Oaths (Dragon Blood, Book 8)

by Lindsay Buroker

  His mother dabbed her eyes. Sardelle looked teary-eyed, too, and he wanted to kiss her, but supposed that had to wait until the priest said it was time.

  Polish her what? Jaxi asked. Was that dirty, Ridge? In front of all these people? And your mother?

  Of course not. You know how chaste and wholesome I am.

  Please, I’ve yet to hear Captain Kaika make a joke that you didn’t grasp fully and immediately.

  Has she made any that you didn’t grasp?

  No, but only because I can read minds and am a sublime and worldly individual.

  Ridge nodded to the priest to indicate he’d finished. He had originally written about three pages of things he wanted to say, but had decided that his memory wasn’t that good, that his tongue would trip, and also that the part about love and support was the most important.

  And polishing, apparently, Jaxi added.

  Jaxi, shh. Sardelle added to both of them, You’re delaying important things.

  What? The kissing? You do that all the time.

  I believe she’s talking about the cake, Ridge thought, knowing his mother had stashed away the big multi-layered dessert somewhere that dragons wouldn’t stumble across it. At least, he hoped that was the case. He’d promised cake to so many people that there might be a riot if they found only crumbs on the tray—and frosting smeared all over Bhrava Saruth’s lips.

  Technically, dragons don’t have lips, Jaxi said.

  I’m sure they have something to get frosting on.

  Not privy to the debate, the priest lifted his hands and raised his voice toward the audience. “This union is blessed by the holiest and oldest of the gods, Nendear.”

  Even better, it is blessed by the god Bhrava Saruth, came the dragon’s powerful telepathic words, echoing into everyone’s minds. He strode out from under the shade of his temple in the back and rose on his powerful hind legs, stretching his wings wide so nobody could miss him. Further, he exuded that dragonly aura of his that compelled people to gaze at him in rapture and feel eager to do whatever he wished.

  Ridge was about to drop his face in his hands when a golden glow wafted outward from the dragon, descending over the audience and over Ridge and Sardelle like a gentle mist. A warm tingle went through him, as it had before when the dragon had “blessed” him. Gasps came from the audience as people looked down at their hands, their skin glowing with magical power. Gradually, the glow faded, but if everyone felt like Ridge, they would be aware that something had happened, that they felt extra healthy and full of vitality.

  “I can’t believe I was upstaged by a scaled blasphemer,” the priest growled under his breath, glancing at Angulus, as if the king should somehow make amends.

  “When we get back from the honeymoon, I’ll see to it that a donation is left in the box at your temple in town,” Ridge said quietly, feeling he was the one who should make amends, or at least placate the man. After all, he hadn’t originally planned on a dragon overseeing the wedding when he’d hired the priest.

  “A sizable donation, I should hope.” The priest sniffed. “And a jug of that mead would not go unappreciated.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Ridge murmured, then took Sardelle’s hands and pulled her close for the closing kiss.

  Dozens of contented awws and oohs came from the crowd. His mother wept into her handkerchief.

  As Sardelle slid her arms around his shoulders, Jaxi’s hilt poked Ridge in the hip. “I do love a woman with a sword,” he murmured against her lips.

  Sardelle, busy returning the kiss, replied silently. Your sword is poking me too. It seems fair.

  The ceremonial one, right?

  I assume so, but I’m not looking down.

  Ridge was vaguely aware of some people gasping in delight as fireworks went off over the temple and of others heading back to see if Bhrava Saruth had left any refreshments uneaten. He decided he would ignore the world for a while and stand there with his arms wrapped around Sardelle. Maybe until the honeymoon.

  Epilogue

  Sardelle padded into the living room in slippers and her robe with two plates of griddle cakes in hand. She found Ridge sitting on the couch and contemplating an open box in his hand. The rest of the stack of still-wrapped gifts was piled in the corner between the window and fireplace.

  “You started without me?” She nodded to the empty box, set his plate on the table in front of him, then sat in the comfortable chair adjacent to the hideous couch, folding up her legs.

