Origins

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Maybe you should try that.”

  “Throwing balls in nets?”

  “You might find it fun.”

  Her fingers drifted from his back to his collar, then touched skin for the first time. She rubbed his neck, and a thrill of heat ran down his spine. For a moment, he forgot the thread of the conversation.

  “I, uh—I went to one of his matches once and thought the stationary goal made the game boring and unchallenging. I grabbed a food wrapper and started sketching ideas on the back to create an ambulatory goal powered by a clockwork engine. It would have been able to move along the end line and also raise itself up and down. I was so engrossed in my design that someone had to prod me in the shoulder to let me know the match had ended and people were leaving. I have no idea what the final score was other than that Leftie’s team won, as usual.”

  “So, designing things is fun for you. You should spend more time doing it.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not sure when. More than ever, I feel my place is in the sky, defending Iskandia, and my evenings are—I feel it would be irresponsible for me not to train with Sardelle when possible. Especially, now that…” He trailed off, not wanting to talk about how he’d seemed to grow stronger in the last couple of weeks. It was as if using his powers instead of shunting them away to some dark recess of his mind was making them greater. Like a muscle getting larger after working out. That wouldn’t be so bad, but when he accidentally caused some desire of his to happen, it bothered him, even when it was as innocent as wanting to know if Leftie had landed safely.

  “I’m sure you won’t have to train forever,” Rysha said, her fingers massaging the back of his neck. His chain almost slipped its gears as wonderful sensations rushed through his body. Her fingers pushed up into his hair, nails scraping along his scalp. “And in the meantime, you should still make time for fun now and then.”

  He groped for something intelligent to say, but most of his blood was rushing away from his brain instead of toward it. He leaned closer to her, tempted to drop his head in her lap. The notion that he ought to be offering to massage something of hers came to mind, but he couldn’t imagine doing anything that would stop this. He wanted her to keep rubbing his neck, his scalp. Maybe other things too.

  Earlier, he’d been reminding himself that they should be professional while on their mission, but would it be so bad if they did what he’d longed to do since they first kissed? No, for longer than that. The memory of her walking onto the airship deck in that revealing pirate attire flashed into his mind. Of how stunning she’d been, how much he’d wanted to brazenly look, to walk up and touch. Even before then, he’d wanted to be with her. Maybe as soon as that first night when she’d stood up for him in that stupid tavern in the capital. And when she’d been poring over maps and studying texts in the corner, preferring that to getting drunk and talking about inane things, the way everyone else there had been doing.

  And, he felt certain, she wanted to be with him too. Surely, it hadn’t been sympathy alone that brought her out here. All those words about making time for fun. Could she have meant them for herself as well as for him? Maybe she’d been thinking of a private tryst when she came looking for him. And if they had one, who would know? The others had gone to sleep. Only Leftie remained awake, and how much would he hear across the spring and over the crackle of the fire?

  Rysha’s fingers paused, and Trip sensed her draw back, mentally as well as physically. He also sensed that sword influencing her, warning her about him.

  Damn it, they didn’t need a duenna. He thought the control words at it, telling it to stand down. He didn’t want anything interrupting them, nor making Rysha hesitate to touch him.

  His senses were still in and out, and he didn’t feel Dorfindral’s acquiescence, but the blade must have lessened its warning, because Rysha relaxed. Her fingers returned to his scalp, massaging him and teasing his hair. Her other hand shifted down his back and up under his jacket. She untucked his shirt and slid her fingers up his spine. By the gods, yes. That was exquisite. Now all he needed was her lips against his, hungry and intense.

  He tilted his face toward hers, groping for a way to phrase the suggestion, but she anticipated him. Or she’d been thinking of the same thing. Her mouth found his, and he scooted closer, determined that their kiss not be interrupted again, that they have as much time together as they wanted.

