Ridge sighed to himself. No, even if the powerful dragon’s aura had influenced him somewhat, he, the city, and the country owed Bhrava Saruth a few favors. This was a small price to pay for the help he’d provided.
“With that in mind,” Ridge said, “I went to the tax office and got some maps of the king’s lands. I don’t think we’re going to convince any private individuals to give up property for your temple, though I was tempted to point out to the king that Therrik’s family estate isn’t that far outside the city. It sounds like you would prefer to be as close to the capital as possible.”
“Oh yes. It would be most convenient for my worshippers if my temple were located near your harbor and also near the disembarkation point for your rolling boxes.”
“The train station?” Ridge spread the maps. “It’ll be a challenge to build close to that, since that’s all private land, but I’ve circled a couple of potential spots. This is Crazy Canyon, about twenty miles north of the city. It’s quite breathtaking, especially when you’re zipping around the rock pillars and under the arches at top speed.”
“I remember it. I took you and my high priestess there for your mating ritual.”
“Uh, that was the proposal.” Ridge smiled, fondly remembering how he and Sardelle had ended up atop that arch with a blanket, picnic basket, his promise necklace, and her referatu cuff that she had made for him.
“Did you not mate afterward?”
“Yes, but you weren’t supposed to stay in watch.”
“As I recall, there was some concern that you would, due to your vigorous copulation, roll off the edge of the arch and possibly need saving with magic.”
Ridge could have sworn he was far too old to be embarrassed by anything, but having his copulation concerns echoed back to him by a member of another species seemed grounds for discomfiture.
“Jaxi was going to handle that, but back to the map, eh?”
“Indeed. Crazy Canyon is far too distant a location for my temple. And it’s in a canyon. It would not be visible from your highway or the sea. How would people admire its magnificence?”
“I thought you might like a private location. For the comfort of your followers.” Ridge wondered how many “worshippers” the dragon was up to but decided he didn’t want to ask. It was bad enough Bhrava Saruth counted him among his devotees, no matter how many times Ridge had tried to suggest they should just be friends. The fact that he had been rubbing his wooden dragon figurine for luck for years had cinched it for Bhrava Saruth, who was convinced the charm represented him. “How about a serene location in the Trenchwood Forest?” He used his finger to point at a circled location while covering the nearby small print that said Mirinath Mudslides.
Bhrava Saruth gently pushed his finger aside. “It sounds remote and inhospitable.”
“It’s less than fifteen miles from the city.” Ridge figured his odds of getting Angulus to agree to give up royal land for this endeavor would be better the farther away that land was from his castle.
“What is this circle here?” Bhrava Saruth pointed at the last spot. “It appears quite near your harbor and within walking distance of the city walls, although these cliffs may be difficult to navigate for those who can’t fly. I can, of course, levitate my worshippers down to that small island. That is the location, yes? Not something underwater, I presume? It would take powerful magic to make an underwater location hospitable for humans.”
“I was thinking of the island, yes.” Ridge’s mind boggled at the notion that magic could make an underwater location hospitable to anything except creatures with tentacles and fins. “It’s protected by this inlet with cliffs all around. It might not be as visible as you’d hoped, but it will be private and secluded while being in convenient proximity to the city.”
Ridge thought Angulus might be convinced to give up that island. He’d flown over it countless times and knew it was nothing but rocks and sea lion droppings.
Bhrava Saruth’s blond eyebrows rose. “Sea lion excrement? Really, Ridgewalker.”
“I’m sure it can be cleaned before the temple construction begins. Here are a few sketches I asked a local architect to come up with.” He’d paid a local architect to come up with them. Despite his attempts to persuade the woman that working for a dragon god was its own reward, he’d ended up with an invoice for this side job. At least she had been willing to accept his offer of free beer at his buddy Towee’s tavern as part of the payment. Still, these were only preliminary drawings. It was a good thing he’d accepted that promotion earlier in the summer.
