Gold Dragon

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Ah.”

  “This is Captain Telryn Yert. He goes by Trip. I invited him to dinner.”

  Trip sensed Rysha bracing herself and wondering if her father had heard the story of the barracks-room nudity.

  “I see.” Lord Ravenwood didn’t scowl at Trip, not exactly, but his expression wasn’t welcoming as they made eye contact. He didn’t hold the gaze for long, instead looking back to Rysha. “It’s unfortunate that you didn’t let us know you were coming. I know your mother and aunt have a list of appropriate young men that they would love to invite over to meet you.”

  Rysha gritted her teeth, and her cheeks grew pink. “Because that’s what’s important now, I’m sure. Dragons are invading Iskandia, and there’s civil unrest all over the countryside, but let’s make sure to find Rysha an appropriate nobleman to make babies with.”

  Lord Ravenwood lifted his hands and stepped back, truly seeming apologetic. “Neither of us intends to pressure you to have children—” He glanced at Trip, appearing appalled at speaking so bluntly about such things in front of a stranger. “I just know they want you to have a reason to stay closer to home.”

  “To quit the military, you mean.”

  “Rysha—”

  “Can we come in, please? It was a long ride down here.”

  “Ride?” Lord Ravenwood looked past them. “Did you already take your horses to the stable?”

  “Our mount is cared for.”

  They had left Shulina Arya to hunt for some of the rabbits she’d spotted darting in and out of the hedgerow along the road. While rabbits were but a scant appetizer to dragons, the flavor was appealing, especially with the plump ones, or so Shulina Arya had informed them.

  “Mount?” Lord Ravenwood asked, his thoughts hitching on the singular use of the word.

  “Mm, does Chef need help preparing dinner?” Rysha asked. “She probably wasn’t expecting extra mouths. We don’t mind cutting vegetables.”

  Lord Ravenwood looked at Trip.

  “I don’t mind,” Trip said, though he wasn’t sure if that was the question in that look. “I’m amenable to anything.”

  “I’ll bet,” Lord Ravenwood muttered, but waved for them to follow him inside.

  “Does Tohomas have the day off?” Rysha asked as they entered a grand foyer, the flagstone of the portico giving way to large marble floor tiles. “I was surprised when you answered the door yourself.”

  “Tohomas recently decided to pursue other work, and we haven’t replaced him yet.”

  Rysha faltered, and Trip rested a supportive hand on her back as a feeling of loss radiated from her. “Tohomas left? But he’s worked here my whole life.”

  “After the dragon attack, many of our workers left. They didn’t feel safe.”

  Trip squinted at the back of Lord Ravenwood’s head, sensing a half-truth there. Should he start spying now? Or wait until Rysha steered the conversation to the topics she wanted information on? He didn’t want to pry only to discover something he didn’t want to know and that she wouldn’t want to know either.

  Then she looked over at him. She didn’t form any words in her mind, but maybe she sensed her father’s evasion, simply using human intuition, and she wanted his opinion.

  “Who else has left?” Rysha asked as they kept walking slowly down the long hallway, ignoring a piano room and guest wings opening up to the sides.

  Trip let his awareness shift deeper into Lord Ravenwood’s thoughts, trying to keep his touch gentle so he wouldn’t be sensed and also trying to be tactful in what he pulled out.

  As Lord Ravenwood answered Rysha’s question with a list of names, images flashed through the man’s mind of faces of workers—even friends—he’d known for years. In the beginning, after the first attack that had resulted in the death of Rysha’s grandmother, the workers had banded together with determination to fight off invaders. Trip was surprised at how many people lived on the property, some in the manor but far more up and down the valley in small communities near the areas they tended, orchards, farms, grazing and timber lands, and even a cranberry bog.

  A few weeks had passed without further dragon attacks, at least not in their valley, and business had returned to normal, but then a silver dragon had appeared, flying over the family’s property every day, sometimes multiple times a day. For some reason, it had shown undue interest in them, and its frequent visits made everyone nervous. Occasionally, it plucked up livestock, devouring the animal from some rooftop while in plain sight.

