Oaths (Dragon Blood, Book 8)

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Well, I’ve had your sandwiches.”

  One of which had been tainted with a truth serum he’d concocted. They both grimaced, and he was sure they were sharing the memory.

  “I didn’t make that one,” he said. “My captain did. But perhaps a hearty and robust Ergrotton spicy stew would be more palatable. I just need a day off since it takes a long time to cook.”

  He vowed to take a day off sometime. Funny how he worked longer hours now that he worked for himself than he had back in his army days.

  “I’ll look forward to it then.” Cas tilted her head toward the door. “I’ll leave you to your work. Don’t blow yourself up. And don’t let me catch you obliviously breathing in noxious fumes again, either. I hear that’s a practice that can wither a man’s gonads.”

  “My gonads are as hearty and robust as my Ergrotton stew.”

  She gave him a weird look, and he decided that hadn’t been the best analogy.

  “I simply meant to say that should the need to sire children ever come up, my lower regions will be healthy and up to the task.”

  “I guess that’s good to know.”

  “The knowledge makes me comfortable.” Granted, he wouldn’t truly know if everything was up to the task of creating children until they tried. If they tried. This wasn’t quite how he’d meant to broach the subject, but maybe it would be good to know if she would ever be open to it. “In case, you—er, we ever decide to have children.”

  Her nose scrunched up. She had a decidedly expressive nose. Unfortunately, he wasn’t positive what it was expressing this time. Distaste for the idea? Doubtfulness that they’d find time for raising children? Dubiousness in regard to his fertility after breathing so many fumes?

  “I hadn’t planned to have children,” Cas said.

  “Ever? Or just not for a while?”

  He could understand her not being ready, as she was several years younger than he, even if she often was the more mature one in their relationship, but he struggled to imagine never wanting them. If one found a life mate, wasn’t it normal to eventually have children? To co-mingle their genetic material to create a being born of both of them?

  “Ever. Sorry, Tolemek, but I don’t have any motherly instincts. I don’t know what to do when kids talk to me, and hearing a baby cry makes me want to run the other way, instead of hurrying over to soothe it.”

  “Ah.”

  He didn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t expected her to shut down the idea entirely.

  “Do you want children?” Cas asked, a hint of wariness entering her eyes.

  “I know it may sound odd, given the pirate career I was engaged in when we met—the distinctly womanless pirate career—but when I was a younger man, I always imagined myself having children one day. Tanglewood made me stop thinking about that, about deserving any kind of happiness in life.” He shrugged a shoulder. “But now that we’re—we’ve been living together for a while, those parental stirrings have returned, I admit.”

  “Oh.”

  Tolemek didn’t like the flatness of her tone. She didn’t sound disappointed—not exactly—but she did sound like she had no idea what to say.

  “We don’t have to talk about it now.” Tolemek, realizing he hadn’t been paying enough attention to his concoction, hurried to stir it and scrape the sides of the crucible. He hadn’t yet added the full amount of the explosive element that would complete the compound, but he had layered in some. He didn’t need it to overheat and blow up in his lab. Or blow up his lab.

  “All right,” Cas said slowly, “but I need you to know that I don’t plan to change my mind in the future. As much as I hate to admit it, I seem to be my father’s child in a lot of ways. I think I was born without that part of me that could want to raise children.”

  Tolemek stopped himself from saying that she might feel differently one day, that maybe things would change for her as she grew older. He didn’t want to try to talk her into something as major as having children. He just… found it disappointing to learn it might never happen.

  “Sorry,” she said again.

  Her expression grew bleak, and he wished he’d said something instead of frowning at his work table in silence.

  “You don’t have to feel sorry,” he said. “It’s not a thing you’re supposed to apologize about. I just didn’t know what to say.”

  “Would you be able to stay with some who doesn’t want children?” she asked quietly.

  Would he? He couldn’t imagine ending their relationship over this, not when he’d just been thinking about how much he was enjoying living with her, but that was today. Would he feel the same way in a year? Five years? By then, Zirkander and the other men he’d come to know since arriving in Iskandia would no doubt be having children of their own.

  “I see,” Cas said, maybe seeing too much when he didn’t answer right away.

  “Cas, I’m just thinking. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

  “Well, not giving me a firm yes to that question does imply things. Whether you meant to or not.” Her face was masked now, impossible to read, but he thought he read hurt in her tone.

  She turned and strode for the door.

  “Cas, wait.”

  Tolemek jogged around the counter, but she disappeared into the hallway without looking back. He caught his hip on the corner of the table as the door shut. The crucible rattled ominously on the burner. He lunged back, steadying it, but only for a second. He hurried back around the table and ran after Cas.

  But when he opened the door, she’d already disappeared from the hallway. He didn’t even hear her steps on the stairs. Seven gods, had she sprinted away at top speed?

  He leaned his head against the doorjamb. Why had he chosen that moment to bring up children? And why had he hesitated when she’d asked about their future together? He hadn’t wanted to lie, but he wished he’d managed to say something that wouldn’t imply he might leave her someday. He wished—

  A soft clink came from the stairwell, and he lifted his head.