  She surprised him with her eagerness, her hand rubbing his back as she kissed him hard, hungry, her body pressing against his, full of need. Her desire washed over him, and excitement flooded him as he felt her need. He pulled her into his arms, then into his lap, groaning with pleasure as he started exploring her body, sliding a hand up under her shirt. He slid his tongue into her mouth, reveling in her taste, in her scent, in the warm emotions, her desire to be with him, to do whatever he wanted, to make him feel—

  A realization slammed into Trip like a bucket of ice water.

  He pulled back, horror stealing his desire as it dawned on him that he was influencing her, that he probably had been since she sat down. But especially since he’d told the sword to shut up. Maybe, no matter what she’d said, he’d even affected her decision to walk over here and find him.

  “Rysha,” he croaked.

  She hadn’t yet had the same realization. Her hands continued to rub and massage, nails scraping his skin, making it very hard for him to think of pushing her away. It would be so easy to return to what they’d been doing, to pretend he was wrong, or that it didn’t matter.

  But it did matter.

  “Rysha,” he said again, and this time, found her wrists, pulling her hands out from under his shirt.

  “Mm?” she asked, her lips against his throat, the spot they’d found when he’d pulled his mouth away. She nuzzled him, her kisses painfully delicious.

  “We can’t. I—I didn’t mean to, but I…”

  She drew back, looking into his eyes, as if he were a cipher to figure out. He swallowed, groping for words to explain further, but he didn’t have to. He could see her expression shut down as understanding grew.

  “You used your magic on me,” she said, her body freezing, her gaze locked to his. Horror and condemnation filled her eyes now, making him wish he didn’t see in the dark as well as he did. “You commanded me to—” Her voice broke off, and he sensed disbelief and then rage welling within her.

  “No,” he protested. “I promise, I didn’t mean to make it a command. I was just thinking about how good it felt and that I wanted you to—”

  “You silenced Dorfindral.” She pulled away from him, jerking her hands from his when he didn’t loosen his grip quickly enough. “I felt his warning, and then suddenly it went away. You used the command words, didn’t you? And because you’re you, the sword listened.”

  Trip knew he should voice an agreement, to confess, but it was so hard. To admit that he’d been manipulating her and asserting his control over the sword so he could more easily do so. He hadn’t even known what he was doing, not truly.

  “I should have known.” She pushed herself out of his lap. Fast. As if she couldn’t get away from him quickly enough. She grabbed Dorfindral’s scabbard and stood, towering over him. “I could tell it was complaining about more than your presence, but I couldn’t figure out what. I didn’t know you were manipulating me. That’s what the sword was warning me about.”

  “Rysha, I’m sorry.” He spread his arms and looked up at her, wondering if shifting to his knees to apologize would help at all. “I didn’t mean to. But I should have known. I—”

  Asshole. She didn’t say it, but the thought jumped to the front of her mind so loudly that he heard it.

  She spun away and stalked into the brush, heading back around the spring toward camp.

  Trip rubbed his face, feeling lower than a slug. If everybody thought he was turning into a jerk, maybe they weren’t wrong. Maybe he was destined to be some evil bastard with far too much power to be wholesome. The same as his sire.

>   Rysha made it back to the camp. Leftie grinned and made some joke about where she’d been. She snapped something that was probably the equivalent of screw you at him, then lay down on her bedroll and yanked the blanket over her head. And cried.

  Trip dropped his face into his hands, tears of his own forming. But he’d brought this on himself. What right did he have to weep?

  “Asshole,” he whispered to himself.

  16

  “We’re only about five miles from Jralk Mountain,” Blazer said, pointing at the map unrolled on the ground in front of the remains of the campfire.

  The sun had just come up, but it already flooded the blue sky with its light, and Rysha had no trouble reading the symbols and words on the paper.

  “From the base of this side of it,” Blazer added. “The mountain is huge. Who knows where on it a dragon might be found?”

  “Somewhere inside it, I imagine,” Duck said, yawning.

