Oaths (Dragon Blood, Book 8)

by Lindsay Buroker

  Housewife? Is that what I am now? How odd. She thought of the child in her womb and wondered if her days of traveling the world and going on adventures were coming to a close.

  You’re still a teacher and healer, but you’re now also a wife who resides in a house. And owns a cookbook.

  So domestic.

  You agreed to it. If it’s any consolation, Ridge was amused by the cookbook. Though he appreciates that you’ve been letting his mother teach you how to make cookies and tarts, he’s fairly certain you two will continue your tradition of dining on whatever takeout deli meals he picks up on his way out of the city after work.

  I truly wouldn’t mind learning to cook a few entrées… when I’m not busy tutoring my students.

  Don’t forget your duties as a dragon’s high priestess. Business may pick up now that your god has a temple.

  Oh dear.

  Ridge cleared his throat and looked at her. “A totally impractical and goofy gift,” he announced.

  “You love it. I can tell.”

  “Er, yes, but I won’t insist it be placed as prominently in the house as the couch.”

  “Good. Jaxi has already offered to incinerate it when you’re not looking.”

  “But not if I store it in my duck blind retreat? Perhaps behind some books?”

  “It might be safe then,” Sardelle said. “Only Wreltad goes out there with you. Though he might feel compelled to incinerate it too.”

  It is loathsome, the heretofore silent soulblade announced from his rack. I do, however, approve of the cannon pencil sharpener. Quite clever and amusing.

  “That’s going in my office in the citadel,” Ridge said. “But don’t tell Therrik I like it.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Sardelle said.

  “Here, maybe this is something that will make you feel better about our gifts.” Ridge handed her the box from his mother.

  Based on its size and shape, Sardelle guessed it had to be a painting, and she opened it without wariness. Ridge’s mother didn’t know how to be irreverent.

  She withdrew a framed canvas featuring a beautiful gold dragon that she promptly recognized as Bhrava Saruth. She and Ridge stood side by side, leaning against the dragon’s shoulder, she in her favorite green dress with Jaxi strapped at her waist, and Ridge in his uniform, both of them looking like they could leap onto Bhrava Saruth’s back and fly into battle at any moment.

  Her throat tightened, both at the beauty of the painting and at the realization of how Fern saw them. Maybe her finding out about Sardelle’s magic—and the existence of dragons—hadn’t been a bad thing after all. She was definitely relieved of the burden of having to hide everything from Fern.

  “Huh,” Ridge said. “Not bad, eh? Us, I mean. But I suppose if she had to put a dragon in it, that’s the right one.”

  “I like the suggestion of it, that our adventures aren’t over, even if we’re married and expecting a baby.”

  “Oh, I could have told you that.” Ridge wrapped an arm around her and wriggled his eyebrows. “Living with me will always be an adventure.”

  Sardelle eyed the dog, which was winding down with its perambulations, and also the pencil still lying on the floor. “I suspect you’re right.”

  * * *

  THE END

  Bonus Short Story: Crazy Canyon

  “Potted plants?” General Ridgewalker Zirkander scratched his head. “You came to see me about potted plants?”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man from the king’s castle—what was his title? Steward?—rolled out a blueprint of the courtyard. Or what the courtyard would look like after the construction finished. Thanks to dragons, demolitions, and a sorceress, the castle was still undergoing “renovations,” as the newspapers called them. “We want to ensure the landing pad for the king’s fliers meets the required specifications, but Lady Dilwandser—she’s overseeing furnishing and decor, since the queen passed away—thought the pad would look too bare.”

  “It’s supposed to be bare. So fliers can land on it and so the king, his entourage, and their supplies can be loaded.”

  “Lady Dilwandser wants to know if it’s safe to place foliage around the pad. At the corners here and here. And then perhaps a hedge along this side.”

  “A hedge?”

