Page 3

Amusement teased my lips.

Questioning orders was something I wasn’t afraid to do, especially when I could see no sense in them.

But that was my father’s blood coming out in me. “What of Jacklyn’s fate? She’s the new governor there, is she not?”

“She’s the one who ordered the evac.

A stock take revealed we simply didn’t have the necessary supplies for a long stay, and when the winged bastards attacked the entrance, we thought it best to get the noncombatants out of there.”

“Then Jacklyn’s here somewhere?”

“Of course not.

She stayed with those who are fight capable.” He glanced at me.

“Why didn’t Esan send boats our way? Given you obviously knew about the attack on Jakarra, why were we forced to risk evacuation without the help of the galleons?”

“The galleons, even when fully manned by air mages, would be too slow to reach any form of safety by the time the winged riders come back out.

Until we find a means of countering their weapons, it’s too risky using them for longer sea journeys.” I paused.

“Why were those two other ships on fire?”

He grimaced.

“The riders sent some sort of brown fiery liquid streaming our way.

It hit the wooden decks and spread like wildfire. This boat survived because we were the farthest away, and that gave Sam here time to create a wind shield and blast both them and their streams of fire away from us.”

We were well aware that the liquified form of their gilded birds’ shit was not only acidic but also explosive—Damon and I had barely escaped such an explosion in one of the caverns that littered the blue vein tunnels above Esan—but the news that they could deliberately use it as what amounted to a fire stream definitely wasn’t good news.

“Is that why your sails were down? As a precaution?”

“Yes.

As I said, we were far enough away from the other two to react proactively.”

Someone shouted his name; he turned, then gave me a nod and left to attend whatever problem had arisen.

I ducked under the rope anchoring the saker and stood beside Sam.

I didn’t say anything. I simply crossed my arms and watched Kaia pull us through the still seas for the next few hours.

By the time we neared the heads—which were basically the “foot and toes” section of the Sinopa Pass’s longer leg—the storm beyond our bubble had eased dramatically, and the seas had calmed.

We weren’t all that far away from Hopetown now, which was a damn good thing given the weariness that filled the link between me and Kaia.

Sam was almost skeletal, and I suspected the only reason he was still standing was the constant supply of greenish goop he was drinking every half hour or so. It reminded me somewhat of the stamina potion Maree—Esan’s chief sickness “diviner,” and an herbalist who was second to none—had given to both me and Damon to not only stave off sleep but to ensure we had the strength to finally consummate our marriage in a satisfactory manner—satisfactory, in her terms, meaning over many hours.

The potion had definitely worked as advertised.

As the shadows of the night closed in, faint wisps of pink stained the distant horizon, lending a warm glow to otherwise stark foothills that lined the shores.

In the sky above, I caught the faintest glimmer of red and wondered if drakkons hunted high.

Are , came Kaia’s weary thought.

Maybe you should join them , I said.

Will. You?

Can hunker down the night in Hopetown.

Safe?

As long as the gilded riders don’t attack, it should be.

From behind us came a sharp tearing sound.

I spun and saw one of the ropes Kaia was using to pull the boat snap past the prow on the starboard side, taking out the saker’s right arm and two men on the way through.

But it wasn’t only the rope that had snapped—the planks around the saker’s base were now cracking and lifting. The ropes leashing it to the gunwale cleats continued to hold it in place, but if the strengthened planks under the saker’s base were beginning to give, the gunwale surely couldn’t be far behind.

The captain shouted orders for more ropes but even as men ran to obey, the cleats on both sides shattered and the ropes tore free; the saker catapulted forward, past the prow and into the water, bouncing across the glassy smoothness like a rock being skipped.

Release? came Kaia’s thought.

Yes.

Go grab something to eat, but be careful, and remember to find somewhere to roost before the night truly sets in.

Need no more help?

If Sam can get us past the heads, we can signal for help from the port if necessary.

Call if need.

I sent an affirmative, and she released the harpoon and spun away from the boat, flying toward the ominous foothills and the drakkons who flew there.

It almost felt like a vital part of myself was leaving with her.

I shook the thought away and turned.

The captain was ordering the sails to be raised, a hard task when the deck was so crowded.

Unlike many of Esan’s fleet, these smaller fishing boats didn’t have the option of oarsmen for the few times the air mage’s strength gave out.

I watched as the thick canvas was slowly hauled up the mast; if Sam’s energy held, then he could release the overall bubble and simply push the wind into the sails and guide us forward.

If it failed, there was enough of the storm left to catch them. Either way, we wouldn’t end up on the rocks, which might have been a possibility had the saker given out earlier.

Neither Kaia’s nor Sam’s strength would have held out had we been forced to battle the storm’s full force earlier.

