Rysha snorted. “Have you been reading her mind too?”
“Only the surface thoughts.”
“Totally acceptable then.”
“Sometimes, they ooze out of people, and I can’t help but notice.”
“That sounds like something Jaxi would say.”
“Yes, I believe it was her excuse originally and that I’m stealing it from her.”
Rysha withdrew a handkerchief and removed her spectacles to wipe a smudge. Her optometrist was bemused—and beriched—that she’d gone through five pairs since starting her elite troops training. She wasn’t sure dragon riders were meant to wear spectacles. But oh well, she’d worn them since she was ten. And she felt proud to have passed the training and to have survived all the tests with her crummy vision. Still, sometimes she wished…
She shook her head and started to lift her spectacles back to her face, there being no point in such wishes.
But Trip caught her wrist before she could. “I almost asked you last night,” he said, nodding toward her spectacles.
“What? Have you come up with some superior form of vision correction?” Rysha had heard of experiments regarding miniature lenses that could be applied directly to the eye, but she couldn’t imagine them staying in place.
“That’s exactly it, actually. If you’re interested. It’s something I’ve been thinking about ever since I was an ass and broke your spectacles.”
“Are you talking about the time I lost control of my sword and attacked you? That wasn’t your fault.”
“I know, but it bothered me to do it. And I know it bothered you that I… knew to do it. That you had that weakness, and I exploited it.”
Rysha swallowed, memories of her feelings returning along with memories of the event.
“Yeah,” she admitted. It wasn’t as if she could lie to him.
“I’ve done some reading and talked to Sardelle about it. I believe I can do something.”
Rysha placed her spectacles in his hands. “I’ll gladly accept any improvements you can make.” She wasn’t sure about the eyeball lenses, but perhaps he could do something so her spectacles would never break or fall off in battle.
Trip nodded, lifted a hand to the side of her face, and gazed into her eyes. She gazed back at him, deciding she shouldn’t think of nudity while he was concentrating on her spectacles. Or was he? He was simply holding them with his other hand. He seemed to be concentrating on her.
A little tingle warmed her eyeballs, almost an itch. It was deep inside of them, an itch she couldn’t scratch.
A trickle of fear flowed into her, and she was tempted to pull away. Seven gods, what if he messed up, and she lost her eyesight completely? But she trusted Trip. He wouldn’t mess this up. Even if something went wrong, he would fix it. He fixed everything.
Trip blinked a few times, and she noticed moisture in his eyes. His fingers moved on her face, stroking her cheek. She hoped his touch and his emotion were because he was reading her thoughts and was moved by her trust, not that he feared he’d messed up and she would surely go blind.
One corner of his mouth quirked up. Do you feel blind?
No, but—
His eyebrows lifted, and she realized the itching and tingling had stopped. She turned to look toward the front of the gathering, and her mouth dangled open. She could see. Everyone and everything in the gardens was so crisp and clear, she couldn’t believe it. Even with her spectacles, she hadn’t seen things in the distance this well.
“You did it,” she whispered. “Will it last?”
“It’s possible it won’t last your whole life, but I think I can correct it again if necessary. And it would be a gradual diminishment, nothing that would happen overnight.”
She wanted to hug him, but she wanted to stare at everything and everyone around her too. And the flowers. She could see the individual petals on the roses from twenty feet away.
“Trip,” she blurted, whirling back to him and grabbing his arm. “You—I—” She gave up on words and kissed him.
“Is that allowed?” came a whisper from behind her. “I thought only the king got to kiss people today.”
“If a woman wants to kiss you, it’s always allowed.”
Rysha drew back, recognizing the second voice as belonging to General Zirkander, and remembering she and Trip were in the middle of a garden filled with dozens if not hundreds of people. True, they had stepped off the main walkway, but it wasn’t as if she had pulled him behind a bush for private smooching.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Trip said, saluting him and nodding to the officer with him. Captain Pimples.
Rysha hurried to salute as well.
Zirkander also wore his dress uniform, appearing far more ironed and polished than was typical for him. She’d heard he would be one of Angulus’s two kin watchers, along with a seventy-year-old nobleman—Lord Talidraw—who’d been friends with Angulus’s father and had known him since he’d been in diapers. Historically, a king would have had two kin watchers from the nobility, thus to ensure that a suitably healthy—and noble—woman would be chosen and that no sneaky commoners would slide their way into the nobility. A couple of generations ago, King Orlenis, seeking to appease the common man and acknowledge their growing power, had started the trend of including a military man, so Rysha wasn’t surprised that Angulus had chosen an officer. She was surprised he’d chosen Zirkander, since he seemed to find the pilot hero a tad… overly irreverent.