  Maybe Cas was coming back to give him a second chance to explain himself. But what had she been wearing that would have clinked?

  A bronze ball arched through the air, coming from the stairs. It clanked as it bounced on the floorboards and headed in his direction.

  His first thought was that one of the inventors in the shared laboratory building had built something that he was testing out. His second thought was that someone was throwing a weapon, a weapon meant for him.

  Given his past and all the people who would like to see him dead, that was too real a possibility to ignore. He jumped back into his lab and flung the door shut.

  Half-expecting to hear the thunderous boom of an explosion, he ran for his desk. Ever since that unstable Colonel Therrik had barged in and attacked him, Tolemek kept a firearm in his lab.

  Before he reached it, a noisy hiss came from the hallway. He lunged for the drawer, yanking it open. As he drew the pistol, the scent of rotten eggs reached his nose. Green smoke curled into the room from under the door.

  Tolemek resisted the urge to curse—that would require air. Instead, he held his breath and ran toward a cabinet that held filtering masks. On the way, he flicked on a hood vent over a workstation, hoping it would draw the smoke up and out.

  The door banged open, and men in wildly colored masks and fringed hoods rushed in. Despite the goofy headwear, they carried guns.

  Tolemek fired at the doorway as he lunged behind the cabinet he’d wanted to open. Someone swore, his voice muffled by his mask. Tolemek didn’t recognize the language. What the hells was going on?

  Guns fired, bullets thudding into the back wall, and he was glad he’d taken cover. But what now? He couldn’t hold his breath indefinitely, and he couldn’t get into the cabinet with the masks while people were shooting at it.

  He leaned out to fire but spotted the barrels of four pistols pointing at him and jerked back. The invaders fired again. Glass beakers shattered, the shar
ds clattering to the floor.

  Tolemek patted himself down, looking for inspiration, but he didn’t have any of his compounds on him. Now he wished he had gone for his vials of knockout liquid instead of the gun.

  He eyed his steaming compound on the burner ten feet away. It might as well have been ten miles away.

  Someone barked something in the foreign language. Tolemek guessed it was the equivalent of, “Get him.”

  With his lungs burning, he had to try something. He feared these people wanted him dead, not simply to question or capture him.

  He crouched low, careful not to reveal any part of his body, then stuck his pistol out and fired twice. As his enemies were—he hoped—jumping for cover, he sprang from behind the cabinet. Staying low, he ran two steps and dove behind the work table.

  Pistols fired, bullets shattering floor tiles as they skipped off them. Something burned the bottom of Tolemek’s foot. Had one gouged a hole in the sole of his shoe?

  He yanked his legs in close. His lungs ached for air and felt like they would soon explode, but he dared not inhale. The green smoke fogged the entire lab now, the fan not able to combat it fast enough.

  He reached for the crucible, but something smacked against his hand. At first, he thought the crucible had fallen against him and that the explosive putty would pour out onto his head.

  Horrified, he jerked his hand away and scrambled backward. Something with the feel and texture of a spider web had wrapped around his fingers. Confused, he scrambled back farther, dropping his pistol and trying to tear the substance off. As soon as he touched it, he realized his mistake and cursed inwardly.

  Idiot. The stuff was so sticky that his fingers were now stuck to the back of the opposite hand. He couldn’t pick up the pistol again.

  Not that he could have found it anyway. Blackness was creeping into his vision from the lack of oxygen to his brain. He bumped his shoulders against the counters behind him, and his held breath escaped. His instincts overrode his brain, and he sucked in air.

  A figure in tan clothing appeared, stepping around the corner of the work table. The hooded man glanced at the crucible still smoldering. Tolemek hoped vainly that the unattended burner would overheat the substance inside and that it would blow up. It might be worth taking out his lab if the explosion would take out all of these… whoever they were.

  The figure strode forward. Tolemek tried to leap to his feet, certain he was about to be shot.

  But his legs had grown rubbery, and he stumbled, crashing back to the floor. Whatever that smoke was, it was already affecting him. Damn it.

  “Cas!” he tried to yell, but it came out as a raspy croak.

  The man held a pistol toward Tolemek’s face. But he didn’t shoot. He jerked his chin toward Tolemek as he said something in his language. Two more men rushed forward, the green smoke swirling about them, and Tolemek realized they had to have filters in their flamboyant masks. Unless some magic protected them.

  The men stretched a net between them.

  Tolemek, his limbs no longer responding to his mental commands, could only stare as it descended atop him. The last thing he was aware of was being trussed up like a chicken and lifted between two men. Then the world went black.

  2

  “Am I doing it right, Sardelle?” Tylie asked.

  “Hm?” Sardelle looked up from the newspaper she had been perusing with increasing distress. Lovely late summer sunlight slanted into the backyard, already warming the morning air while she sat at the picnic table, drinking her spiced orange tea. Tylie practiced her burgeoning levitation skills nearby while Spots the cat sniffed around the house for mice. It should have been a relaxing and pleasant start to the day, but the Society page assured it was not.

  “I floated the rock back and forth over Phel twice without him noticing,” Tylie said.

