“Sardelle said you were still out here,” Zirkander said, ambling toward Trip.
“Here and my barracks room are the only places I’m legally allowed to be, sir.” Trip’s weary brain kicked into gear, and he realized he needed to salute. He scrambled to his feet to do so.
Zirkander waved for him to sit back down. “I would have guessed a bunk in a barracks room would be a more appealing place to sleep, but then, I haven’t been out here at night. Is that marble floor more comfortable than it looks?”
“No, sir.” Trip sat on the steps again. “The sound of the ocean is nice, and it is peaceful. Damp, but not too cold this time of year.”
Zirkander sat next to him, setting the lantern to one side, then offering Trip the large stoppered brown jug.
“Beer, sir?” Trip asked.
“Beer.”
“I thought you might be coming to give me advice about tomorrow.”
“Beer is much better than advice.” Zirkander removed the stopper and took a swig to demonstrate.
The second time he offered the jug, Trip accepted it and drank. The rich stout flowed down his throat easily. Apparently, generals could afford better beer than captains.
“Though if you want advice, mine would be to get hammered tonight and let tomorrow take care of itself.”
“Tempting, sir, but I’m not convinced tomorrow will take care of anything without my influence. I’m afraid… uhm, Rysha brought me one of the newspapers, so I wouldn’t be surprised when extra accusations came up in the inquest.”
“I’m not sure a newspaper is what I would want my girlfriend to bring me if I was incarcerated in a dragon temple.”
“She also brought cookies.”
“Ah, that’s an improvement.”
“Except that there were only three by the time she got here. I guess Shulina Arya ate the rest. Still, they were good. Cinnamon raisin.”
“If it makes you feel better, the oven is constantly running at my house, and I hardly ever get anything but scraps.”
Zirkander took the jug back and drank again. Maybe he planned to get hammered too. Trip hoped that wasn’t a reflection on how he believed the inquest would turn out.
“I’m not convinced that weapons are the best way to deal with dragons,” Zirkander said. “I’m disappointed that Angulus didn’t take me up on my suggestion of lobbing baked goods onto Cofah shores every week, thus to ensure all dragons would feel compelled to live over there. Sort of like installing a bird feeder.”
“Does he take you up on any of your suggestions, sir?” Trip smiled.
Rysha had described how her meeting with Angulus had gone before and after Zirkander showed up. Trip had been surprised to learn that Angulus didn’t seem to love Zirkander—or his suggestions. The general did have a mouthy streak that not everyone appreciated.
“More often when we’re having private meetings than in front of other people. But this was my suggestion, that you be sent out here for your punishment.” Zirkander thumped him on the arm. “You’re welcome.”
“I can’t be upset since I’ve gotten to work on my project. I am somewhat distressed by how many of Bhrava Saruth’s trysts I’ve had to witness.”
“He trysts out in the open?”
“Often in that throne in the main room. Sometimes in the back—there’s a large bed in his private room, which is full of non-edible things that people have brought him. I have to confess, I didn’t truly think he had worshippers, that anyone fell for that.”
Too late to take back the words, Trip remembered that Zirkander had admitted to following the dragon once. Trip had assumed it was a joke or something done to appease Bhrava Saruth, but who knew?
Zirkander smirked. “I suspect most of them are using him, pretending to worship him in order to get what they need. And I don’t think he cares if his followers’ worship is heartfelt and real or a bit of a sham. He just likes the attention.”
“Multiple times a day, from what I’ve seen.”
“I would have thought you were too busy working outside to notice the attention he gets. Multiple times a day.”
“I was, but I can sense, uhm, strong feelings or emotions. And sometimes, everybody out here can hear the strong feelings of emotion.” Trip took a drink, a long one this time, to wash away the memories.
“I’m sure he’s using his dragonly, uh, what’s it called?”
“Scylori.”
“Right. I’m sure his allure pulls people to him, but he does genuinely heal them and bless them. I’d assumed his blessings would be a joke, but he gave me one three years ago, and I still heal a lot faster than normal. I can nick myself shaving in the morning, and it’s completely healed by the time I get dressed. For you, that’s probably normal, but my blood is plain and boring.”
Trip was glad the people who came to Bhrava Saruth got something out of it and weren’t only being used to satisfy the dragon’s urges. The whole setup with the temple and the fake religion reminded him uncomfortably of Agarrenon Shivar and his cult. Bhrava Saruth seemed much more benign, but Trip still hated the idea of anyone using power to influence other people for their own gain.
As he wondered if he needed to do that very thing tomorrow.
He groaned and dropped his face between his knees.
“I know the beer and the company are good, so I’m going to assume something else is disturbing you,” Zirkander said.
“I’m just conflicted. Tomorrow, do I just sit there like a lump and let my fate be decided by a heartless military judge and some young lieutenant law defender who never even came out to speak to me? Or do I use my power to influence people—the judge, I suppose is the most important one—and make sure things come out in my favor? I know I can walk away at any time, no matter what happens, but then what? I would be an outcast, and I could never come back to my unit, never visit my grandparents in Charkolt, never spend time with Rysha again unless it was in secret… She deserves better than that, than some criminal she has to skulk around to see.”
Tears stung Trip’s eyes, and he looked out at the night and away from Zirkander, embarrassed. He hadn’t wanted to break down in front of his commanding officer.
Zirkander patted him on the back. “I don’t think it’ll come to that. Look, the king is on your side, even if he’s trying to appear like he’s not. He’s got an announcement tomorrow that’s going to give the newspapers something scintillating to talk about, and they’re going to forget all about you and your inquest. I doubt any journalists will even show up. I gather he’s delighted that he got a yes and gets to make the announcement regardless of your situation, but he was pleased to hold off a couple of days and strategically make it tomorrow morning, to take some of the attention off you.”