“The Trip who is being accused of attempted murder.”
“Lockvale’s doing that to save his own reputation. He should be on trial here, but because he started this hubbub, nobody seems to remember that he was up to sleazy practices, even my own family, the one targeted by said practices.” Rysha realized she was yelling, and she took a deep breath, struggling for control. She had planned to be measured and rational, not bellow at her mother.
A throat cleared in the hallway. Her father had joined Aunt Tadelay in the doorway.
“We haven’t forgotten, honey. I certainly haven’t.” He shared a nod with Tadelay. “But like your accused officer, we lack evidence. It would be our word against his if we attempted to press charges. And since nobody ever saw him with this silver dragon, nobody who has come forward about it, there’s nothing to link him to it in the eyes of the law. Further, as you know, all the noble landowners in the region know each other and interact with each other regularly. Starting feuds never went well in the past, and it’s not something I wish to do now, not over this. He was stopped, it seems, and with the dragon gone, we can get our workers back.”
“He was stopped because of Trip,” Rysha said, turning to look into all three sets of eyes.
“Actually, he was stopped because of you and your dragon, was he not?” Aunt Tadelay asked.
“We never would have caught that silver without Trip’s help. He was creating magical walls so the silver had to turn. You were outside, Father. You saw that, right? The silver was too fast otherwise.”
“Hm,” her father said neutrally.
“Listen,” Rysha said, “you don’t have to love him or think he’s the right person for me.” Though she wished they would. “I’m just asking for someone to come to the city tomorrow and testify, to talk about the pressure Lockvale has been putting on the family to sell.”
Father sighed. Mother fiddled with one of the books on the desk.
Rysha’s shoulders slumped. It was such a small favor to ask, but maybe she’d been foolish to think her family would come through for her. It wasn’t as if she’d received any approval from them these last few years. Why did she even bother coming home? It was a waste of time.
She pushed past her father, not caring that her shoulder rammed against his, and hurried into the hallway.
She had almost reached the front door when Aunt Tadelay stopped her by calling her name. Rysha looked warily back at her, her hands in her pockets and her shoulders hunched. If anything, her aunt probably wanted to chastise her for stomping out without asking permission to leave or saying goodbye. A proper lady didn’t do such rude things.
“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Aunt Tadelay said.
For several seconds, Rysha stared at her, not understanding. “You’ll come to the city? To the army fort? For Trip?”
“For you.” Aunt Tadelay pursed her lips. “If your Trip is a sorcerer, I don’t think he needs my help.”
“He won’t use his powers for his own personal gain. He has morals and ethics.”
“No wonder he’s being picked on by Lockvale. I will be there to say exactly what I think of him and what slimy scandalous things he’s been involved with, not just in regard to attempting to acquire our land, but in his relationships with other nobles as well.” Aunt Tadelay’s eyes narrowed.
Rysha suddenly wondered how much dirt she had on Lockvale. And on everyone in the nobility for that matter.
“As for your virile sorcerer… Dear, I feel like you have the power to make this problem go away and you’re not using it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you not just complete elite army training that allows you to pulverize men with your fists?”
“Yes, but—”
“And do you not have some kind of magical sword? And a great golden dragon that breathes fire and rips lesser beings into tiny pieces indistinguishable from the blood meal our gardener sprinkles on the lilac bushes?”
“Technically, yes, but—”
“No, no buts. You are a grown woman with more resources than any woman has likely ever had in the history of women. Go and deal with Lockvale yourself.”
“By turning him into blood meal? If I do that, you’ll end up testifying at my inquest.”
“Just tell him you’ll do that. That your dragon will incinerate him if he doesn’t drop the charges against your captain.”
“You think I should threaten him?” Rysha wasn’t horrified by the suggestion so much as she was startled that her aunt was the one making it.
“Of course not, dear. The nobility aren’t so crass. You pressure him. Imply that if he doesn’t tell the truth, your dragon will breathe fire all over him.”
“How is that different from a threat?”
“Because you’re a noble lady. Ladies don’t make threats.”
“I…”
Aunt Tadelay shooed her toward the door. “Run along. Deal with him before it gets late. It’s terribly rude to visit after dark, you know.”
“Right, a threat should be made before sundown. To be polite.”
“Pressure, dear. Pressure.”
Trip yawned and sat down on the temple steps, looking out over his project as dusk deepened.
He’d completed and installed the four engines that would spin the massive propellers that would keep the platform in the air, along with eight crystalline energy sources he’d created. The design had been inspired by the referatu light devices that powered the fliers, but intended from the beginning to provide power for an engine. Trip had also imbued them with chapaharii-sword-like magic to allow them to work alongside the tainted iron. He hoped they would be effective and that they would last, but he had to admit he’d created them intuitively, without much reliance on math or engineering, and time would be the ultimate test. As would their first attempt to lift the platform into the air.
A lot of finishing touches remained such as places for soldiers to be protected from the weather—and dragon fire—when manning the weapons, and the rocket launchers themselves needed to be mounted and tested. But the bare bones were there. And he was exhausted. His brain hurt and even his body hurt from bending over and working. On top of all the mental and physical labor, his inquest was tomorrow.
He groaned and flopped back onto the marble floor of the temple.
Someone in uniform was walking toward him with a lantern in one hand and a jug in the other. General Zirkander.
Trip was surprised to see him. He had let everyone else go for the night, since they were almost done except for the fine work that required good lighting and rested minds. Even Bhrava Saruth had gone off somewhere, perhaps to be worshipped by one of his nubile female devotees. Trip had been alone for the last hour, trying not to think about what he would do in the morning. He had to go to the inquest—there was no doubt about that—but should he use his power to attempt to influence people? Or would that backfire on him and provide support for the opposition’s arguments about how vile sorcerers were?
Maybe General Zirkander would have some advice.