Oaths (Dragon Blood, Book 8)

by Lindsay Buroker

  Fern’s round-eyed stare turned toward Sardelle. “You… teach…?”

  Tylie, Sardelle said silently, please stop talking about magic. Fern doesn’t believe—isn’t aware that it exists. Or she wasn’t.

  Oh, I forgot. I was thinking that was Lilah. Tylie frowned, though she still looked a touch confused, like she couldn’t understand why it would matter. But doesn’t she need to know?

  Yes, but this isn’t how—

  Fern snatched up her folders and hastened for the door. “I need to go. I have a—a thing. An appointment. Yes. I have to go.”

  She coughed again and dropped two of the folders on the way but didn’t stop to pick them up. Fern flung the door open and raced outside, tripping on the step down from the stoop, but recovered and only ran faster toward the horse tied to the hitching post. As she mounted, she dropped another folder. Again, she didn’t stop to pick it up. Fern urged the horse out to the road—quickly—and soon rode out of Sardelle’s awareness.

  “I’m sorry,” Tylie whispered, moisture brimming in her eyes as she realized she’d done something wrong. “I’ve gotten so used to everyone here understanding, and I forgot that magic has to be a secret sometimes, that people don’t—I was just so excited that I did two at once. I’ve never done that before.”

  Sardelle took a deep breath, suddenly feeling queasy. “It’s all right.” She walked to Tylie and laid an arm around her shoulders. “You’re right. This wasn’t how I envisioned telling her, but she needed to find out eventually.”

  Ridge, she recalled, had suggested they mention it on their tenth wedding anniversary.

  Tylie looked toward the folders on the floor. “I didn’t… ruin your wedding, did I? Will she still… I remember my grandmother stopped coming to the house and talking to me once she found out I was different. That I could do magic.”

  Sardelle squeezed her shoulders and groped for something comforting to say, though all she wanted to do was go upstairs, crawl back into bed, and bury her head under a pillow. Providing she didn’t get ill first. That feeling of nausea was not pleasant.

  It’s probably morning sickness, Jaxi said. You can look forward to all kinds of days like this now that you’re pregnant.

  Thank you, Jaxi. You’re extremely helpful.

  Sardelle would have to talk to Fern, but maybe she should wait a day or two. Let her calm down.

  Would Fern return home now? Or would she rush to see Ridge at the fort and ask him if the things the newspapers were printing were true? Now that the dragon stories had been confirmed, she might be more likely to believe those journalists. She might change her mind about going dress shopping with a sorceress daughter-in-law-to-be. She might withdraw her approval of the marriage altogether.

  Look on the sunny side. Think how much more relaxed you’ll be now that your secrets are out. One of them, at least.

  Sardelle looked down at her midsection, feeling far more bleak about her secrets than relaxed.

  3

  The sun’s rays warmed Cas’s shoulders as she turned off the street and up the drive toward the modern brick building that held Tolemek’s lab. Technically, she was supposed to be at work, but she’d gotten permission from Wolf Squadron’s new commander, Colonel Tranq, to come into town to pick up a delivery of healing salve for the flier first-aid kits.

  It would give her a chance to check on Tolemek. And to apologize for hurrying away the night before without saying goodbye. She hadn’t meant to be judgmental or short with him, but she had been surprised at his admission that he wanted children someday—and stung at the realization that he might not stay with someone for the long-term who didn’t want them.

  He hadn’t come home the night before, so Cas had no idea what he was thinking now. She feared she had overreacted and made him feel that he wouldn’t be welcome if he did come home.

  An odd odor met Cas as she stepped into the foyer of the building. Odd odors weren’t that unusual an occurrence, since more than a dozen scientists and inventors worked and ran experiments here, but it reminded her of Tolemek’s knockout grenades.

  She looked toward the reception desk, thinking to ask for a possible explanation, but there was nobody there. That also wasn’t that unusual, as the scientists were independent folks and the person hired to manage the building tended to be there infrequently.