  None of them had slept much that night, Rysha least of all. She’d lain curled up in a ball, tears leaking into the dirt as she replayed those minutes with Trip over and over again. She’d been unable to let it go and get some rest, unable to stop thinking about how far she would have gone last night because he’d wished it.

  Had any of her truly wanted to be over there, flinging herself all over him like some simpering palace prostitute, trained to exist only to please men? Or had his desires simply been coercing her into action?

  No, she knew that wasn’t true. She’d wanted to go over there and comfort him. Hells, she’d even been thinking of kissing him if she found him, of making him forget Leftie’s dark snarl.

  But could she trust those thoughts? What if he’d been subtly manipulating her all along?

  No, she doubted that. Dorfindral had known the moment when he’d started using his power on her. She’d wanted to comfort him. And she’d enjoyed touching him, rubbing his warm, muscular body through his clothing. And under it. She just hadn’t planned to fling herself at him and fulfill his every sexual desire. She remembered pausing when Dorfindral had warned her that something was awry, but the sensation had disappeared, and she’d been oh so eager to return to what they’d been doing.

  Even now, heat flooded her cheeks at the memory of how easily she’d been led, how weak her will had been. How embarrassing. Here, she was so proud of her mind, all the knowledge she’d put into it, and how quickly she could access that knowledge. But along came a sorcerer, and she couldn’t manage a coherent thought of her own? She couldn’t retain her independence in the face of some green-eyed man who wanted her in his bed?

  She vowed to stay away from Trip and certainly not to follow him into any dark nooks in the wilds. Even though she regretted thinking of him as an asshole and understood that he probably hadn’t meant to influence her, she wasn’t going to surrender her independence, her own will, to a man. To anyone. And it would be too easy for those lines to blur with him.

  “Lieutenant Ravenwood?” Kaika poked her in the shoulder.

  Rysha realized everyone was looking at her. Well, not everyone, as Trip had never returned to the camp. But Blazer, Kaika, Duck, and Leftie stood around the map with her, and their eyes were upon her.

  “Sorry, what?” she asked, embarrassed anew because she had missed the question.

  “We’re trying to figure out the best spot to look for a dragon,” Kaika said, thankfully not teasing her for her distraction.

  Maybe Rysha looked too tired and miserable to tease.

  “We’re also considering options for the fliers,” Blazer said. “The crystals seem to be knocked out a lot more of the time than they’re on, and when they’re on, they flicker.”

  Rysha wished Trip’s power had been less on last night.

  “There’s this mining town about eight miles that way, at the base of the mountain.” Blazer pointed at the map with a stick. “But I’ve never heard of it, and I don’t know if we’d be able to get help there, or if we’d be kicked out because we’re obviously Iskandians.”

  “If we weren’t wearing our uniforms, they wouldn’t know we were military Iskandians,” Rysha said. “I’ve seen people here with similar complexions to ours, even among the cultists. Rakgorath is a melting pot. People from nations all over the world have been dropped off here or came of their own volition.” She scratched her head, noticing that half her hair wasn’t up in her bun. She’d forgotten to comb it and remake it when she woke up. She was a mess. Damn Trip. “I’m not sure what we would find in a mining town. In fact, what makes you think that’s what it is? Rakgorath isn’t known for its ore or other natural resources.”

  “It’s called Smelterville,” Blazer said.

  Rysha cleaned her spectacles and crouched to more easily read the labels. “Oh.”

  “I was joking last night about the steam engine, sort of. But maybe it would be possible to create something that could pull our fliers out of the desert. If that’s a real mining town, there might be enough raw materials to build something. Maybe they even have a simple boiler and firebox we could buy and convert to meet our needs. If Captain Trip ever deigns to join us again, he’s supposed to have that engineering background, and I’m a fair mechanic too. We could jury-rig something if we had appropriate materials.”

