Gold Dragon

by Lindsay Buroker

  “I do. But I don’t want to be rude. My grandmother always told me to look women in the eyes.”

  “My aunt always told me to slap men if they looked at my breasts or my butt. The older generation gives interesting advice, doesn’t it?” She shut the door firmly behind Trip, so no other women wandering past would be able to ogle him.

  He tilted his head. “Does that mean you’re going to slap me?”

  “Probably not until later.” She patted his butt and grinned again.

  “Hm, do I get to slap you if you look at my butt?”

  “Probably not until later.”

  He chuckled and leaned against her. He looked like he might have given her a hug, but he was still holding the frame.

  “Oh.” He lifted it and turned it for display. “This is for you. This round slot is where the elite-troops badge goes. Actually, Major Kaika said it’s more of a big bronze coin. You probably don’t have it yet, right? I think you get it at the awards ceremony. That’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

  Rysha nodded and would have said more—she wanted to ask if he could get away from the hangar to come—but he continued on, almost burbling as he described the case.

  “And here’s how you hang it. I made it self-fastening, so you don’t have to attach anything to the walls. See, here? And then these slots are for your medals. The first four go here, and then this folds out. You can alternate which ones you want to display, and if you get tired of the color of the velvet background, I made it easy to remove and replace.”

  “I don’t have any medals,” Rysha said.

  Unless he wanted to count the various ones she’d been awarded for sports competitions as a girl. They were all back in her bedroom at the manor.

  “You will,” Trip said firmly, then seemed to run out of words. He bit his lip and thrust the case out, his eyes hopeful.

  Was he afraid she wouldn’t like it? She was positive he’d made it by hand. In what free time, she couldn’t imagine, since between his training and his work and checking in on those eight babies, he couldn’t possibly have any.

  “It’s beautiful, Trip. Thank you.” Rysha accepted it and ran her hand along the mahogany frame, touched that he had taken the time to craft it. And that he believed she would be awarded medals.

  “We should have gotten one already, really,” he said quietly, perhaps reading her thoughts.

  Funny how the idea of having him in her head had bothered her once, but now, it just seemed natural. A part of him. She wondered if General Zirkander and Sardelle spoke telepathically to each other. Probably. She was positive Jaxi, at least, butted into the general’s mind.

  “For destroying the portal?” she asked. “Or for finding all those chapaharii swords? Or for finding eight half-dragon-half-human babies?”

  “I don’t think you get medals for finding long-lost siblings—and don’t forget all the half-dragon animal babies too—but portal-destroying is definitely medal-worthy.”

  “Are the animals being properly cared for?” She realized that they would grow to maturity a lot faster than the human children would. How fast did lizards and lions and whatever else had been in there grow up? She would have to check, but she suspected the other houses on Sardelle’s street were about to become even less likely to attract renters.

  “By Tylie, Ylisa, and Ferrin,” he said. “Sardelle’s students. Mostly by Tylie. She’s studying to be a veterinarian.”

  “A sorceress veterinarian? I wonder if King Angulus is distressed that she won’t become a great mage-warrior who will hurl fireballs at enemies.”

  “I don’t think fireballs are an interest for her. The last time I was there, she was trimming a raccoon’s broken toenail.”

  “With magic or toenail clippers?”

  “Magical toenail clippers.”

  “Is there such a thing?” Rysha asked.

  “There is now.” He smirked.

  “You didn’t make them, did you?”

  “They grind as well as clip nails.”

  “That was a yes, wasn’t it?”

  Trip shrugged sheepishly. “Sardelle won’t let me pay her for her lessons. I feel I should give her something. Besides, my grandmother also says you should never arrive at someone’s house without a gift. Usually, she gives baked goods, but I don’t bake.”

  “Does General Zirkander think it’s odd that you’re giving his wife gifts?”

  “Not since I brought them a new combination coffee grinder and brewing machine, one made extra durable in case dragons lacking mechanical aptitude get cranky with it.”

  Rysha set down the display case and rested her hands on either side of Trip’s face. “You’re a good man.”