  “Yes, sir. Unlike the pots, it would be planted and immobile. We were worried about the heat from the thrusters wilting the plants. I brought you a sample of the shrub Lady Dilwandser suggested. It blooms in the spring, and the flowers are delicate.” The man produced a leafy twig, or maybe that was a vine, and a dried red flower. “What do you think?” Very serious, earnest eyes regarded Ridge.

  “I think I never imagined meetings like this when I accepted this promotion.” Ridge glanced toward the window. All hint of daylight had disappeared outside, and he could no longer see the flier hangars perched on the bluff to the south of the harbor. To think, he’d believed he would make it home in time to join Sardelle for dinner. “General Ort didn’t mention horticulture when I took over his position.”

  “Yes, sir. The foliage?”

  “You’ve got Major Sanglor in charge of the king’s personal fliers, don’t you? What did he say?”

  “He referred me to you.”

  “I may have to rethink my policy of being a lenient commander and not issuing demerits to lower-ranking officers.”

  The steward’s brow furrowed.

  Ridge sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He had been at the citadel since before dawn. In meetings. His old squadron had been in the air all morning practicing maneuvers over the harbor. All he’d been able to do was gaze longingly out the window at them while he and the supply captain discussed lead time on ordering flier parts. Not to mention new casters for the rolling door in the hangar. Generals, apparently, had to be consulted on such important matters as casters. And hedges.

  “Just plant and pot them outside of the pad,” he said. “It was designed based on the operational guidelines and schematics of the existing two-man fliers. I’ll be certain to let you know if the requirements change when the test models go into production.”

  “Excellent, sir.” The man rolled up his schematics, tucked them under his arm, and headed for the door. “Shall I send in your next appointment?”

  “There’s a next appointment?” Ridge glanced at the clock. At this rate, Sardelle would be sleeping by the time he got home.

  “There’s a surly colonel who glowered at me when I said I had an appointment and pushed my way in first.”

  “A surly colonel?” Ridge groaned inwardly. It couldn’t be him, could it? His unofficial but undeniable nemesis ought to have another six months, at least, left as the fort commander for the remote Magroth Crystal Mines.

  “Very surly.” The steward pursed his lips, shook his head, and walked out.

  A second after he disappeared from sight, a large blunt-fingered hand thrust the door open. It was the kind of hand with the power to crack walnuts. Or skulls.

  Colonel Vann Therrik strode inside, his customary glower in place. Even though the elite troops colonel had most recently been assigned to command a fort, a job that involved a lot of paperwork, Ridge had no doubt that Therrik and his overly muscled arms were still perfectly capable of killing people. He reminded himself that he outranked the man now and probably wasn’t in danger of being maimed, mutilated, or murdered. Even so, his natural inclination was to keep the desk between them.

  “You’re not in my appointment book, Therrik,” Ridge said, swiveling in his chair so he could lean his arm on the backrest. He refused to appear intimidated by the colonel, even if he did prefer it when Sardelle and her sentient—and powerful—sword Jaxi were nearby when he confronted him. “Did you perhaps come by to suggest we go out for beers?”

  “No.”

  Ridge lifted his eyebrows, assuming Therrik would get right to the point. He did like points. The kinds on the ends of weapons, in particular.

  Oddly, Therrik scowled, folded his ar
ms over his chest, and glared… out the window. Ridge peeked in that direction, but all that was visible from the second-story office right now was the dark night sky.

  “You didn’t come to tell me the king accepted your application to become his new captain of the guard, did you?” Ridge asked, news he’d heard from his cousin Lilah, an incredibly smart and educated woman who was, against all logic, reason, and the understanding of the gods, seeing Therrik. In a romantic sense. Ridge’s brain still hurt at the notion.

  “No.” Therrik’s scowl deepened. “He said I was too valuable to the army. If that were true, he wouldn’t have stuck me at Magroth."

  “Unfortunate. I heard you were looking forward to being outside the military chain of command and thus able to frisk impertinent generals who visited the king.”

  Therrik’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Lilah told you that?”