Once the sails were set, Sam did release the bubble protecting the boat and pushed the wind into the sails instead.

As they bloomed, the helmsman spun the boat away from the shore, and we tacked with speed around the remains of Sinopa’s toes and into the wider, calmer waters of the bay.

The minute we docked, Sam collapsed.

What followed was several long and tedious hours of officialdom—ensuring all those on the boat were taken to either appropriate accommodation or for medical attention, then meeting with Hopetown’s council of six, not only reporting to them but getting updates on their preparations for the eventual attack.

The latter had not progressed as far as they’d claimed in their missives to us, but I think the captain’s story and the horror of seeing so many refugees in such a bad state finally made them understand the true gravity of their situation.

“Are you staying in Hopetown until your escort arrives from Esan, Princess Silva, or do you wish a mount?” Veretti Ghan asked.

She was one of two women on the council and had obviously spent many a year at sea.

Her skin had that weatherbeaten, heavily tanned look of an old sea salt.

“I’m here as a Captain of the Guard, not a princess, so there will be no one coming to fetch me.” Though there was definitely a part of me wishing Damon was, if only because I missed his touch.

Missed him .

And who’d have thought I’d even be thinking such a thing only a few days ago. “If you could arrange for a mount to be ready at five in the morn, that would be appreciated. And a bed for the night, of course, and perhaps the loan of a scribe pen so I can contact my father.”

Mine remained lashed onto Kaia, along with all my weapons and spare clothing.

The pack also held my tracking stone, which no doubt was sending some confusing signals home while Kaia hunted.

“Of course.” She made a flicking motion with her fingers, and the man stationed at the door nodded and slipped away, no doubt to make all the necessary arrangements.

“And your drakkon?”

“Hunting in the hills far away from here.”

She nodded but I could see the curiosity in her—and indeed, all of their—expression.

A drakkon helping humankind was not something any of us had thought we’d see.

But they didn’t ask any more questions about her or my relationship with her. Perhaps they were afraid to. Or perhaps they simply thought both I and the captain were caught in some sort of joint delusion and were merely humoring us until a healer was free to examine our mental facilities.

I rose.

“And my room is where?”

“Regus?” she said.

“Please escort our royal captain to her room.”

A stout bald man stepped forward and, with a brisk, “This way, please,” opened the door and walked out.

I started to follow, then paused and half turned.

“Councilor Ghan, could you also arrange a light breakfast to be brought in for four-thirty?”

She nodded.

I thanked her and continued after Regus.

The hubbub of raised voices that immediately started once the door closed behind us suggested there was some serious debate happening about me, and perhaps more importantly, Kaia, in that room now that I was no longer present.

Which was good.

The more people saw drakkons as a help rather than a hindrance, the more likely it was that people would stop trying to kill them.

We moved at a good clip through the myriad of corridors lined with windows that faced the harbor.

Lights danced across the water below us, the reflections coming from the multiple buildings lining the port as well as the hazard lights flickering at the ends of the five docks.

I’d suggested a blackout starting immediately, but obviously the word was taking time to get out. Perhaps said order needed to come from my father before they’d put any haste into it. Or perhaps the slow reaction was simply a result of my insistence I be treated as a regular captain rather than the only child of Esan’s king.

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of fire needed to be set under their butts to get them moving.

If this port came under attack and suffered the same disaster as the islands, then those same councilors would be held responsible.

I knew my father well enough to be sure of that.

If said councilors survived, that was.

Hopetown did not have the option of volcanic caves to retreat to.

None that were close, anyway.

My insistence that I be treated as a captain wasn’t reflected in the nature of my accommodations, and I really couldn’t be sad about that.

The room was housed within a curving wing of the main administration building rather than the military section, and it was generously sized, with a sleeping platform covered with an extra-thick mattress and several warm blankets, and a large bath—the latter of which I desperately needed.

I could smell me, and it wasn’t pleasant.

There was also a seating area near the tall windows that faced the harbor, consisting of two well-padded sofas and a small table, the latter holding a generous tray of meats, cheeses, and breads.

My stomach rumbled a loud reminder that it hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but it was the steaming pot of shamoke—a bitter brown bean that was mixed with cane crystals to make a pleasant hot beverage—that caught my interest.

I not only loved the stuff, I was addicted to it—as anyone who’d seen me in a shamoke-deprived state would readily testify.

Beside it was a scribe pen and its tablet.

The council obviously could work with some speed when they wanted to.

I hurried over and poured myself a cup of shamoke, inhaling its strong and earthy scent for several seconds before taking a drink.

And sighed in sheer and utter pleasure.

After a few more sips, I picked up the quill and began to write. While I had no doubt the council would make a report to my father, he’d be wanting a direct report from me; he’d also want an explanation as to why the tracking stone still showed me aloft when I clearly wasn’t.

