to hold it,” Trip said.
“Well, you can’t keep a weapon. It’s against official arrest procedure.”
“Even I can’t make Azarwrath do anything against his will.”
“Az-what?”
“The sword.”
“Take it off and leave it here then.”
Trip slumped at the order, his chin drooping to his chest. Would he comply?
Storyteller, are you sure these men don’t need to be incinerated? They are having unpleasant thoughts toward your mate.
I know. And no. They’re in the same army as we are.
Perhaps this army should be pruned of substandard soldiers.
By incineration?
Indeed!
After a long minute—and perhaps a conversation with Azarwrath—Trip magically unbuckled the scabbard and floated it to Sardelle. She accepted it gravely.
“How come she can touch it?” the soldier with the burned hand grumbled.
“Because she’s Zirkander’s witch,” a man in the back muttered.
Sardelle’s eyes tightened at the corners, but that was her only acknowledgment of the comment.
The MPs led Trip to a steam wagon, the back half designed to hold prisoners. Rysha curled her fingers into fists as he was put inside with a couple of soldiers to guard him, as if he were a criminal. The vehicle trundled away, belching black smoke from its stack, and rolled up the street until it disappeared from view.
Sardelle laid a hand on Rysha’s shoulder. “Ridge will get him out as soon as he’s able. Jaxi already told him what happened. He’s swamped in the aftermath of the battle—he didn’t get any sleep last night—but he promised he’ll collect Trip as soon as the work day is over.”
Rysha nodded. “Thank you, ma’am, but I intend to fix this even before then.”
“Oh?” Sardelle asked, sounding a touch wary.
“I’m going to see the king.”
The golden ferret on Rysha’s shoulder rose up on her hind legs and chittered.
“And so is Shulina Arya.”
Rysha thought Sardelle might consider this a rash action and try to dissuade her.
All she said was, “Perhaps if she were to take a more imposing form, it might help you gain an audience more quickly.”
“We’ll discuss it on the way over.”
Shulina Arya hopped off Rysha’s shoulder, ran out the door, and turned into a dragon on the walkway.
“Or we’ll make a decision right now,” Rysha amended.
One of the babies cried up in the nursery—hungry for breakfast, no doubt. Rysha was surprised they’d been quiet all through her conversation with Trip.
“I shall wish you luck then,” Sardelle said. “And if you see Ridge today…” She eyed the empty plates and mugs around her living room. “Tell him we need more groceries, whenever he gets a chance.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
18
The door clanged shut, and the corporal who’d been left to stick Trip in his cell turned the key.
Trip wondered if the military police had any idea how easily he could unlock a lock with his mind. The bars were made of steel, not iron, and certainly not the tainted iron from the Rakgorath quarry, so they wouldn’t be an impediment.
But, as Rysha had pointed out, sneaking out and disappearing would make him look guilty. He would stay for now and see what happened. He wanted to finish his drawings, regardless. Maybe Rysha would come by to check his math—too bad they hadn’t gotten a chance for that earlier. Magic made manipulating metal and powering engines much easier, but he still had to have the physics right if he wanted his contraption to stay in the sky.
“May I have my drawings and pencils back?” Trip asked politely as the guard backed away.
They had removed his handcuffs, but failed to return the items he’d had in his pocket and, most importantly, his work. Had Azarwrath been there, he would have said something about the indignity of a sorcerer allowing such things to be done to him. But the soulblade was back with Sardelle for now. Even though he wasn’t as chatty as Jaxi, Trip found he already missed Azarwrath’s companionship. Or mentorship, as the soulblade would no doubt call it.
“Captain said to keep your stuff locked up in the evidence room.”
“The drawings I’m working on, blueprints for a weapons platform prototype, may help with the defense of the country.”
“Sure they will, Captain. Pilots are known to be genius scientists.”
“I have some mechanical aptitude,” Trip said, attempting to subtly influence the soldier with his power. He let his aura seep out as well, in case it helped. “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with letting me have some paper in here, is there?”
The soldier met his eyes, his mouth drooping open. He seemed entranced, but mustered another argument. “It might be witchy paper.”
“It’s just paper. I’m the witch. Though the more correct term is sorcerer. Bring the papers, please.”
“I’ll bring the papers, please.” The corporal disappeared around a corner and headed into the main building.
Trip kept a mental finger on the man’s mind, not letting up on the influence, though he always found it disconcerting when people lost their autonomy and obeyed. Creepy, Major Kaika would have called it.
He wondered if it was selfish to hope that Kaika would feel fondly toward him after he’d healed her the night before, and that in her fondness, she would speak of him to the king. In a positive way. A simple, “You should probably let Captain Trip go,” might be sufficient. Presumably, she had his ear, since she had his lips.
The guard returned, his expression still dazed, and slid the papers between the bars. Trip took them and the pens and pencils that followed.
“Is there anything else you need, Captain?” The guard bowed his head, his tone so deferential that Trip almost let go of all influence, his discomfort at manipulating someone returning in full. But he didn’t want the man to remember himself and insist on taking the papers back.
“No, Corporal. Thank you for your assistance. Return to your duty.”