  He gave her a lopsided smile that might have been a commentary on the gift or a bemused acknowledgment that he’d come to accept that she would avoid sitting on that couch at all costs. He usually ended up joining her in one of the large chairs if he wanted to snuggle.

  “I did not. This one had already been opened. In fact, several have.” He gestured to a few more empty boxes at his feet. The table hid them, so she hadn’t noticed them when she’d come in.

  “Well, we were gone for three days on our honeymoon.”

  “And thus, it was acceptable for others to open presents addressed to us?” Ridge bent his head to sniff the empty box. “There are seeds in the bottom, and this smells like dried fruit. Like it was dried fruit.”

  “Three days is a long time for unopened gifts containing food to remain untouched in a house frequently visited by dragons.”

  “Hm.”

  Sardelle wished they’d had a week or two for their honeymoon, but she hadn’t seen Ridge get a vacation or more than a day off since he’d become general, so she supposed she should be grateful that she’d been able to pry him away from the capital at all. She had been grateful for the upgrades he’d somehow found the time to have done to his lakeside cabin. She knew he hadn’t been out there all summer, so she wasn’t sure how he’d managed it. Offers of beer and camaraderie, no doubt.

  Most of the cabin had been as she remembered, but a stylish addition had been built onto the back and housed an indoor toilet, a large tub for bathing, and a fancy sauna that they had put to good use for relaxing sore muscles after vigorous physical activities.

  “You’re smirking.” Ridge looked over at her and lifted an eyebrow. He’d set the empty box aside and taken a few bites of his griddle cakes. “I do wish I had your mind-reading ability at times. Are you remembering our honeymoon? Our enjoyable evenings—and mornings—together? Or are you fantasizing about the upgraded lavatory?”

  “All of those things.” She grinned. “You know I’m going to want a sauna here, now, right? Especially when winter comes.”

  “That’s probably doable.” Ridge set his plate down and ambled to the unopened boxes. “Where shall we start? I’m going to assume that everything that’s left isn’t edible.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “I like dried fruit. And one of those other boxes smelled like cinnamon buns.” His expression grew wistful.

  Sardelle rested her own plate on the table and joined him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “The proper thing to do would be to send thank-you cards to everyone for these gifts.” There was quite an impressive stack. Not every guest had brought one, but every guest who actually knew her or Ridge—and hadn’t simply wanted to go to the social event of the year—had brought something, and some of his officers who hadn’t been able to get away from work for the wedding had also sent gifts. “It’ll be hard to do with the ones that have been eaten.”

  “Yes, we’ll have to sniff the boxes thoroughly so we know what the people sent and can properly thank them. And then be vague with the wording. Dear Captain Davest, we’re positive the dried fruit was enjoyed by the one who ate it.”

  “That one is from Colonel Quataldo.” She pointed to a tidy green box and remembered the beautiful carved egg he had given them earlier that summer. “He was off on a mission and didn’t make it to the wedding, isn’t that right?” She hated to admit that so many people had been there that she could have missed seeing familiar faces. She had chatted to many people before the ceremony be
gan, but after that, she had been too busy finding Ridge’s goofy grins adorable to pay attention to much of anything else.

  “Yes, perhaps spying on the very Dakrovian family that troubled us.”

  “He should be spying on the Cofah infiltrators who actually destroyed the blood. Or did we ever figure out who did that?” Sardelle assumed the Cofah had been responsible, but it could have been anyone who’d found the reward tempting. She wondered how much it had been.

  “I haven’t heard about it if we did. Maybe the gods didn’t want us to tinker with dragon blood.” Ridge grabbed Quataldo’s box and gave it to her. “Hoping for another egg?” He glanced at the mantel where the first one was mounted on a wooden stand. “I’m surprised the first one hasn’t been eaten.”

  She snorted. “He hollows them out. It’s just the shell when he carves them.”

  “You say that as if Phelistoth wouldn’t nosh on an egg shell while he enjoys his morning coffee.”