“Hm.” Bhrava Saruth touched a finger to his chin and eyed the offerings as Ridge spread them out.
“They all have room for the statue of yourself that you requested.”
“And a throne?”
“I didn’t know to mention a throne, but I assume furnishings will fit inside. The architect made them large enough for you to go in whether you’re in human or dragon form.”
“Oh excellent. And thoughtful. I like that one there, with the open front and back and the marble columns. Yes, very majestic. Ridgewalker, this is wonderful. I feared you would not take on this task for me, but you truly are a wonderful and devoted worshipper.”
Bhrava Saruth grinned, his shaggy bangs hanging in his eyes, and stepped around the desk with his arms spread. By the time Ridge realized a hug was imminent, enthusiastic arms wrapped around him.
“I’m glad you’re appreciative, but this isn’t necessary,” Ridge said. “Especially when you’re wearing a dress.”
Bhrava Saruth stepped back. “It’s a kryka. A flow-wrap. They’re very popular among the clansmen that live on the southern side of your continent.”
“I’m sure it effectively aerates everything.” Ridge stepped out of the dragon’s embrace and rolled up the map and blueprints. “I’ll take these to the king tomorrow and see if he’ll approve the donation of his island for one of them.”
The other thing he’d been thinking about asking the king came into his mind, and his stomach did a nervous flip. He would have to do it soon if he was going to do it. He’d already asked General Ort to stand at his side in the wedding as one of his kin watchers. If the event had taken place several years ago, he would have asked his old friend Mox to serve as the second kin watcher. Or maybe Digger or Major Antar. But those colleagues had all been lost in the line of duty in the last five or six years. It was distressing to think of all the fellow officers he’d outlived, some of them who had been very good friends.
He knew many of the younger men in Wolf Squadron would be happy to fill in, but he thought of what Sardelle would like. He knew she considered Angulus a friend—one of the first she’d made in this time period—and would be honored to have him at the wedding in some capacity or another. Maybe Ridge should simply ask him as a guest. They had already filled out an invitation for him, one he hadn’t yet delivered. He admitted that he’d like to be able to consider Angulus a friend, and vice versa, especially since they worked together more often now that Ridge was in charge of the flier battalion. Maybe asking him to stand as kin watcher at the wedding would show Angulus that Ridge appreciated him as a king and a leader of the nation. He knew his flippant remarks didn’t always convey that.
“Your king would be foolish not to approve this use for his land,” Bhrava Saruth said. “Surely, having a dragon god’s temple located near his city would bring many people to visit. This would help your economy, would it not? Yes, your king should be very grateful that I wish to reside here and be accessible to my worshippers.”
“I’m sure he thanks the gods every night.”
“He could simply thank me.”
“Do other dragons find your arrogance appealing?” Ridge shook his head and walked toward the door.
“Other dragons are stuffy and humorless. Who would wish to spend time with them to find out what they think?”
“We may be in agreement there.”
Ridge escorted his guest to the door, mentioning
that there were freshly baked dragon horn cookies at the house. He felt guilty foisting Bhrava Saruth off on Sardelle, but he had work to finish and a request to rehearse. Assuming he got up the courage to do it. Why was asking the king to stand at his side in his wedding far more daunting than facing enemy soldiers, pirates, or even dragons?
“Do you need your pokey doohickey yet?”
Tolemek cocked an eyebrow at Cas as he carefully stirred the gooey green compound gurgling in a ceramic crucible over his Micon Burner. She had stopped by to visit him in the lab on her way home from work, which brightened his evening tremendously, especially since it would be a couple more hours before he could break away from his current project.
“It’s called a volumetric pipet,” he said.
“Imagine my embarrassment at not knowing that.”
“In a gathering of scientists, you would be ridiculed.”
“Even if I was carrying my Mark 500?”
