Gold Dragon (Heritage of Power #5)(9)
It wasn’t a disgusting alley. It was one of the less fragrant ones.
You’re lucky she still wants to rut with you. Though she may not if you don’t remember to congratulate her on passing her test.
Oh! Trip turned to Rysha, though she wasn’t looking toward him anymore. She and Sardelle had turned toward another newcomer striding up the corridor, this one with more dignity than Shulina Arya and a haughty upward tilt to his nose. Phelistoth. His silver hair was pulled back in a tie, and layered robes hung to his feet, straight and unwrinkled. He walked past them without a word.
“It’s true that young and perky dragons are a pleasant change,” Sardelle murmured, then inclined her head toward the solarium. She gave the still-fuming guards a warm smile before leading the way inside.
Trip didn’t sense her employing any manipulation, but they did seem to cool down a few degrees. Maybe they liked having pretty women smile at them.
Rysha looked at Trip as they walked in together, and he sensed her excitement, that she wanted to share the news of her success.
Congratulations, he whispered into her mind and touched her hand.
Maybe he should have waited for her to say something, but he felt like a heel because he’d been distracted and hadn’t congratulated her already. He’d heard the news from General Zirkander the night before when he’d come home to the large mother-gathering in his living room.
Thank you. I’m so excited. Rysha seemed comfortable with telepathic contact these days, which warmed Trip’s heart. She was growing comfortable with him. All of him and all of his eccentricities. I’ll get invited to go on dangerous missions now! she added.
More dangerous than the ones we’ve already been on?
She grinned, elbowed him, and nodded ahead of them. I guess we’ll find out soon. But, uhm, it would be nice to celebrate before we’re sent off on whatever the next mission is. She raised her eyebrows toward him. I haven’t seen you very much since we got back.
Her tone seemed hesitant. Uncertain. Did she think he’d been avoiding her? Definitely not.
You’ve been off training every time I’ve come by your barracks room to look for you.
Oh? I hadn’t realized you’d stopped by. It’s true—I have been training a lot. I was terrified I wouldn’t pass the tests, and that I’d lose Shulina Arya and my chance to make it into the unit.
I know. That’s why I didn’t hunt you down. I didn’t want to interrupt. And I’ve been training too. Not in the way of one-armed pull-ups but in the way of altering images on a printed page and redrawing them on another page.
Her lips quirked. I’m glad you mastered the fish workbook.
Just the first exercise.
Do you want to come by tonight? Rysha asked. We could go to dinner and for a walk if it’s not raining.
I would love to. A zing went through his body as he imagined partaking in the romantic beach walk with her that he’d envisioned for so long.
They reached a large wrought-iron table in the center of the solarium and found all of the seats were filled. Rysha stopped behind someone in uniform, someone large, hulking, and hard to see around. The man, a few specks of gray in his short, dark hair, turned and glowered at Trip, though Trip didn’t think they had met before. Had everyone read that ludicrous newspaper article?
Rysha saluted the glowering man. “Good morning, Colonel Therrik.”
Trip also snapped up a salute. He recognized the name, if not the face, and suspected the officer ate those who didn’t salute him quickly enough.
The colonel growled, returned the salute brusquely, and turned back around.
I don’t think he likes having people behind him, Rysha thought. Some of the elite troops can be a touch paranoid.
Trip was close enough, with his mind open to her, that he heard her silent words. Why? I promise I’m not going to squeeze his butt.
I suspect he’s more concerned about getting daggers in the back than butt squeezes.
Given what I’ve heard about him, I suppose that makes sense.
A throat cleared near the head of the table. “Is that our powerful sorcerer?”
Hells, was that the king?
Someone else large and looming stood next to Therrik, and a cluster of officious-looking men with pads of paper and pens blocked the route to the table on his other side, so Trip couldn’t easily make himself seen. He chewed on his lip, debated on using his power to nudge people out of the way—or maybe he could levitate himself over all their heads for a dramatic entrance—but he decided to step up onto a sturdy-looking cement planter.
Belatedly, as his boot slid into the loamy soil underneath a fig tree, he decided that might not have been the most dignified choice. Especially when Therrik stepped to the side, obviating the need for an elevated perch.
King Angulus was indeed gazing in Trip’s direction, his broad face difficult to read. Trip decided not to pry into his thoughts. If his monarch was irked with him, annoyed with him, or simply unimpressed by him, he didn’t want to know.
“Good morning, Sire,” Trip said, gripping the trunk of the fig tree so he could salute with the proper hand without falling off the planter. Belatedly, he realized he could step down from the planter, since Therrik had moved.
Trip jumped down, but landed on a puddle leaking from the bottom of the planter and slipped. He pitched against Therrik, their shoulders bumping. Trip had encountered marble statues with more give.