“Your species would very likely survive if you did so,” Bhajera Liv put in helpfully.
Trip looked upward, sensing another dragon flying over the castle. Bhrava Saruth. Had he been invited to the meeting too?
“Good to know,” Zirkander said. “I’m sure we’ll do very well if we shove the whole country into the Magroth Crystal Mines.”
Angulus sighed and rubbed his forehead. Major Kaika, who sat in the closest seat on his right, sent him a worried look.
“Thank you for your presentation,” Angulus finally told the dragons. “If you don’t have any other suggestions—”
A gust of wind ruffled people’s hair, and Trip sensed Bhrava Saruth landing on the perch of one of the huge glass windows overlooking the outdoor gardens. He shifted into human form before he walked into view, his sandy hair shaggy on all sides and tumbling into his green eyes.
“Greetings, worshippers,” he announced, his voice booming into their minds as well as their ears. “Am I late for the meeting?”
Wyleenesh sniffed and adjusted his spectacles. “We’ve completed our presentation.”
“Ah, then I’ve missed the boring part and have arrived at the perfect time. Are those pastries?” He pointed at one of several trays of baked goods on the table.
Angulus rubbed his forehead again, more vigorously. A number of murmured conversations started up as one of the pastry trays floated into the air toward Bhrava Saruth.
I think this meeting will be adjourning soon, Trip guessed, looking at Rysha. Without much having been resolved.
He thought of his visit with the surrogate mothers last night, and of Mladine’s close encounter with a dragon, and he resolved that he would figure out something that could be done, even if nobody else around the table had ideas.
That’s my fear as well. I am going to brainstorm some ideas so that I can share them with my superiors.
Tonight? I thought we might celebrate tonight. Trip clasped her hand.
I’m amenable to that. She rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. I’ve missed you these last three weeks.
Me too. I mean, I’ve missed you. A lot.
A throat cleared.
“Trip?” Zirkander asked, tilting his head toward the king.
He dropped Rysha’s hand. Angulus was looking expectantly at him. Nobody had spoken to him, had they? Maybe he’d missed a discussion about him?
Therrik exhaled heavily. Or maybe that was a disapproving growl.
“I understand you’re studying with Sardelle,” Angulus said. “Is there any chance you’ll one day be powerful enough to convince the dragons terrorizing our country to stay away from here?”
“Me? I don’t see how, Sire. I wouldn’t even be able to convince that dragon to leave your pastries alone.” Trip looked at Bhrava Saruth—he now held the tray and was taking alarmingly large bites of frosted cloud buns. Perhaps he should have shape-shifted into a form with a bigger mouth.
Would your king not find it alarming if I arrived at his meeting in alligator form? Bhrava Saruth asked, smirking over at Trip and proving Trip still needed to work on masking his thoughts, at least from such powerful beings as dragons.
“I thought not,” Angulus said, “but I had to ask.”
The disappointment emanating from him stung Trip. It wasn’t as if it was his fault he was a half-dragon instead of a whole one, and an ill-trained one at that. But he would find a way to help, one way or another. Helping his country and his king—and now his little siblings—was all he’d ever wanted to do. He’d always imagined doing that by being a pilot and shooting down enemies, but perhaps he should expand his expectations of himself. Iskandia didn’t need a pilot; it needed a dragon solution. He liked to find solutions and fix things. He just wasn’t sure how to fix this one. Maybe he could brainstorm with Rysha later.
“We’ll talk again later,” Angulus said, looking around the table, and Trip sensed that he wasn’t comfortable plotting ways to defeat dragons with actual dragons in the room. “If you have ideas on how to protect our shores, please give them to your unit commanders. Dismissed.”
4
Rysha combed her hair and looked in the mirror for the fifth time, engaging in the hair-up-or-hair-down debate for the twentieth time. Currently, her strawberry-blonde locks fell about her shoulders, which she thought Trip might like—since they’d both been in uniform practically since they’d met, he hadn’t seen her without it in a bun very often. But it was on the flat side with an odd kink from being in a bun earlier, and she glowered distastefully at it. Maybe a braid would be better.
If they were going to walk along the beach, it could be breezy, and a braid might make sense. Even though she liked the way her hair looked when down, it was a pain to constantly have to claw it away from her face. And when it grew tangled in the frames of her spectacles, and she couldn’t get them off? Not a sexy look.
“Seven gods, when did you turn into a teenage girl?” Rysha grumbled, forcing herself away from the mirror.
Trip had seen her injured, bloody, and dying, and he’d seen her soaking wet and draped with seaweed. Not only that, but being in that state had led to cuddling and sex. Clearly, he didn’t mind a woman who wasn’t perfectly made up.
Oh, but she should put on a little lip paint. Just a touch. The raspberry rouge. That would draw his eyes to her lips and away from that kink in her hair. Or maybe his gaze would be drawn lower.
She’d chosen a silky blue blouse that hugged her breasts and flared at the waist. If she’d had a dress up here in the capital, she might have opted for one tonight, but she hadn’t been thinking of evening wear when she’d packed to leave her family’s manor for the army. And at her height, it wasn’t as if she could run out to buy one. She always had to have clothing tailor-made, something that had been easier before her parents stopped giving her an allowance. Not that she cared about that. It had been their way of punishing her for enlisting, but she was glad to be independent of the family now and living on her lieutenant’s pay. Besides, she’d spent the majority of her allowance on books, and she had limited space in her barracks room to accumulate a new collection.
A knock sounded at the door. Even though she had expected it—expected him—she jumped. She dropped the lip brush back into the tin.
“Coming,” she called, though she doubted it was necessary. In the compact room, it was only two steps to the door, and Trip would magically sense her location.