  “Lilah told Sardelle, and Sardelle told me.” Ridge had been moderately horrified at the idea of Therrik frisking him, likely with a hand around his throat. The best part of being promoted to general had been getting to the point where he outranked the man. But the king’s guard was a unit outside of the military, and if they wanted to frisk suspicious visitors—and loyal pilots—they had that right. “They’ve become friends now, you know. If Lilah hadn’t been living so far up the coast, I would have introduced them earlier. They have a lot of common interests. The academic ones, not the sorcerous ones, I gather.” Ridge added the last since Therrik loathed everything related to magic.

  Therrik grunted. Or maybe that was a growl. Some kind of vocal utterance that portrayed a belligerent lack of enthusiasm.

  “The king is also concerned the Cofah will come sniffing around, or send their dragons sniffing around, for their emperor,” Therrik said. “He wants me around in a military capacity in case I’m needed to defend the city or go on incursions.”

  Ridge suspected the king simply didn’t want to see Therrik’s scowling face in his castle halls every morning, but he decided not to share the thought.

  “So you’re stationed locally again?” Ridge told himself it shouldn’t matter to him, since, as a general, it was unlikely he would be asked to ferry the elite troops around on missions anymore. He wouldn’t need to worry about being stuck flying Therrik and his sunny disposition—and his airsickness-prone stomach—anywhere.

  “Back with my old intelligence unit.”

  “Were they having trouble functioning without your keen contributions?” Every time Ridge saw Therrik, he resolved to stop goading the man. And every time, he failed. It was so hard to be a mature human being.

  “I didn’t come here to pound your face into a wall, Zirkander. Don’t make me change my mind.”

  The words, “Just don’t forget to call me sir while you do it,” popped into Ridge’s mind, but he managed to quash them before they came out. Score one point for maturity.

  “What did bring you here?” he asked. “I can’t imagine you wanted my advice on shrubbery.”

  Therrik took a deep breath, as if he were about to ask for something deeply embarrassing. Or maybe the mere act of having to ask for anything embarrassed him.

  “Can you give me the address of Lilah’s mother in Portsnell?”

  “Uh, what? Why?”

  “I want to arrange for her to come to the capital to visit Lilah.”

  “Arrange?” Ridge imagined a team of elite troops planning a mission to abscond with Aunt Dotty before the more rational part of his brain decided that was unlikely.

  “Buy her a train ticket so she can come visit us for a couple of weeks.”

  “Us?” Ridge heard the alarmed squeak in his voice, but it was too late to do anything about it. He’d known his cousin and Therrik had bonded on their adventure at Magroth and that they’d had a… dalliance, but he hadn’t believed it would last. He certainly hadn’t expected them to become an us. They weren’t living together, were they?

  “Yes, us. Could you act like a grown-up, Zirkander? Just give me—seven gods, you’re not going to hyperventilate, are you?”

  Ridge had no idea what expression was on his face, but he drew back and did his best to straighten it. “Of course not.” Probably. “I just hadn’t realized that you and she… ah. Never mind. Why can’t Lilah give you her mother’s address for this?”

  “Because I’m not asking her for it. This is supposed to be a surprise. She’s been talking about her mother being lonely, and I think she’s lonely. She transferred to the university here, but classes haven’t started for the year yet, so she hasn’t met her new colleagues. I thought she might like her mother to visit before summer is over.”

  It took Ridge a moment to process Therrik’s words, to realize he wanted to do something nice. Ridge wouldn’t have guessed he had that in him, but he supposed women sometimes had the ability to bring out the best in men. Sardelle certainly did that for him. He wished she were here now for more reasons than one.

  “The address?” Therrik asked.

  “I don’t know it,” Ridge said.

  Therrik’s eyes narrowed.

  Ridge spread his hands. “I know where she lives, but I haven’t been up there for a few years, and I don’t remember the house number or postal code.”

  Would he have given Therrik the address even if he had known it? He liked the thought of Lilah getting to spend time with her mother, but he loathed the idea that Therrik might be the one to give her that gift. Ridge didn’t think they were a good match, and he hoped Lilah realized that as soon as possible. If Therrik did her favors, then how would she realize what an ass he was?