  She kissed him, only intending it as a thank-you for the gift and a sign of approval for his solicitude, but he returned it warmly, resting his hands on her hips, and her thoughts soon strayed back to the unbuttoning of buttons. She supposed that should wait, since they had planned to take that walk and have dinner at a restaurant before engaging in less clothed activities, but when Trip broke the kiss, she inadvertently made a protesting noise.

  But he also eased closer, slipping his arms fully around her as he looked toward the bed, speculation in his gaze.

  “I expected it to be bigger,” he said.

  “My bed?”

  Admittedly, it wasn’t large—certainly not designed for two—but after the cave and alley they’d had sex in, Rysha thought it would prove quite luxurious. It had a firm mattress with just enough spring…

  “Your room and your bed both, I guess,” Trip said. “Everything is the same size as mine.”

  “You’re a captain. If anything, you should have a larger room.” She was lucky she didn’t have a roommate. She’d had one at the officer academy.

  “But you’re a woman.”

  “I’m glad you noticed.” She leaned her chest against his, remembering him noticing at the door.

  He must have liked that because he turned his gaze toward her again, lifting a hand to stroke the side of her head. A shiver went through her as some magical heat radiated from his fingers and trickled through her body, stirring all her senses to life.

  “I like your hair down,” he said.

  “I’m glad.” Rysha decided not to mention that she’d obsessed over it. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to mind the kink. Or maybe he liked kinks.

  The corners of his mouth quirked.

  “You’re not reading my thoughts, are you?” Rysha leaned her head against his hand, wanting more of his strong fingers touching her scalp.

  “Who, me?”

  He smiled and kissed her again, more tendrils of tingling warmth curling through her body, making her want to kiss him back—hard. And remove all his clothing.

  Don’t let me stop you, he whispered into her mind as his fingers slid up under the back of her shirt.

  I won’t. I’m a tenacious woman.

  Excellent.

  They worked their way over to the bed, undressing each other as they went. Rysha made short work of his buttons, and her shirt joined his on the floor before they tumbled onto the bed together. And promptly smacked their shoulders against the wall. As Trip had observed, it wasn’t the largest bed, but they didn’t let that slow them down for long.

  All thoughts of dinners and walks fled from Rysha’s mind as she tugged off every last shred of his clothing so she could run her hands all over his body. He shifted atop her, his own hands doing exploring of their own. His kisses sent molten fire through her, and she shifted her legs apart, inviting him in. By the gods, they needed to figure out a way to be together every night. Not just when—

  The door opened with a cheerful, “Good evening, Rysha!”

  She dropped her head back, pulling her mouth from Trip’s, and gaping as the two people she had least expected to see that day strolled into her room. Her mother and Aunt Tadelay.

  Trip, who had been poised to satisfy all her womanly desires, issued a distinctly unmanly squawk and pitched sidewa
ys, falling off the bed and onto the floor. He scrambled to his feet, reaching for the bedspread. He tugged, but Rysha was still on top of it, staring in startled horror at her family members who were staring back in equal horror at her, their mouths dangling to their feet.

  Trip settled for a pillow, snatching it from the bed and placing it in front of his groin. Utterly naked aside from the pillow—and, by the gods, why was he still wearing one sock?—he turned to face the doorway.

  “Uhm, hi, Mom.” Rysha shifted to sit on the side of the bed, not sure if she should grab clothes and start dressing or merely be mortified in place. “Aunt Tadelay.”

  “Rysha Erilyn Ravenwood,” her mother said when she found her voice.

  “This is completely unacceptable,” Aunt Tadelay said, her tone even shriller than Mother’s. “Wantonly improper carnal copulation with a strange stark-naked man in the middle of the week. It’s not even dark yet.”

  Would this be better if I wasn’t naked? And if it was dark? Trip asked into Rysha’s mind.

  Rysha couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious. With his cheeks that cardinal-bird shade of red, he appeared far too distressed to joke.