  After a couple of weeks of this, nervous workers had arrived at the manor, singly or in small groups. They’d reluctantly turned in their resignations, almost all of them saying the same thing, that they were moving to the city to be closer to the army installation and the king’s protection.

  Lord Ravenwood had understood, but he’d also been surprised and stung at how many workers had deserted the estate over this, especially when no human deaths had been reported. Ravenwood believed the dragon was simply attracted to the fertile land and feeding off the wild animals and livestock here. Or at least, that was what he had believed until—

  Trip bumped his shoulder against a coat rack he hadn’t noticed, and he grunted, hurrying to catch it before it fell. It clacked against the wall, and the heavy stone base rattled noisily on the marble as he righted it. Lord Ravenwood and Rysha both stopped to stare at him.

  “Sorry,” Trip said. “I was distracted.”

  “Officers aren’t what they were in my grandfather’s day,” Lord Ravenwood muttered, then gestured toward a sitting room. “Have a seat. I’ll round up the rest of the family. I’m sure they’ll enjoy having dinner company.”

  Even though the bump had broken his link with Lord Ravenwood, Trip still sensed the lie, that the man thought Trip’s presence would ruin what otherwise would have been a nice family meal with Rysha. Having their daughter home—without a strange dinner guest with skin that was too dark and eyes that were an odd shade of green—would have been a welcome change from all the disruption the silver dragon’s presence had caused.

  Rysha took Trip’s arm and guided him into a large sitting room with tall glass windows overlooking a garden. There were four different seating areas, some focused on the fireplace and others on gaming tables. She stopped at a trio of chairs and a sofa by the fireplace where wood crackled and flames danced, even though it wasn’t cold this time of year. Trip sensed that she wanted to sit on the sofa with him but knew her parents would object to such blatant closeness, so she chose a plush leather chair for herself.

  “Normally, I would be depressed that my father’s first impression of you is that you’re a klutz and a meager officer,” Rysha murmured quietly, “but perhaps for tonight, it’s for the best that he underestimates you.”

  “You can’t tell me I’m the first young man to visit your castle who’s bumped into the coat rack. It’s practically in the middle of the hall. And why is it so far from the door?”

  “That was the second coat rack, in case people change their minds and want to remove some layers before sitting down.”

  Trip paused, wondering what his grandparents would think of a house that required multiple coat racks, then shook his head. “Even so, I’m sure other people have bumped it.”

  “Other people haven’t caused mud to go flying and spatter his trousers,” Rysha said. “I assume that wasn’t intentional.”

  “No, he opened the door with unexpected promptness. And he didn’t notice that, so I know he’s not judging me based on that. I don’t think he knows I have any power at all.”

  Rysha shook her head and patted him on the leg. “I’m just teasing you.”

  “Good, because I only ran into something because I was concentrating on spying.”

  “Already?” Her eyebrows rose.

  “I thought you wanted me to when you gave me that look in the hall.”

  “Oh. No, I was just thinking that you look dashing in your dress uniform. And then you bumped into the coat rack.” />
  “That diminished your opinion of my dashingness?”

  “Sorry. I’m a shallow girl.” Rysha smirked at him.

  “Yes, as shallow as the Zevian Trench.”

  Sensing a woman’s approach, Trip looked toward the hallway.

  Someone’s coming, he warned Rysha. In case you don’t want to be seen fondling my thigh.

  Fondling it? I was simply attempting to make you feel less rejected.

  I believe your aunt would object to that.

  Rysha grimaced. Trip held back a similar expression as the familiar woman walked up, instead standing up and nodding formally toward her.

  Aunt Tadelay’s clothing was fitted, perfectly matched, and immaculate, with her brown hair swept back into an elegant bun pierced with ivory sticks. Unexpectedly, she carried a tray of drinks.

  “Aunt Tadelay? You’re, uhm…” Rysha waved to the tray. “Bringing us refreshments?”

  “I do know how to carry a tray, dear.” Tadelay smiled quickly if somewhat sardonically at Rysha, then looked at Trip and sighed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Captain, but I was hoping not to see you again.”