Zirkander returned the salute, but was then pulled off to talk to a general Rysha didn’t know, leaving Captain Pimples behind. Pimples, who wasn’t looking at them.
“Come in, come in,” he said, waving to someone lingering outside the gardens. “I’ll introduce you to all my— No, they’re obnoxious. Never mind. I’ll show you the gardens. And there’s always great food here. Do you want some Iskandian wine? We’ve got all different kinds. Like red. And, uhm, white.”
Rysha might have listed some grapes for him, but Pimples was focused on the bronze-skinned, dark-haired woman in spectacles who poked her head through the doorway leading out to the gardens.
“My brother said to wait for him and his entourage,” she whispered, eyeing her surroundings. “Is this it? It’s so quaint.” She wore a yellow and azure silk dress in a flowing style favored in Cofahre, and appeared to be in her early twenties.
“How big are the gardens at your palace?”
“You can get lost in them. But it’s not my palace.” She crinkled her nose. In distaste?
The words clicked together before Rysha recognized the woman—it had been some time since a photograph of Princess Zilandria had been in an Iskandian newspaper.
“Well, dragons or sorceresses or, ahem, foreign invaders seem to blow up half the castle every few years,” Pimples said, “so I don’t think the king has been motivated to expand and make it more of a target.”
“We’re having similar problems with dragons.”
Trip stirred beside Rysha.
That’s Princess Zilandria? he asked silently. If so, her brother would be…
Trip turned toward the doorway, his eyes getting that distant aspect that meant he was utilizing his power.
Prince Varlok, Rysha thought, though Trip must have already figured it out. It makes diplomatic sense that some of the Cofah would have come for the wedding of a ruler in another country. Admittedly, I wouldn’t have expected their ruler to come—the princess makes more sense. But… Ah, I bet they heard about your weapons platform and came to have a look. Perhaps barter for the schematics.
I suppose that would be up to Angulus, but I’m more concerned about my chance to honor my word to Grekka. This is good. I thought I’d have to take a trip to Cofahre to give the prince that dagger, so he’d have proof of how his father died. But I can just give it to him here. Of course, I don’t have it at the moment. I think the king may have it. I gave it to him to look at when the babies were being removed from the stasis chambers, and then I was distracted, a
nd I didn’t think to ask for it back. I wasn’t sure if I could.
Rysha patted Trip’s arm as Pimples led the princess into the gardens. He looked like he meant to guide her through the crowd to the servants walking around with trays of food, but he noticed Rysha and paused.
“Zia, this is Lady Ravenwood. She’s a scholar. She knows all about dragons and relics and things.”
“Oh?” Zilandria—Zia?—looked Rysha up and down.
She was several inches shorter than Rysha and seemed dubious about Pimples’ introduction, perhaps because of the uniform and sword. Maybe Rysha should take her spectacles back from Trip, so she would look more scholarly.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Your Highness.” Rysha curtseyed, though she wasn’t sure that was the proper etiquette when in an army uniform.
“Do you enjoy academic studies?” Zia asked.
“I do. Mathematics, history, and archaeology. My mother is a professor, and my sister is following in her footsteps. I… wanted to ride dragons and poke things with swords.”
“In Cofahre, only men poke things with swords. I don’t think anybody is riding dragons. Are you?”
“Yes. Her name is Shulina Arya.”
“Really? I would love to meet her. And talk mathematics with you.”
Rysha bowed her head. “I would be honored, Your Highness.”
“You can call me Zia. I’m going to visit the university while I’m here. I’m trying to talk my brother into letting me finish out my studies here. For a more eclectic education. The professors are rumored to be quite good.”
She smiled shyly at Pimples, and Rysha suspected her interest in Iskandian studies had little to do with the university’s professors.
“I’m sure you would enjoy it,” Rysha said.
Pimples captured Zia’s hand and led her into the gardens.
“Was that young woman making moon-eyes at Pimples?” Trip sounded dumbfounded.
“Why not? He’s a good-looking young man. And he’s smart, isn’t he? Perhaps not about wine, but didn’t one of your comrades say he’s good at math and has architectural aspirations?”
“Good-looking? Is he? Huh.”
“He’s quite comely. I don’t know why he has that name. His skin is lovely.”
“I heard a rumor that Tolemek had something to do with that. A cream he sells. Supposedly, Pimples was a test subject and gets free formulas for life.”