  As Cas climbed the wooden steps toward the second floor and Tolemek’s lab, the scent grew stronger. She paused halfway up, noticing scratches and dents on a few of the stair treads. Had they been there before? She didn’t think so. Her father had always trained her to be observant, so she tended to pay attention to such things.

  Frowning, she picked up her pace. His door near the end of the hallway stood open. And was that soot on the jamb?

  She raced up, her hand on her pistol, though her gut told her that it was too quiet for anything troublesome to be going on now. Whatever had happened, she was too late.

  She stopped on the threshold and gaped at the mess inside. Cabinets were overturned, a table had been destroyed, and broken equipment was scattered all over what counters and tabletops remained standing. Far more broken equipment lay on the floor along with shattered glass and puddles of viscous goo. In one corner, the ceiling had collapsed. A vault door in the back, one that held valuable chemicals and components, had been wrenched open. No, it had been blown open.

  “Tolemek?” Cas called softly, though she didn’t think anyone was there. Anyone alive.

  Her gut twisted as she thought of his past and all the people in the world who would like him dead. What if someone had come to make that a reality?

  Pistol in hand, Cas stepped into the lab. Glass crunched under her army boots as she maneuvered around dented and toppled cabinets and metal shelving units that had fallen over—or been pushed over. She couldn’t tell if someone had done the destruction by hand or if an explosion had caused the entire mess.

  She peered behind all the cabinets and all the workstations, terrified that she would find Tolemek’s body crumpled there, his eyes open but glazed in death. And if she did, their last conversation would have been a fight. Well, not exactly a fight as neither of them was the type to lose their temper and start shouting matches, but she’d been frosty when she left. And he’d known it.

  When she didn’t find his body, Cas didn’t know how relieved to be. The laboratory and home were the places he spent the majority of his time. If he wasn’t here, where was he?

  “Kidnapped?” she wondered.

  She didn’t know who might want him, but she preferred that to the possibility of death. Just because his body wasn’t here didn’t mean he wasn’t dead. His killers could have removed his corpse and thrown it into the harbor.

  She shuddered and pushed the thought from her mind as she moved to the destroyed workstation where he had been working the evening before. What remained of it. There was more soot in that area and more destruction. If the burner or crucible he’d been working with remained, she couldn’t see them.

  Cas ran her finger over some of the soot. Maybe the substance had blown up. Maybe it was even the sole reason for the mess in the lab.

  She blinked, wondering if that was possible, if he’d had an accident. Maybe no enemies had barged in on him after all, and he’d gone off somewhere to ask about insurance or repairs.

  Her roving gaze snagged on a hole in the wall nearby. A bullet hole.

  She grimaced and stepped closer to examine it. Yes, a bullet hole; she was certain of it. And there were others.

  “Who came after you, Tolemek?” she whispered, walking around the lab again. This time, she looked for clues as to who might have barged in. “And what did they want?”

  Her gaze shifted back toward his workstation. She wished she had paid more attention when he’d been telling her about his new project. Was it possible some military organization had heard of it and wanted it for themselves? It had sounded like a weapon—or a tool—that armies might find useful, but was it truly so groundbre
aking that it would prompt someone to do this?

  When her search didn’t reveal anything about the invaders—no food or cigarette wrappers left behind that might have suggested where they had come from—she headed for the door. Maybe digging the spent bullets out of the walls would provide some clues, but she needed to report this first.

  But to whom? General Zirkander? Tolemek didn’t work for him. Tolemek was essentially an independent contractor, but he worked most directly for the king. Angulus was the one who’d given him the lab and supplied Tolemek with all the modern equipment he needed. Angulus had also given Tolemek the assignment he’d been working on with this happened.

  “Guess it’s time to see the king.”

  Cas nodded to herself and headed out of the building. She hoped the king would deign to see a lowly lieutenant, one who didn’t have an appointment. He probably would if he knew she wanted to see him. It would be convincing one of his gatekeepers to tell him that would be a challenge.

  “I’m up for it,” Cas whispered, worried and determined. She would find out what had happened to Tolemek.