“Ah, perhaps not.” Tolemek doubted many academics would mock someone who toted a sniper rifle around more comfortably than other women carried purses. “They would be too scared to ridicule you then.” He smiled, came around to Cas’s side of the table, and draped an arm around her shoulders. “Fortunately, I’m not so easily scared.”
“Not at all?” She returned his smile, but hers held a hint of mischievousness, and she promptly poked him in the stomach with the pipet.
“Certainly not. I have means of defending myself.” He grabbed a pencil and brandished it fiercely, and they engaged in a lively fencing match.
When they broke apart, he was tempted to give her a kiss, but he stank of chemicals and was wearing rubber gloves. He would probably get something else poked if he tried.
But she surprised him by rising onto her tiptoes and kissing him. It warmed his heart, and he was tempted to finish up his project early for the night. Especially since he’d forgotten to turn on the vent fan, and it was starting to stink.
Cas must have thought so, too, because she broke the kiss and cocked an eyebrow toward the steaming concoction. “What are you making? It smells like burning rubber.”
“It’s an experimental explosive that will have a malleable body, not dissimilar to putty, with a slight adhesive integrated into it, so it can be adhered to walls and other vertical surfaces. I haven’t started working on a detonator yet, but Captain Kaika did give me some ideas.” Tolemek pointed to an open notebook with sketches in it.
Cas crinkled her nose. “I thought you’d shifted away from using your power and knowledge to create weapons and had started making medical and healing goos that help people.”
It amused Tolemek somewhat that Cas preferred it when he worked on innocuous substances when she was herself so deadly, both with her sniper rifle and with her flier’s machine guns. Not that she’d ever suggested she enjoyed killing people. She was just efficient at it, like her assassin father, Ahnsung.
But Cas knew Tolemek’s past as well as any and that he deeply regretted that one of his creations had been used to kill hundreds of innocent people. He knew her concern was as much for his soul as for the people the Iskandian army might kill with the formulas he invented.
“Captain Kaika informs me that explosives are tools, not weapons,” Tolemek said.
Kaika had been with King Angulus when Tolemek had been called to the castle for the meeting where they had discussed the possibility of inventing something like this. Tolemek wouldn’t be surprised to learn that it had originally been Kaika’s idea, and that Angulus had commissioned it, at least in part, to make her happy. He had been late to realize it, but they had been a romantic couple for many months. An unlikely pairing, he thought, but then, who would have thought he, a former Cofah military officer and alchemist pirate, would fall in love with an Iskandian fighter pilot?
“Captain Kaika has blown up a lot of airships and people with her tools,” Cas said.
“She does seem adept at that. The king also ordered more healing salves and burn ointments from me, in addition to a lubricant that I came up with by accident that’s proving useful for maintaining steam vehicles. I can’t complain about a lack of work. In addition, I’m receiving a lot of orders for my personal grooming products.”
“The pimple cream?” Cas smiled again.
Tolemek liked seeing those smiles and was pleased there had been more of them lately. She seemed to have recovered, at least in part, from her accidental role in killing one of her fellow pilots that spring, but she still tended toward the grave. Even when she delivered jokes, her tone was so deadpan that Tolemek wasn’t always sure they were jokes.
“Pore Cleansing Tincture Number Two is indeed proving effective.”
“So I’ve heard from Lieutenant Pimples. We may have to give him a new nickname soon.”
“I am surprised how quickly the word has gotten out among students and young soldiers. It’s resulted in a great many orders. I’m actually falling behind in production, and it’s not leaving me much time for inventing new substances, which is, as you know, my passion. Even if it’s not in and of itself profitable. I wouldn’t have made the time to work on this for anyone else but the king.” Tolemek waved at the compound as he stirred it. “I’ve been thinking of taking on an assistant. I don’t suppose you’re interested in resigning your commission and coming to work for me.”
“Stirring your goos?”
“Bottling them. Creating labels, taking orders, cleaning up around the shop.”
Her nose crinkled again.