  I noticed. I was simply indifferent to it. Phelistoth lay stretched out on the lawn, taking up most of the backyard. The sun gleamed on his scaled silver side as the tip of his tail occasionally flapped in the grass. He looked like a cat in a sunbeam. A very large dragon-shaped cat. You need not stick your hand out or make any gesture when you draw upon your power, Tylie. It is a mental skill. There is no need to add human flair.

  “I like flair.” Tylie smiled, not appearing chagrined by the dragon’s correction, though she did lower her arm.

  “In my opinion, if you didn’t drop the rock on your large, scaled friend, you’re doing it right,” Sardelle said, also smiling, though her gaze inevitably went back to the newspaper.

  As if I would have allowed that to happen, Phelistoth spoke into their minds with something akin to a haughty sniff.

  I don’t know why you’re worrying about that silly newspaper article, Jaxi said to Sardelle, apparently observing her reading from the rack where she and Wreltad, Tylie’s new soulblade, hung in the living room.

  Indeed, Wreltad put in. Ridge is certainly not worried about what your city’s journalists report about him.

  I’m so glad the two of you can effectively spy on me from inside the house. Sardelle glowered, the gesture more for the paper than for the soulblades, though she did feel out of sorts in general this morning.

  Spying? Wreltad asked. We are simply observing what goes on around the house. I must oversee Tylie’s training to ensure it progresses adequately.

  And I can’t possibly be spying, Jaxi said. You’re my handler. We’re linked. There are no secrets between us. Besides, reading that newspaper was more interesting than staring at this junkyard of a couch. I still can’t believe you thought this room would be a good place to hang me.

  You don’t have eyes. What does it matter?

  I have senses, Sardelle. Goodness.

  Sardelle pushed the newspaper away, unable to read any more of the drivel. This was the fourth time the same journalist had gathered so-called evidence and reported that she was using her “witchy” powers to force the capital’s most eligible bachelor to marry her.

  What evidence she had, Sardelle couldn’t imagine. The female journalist certainly had never come out to speak with her. Though the woman had, Ridge had mentioned the week earlier, caught him walking out of the army fort and thrown all manner of questions at him. She’d even had the audacity to pull out some feather-covered travesty of a “magic detector” that could supposedly tell if a person was possessed by a spirit or under the influence of a sorcerer.

  Sardelle didn’t need to see the device to know it was a sham. She could imagine the journalist hovering all around Ridge, using the detector as an excuse to touch him. Maybe squeeze him a few times through his uniform. Sardelle gritted her teeth.

  That’s not what happened, Jaxi said dryly. Don’t you share memories with your soul snozzle?

  I’m sure it’s what she wanted to happen.

  Nonetheless, Ridge foisted the woman onto the privates at the gate, telling them to hold her until they could find someone to perform a thorough inspection of the so-called magic detector. He said he might be mistaken, but he believed he’d seen something similar in Cofahre and worried the device might be delivering information back to the empire unbeknownst to the journalist. Then he strode away, leaving the poor young privates flummoxed, one holding the detector between two fingers and at arm’s length, and the other uncertainly holding the woman’s arm and saying she would have to stay with them until their superiors arrived to speak with her.

  I know, Jaxi. He did tell me the story. And I do love him for being so…

  Mendacious?

  He only lied to protect me. And to escape the woman’s clutches. I love him for that.

  And he loves you, probably because of me and the way my calming influence improves you as a person.

  Sardelle snorted.

  So why are you worried about the newspapers? The king has your back, Ridge has your back, and most important, I have your back. Had I been there, I would have incinerated that ludicrous device. And possibly the woman’s hair as well.

  I
just thought we were past all these silly newspaper stories. Silly? Annoying was the word Sardelle should have used. Last spring, when you and I helped the army destroy that floating Cofah fortress, Angulus publicly announced that I was an ally to Iskandia and that anyone who attempted to do me harm would be dealt with firmly.

  Technically, the newspaper journalists aren’t harming you, Jaxi pointed out.

  They’re harming my reputation. Nobody is going to want to come to me for healing, or, if they have dragon blood themselves, for tutelage. Sardelle was up to four young students now, in addition to Tylie, but the new ones were all of school age, and only came out to study magic a few evenings a week. So far, their parents hadn’t expressed any concerns about the scandalous stories, at least not to Sardelle, but she did worry it could become a factor. And besides, Jaxi, it’s just so infuriating. I may spit.

  Unlikely. There are witnesses, and you’re far more ladylike than that.

  Sardelle looked around the yard, not particularly worried about the witnesses present. Phelistoth’s eyes were closed, and she was fairly certain that deep breathing signaled sleeping, if not the dragon equivalent of snoring. Tylie, barefoot and in a paint-spattered dress, had her tongue stuck in the corner of her mouth while she focused on floating the smooth rock back and forth over Phelistoth. Sardelle doubted either of them would judge her for unladylike actions, such as crinkling the newspaper into a ball and kicking it into the nearby pond.

  I, being less ladylike, would spit on your behalf, Jaxi offered. If I had saliva.

  You’re a good friend.

  Naturally. Which is why my sword rack should overlook flowers or a serenity garden, not a couch made from bullet-riddled flier parts. With puke-colored cushions.