  “He’s not strange, Aunt Tadelay. He’s a colleague and a good friend and…” Rysha gestured toward Trip, not quite able to spit out “my lover” even though that was obvious.

  “Naked!” Aunt Tadelay cried, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from seeing Trip’s chest. And pillow. “In a woman’s room in a—is this not a female-only barracks? Doesn’t the army have any propriety? Do not tell me that men are allowed to assail innocent women in this iniquitous place.”

  “He wasn’t assailing anyone, Aunt Tadelay.” Rysha sighed, pulling the bedspread up to somewhat cover herself as she shifted toward her mother, hoping for a more reasonable response. Mother was older than Aunt Tadelay, but the more progressive, or at least more reasonable, of the two. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  There, that conveyed the notion of lover without suggesting so much… naked vigor.

  “You never brought him to the manor,” her mother said sternly, “or introduced him to the family. And he’s certainly never come to your father to ask our permission to see you.”

  “See?” Aunt Tadelay demanded. “It’s clear he’s doing much more than seeing your little girl. She’s been manhandled.”

  “Yes, precisely,” Rysha said, losing some of her embarrassment and growing irked. She was a twenty-seven-year-old woman, not some fifteen-year-old girl caught kissing a boy behind the trees in the orchard. “And I enjoyed his handling very much.”

  “Er,” Trip said. His first word since the door had opened.

  “I’m—I’m—too flabbergasted to speak.” Aunt Tadelay whirled, her long skirt flapping impressively, and stalked out into the hall.

  Mother puckered her lips at Trip.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Trip said, though it wasn’t clear if he meant for sexing up her daughter or for his clothing-challenged state. “I’m Captain Trip—Telryn Yert.”

  He shifted his right hand off his pillow, careful to keep it plastered in place with his left, and stuck it out toward her.

  Bow, Rysha thought, hoping he was monitoring her thoughts. I mean, you don’t have to, but that’s what noblemen do toward noblewomen. Sometimes, they kiss the woman’s hand, too, but she might not appreciate that, given your state of undress.

  As Mom was looking distastefully down at his hand, as if it was contaminated with all manner of sex germs, Trip jerked it back, placing it on his chest, and said, “It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am.”

  My lady, Rysha thought.

  “My lady,” Trip said.

  He bowed.

  Mother lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. “Well, at least he’s an officer and not some kitchen scrub boy.”

  “That is not the name of a noble family,” Aunt Tadelay called from the hallway. Rysha wasn’t surprised that she was still out there spying.

  “No,” Trip agreed. “My family is less noble and more… unique.” He started plucking his clothing up from the floor, one-handedly of course, since the other was keeping the pillow firmly in place. He stood and squatted in such a way to keep his butt from showing to Mother. Too bad. It was a nice butt. She might appreciate his young firmness.

  Rysha, Trip spoke into her mind, sounding horrified.

  “I’ll leave you two to speak privately, ma’am. My lady.” Trip looked down at the clothes he’d managed to grab and scooted toward the door, making a wide berth around Mother.

  His underwear was lying across one of the pillows still on the bed. Rysha thought about tossing it to him, but he was already moving past Mother and into the hall.

  “Are you stealing that pillow?” Aunt Tadelay called, her voice loud enough that everyone in the barracks had to be aware of this entire conversation.

  As Rysha dropped her face into her hand, Tadelay shrieked in horror.

  Your aunt saw my beets, Trip told her apologetically.

  She’ll get over it.

  I’m sorry I didn’t sense… I mean, I wasn’t trying to sense people in the hallway. I was focused on—

  Me, I know. I like you focused on me when we’re in bed, Trip. Don’t worry about this. I’ll smooth things over.

  Should I have gone to ask your father if—

  No. This is not the pre-industrial age, and I’m not a child. I’ll let them know.

  All right.

  Come back later. Or do you want me to come to your room later? I intend to have wild and vigorous sex with you tonight. One way or another. Rysha smiled as her mother stopped sighing at the ceiling and looked over at her.

  “Please put some clothes on, love,” Mom said.