  Smiling, she unwrapped the box and opened it. A large ostrich egg lay nestled within, one side carved with the image of a flier and the other with a sword. A soulblade? She smiled, realizing the colonel must have chosen symbols to represent her and Ridge. What a thoughtful man. She wished Ridge had more interactions with him. And perhaps fewer with Colonel Therrik, though if Therrik and Lilah stayed together, that would be unlikely.

  “That’s pretty,” Ridge said. “And doesn’t look terribly edible. Is that Jaxi?”

  “I believe so.”

  Not a bad rendition of me, Jaxi said from her rack on the wall. Though I’m not sure how to feel about Ridge’s flier being so much larger.

  Well, a flier is larger than a sword.

  These are symbols, not physical things. Symbolically, a soulblade is much more important than a flier and thus, should be larger.

  Such a fussy art critic.

  “Who’s next?” Ridge picked up a squishy package wrapped only in paper. “Captain Blazer?”

  Sardelle wasn’t sure whether to eye that one with wariness or not. Blazer definitely had an irreverent streak, but she wasn’t quite as immature as Ridge’s young lieutenants. At least from what Sardelle had seen.

  “She knits, you know. And sews.” Ridge handed her the package.

  As Sardelle unwrapped it, she wondered if he was giving her the unwrapping duties because he thought she would enjoy it or because he was afraid of the gifts from his fellow officers. Maybe he wanted to experience them from a distance.

  Sardelle withdrew an orange and brown knitted… item. She held it out and examined it from all directions. “I do like the autumn colors, but I’m not sure what it is. Some kind of covering for a box? A cylindrical box?”

  Ridge plucked out a tiny card that Sardelle hadn’t noticed. “Happy life together, you two. Hope this helps spruce up your lavatory for all your houseguests. Charlyn.”

  “Charlyn?”

  “That’s her first name. I think she prefers Blazer.” Ridge poked the knitted cover. “The lavatory?”

  “Hm, I think it may be a cover for an extra toilet paper roll. To keep it where you can find it without it being too obvious.”

  “What’s wrong with obvious toilet paper?”

  “Some people consider toiletry items on display to be uncouth.”

  “Are we those kinds of people?”

  “We are now,” Sardelle said and set the gift aside.

  “Life sure gets weird after you’re married.”

  If you don’t want to use it for toilet paper, Jaxi said, and Colonel Quataldo keeps giving you carved eggs, you could store them in there.

  Only one, Sardelle replied. Those eggs are large.

  Maybe you can ask Blazer to make you more holders.

  Sardelle imagined holders knitted from yarn and stuffed with eggs hanging all over the house and shook her head.

  “Oh, this can’t be good,” Ridge said, distracting her. He lifted a large box. “This is the one that was ticking. That I had to come over and vouch for at the wedding.”

  “Ah yes. From the same minds that brought us that couch.”

  “Just one of them. It says it’s just from Duck. I believe I heard that Pimples went in with a couple of others to get us a cheese club membership.”

  “That will be appreciated.”

  Ridge eyed the empty boxes on the floor. “Indeed.” He held Duck’s box up to his ear before opening it. “It’s not ticking now. I don’t know whether that’s good or bad.”

  Sardelle resisted the urge to use her power to peek inside. She was afraid of what she might find.

  “Perhaps we could open Lilah and Therrik’s gift first,” she suggested. “Or Lieutenant Ahn’s. Or your mother’s. I feel that the women in your life can be trusted to give us practical and thoughtful gifts.”

  Like egg holders, Jaxi said.

  “You’re including Therrik in with the women in my life?” Ridge asked.

  “Well, I assume Lilah picked it out while Therrik stayed home and scowled.”

  “That does seem likely.” Ridge poked around, found their gift, and handed it to Sardelle. “I’ve already sniffed the one Mom gave us to see if it smelled like soaps.”

  “Does it?” Sardelle was surprised by the heft of Lilah and Therrik’s box.

  “Surprisingly, no. Though it’s in a rather large, flat box for soap. Maybe she ran out of ingredients after making all those baskets for the wedding guests. I was somewhat amused that she lifted her chin, strode up, and deposited one in front of Bhrava Saruth. What do you think a dragon will do with soap?”

  “You don’t think dragons need to scrub their armpits, the same as humans?”