  Rysha eyed the map dubiously. Even though she could verify the name of the town now, she couldn’t imagine much of a mining or smelting operation here. They hadn’t even seen another human being since leaving the coast. The town might be an abandoned area where people had once set something up for exploratory mining.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to look. We can walk and be there before it gets too hot.” Blazer eyed the rising sun, its warm rays already beating down upon them. “I’d feel more comfortable knowing we have a plan to get the fliers back in the air. We can’t leave them here.” She grimaced, and Rysha imagined how much trouble a mission leader would get into for losing four expensive military aircraft. “Also, we don’t yet know where in the mountain to look for the dragon. Maybe there will be some clues in the town. It’s not like there are any other towns nestled up to the bottom of the mountain range.”

  No, with only a handful of exceptions, the entire population, at least as marked by cities and towns, lived along the coast. Rysha didn’t know if that was because the inland desert was too inhospitable for too much of the year, or if the magic dead zone had something to do with it. She thought she remembered Bhrava Saruth mentioning that the mountains themselves weren’t in the zone—which, if Agarrenon Shivar had his lair there, made sense—but there weren’t any towns up there, at least none that were listed on the map.

  “Clues?” Duck asked. “Like dragon shrines with virgins being sacrificed on them?” His lips twisted with distaste.

  “Spare us any more clues like that,” Blazer said, sighing.

  “At least we helped those people.” Kaika patted Blazer on the shoulder. “Maybe if we tell the general that, he’ll be less likely to demote you for losing the fliers.”

  Blazer glared at her. “The fliers aren’t lost.”

  “As long as nothing decides to eat them while we’re gone.” Duck eyed a huge vulture flying overhead. “I’m a bit uneasy about leaving them out here.”

  “So am I,” Blazer said. “But the animals here seem more interested in eating people than flier parts.”

  “You’re not supposed to say that like it’s a good thing,” Kaika told her.

  “Ravenwood, you have any clues about the dragon’s location? What did all those rubbings and books we helped you find say?”

  Once again, heat rushed into Rysha’s cheeks. She hadn’t forgotten about those items exactly—she’d considered trying to examine them while riding out here the night before, but she wouldn’t have been able to keep a lantern lit in the flier’s open back seat. After they had landed, however, she should have sat beside the fire and examined them instead of going after Trip. Unfortunately, when she’d come back from visiting him, clue hunts had been the farthest thing from
her mind.

  “There wasn’t good enough light to examine them last night, ma’am,” Rysha said, trying not to feel like a moon-eyed schoolgirl who’d sneaked out to see a boy instead of doing her homework. “But I’ll look things over while we’re hiking to that town. I hope to have some suggestions for you by the time we arrive.”

  “Watch out for the giant thorns if you’re going to walk and read at the same time,” Kaika advised.

  “Very well,” Blazer said, her face hard to read.

  Rysha hoped she wasn’t disappointed. Even if she wasn’t, Rysha felt like she’d failed her team. She’d been brought along on these missions, missions that no lieutenant four months out of the academy would typically be invited on, specifically because of her scholarly background. If she wasn’t providing scholarly input, what good was she?

  Dorfindral, once again belted at her waist, sent a twinge of distaste into her. Without looking, she knew Trip was coming.

  A few minutes later, after Blazer rolled up the map, the others noticed his approach.

  “Well, well, our engineer has decided to join us,” Blazer said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Trip’s tone was neutral, and Rysha couldn’t interpret his mood from it. She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to acknowledge him at all, but she glanced anyway, curious as to what she would see. Remorse? Indignation? Would he ignore her or avoid making eye contact altogether?

  Their gazes met as soon as she looked at him, and she read the anguish in his eyes. It tore at her heart, and feelings of sympathy rose within her all over again. But he had done it to himself, damn it. And to her. She turned her back to him and walked to her blanket. Time to pack up her gear for a hike.

  “We’re walking to a town called Smelterville to find some materials to build something that will let us drive or haul the fliers out of this desert,” Blazer said. “You up for an engineering task?”