“You could go on diplomatic missions and pretend you’re there to be decorative and sign things on the king’s behalf, then go snooping around in people’s castles and palaces.”
Kaika tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I do like snooping. All right, good. This has given me some hope that a marriage could work out.”
Rysha smirked.
“What?” Kaika asked.
“I’m amused that you were concerned until I suggested diplomatic snooping and assassins coming after you.”
“I don’t want to be bored or surrounded by insufferable people I have to pretend I like. I’ve never been good at that.”
“Talk to my Aunt Tadelay sometime,” Rysha said. “She’s a firm fixture in the nobility, and she never pretends to like anyone. She’ll let you know exactly what she thinks. Unless she walks in on you naked and having sex. That has a tendency to fluster her.”
Kaika arched her eyebrows. “Is this something that happened to you? Recently?”
“Possibly.”
“You do know one of the first rules of sex is to lock the door, don’t you?”
“We weren’t planning to—I mean, we were going out on a date, not staying and—er, things just happened.”
Maybe Aunt Tadelay wasn’t the only one who got flustered when discussing such things.
“I suppose it’s good that Zirkander is going to let your randy captain out of jail, though less good that you’ll have to go to a dragon temple to visit him. Do temples have doors that lock?”
“I don’t know, ma’am, but he’ll be so busy building his project, he’ll probably be immune to the suggestion of being dragged off behind locked doors.”
“You just have to be assertive. And know how to distract a man. I can give you some tips.”
“That’s not necessary, ma’am.”
“No? You’ve given me helpful advice. It only seems fair.”
Rysha looked toward a window, hoping Shulina Arya would be back to collect her—or rescue her—soon.
20
Trip had never been so tired in his life. An atypical heat wave had come in, drying up the spring rains, and hot sun beat on his back as he manipulated metal with his mind. Over and over and over. He felt like an athlete training for competition. Would all this practice at manipulating elements turn him into a more efficient mage? Or would it simply melt his brain into mush?
Clangs and bangs came from elsewhere on the flat rocky lot behind Bhrava Saruth’s temple. It hadn’t been flat enough to work on when Trip had arrived four days earlier, so his first effort had gone into leveling it. Now, the base of his massive structure stretched over it, lightweight despite its substantial length and width. In the end, an airship would be able to land on the platform, if necessary, or an entire company of soldiers could be taken up to fight from it. The weapons that would perch atop towers along the outside perimeter were being constructed elsewhere in the temple. Trip would soon start to work on the engines and the massive propellers and housings that would keep the platform aloft.
“I need more dragon blood,” came a call from the temple.
That sounded like Dr. Targoson.
Since Trip was the project manager, he assumed all orders, questions, and complaints were meant for him. He left the seam he was smoothing and trotted inside, glad for a chance to escape the heat.
A few of the men working on the structure glanced his way, but none of them objected to him leaving. So far, his team was working out well. They were mostly army engineers, men with experience building bridges, military fortifications, and all manner of related structures. He also had a few civilian smiths and metalworkers from the capital.
Everyone was sleeping at the temple and had strict orders not to speak with anyone outside about the project. The king worried that some of their enemy dragons, especially the group that had stolen one of the chapaharii blades and proved willing to use trickery to gain what they wanted, would find out about the platform and sabotage it before it was built. Until the weapons were installed, the structure would be vulnerable. Trip hoped his belief that other dragons would avoid Bhrava Saruth’s temple because they found him annoying proved true. The island it was built on lay a few miles north of the city in an inlet in the cliffs. A dragon flying directly overhead would be able to see down to the yard where they worked, but a dragon simply flying down the coast wouldn’t notice the area.
It is highly inappropriate for a dragon god’s worshippers to wish samples of his blood, Trip caught Bhrava Saruth saying as he stepped into the cool shade under the high arches and stone ceiling of the main temple. Did we not agree that samples from those bronze dragons that have been loitering around would be sufficient?
“They’re not here,” Dr. Targoson said, frowning back at Bhrava Saruth.
Targoson had a number of tables set up in a back corner of the temple with laboratory equipment stretched across them. The rocket housings and the beginnings of a rocket launcher rested on the floor nearby, but he was working on creating more acid now. A compact burner heated a ceramic pot of the stuff, and sulfurous steam arose, making Trip wrinkle his nose.
“I may be able to find them and ask them to come,” Trip said, walking up to the table. “I’ve noticed our dragon helpers have been scarce since the tainted ore arrived.”
“I’d like to be scarce.” Targoson pushed back the tangled locks of dark hair that tended to fall into his eyes.
“Because you don’t approve of the project? Or because the ore is bothering you?” Trip had it locked in iron boxes currently. He could sense it, but it wasn’t giving him the constant headache that came with more direct exposure. He would have to oversee the part of the project where it was woven into the structure of the platform and the rocket housings, and he dreaded that.
“Because that dragon seems to believe that everyone who’s here working is officially one of his worshippers now. Earlier, he was wandering around asking what offerings people had brought today.”
“I’ll have to order some baked goods to be delivered for him and our other helpers.” Trip hoped he could get the army to pay for that. He’d learned that his own pay had been put on hold pending the outcome of the inquest.
“I understand sheep are acceptable too.”
“They don’t come in tidy bags with paper napkins.”
“I’ve yet to see a dragon use a napkin. I imagine they just magically clean themselves off.”
Trip remembered his attempt at mud removal. “Do you not?”
He knew that Targoson had dragon blood in his veins and sensed him drawing upon his power while he worked on the acid.
“Use magic for bathing? No. I don’t use it for much of anything. Sardelle taught me to levitate a pencil and light a lantern with my mind, but I haven’t had time to learn much else. This—” he waved at the bubbling pot over the burner, “—I do intuitively. Much like you manipulate metal, I imagine.”
Trip nodded.
“It comes easier than the other stuff for me,” Targoson added.