Page 52 of Valor’s Flight (The New Protectorate #5)

Alashiya stepped out onto the street. Her skin was clammy. The warm summer breeze that had carried her into town now felt accusatory somehow, like everytime it brushed her skin it wanted to remind her that she’d done something wrong.

She wanted to rush home and vomit out an apology, but what good would that do? Taevas didn’t need her to be sorry. He needed her to get a damn car. That was the only reason he’d allowed her to go into town at all, and she could only imagine that every second that ticked by saw his worry increasing.

He was worried about her when he had an entire territory to think of. Gods, I’m an ass.

Alashiya hustled down the street, her hand-me-down boots clicking on the cracked sidewalk. Normally she was extremely vigilant when she was in town, especially during the summer, but not now. All she could think about was that photo, and Taevas, and how badly she’d messed up.

It made his offer that much more weighty. It was one thing to imagine he could give her what she wanted, but it was another to know he could. He was the leader of the Draakonriik. The second wealthiest territory on the entire continent, with an army of dragons at his disposal.

And he’d looked at her like an equal. He wanted to negotiate with her like she was just as powerful, just as important as him.

If I had his resources at my disposal, what could I do? Not as Shiya, but as Queen Alashiya.

She stopped the thought before it could dig its roots any deeper.

Guilt gnawed on her bones with a thousand hungry teeth.

What right did she have to even think about taking anything he offered when she’d caused so much trouble?

If she’d only listened to him and really tried to get him back to his people, his uncle wouldn’t have been defending himself at that press conference, people wouldn’t be asking so many questions, and Taevas’s position wouldn’t be threatened.

Her throat closed up at the thought. What if we’re too late?

Was it possible that they might get him home, only to discover that his people had been forced to replace him? The idea that Taevas might return to nothing all because she was too scared to leave Birchdale was sickening.

Debbie and Mike lived close to town, at the end of a neat row of houses now owned by people who rented them out for recreationists.

Alashiya remembered when those homes were full of families.

Many of her friends had lived in them. But she also remembered when they’d gradually begun to empty out until one day there were only a handful of familiar faces remaining — a row of tarnished pearls strung on a broken necklace. Sooner or later they’d all fall off.

The homes that were left had slipped into disrepair, accelerating Birchdale’s decay, until the investors came sniffing around.

Seemingly overnight, most of the town was purchased by people looking to make a quick buck on vacation rentals.

The homes were fixed up. They all looked like plastic versions of their old selves to her.

Like someone had popped her friends’ homes into a machine and extruded some cheap replica out the other end.

One of the few originals remaining was Debbie and Mike’s house, which sat at the end of the lane.

The detritus of their lives spilled out around them, into the trees and tall weeds that ringed their yard.

They weren’t untidy people, but Mike liked to collect things — cars and old farming equipment, mostly.

He claimed to make a good living on reselling them, but Alashiya rarely saw anything leave their yard once it crossed the boundary, so she had her doubts.

She picked her way around the familiar winding path between machines to approach the side door. No one ever used the front except the mailman.

Mike took a while to open the door. Peering at her through the screen, his suspicious glower quickly melted away. “Hey, Shiya! What’d you need?”

Alashiya offered him her sweetest smile.

She’d known Mike all her life. Though she’d never really been friends with his kids, they’d been thrown together often enough that he’d been something of a fixture in her childhood.

He wasn’t a particularly nice man, but he could be handled easily enough when he felt important.

Unfortunately, even the slightest hint of what he deemed disrespect could send him into a fit, which was probably why he and his wife never got along.

Debbie didn’t have the patience to cater to him or anyone. Alashiya couldn’t say she blamed her, but she did wonder how on Earth they’d gotten together in the first place.

“I’m so sorry, Mike. I know you’re probably busy,” she began, knowing full-well he was most likely spending the day glued to his recliner, just like always.

“Never too busy for you, honey.” His ruddy face flushed with pleasure as he cracked open the screen door and leaned out. He was rail-thin, with bony shoulders and long, spidery hands. They’d scared the daylights out of her as a kid, even when he used to sneak her sweets or help her tie her shoes.

Widening her eyes, she softly explained, “I have a big favor to ask. I have to go out of town for work and I wasn’t given any notice about it.

I asked Debbie if I might be able to borrow one of your cars for a few days and she said yes, but I know how hard you work on them, so I wanted to be sure it was all right with you first.”

She held her breath. Her bashful, pleading expression remained fixed in place as she waited to see what he’d say.

Some days Mike would do anything she asked of him and other days he’d cuss her out for even stepping on his porch.

She never really knew which one she’d get, but her odds were better if she acted a little helpless and deferential.

It’d never really bothered her before, but something about having to stand there and brace for his reaction grated. So much of her life had been spent making herself smaller, softer, more palatable to people like Mike, who might turn his claws on her no matter what she did.

It was just a fact of her existence, but all of a sudden it didn’t feel quite as tolerable as it once had.

Maybe it was because she was desperate, her patience thin.

Or maybe it was because she’d spent so much time with Taevas.

For some reason it’d never occurred to her to put on this act for him.

She’d been entirely herself for the first time in a very long time, and now the deferential act felt like an old pair of shoes that didn’t quite fit anymore.

He squinted at her and rolled his tongue over his teeth. “Which one’d she say you could use?”

Tensing, she answered, “The blue?”

“Where you goin’?”

“New York.”

“Needs its oil changed if you’re goin’ that far,” he grumbled.

Not sure if that was a yes or no, Alashiya shuffled her feet on the creaky boards of the porch and tried not to show her impatience. “I can pay for that,” she offered. “You’d be doing me such a favor. I’m more than happy to—”

Mike’s face went even ruddier than normal. “You don’t think I know how to change my own damn oil?”

Alashiya’s stomach sank. Shit.

“You’re the best mechanic in town, so of course you do,” she assured him. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. I just don’t want you working too hard for me, Mike. You’ve done so much.”

It was only the truth if one counted the favors he’d half-finished, like how he’d promised to fix up her grandfather’s truck and only ever changed a few spark plugs, or that time he said he’d help her repair the roof of the house, but just slapped a tarp over the hole.

A bit of the color drained from Mike’s face. It was a good sign. Waving away her objections, he replied, “Nah, don’t waste your money. I’ll fix it up tonight. Come ’round tomorrow and get the keys.”

Relief made her smile a little more genuine. “Thank you, Mike. Really, I can’t tell you how much I—”

A squeal of tires cut her off. They both turned to look a little ways down the street, where a shiny black SUV with tinted windows had just careened into the driveway of one of the rentals.

Mike made an ugly spitting sort of sound behind her. “Fuckin’ tourists. Too damn loud and don’t even know how to drive!”