  “I assume they can handle bathing without manmade appurtenances.” Sardelle slid the card out from under a leather band holding the lid of the gift box shut.

  Ridge and Sardelle, the message read in Lilah’s elegant penmanship, I am pleased that you found each other—and that you, Sardelle, find Ridge as entertaining as he finds himself. I am honored you chose me to stand at your side at your wedding, and I’m glad I’ve gotten to know you this summer. Ridge, treat Sardelle well, and give her frequent foot rubs and massages. Women like these things. I hope this small gift will be useful in your household. Lilah.

  A postscript at the bottom was written in a heavier hand with far fewer embellishments in the penmanship. Zirkander, don’t screw things up. Her sword can fry a man’s— The words cock and balls had been crossed out, and Lilah had written sexual reproductive organs above them. Apparently, vulgarity wasn’t allowed on gift cards. A simple signature of Vann finished off the message.

  Ridge, reading over Sardelle’s shoulder, grunted. “Nice correction, Lilah.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that part. Just this line up here.” Sardelle drew her finger under the bit about foot rubs and massages.

  “I seem to remember there being some rubbing in the sauna.”

  “Foot rubs aren’t the same thing as other types of rubbing.”

  “Maybe not, but I don’t remember any objections at the time.” He grinned and kissed her temple.

  Sardelle opened the lid and found two gifts inside. One was a very military-looking cannon pencil sharpener that had to weigh five pounds. She handed it to Ridge, assuming that was Therrik’s contribution and that it was for his desk.

  “Heavy and dense,” Ridge said. “Much like his head.”

  “What are you going to do if they get married, and he becomes your in-law?”

  “Don’t joke about that. You’ll give me nightmares.”

  Sardelle withdrew Lilah’s gift, a cookbook with some nicely carved wooden spoons and spatulas. “I mentioned to her that I was attempting to learn to cook,” Sardelle said dryly. “I suppose this is more practical than the first edition paleontology book she asked if I was interested in.”

  “My cousin wants to encourage you to cook for me?” He raised his eyebrows, appearing surprised.

  “Who said the cooking would be for you? We have many gues
ts to feed.”

  “This is true. And then after dinner, they can go up and admire Blazer’s gift.”

  Ridge started to set aside the cannon pencil sharpener, but noticed it had a few moving parts. He tugged at a pull chain in the back and something inside twanged. This sent him in search of a pencil. Once he found one, he stuck it in the barrel and pulled the chain. This time when the cannon twanged, it launched the pencil across the room. He grinned broadly.

  “If I admitted that amused me greatly, would that be immature?” he asked.

  “I think it would only be immature if you launched pencils at fellow officers entering your office.”

  “Hm.”

  “You’ll have to let Therrik know you liked his gift. Here, might as well open Duck’s while you’re feeling immature.”

  “Do you know something I don’t know?” Ridge accepted it, shaking it slightly. Something inside rattled.

  “Let’s just say that I know your men and have a hunch.”

  I have more than a hunch, Jaxi said. It’ll take a whole new level of immaturity to enjoy that gift. I feel you should demote Duck for having thought it would be appropriate.

  “That bad?” Ridge tugged open the metallic ribbon that had been tied in a messy knot.

  He opened the lid and peered inside. Sardelle couldn’t resist leaning close to look.

  “A mechanical dog?” He withdrew it and examined the blocky construct from all sides. “It looks like it can move. Oh, there’s a crank.”

  Jaxi sighed into their minds.

  Ridge turned the crank and set the four-legged construct on the floor. The legs started moving and it ambled around in a circle. Ridge pulled something blue out of the box as the metal dog lifted a leg. It wasn’t until Ridge lowered the additional piece—a miniature lamppost—that Sardelle understood what it was pretending to do. The “gift” was everything she had feared it would be, made worse by the fact that Ridge’s grin was even broader than it had been for the cannon.

  She dropped her face into her hand.

  As the mature and put-upon housewife, you can demand that he not store it anywhere you’ll ever see it, Jaxi suggested. Or I could incinerate it the first time Ridge turns his back.