  Ridge whistled cheerfully as he strode through the hallways of the castle, two guards accompanying him. They didn’t pass anyone else who was whistling, and the guards glanced at him occasionally, and also at each other, maybe wondering if they should ask him to pipe down. Ridge had noticed that people rarely told generals to stuff a sock in it, and the guards, likely former soldiers themselves, did not do so now. At least there was one perk of having accepted the lofty rank. He could whistle as he pleased.

  He peeked through open doorways as the guards led him up the stairs to the private suites, half-expecting to stumble across Captain Kaika in here somewhere. She was likely at work, since it was a workday, but the idea of seeing her roaming the castle in slippers and a robe made him smirk. Some people were hard to imagine out of uniform without smirking.

  “Either of you boys have any construction experience?” Ridge asked his escorts.

  “Sir?”

  “We’re building a residence for Bhrava Saruth.” Ridge decided “residence” sounded less pompous than “temple” and had far fewer connotations of delusion. “I’m not sure if the king will approve any funds for it, so it’ll likely be a largely volunteer kind of thing. But a memorable project to be a part of.”

  “Bhrava Saruth… the dragon, sir?”

  “Yup. The dragon who’s been an ally to Iskandia and helped defend the capital from enemy dragons on several occasions. We might not have survived if not for him.”

  “Uh, I guess I could help a little.”

  “Great, want to put your name on this list?” Ridge paused and pulled a pen and folded piece of paper out of his uniform pocket.

  The guard gaped, maybe surprised to see that dozens of names already occupied the list. Ridge felt a little silly procuring help for the dragon—it wasn’t as if he was Bhrava Saruth’s high priestess, er, priest, after all—but the sooner the temple was built, the sooner he would stop pestering Ridge about it.

  They paused in the hallway, and the guard wrote his name down.

  “Address too,” Ridge said. “So my assistant can find you when it’s time to round up the helpers.”

  “Er, I live in the bunkhouse here, sir.”

  “That’ll make it easy then. See if you can recruit some of your guard buddies, will you? There’ll be beer. And I’m sure Bhrava Saruth will bless you.”

  “Bless me, sir? He’s not really a god, right?”

  “Nah, but whatever he does when he blesses you works. I’ve healed much more quickly than normal since he wriggled his tail at me. Also, his blessings are supposed to improve fertility.” Ridge had no idea if that part was true. Sardelle could apparently wave a hand and ensure no babies resulted from their evenings together, so he didn’t know how fertile his… fertileness was right now.

  “Uh, I don’t need to be fertile at the moment, sir.”

  “Lisella will be relieved to hear that,” the other guard murmured, eliciting a blush from his comrade.

  Ridge took the paper back from the first guard—he’d already signed—and turned to the other one. “Have any evenings to spare? Days are still long with lots of light until late in the evening. Plenty of time to build a dragon residence after work.”

  Judging by the way his mouth twisted, the second guard didn’t want to sign up.

  “I don’t think it’s allowed to refuse generals,” the first one whispered to him.

  “Are you sure? I’m not in the army.”

  “It doesn’t have to be every evening,” Ridge said. “Maybe just a couple of weekends here and there.”

  “You said there’d be beer, sir?”

  “Absolutely. A fine stout from the Low Dog Brewery.”

  Ridge resumed whistling as the second guard signed the list.

  “What’s going on out there?” a familiar stern voice asked.

  King Angulus leaned out of the doorway of his office, one of several of his offices in the castle, but the only one attached to his personal suite. Ridge had only been up here once, years ago with General Ort when they had reported late at night about pirates spotted up north along the coast.

  “Recruiting, Sire.” Ridge lifted one hand to salute while he took his paper and pen back with the other.

  “Not for your flier squadrons, I assume.” Angulus frowned at the guards, and they did an impressive job of straightening up and arranging their faces in a stern and expressionless manner.

  “For the building of the dragon residence you’re eager to approve the location and construction of.”

  Angulus lifted his eyes toward the ceiling—or perhaps the heavens. “I knew there was a reason I was dreading this meeting.”