  Trip scratched his jaw, debating if he should stay silent and not ruffle feathers or stand up for himself. He had a feeling “standing up for oneself” was considered rude among the nobility. At least if one wasn’t of the nobility.

  “What would be the right way to take it?” Trip asked.

  Tadelay set six drinks down on the table, ice cubes clinking in the pale pink liquid—it smelled slightly of cranberries—a testament to an icehouse somewhere on the property. Trip wasn’t surprised. What was the point of living in a castle if one couldn’t have ice cubes on demand?

  “Trip is smart, brave, loyal, and one of the best men I’ve ever met,” Rysha told her aunt firmly.

  Tadelay made a clucking noise—was that disappointment?—and walked out with the empty tray.

  Wondering who else would join them, Trip reached for a glass, making sure to choose one that wasn’t close to him. “This isn’t going to be poisoned, right?”

  “My family isn’t that dreadful.” Rysha rubbed the back of her neck. “Maybe this was a bad idea. I should have waited until times were more settled before bringing you. Or at least until the memory of us together in bed had faded from my aunt’s and my mother’s minds.”

  “You don’t think the image of my magnificent form will stick with them forever?”

  She swatted him. “More likely, the image of your magnificent form falling on the floor. Then hiding itself behind a pillow.”

  I have detected a few things in your father’s thoughts, Trip said, switching to telepathy. He was aware of several people in a nearby kitchen. Give me another hour, and I may have a better idea of what’s going on here. I’ve already learned that a silver dragon seems to be involved.

  Trip sensed Rysha’s alarm, though she only reacted by dropping her hand on his forearm. What?

  I don’t sense another dragon in the area right now besides Shulina Arya, but perhaps, the next time she contacts you, you can ask her if she’s aware of any silvers visiting your valley.

  Rysha looked like she wanted to say more, but men’s voices sounded in the hallway. Trip sensed three people about their age approaching. Her brothers?

  She rose and faced in that direction. The three tall men who ambled in appeared to be in their twenties, all sturdy and athletic, one with spectacles similar to Rysha’s. They all grinned and came forward to hug her and thump her on the back.

  “Congratulations on passing your army thing,” the one with spectacles said.

  Trip sensed a little disgruntlement from Rysha at having the elite troops—and the intense training she’d gone through to get in—summed up as a thing, but she was also glad to receive a modicum of support. And she was pleased none of them had opened up with a suggestion that she promptly leave the army and return to the estate.

  “This the one we heard about?” One of the brothers frowned as he looked at Trip.

  Trip had sat back down after Tadelay left, but he stood again, since he felt towered over, especially as their collective attention turned to him. A little over six feet in height, he wasn’t used to feeling short, but the men were all several inches taller than he. He could imagine what they had “heard about” if Rysha’s mother and aunt had been the source.

  “This is Captain Trip Yert,” Rysha said. “Trip, these are my brothers, Krey, Severin, and Jhory.”

  Krey had a chipped tooth, and Trip remembered the story Rysha had told about wayward piggyback rides in her youth.

  “Yert?” Severin asked. He was the tallest of the men, with a thick brown beard that took up most of his face despite being tidily trimmed.

  “No, he’s not noble,” Rysha said, “and no, you’re not going to tell me it matters.”

  “Oh? Glad we got that straightened out.”

  “This isn’t the new Wolf Squadron pilot that they say is a witch, is he?” Jhory asked, lifting his spectacles and squinting at Trip.

  Trip froze. Thanks to that newspaper article, he knew there were rumors about him in the city, but he wouldn’t have guessed they had made their way out into the countryside. Or to Rysha’s family.

  He looked at Rysha before answering, not sure if sorcery was typically brought up the first time a noblewoman brought a boy home to dinner.

  “Male mages are called sorcerers, not witches,” Rysha said. “Even female magic-users prefer the term sorceress.”

  Jhory exchanged long looks with his brothers. They all oozed worry and two out of the three wondered if they had a brotherly obligation to protect Rysha by pounding Trip into the floor. Though Severin was now worried Trip would shoot fire out of his nostrils if they tried.