  Uh, you could come to my room. It’s doubtful any family members are on their way to visit.

  Are you sure? Rysha picked up her shirt and tugged it on, lamenting that she had to redo the buttons far too soon. What if your grandfather walked in?

  I think he’d pat me on the shoulder and say, “Good going, boy.”

  Men are much different from women.

  Indeed.

  “What brings you here, Mother?” Rysha asked. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Clearly,” Aunt Tadelay said from the hall.

  Rysha wondered if she would come back in or if she was too busy being mortally aggrieved by viewing… beets.

  “We heard you graduated your military training school,” Mom said.

  “You came for the ceremony?” Rysha asked, stunned.

  “We came to talk you out of the insanity of becoming a soldier in such a dangerous unit,” Aunt Tadelay said, striding back into the room. “Putting aside the fact that it’s completely improper for young women to fling themselves over walls and through mud puddles before shooting people, have you seen the newspapers lately?” She produced a recent issue of the Pinoth Gazette that Rysha hadn’t read yet—she had been too busy. “Dragons are killing people all over the country. By the hundreds. And right at home, we had to suffer an attack. You were there for your grandmother’s funeral. I can’t think of a more appalling way to die.”

  Rysha thought of how she’d almost died from giant tarantula venom. That had been moderately appalling.

  “You must give up this army nonsense immediately—if you enter that dreadful combat unit, they’re sure to send you out to die. On a daily basis. And what is this in the newspapers about you cavorting with dragons? Even flying on one?”

  She slapped the page on which Rysha could just make out a photograph of a dragon. It didn’t look like Bhrava Saruth or Shulina Arya, but the dragon had posed for long enough for a photographer to capture it on film, so it had to be one of Iskandia’s allies.

  “That’s completely unacceptable,” Aunt Tadelay went on, shaking the newspaper for emphasis. “It’s suicidal. You’ll fall off. Or be eaten. Dragons eat people.”

  “Shulina Arya is more interested in eating tarts.”

  Aunt Tadelay sputtered.

  “Cal
m down, Tadelay,” Mom said, patting her sister’s arm. “We’re here to be reasonable, remember? She’s not going to come home with us if we yell at her.”

  “I was reasonable until I saw my niece in bed with some mongrel from the stables.”

  “Trip is a pilot,” Rysha said, trying to tamp down the irritation rising inside of her. It was hard. Somehow, their rejection of Trip wasn’t as bad as the notion that they hadn’t come here to congratulate her; they’d come to try to get her to quit. Again. “He works in the sky.”

  Her mother took a deep breath and waved her hand, as if to dismiss this lesser issue. “Honey, it’s too dangerous to remain in the military right now. If you’re not sent to battle dragons, you’ll be sent out into the countryside to deal with our own people. Angry and fearful people. The Iskandian populace is afraid and acting like it. People are hoarding goods. Others are openly stealing from their neighbors to ensure they have enough to survive if trade lines are cut, and there isn’t enough food to supply the hungry of the country. Why, someone even broke into the manor and attempted to steal our silver just last week.”

  Rysha blinked, some of her irritation fading. “Is everyone all right?”

  “Yes, your father and uncle and Butler Tohomas were there and drove the would-be thieves off. They dropped their stolen goods in the courtyard—our silverware and candlesticks all stuffed into a bag, if you can imagine. Nobody was hurt, but honey, this is only the beginning. There’s unrest in the countryside, and I’m sure it will grow even more problematic in the city. You’ll be as likely to be sent to fight our own people rioting as you will dragons.” Mother waved to the crinkled newspaper Aunt Tadelay still held. “If it’s a fight you want, you can help your family strengthen its own defenses and stand ready to drive dragons and miscreants off the land.”

  “Assuming we keep the land,” Aunt Tadelay muttered.

  “What do you mean?” Rysha asked.

  “Nothing.” Mother waved her sister to silence. “My husband isn’t going to sell his ancestral land. There’s no need to worry her about that.”

  “He looked speculative, if you ask me,” Aunt Tadelay said, oozing disapproval anew.