  He disappeared back inside, and Ridge followed him into the office, shedding the guards outside. He closed the door behind him.

  “Sire, I can’t believe this meeting doesn’t excite you more than ones with stuffy, self-important bureaucrats. Talking to me must be a delight in comparison.”

  Angulus gave him a flat look as he walked around the desk to sit down. “Do you know the meaning of the word deferential, Zirkander?”

  “I know obsequious is a synonym.”

  Angulus’s look grew flatter.

  Ridge, remembering that he wanted to ask him to stand at his side during the wedding, decided he should rein in his lippy streak, at least for today. Perhaps for all days he interacted with him. Ridge wasn’t sure why he struggled so to be deferential with authority figures, just that it had started early in his life. He distinctly remembered being dragged home by his ear by a teacher when he’d been a boy. On several occasions.

  But Angulus was more than an irritated teacher. He was the ruler over all of Iskandia. And he hadn’t been that openly pleased with Ridge since the incident with the sorceress. Understandably so, since Ridge had, however inadvertently, flown the woman directly into the castle. Where she’d proceeded to kill numerous government leaders and had tried to kill Angulus.

  “I miss the days when General Ort accompanied you to meetings and kicked you under the table when you were inappropriate.”

  “Sorry, Sire. I can be serious.”

  “Doubtful,” Angulus said as Ridge stepped forward with the drawings.

  “As you know, I’m here to discuss Bhrava Saruth’s temple. Residence. These are plat maps I got from the tax office of some of the royal lands near the city. I figured it would be difficult to get a private party to donate land for the cause, but that you, being eager to keep the dragon nearby so he can help us fight off aerial invaders that come our way, would be willing to sacrifice a few acres.”

  Eager was perhaps another word he needed to find synonyms for. Ridge doubted Angulus had ever been eager about anything in his life. He’d seen portraits of Prince Angulus painted in his boyhood years, and he’d appeared staid in all of them.

  Angulus squinted and peered into Ridge’s eyes.

  Ridge didn’t know what he was
looking for—seriousness?—but he gazed back, even though he doubted he was supposed to make eye contact with people from the nobility. There was an old rule about that, if he recalled correctly. One with a ridiculously heinous punishment. Like castration. Or death. Something along those lines.

  “Sardelle tells me they’re a charming and delightfully lively brown,” Ridge said after a few uncomfortable moments.

  “What?”

  “My eyes. I thought you might have forgotten their color, Sire.”

  Angulus dropped his face into his palm. Well, at least he’d broken the stare.

  “I was trying to tell if you were under the influence of that dragon right now,” Angulus said. “Otherwise, you seem an unlikely advocate for this project.”

  Ridge thought about mentioning that, according to Bhrava Saruth, he’d been the dragon’s—dragon god’s—first worshipper in this era. But that would likely get him more eye rolling.

  “I don’t think so, Sire. He’s helped in numerous battles, battles that a lot of my people survived, specifically because we had him up there with us, fighting alongside our fliers. I’m utterly serious when I say it’s worth doing a few favors for him, both because it’s appropriate to show him some gratitude and appreciation, and also for more selfish reasons. As I said, we’ll surely benefit from him sticking around.”

  “And coercing our people to worship him like a god?” Angulus grumbled, but he did lean forward to look at the maps.

  He hadn’t invited Ridge to sit in either of the chairs facing his desk, so Ridge clasped his hands behind his back in a polite parade rest.

  “This rocky island is your preferred location?” Angulus asked.

  “Not my preferred location. I just couldn’t sell him on Crazy Canyon or a mud-covered hillside. He’s brighter than he lets on.”

  “Hm. I suppose much of the rock for the structure could be taken from the island itself and the surrounding cliffs.”

  “Yes, Sire. I’m doing my best to recruit volunteers to help with the construction. I haven’t yet visited the masons’ guild, but I will. I’m sure you have enough to pay for right now, so I didn’t want to ask for funds for this. Just some land that’s not being used anyway.”