  Telryn, Azarwrath said, turning the name into a long sigh. Simply stop dampening down your aura, and let these people see the real you. If you wish, you can turn on your allure to charm them, though that’s not necessary and admittedly not your strength—besides, you don’t want your lady friend’s mother and aunt drawn to you sexually.

  Trip made a choking noise. Fortunately, the brothers were too busy muttering darkly among themselves to notice. Rysha noticed, gave him a concerned look, and glanced at the cranberry beverage he’d tasted.

  I believe if you let your aura show, Azarwrath continued, the family will treat you with respect, not like some idiot delinquent who seduced their little girl.

  Respect or fear? Trip already did not care for the unease he sensed from the brothers.

  Perhaps some of both, but either way, it will be an improvement over this shrinking into yourself that you’re doing. It’s unseemly. You’re not thirteen. You are a half-dragon man and a sorcerer coming into your powers. A trickle of disappointment came from Azarwrath along with the words. Maybe even embarrassment, as if he didn’t care for riding on the hip of someone who acted subservient.

  Was Trip truly being that? He just didn’t want to make trouble for Rysha. And the plan had been for him to be incognito so he could more easily spy on her father.

  Are you all right? Rysha asked silently, touching his hand.

  Yes, I just didn’t expect to be recognized. Or have my power recognized, I should say. Azarwrath thinks I should try less hard to quash everything. What do you think? I came to help you. I’m not sure if it’s better to be seen as my normal self or as a powerful sorcerer.

  I’m not sure my family will be able to tell the difference. None of them are familiar with magic or those who use it.

  Trip remembered the way people had looked at him in that restaurant in Lagresh when he’d let his aura out. Even Grekka, a sorceress in her own right, had been affected, even drawn to him. Drawn to do as he asked. He didn’t want to have that effect on Rysha’s family. It seemed to be cheating to use his power that way, even if it would have felt natural to let his aura leak out. He was so used to repressing it that it wasn’t that hard to do so, but he did sometimes wonder what it would be like to simply let it ou
t and walk around with it on full display all the time.

  More voices came from the hallway, and Trip sensed Rysha’s father again, this time walking with a man who put him ill-at-ease. When the pair came into view, Rysha frowned, not recognizing the person at her father’s side. He was gray-haired and significantly shorter than her tall family members, only slightly over five and a half feet tall. He didn’t carry any obvious weapons, nor did he have the mien of a soldier or anyone dangerous. Yet Lord Ravenwood was definitely uncomfortable.

  “We’ll be having a dinner guest,” he said, looking toward the hallway where Aunt Tadelay was returning, along with Rysha’s mother. “Another one. Lord Lockvale has come to discuss business with me after we eat.” He forced a smile.

  Trip let his senses trickle toward the newcomer. This Lord Lockvale did not have any dragon blood and was easy enough to read, especially since one prominent thought simmered right at the surface. He hoped to obtain the Ravenwood estate for himself.

  9

  Dinner rolls, baked beans, and platters of several kinds of meat were passed up and down the time-polished cedar dining table where Rysha had shared countless meals with her family, both as a child and also later on, when she’d been studying at the university and had come home on the weekends. Only recently had she started to feel like a guest, or even a stranger, at the manor, coming home only once every month or two. Sometimes less, thanks to her parents’ tendency to harp on her military career.

  Tonight, they were too busy asking polite but pointless questions to the gray-haired newcomer and stealing glances at Trip instead of mentioning the army. Rysha wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not. Trip was being quiet, speaking only if someone asked him a question. He looked… not exactly miserable, but certainly uncomfortable. Far from the powerful sorcerer she’d gradually seen coming out over the last couple of months. Did she want him to look like a sorcerer here? Projecting his scylori? She didn’t know. It might cause even more trouble than if her parents believed him a simple commoner.

  Jhory had heard or read something, but Rysha couldn’t tell if anyone else knew—or believed—the rumors yet. Trip running into coat racks wasn’t likely to make people believe he was a supremely powerful being directly descended from a dragon.