Rysha hadn’t intended to evoke any promises from him—especially if he had been the one man in that group on the highway who’d been unwilling to throw Trip to the wolves—but after pausing to let them pass, he hurried to catch up and walk at her side.
“I’ll make sure he does what you asked,” Jhag said quietly. “I think the threat of never speaking again will be enough to convince him, but if it’s not…” He spread his hand. “I was there that night. I saw what happened. I didn’t want to speak against my own brother, but everything he’s been doing lately, including trying to get your family’s estate—not to mention the Orehills’ and the Tenderwoods’ estates—has been against my wishes. It isn’t what Grandfather would have wanted, and it’s not honorable.”
“Good,” Rysha said as they reached the door, surprised at this unexpected support. “Thank you.”
He nodded and showed her—and her tiger—out with a deferential manner. But Rysha wouldn’t know until tomorrow if anything she had done here would truly have an effect. Maybe Lockvale simply wouldn’t show up and the charges would stand. Maybe the man wasn’t that attached to his voice anyway. Or maybe he would come in with a list of accusations that now included Rysha’s nighttime visit. Noble blood or not, she could end up in a cell right next to Trip’s for this.
“We’ll see in the morning,” she murmured.
Whatever happened, at least she had done everything she could.
23
The military police escorted Trip up the walkway toward the one-story Army Justice Headquarters, a humorless brick building at the back of the fort, standing in the shadow of the bluff that held the flier hangars. Trip gazed up wistfully, feeling homesick for his cockpit and the chatter of Wolf Squadron as the pilots went off on training exercises.
That feeling intensified as he watched six fliers taking off. For training? Or because some threat approached?
Trip stretched out with his senses, checking for unfamiliar dragons. He sensed Bhrava Saruth, miles to the north and still at his temple, then Phelistoth near Sardelle’s house. He hadn’t sensed the bronze dragon Telmandaroo for several days and assumed he’d gone back to his pirate islands. Shulina Arya’s parents weren’t within range. He had no idea where they went when they weren’t here reporting to the king or tinkering with ancient technology. Shulina Arya herself was closer than Trip expected, a few miles away and flying toward the city.
Currently, he didn’t sense any other dragons, which was a relief. He’d been checking often for the gold that had spied on him three days earlier.
That morning, Trip had left Tolemek mounting the rocket launchers. The platform was almost ready for a trial run, but as long as it was on the ground without those weapons installed, it would be vulnerable to sabotage.
One of the police escorting Trip cleared his throat and jerked his thumb toward the front door. He didn’t say, “Quit dawdling,” because he was a sergeant and Trip was an officer, but Trip sensed the words among his surface thoughts.
Informing the man that he was searching for signs of enemy dragons probably wouldn’t win him any lenience. Trip quickened his pace, telling himself the sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could return to his project. And once that was done, he could return to the squadron and his flier.
Assuming this inquest didn’t go poorly.
The police marched him inside and down a drab hallway. They entered a room with two rows of chairs in the back behind a railing, chairs and tables in the middle, and a raised dais and throne-like seat in the front with a stool on either side. Nobody was up there yet, but the chairs in the back were surprisingly full given the early hour. General Zirkander sat next to Sardelle, Blazer, Duck, Pimples, and Leftie—Trip had barely spoken to Leftie because he’d been so busy of late—along with a few Tiger Squadron pilots that Trip had worked with a few times.
Seeing the group there—to support him or even testify?—warmed his heart. Of course, they were so busy reading newspapers that they didn’t seem to notice him come in. Only Leftie, who was twirling his lucky ball on its chain, spotted him. He grinned and ambled over, bumping one of the guards in the shoulder, perhaps not by accident.
“Want to kiss my balls, Trip?”
The guard’s eyebrows flew up.
“Balls?” Trip asked. “Is there more than one now?”
“There always was.” Leftie winked and stuck a hand in his pocket. “But if you’re referring to the metal ones, I’ve added a lovely tungsten luck ball to my collection. You see, the melting point of tungsten is almost twice that of gold, which my other ball is mostly made from. After my near miss with that flame-happy dragon last week, I was concerned about my lucky ball melting, so I had a backup made.”
“The lucky ball you keep in your pocket?”
“Yes. Now I keep two.”
“Don’t you think you’ll melt before the gold does?” Trip was pleased that he didn’t see any signs of the burns Leftie had suffered the week before. He’d been certain that he and Azarwrath could heal the injuries, but he had been less certain they could prevent scar tissue. He hadn’t seen Major Kaika in the last week and hoped she, too, was free of scars.
“If I do, I hope you’ll be around to un-melt me.” Leftie thumped him on the shoulder, then held up his new ball on its chain.
“I’m not kissing that,” Trip said, though Leftie’s offer made him happy—as did the fact that Leftie seemed perfectly willing to be healed by him these days. How far they had come.
“It’s lucky. You might need luck today.”
Do not do it, Telryn. No self-respecting mighty sorcerer should be seen leaving lip moistness on a metal ball.
Azarwrath? Trip checked with his senses and realized both Jaxi and Azarwrath were in their scabbards and tucked between the chairs that Sardelle and General Zirkander occupied.
Naturally. I came to ensure that you wouldn’t do something foolish like letting yourself be hanged because you were afraid to use your powers in a morally questionable way.
And also to make sure you don’t kiss Leftie’s balls, Jaxi added. I know Azzy was concerned about that.
Trip smiled for the first time in… he didn’t know how long. He’d missed Azarwrath’s company—and Jaxi’s, too, though he’d never expected her to be a permanent part of his life. A couple of times, he’d thought about slipping over to Sardelle’s house at night to pick up the soulblade, but the military police had come to the temple at least twice a day to check on him. If they had come and he hadn’t been there or in his barracks, he would have been relegated to a jail cell again. Also, they would have objected if their prisoner had been wandering around with a sword.
“How about you just kiss it for me?” Trip said. “And then rub some of your luck on me.”
“You want me to rub you? That’s disgusting.”
“But kissing balls isn’t?”
“Of course not.”
A throat cleared behind Trip, and he sensed Rysha walking up. He turned to face her, his smile widening.