“Don’t tell me you don’t have to clean things at work now. I used to have to buff floors, scrub latrines, and clip grass in the Cofah army. I haven’t observed that the Iskandian military is much different.”
“Yes, but we get to fly after we clean things. Maybe Tylie would like to help out and earn some extra money.”
“She’s starting some formal schooling in town this fall in addition to the studies she’s doing with Sardelle. What should have been a typical Cofah education for her was interrupted by the years she spent in that asylum. I do have her do a few duties from time to time, so she can earn a little money.” Tolemek turned and pulled a label off a stack on the shelves behind him. “She came up with the artwork for this.”
Cas came around to his side of the table to examine the image, a waterfall flowing from the snow-capped Ice Blades and into a pristine forest pool. At the bottom read Pore Cleansing Tincture Number 2.
“That is certainly the most beautiful pimple cream label I’ve ever seen,” Cas said.
“You have an aversion to using the proper names for my formulas, don’t you?”
She smiled again. “I told you I would use the proper names when you started giving them more interesting and creative names.”
“Being clear is better than being creative.”
“Uh huh. Put marketing director on your list of people to hire.”
“Sales are exploding. I hardly think I need marketing help.”
“I suppose it helps you that the only competition out there sears off your skin and facial hair more than it removes pimples.”
“You know this from experience?” Tolemek had never known Cas to have anything except clear skin, assuming one didn’t count the freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks.
“One summer at camp, the boys I competed with at marksmanship competitions were teasing me for having targets on my face.”
“I presume you got your revenge by out-shooting them.”
“I did do that. I also decided it would be a good idea to sneak into the boys’ tent and pour honey in the boots of the ringleader. In the hope that a bear would come visit him in the middle of the night.”
“Did it work?” Tolemek wouldn’t have guessed that his mature pilot would have played such pranks, even in her teenage years.
“Not exactly. I didn’t realize one of the instructors was also sleeping in that tent. He was the one who was most startled by a bear pushing its way in. He ran out screaming, tripped, and roll
ed down a hill and broke his arm. Nobody knew who’d put the honey in the tent, but I felt too guilty to stew more than two hours before running to the lead instructor and confessing everything. This led to a stern letter being sent to my father and a long lecture when I got home, during which he informed me that it didn’t matter what buffoons thought of me and that I should be above returning insults with insults. Or insults with pranks.”
“And so you have been ever since?” Tolemek hadn’t adored his own father, especially after he’d stuck Tylie in that sanitarium, but he thought having the humorless Ahnsung as a father might have been even worse.
“I suppose.” Cas handed the label back to him. “Are you coming home for dinner? I can pick up something from the Dakrovian deli on the way.”
Home. Hearing her use the word to refer to the small house they had rented warmed his heart. They had been living together for most of the summer, and he still found the domestic quaintness appealing. He hadn’t realized how much he could enjoy something as simple as sharing a home with another person. Flying around on airships full of scruffy pirates hadn’t filled him with a sense of domestic bliss.
Lately, he’d caught himself wondering what it would be like to have children tramping around the place and kicking balls around in the garden out back. He hadn’t broached the subject with Cas. They hadn’t even truly broached the subject of marriage. He knew that she liked her career and wouldn’t likely give it up to stay home and raise children, so he had been hesitant to speak of it.
“Tolemek? Are you stuck debating the merits of sliced beef versus traditional Dakrovian alligator steaks?”
“Sorry, no. The deli is a good idea. Maybe once I get an assistant, I can leave earlier a couple of days a week and attempt to cook us a meal myself.” He was somewhat amused that neither of them ever prepared the meals they shared. When she’d been growing up, her father had kept a maid, a cook, and a butler, and Cas had said he’d deemed it more important to teach her to use weapons than measuring cups. “My mother showed me some of the basics long ago,” he added. “She promised that knowing how to prepare meals would endear me to women.”
Oaths (Dragon Blood, Book 8) Page 2