  It was possible that he wasn’t the ass to her that he was to Ridge, but it hurt Ridge’s brain to imagine having to accept that.

  “You don’t have it written down?” Therrik stuck a fist on his hip. “What kind of man doesn’t send his family members Solstice Fest cards?”

  “The kind whose house was blown up last spring. My address book was inside at the time.”

  “Oh, hells.” Therrik dropped his hand. He frowned at the window again, as if some other solution might appear in the night out there.

  Ridge’s mother might have the address, but the ride to her house was more than thirty miles round-trip. Besides, he didn’t want to foist Therrik and his dubious charms on her without an introduction. Or with an introduction. Even if it would be amusing to see Therrik attacked by her legion of ham-hungry cats.

  An idea popped into Ridge’s mind, and he almost rejected it right away because it sounded like personal torture. Also, he didn’t want to help Therrik. Or do anything to contribute to him and Lilah being a lasting us.

  But… he didn’t not want to help Lilah. She would enjoy having her mother come for a visit. And he imagined Aunt Dotty would enjoy visiting the capital and doing some of the historical tours with Lilah.

  Ridge leaned his hands against his desk, thinking of the times he’d teased Lilah when they’d been kids. She had preferred reading books to playing with Ridge, her brothers, and their other cousins, which he’d found perplexing at the time. He hadn’t been the sharpest sword in the rack.

  “Never mind, then,” Therrik said, turning for the door.

  “Wait,” Ridge said, wincing but forcing his offer out nevertheless. “It only takes two hours to fly up there. My last appointment is at four tomorrow. I can take you up there, and you can introduce yourself and ask her in person if she would like to come down.”

  The expression in Therrik’s eyes might have been horror or distaste or nascent motion sickness. Ridge expected him to reject the offer outright, and that would be fine by him. He’d made the gesture. Another point for maturity.

  “Can’t you just draw me a map?” Therrik grumbled. “I’d rather take the five-hour train trip each way than climb into your back seat again.”

  “It would be a crappy map. Like I said, I haven’t been up there for a while. I know I can find it in person, but…” Ridge shrugged. “You’re more than welcome to take the train. It’ll g
ive you time to catch up on your reading. All those fascinating tomes about ancient weapons and killing people.”

  “You don’t read about killing people, Zirkander. You just do it. It’s much more satisfying.”

  Ridge suspected the man was fantasizing about killing him right now.

  Shaking his head, Therrik turned for the door. Ridge scooted papers into a folder, cleaning up his desk so he could leave for the night.

  But Therrik paused with his hand on the knob.

  “Shit.”

  “Something else it’s more satisfying to do than read about,” Ridge offered.

  The look Therrik launched over his shoulder was scathing. And definitely conveyed a desire for murder, or at least mutilation.

  “I don’t have any days off coming up for weeks,” Therrik said. “I took leave between Magroth and starting up again with my unit here, so I could move my belongings into an apartment big enough for sharing.”

  “Unfortunate.” Not wanting to hear about the details of why the man needed to share his apartment, Ridge grabbed his jacket off his chair, turned off the lantern on his desk, and waved his guest toward the door. He was surprised Therrik hadn’t already left.

  “So I don’t have time to take an all-day train trip.” Therrik’s tone turned anguished. “Zirkander, I want to do this for Lilah. Before the school year starts back up and she’s working all the time again. I…” The anguished tone turned into an anguished expression, as if he were wrestling with some terrible inner demon.

  It slowly dawned on Ridge that Therrik was trying to make himself accept the offer. To ask for and accept a favor. From someone he would love to strangle.

  Ridge leaned his hip against his desk and stuck a hand in his pocket, debating whether he wanted to stand there and wait for Therrik to ask, perhaps insisting he throw a please on the end. It would feel tremendously satisfying to have a small amount of power over him, if only for a few seconds. Since Therrik utterly ignored the fact that Ridge now outranked him, lording his generalness over him hadn’t been as fun as he’d hoped.