I scribed everything that had happened, from the armor’s disappearance to the wonderful news that the liquid shit could be set alight and used as a flaming spray.

Then, munching on the meat, cheese, and bread, I waited for a reply, watching the blinking dot sitting in the middle of the screen that indicated its pair remained active.

It came through after what seemed an agonizingly long time, though in truth was probably little more than a few minutes.

He’d no doubt first relayed my comments to my mother and whoever else was in the war room with him.

I’ll task Hopetown’s council with sending cutters out to Kinara with supplies and scribe pens.

With the aid of air mages, they have a far better chance of reaching that sheltered harbor before we could, and certainly before the gilded riders become a threat.

What of Hopetown itself? Are the preparations coming along satisfactorily?

No, though they may well hasten after the influx of refugees .

You need to order a blackout.

I suggested it but everything remains lit up. I paused. How goes things there?

No change.

If you actually mean, how goes the husband, I believe he’s currently assisting Kele and your mother haul several freshly killed boars up to your young drakkon.

She is a hungry one.

Kele wasn’t only my friend, but also a strega witch whose fire ability was even stronger than mine.

Damon had recently modified his blood-produced magical shield guarding the internal entrance into the aerie to allow Mom through, simply because she was the only other person beside me who could mind speak to all the other drakkons.

I frowned.

Are Rua and Tane not hunting for her?

Yes, but according to your mother, there is no filling a hungry teenager.

I smiled.

She’d said that same phrase about me when I’d suggested Gria couldn’t still be hungry after the boars we’d already fed her.

Tell Kele I expect a jug of mead to be ready and waiting when I get back, as per usual.

I might want to see—and bed—my husband with a surprising degree of desperation, but there were some traditions that needed to be maintained, especially when I’d lose them—and Kele—when I moved to Zephrine.

I had offered her the position of personal guard, which would have meant a serious step up in pay and position, but her mom and her lovers lived in Esan, and even as I’d made the offer I’d known she’d refuse it.

Will do.

There was a slight pause.

Be careful.

Always.

He didn’t reply, but it wasn’t hard to imagine his responding snort.

I was, after all, his daughter and had inherited his innate need to explore, no matter what the danger.

It was one of the reasons he’d never stopped me heading out to watch the drakkons—he’d understood the inner urge I just couldn’t ignore. It was for that same reason Mom had insisted I learn to use a sword and bow, though neither of them had thought it would end up with me enlisting.

But then, what was a girl to do when the prince she’s supposed to marry continually dragged his heels when it came to anything related to our marriage and the treaty negotiations that had started when we were both barely teenagers?

I poured myself another hot drink then finished the rest of the platter.

Feeling much better with a full belly and two cups of shamoke under my belt, I ran the bath, gathered some soap weed and drying towels, then stripped off and stepped into the steaming water.

I stayed there an indecently long time, soaking away the grime and the aches that came with drakkon riding.

It was only when the water began to cool that I climbed out to dry myself and then wash my undergarments.

This room—like most of the buildings in Hopetown and towns like her—had a form of underfloor heating.

Unlike the volcanic steam vents that both Esan and Zephrine used, here the air was heated by a furnace and forced into a series of hollow chambers between the ground and the floor, and then up into either exposed pipes in the wall or through floor vents to heat rooms. A hanging rack had been placed over the vent here, so I hung out my things, then climbed naked into bed. Like any good soldier well used to grabbing sleep when and where they could, I was asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

A sharp knocking on the door woke me hours later.

“Yes?” I mumbled.

“I have the breakfast you ordered, Captain,” came a softly feminine voice.

“Please, bring it in and place it on the table.”

As she did so, I yawned and stretched, then glanced at the window above my head.

It was pitch black outside, but at least the wind no longer howled, and the distant glimmer of stars said the clouds had cleared.

I waited until the woman had left and then tossed off the blankets and padded across to the hanging rack to check if my underclothing had dried. I could’ve dried it myself by applying a little inner heat once it was on, of course, but there was nothing worse than trying to pull on damp clothes.

I quickly dressed, very aware of the strong, musky, and very drakkon scent the leathers were emitting.

I didn’t find it offensive, but I daresay others might.

I took my fill of pottage—a thick soup made from various grains boiled in milk and sweetened with honey—and finished the shamoke, then slipped on my coat and harness and headed out the door.

A guard was waiting for me in the hall beyond.

“This way, Captain.”

“Thank you.”

As I followed him through a mindless number of corridors—this place was a damn maze—I reached for Kaia.

You awake?

Hunting.

You didn’t hunt last night?

Did.

Still hungry.

You on way?