Trip looked toward the entrance again as several shaven-headed men in flowing blue garments that didn’t quite hide their sheathed scimitars and daggers strode in and fanned out. They scowled at Trip and Rysha, waving their hands, to try and back them away.
Rysha, suspecting this was the equivalent of King Angulus’s cadre of bodyguards, was inclined to do as requested, but Trip narrowed his eyes, lifted his chin, and exuded his scylori. It had its usual effect on Rysha, making her want to slip in close and start rubbing things of his. The bodyguards blinked and backed away. One almost stumbled into the person walking through the doorway, a man Rysha also recognized from photographs—he was mentioned far more frequently in Iskandian newspapers.
“Prince Varlok.” Trip stepped forward and bowed to him. “I am sorry for the loss of Dreyak.”
Varlok wore flowing silks not dissimilar to those of his sister, so the bow was likely more correct than a salute. As Rysha recalled, some of Varlok’s younger brothers had served in their military, but he hadn’t, being more of an academic.
“Captain Yert,” Varlok said without looking at his name tag—he seemed to know exactly who he was dealing with. He didn’t so much as glance at Rysha, but women rarely had prominent roles in Cofah society, so she wasn’t surprised. “I spoke to your king when I arrived yesterday, and he showed me a certain dagger.”
“Did you touch it and see what happened to your father, Your Majesty?”
“I did.”
Varlok's tone was neutral, his face difficult to read. If he had mourned his father’s death, he showed no sign of it here, not in public. Perhaps not in private, either. Nothing Rysha had read or heard about Emperor Salatak suggested he had been a lovable man.
At least it looked like Trip wouldn’t have to do anything to see his promise through. Rysha suspected he was relieved. She knew he hadn’t been excited about the idea of piloting into the heart of Cofah territory, not when their snipers and watch tower artillerymen so enjoyed shooting at Iskandian fliers.
“Lieutenant Ravenwood?” Kaika asked from behind. “Do you have a minute?”
Since Varlok didn’t look like he would miss her, Rysha stepped away without hesitation. She wondered if Trip would get a thank you from him. Not that Trip had been the bearer of good news, but at least he’d borne it.
There weren’t any quiet places in the gardens, as more and more guests kept coming in, but Kaika drew her to a patch of lavender against a wall, the flowers getting ready to bloom. Summer had finally come to Iskandia, and there weren’t any clouds on the horizon promising rain. Angulus and Kaika had lucked out.
Though Kaika appeared more nervous than lucky. She kept patting down her uniform, or maybe wiping her damp palms on it, and reached for her hair, as if to comb it, but since they were outdoors, she wore her uniform cap. Maybe that was a good thing, or she would be raking her fingers through it. She’d cut it all short for the wedding, to match the side still growing back after being bathed in dragon fire, and even though it would bewilder Kaika to hear it, Rysha suspected shorter locks would soon come into fashion because of her.
“You’re not thinking of backing out, are you?” Rysha asked. “Dozens of foreign dignitaries traveled far to use this wedding as an excuse to spy on Trip’s weapons platform.”
Kaika snorted. “That’s the truth. No, I just wanted to thank you for coming to stand by my side.” She grinned. “In uniform. I’ve been getting an earful from a clothing designer who creates custom dresses for many of the noblewomen when they get married, and she’s appalled and flummoxed that her services weren’t needed for this.”
“Madame Vovary, and yes, I can imagine. She’s in high demand. Even noble ladies have to book her a year out.”
“I assume the king gets to jump the line. She keeps telling me it’s not too late, that we could at least spruce up the dress uniform.” Kaika looked down at the blue and gray. “She suggested a frill around the hem. She also pulled out a poofy light blue ball. I have no idea where she thought that would go.”
“Maybe you could ask Leftie,” Rysha said. “He likes balls.”
“Something that should alarm any women he’s seeing.”
“Yes. And you’re welcome. For standing by your side. I’m honored you asked. The other lieutenants in the barracks are terribly jealous. This and the ball afterward are being considered the social events of the year, I understand. There are private parties going on among those who weren’t invited.”
Kaika nodded. “I heard there’s going to be a lavish shindig tonight at the Sensual Sage.”
Rysha wrinkled her nose, not wanting to think about what a lavish shindig at a brothel would be like. She imagined drunken orgies and a proliferation of adult toys. “Should the king be concerned that you stay apprised of the goings on there?”
“It’s hardly my fault that I’m on their mailing list. I suspect that once I officially move into the castle, they’ll stop sending me their brochure.”
Rysha’s mind boggled even more at the idea of a brothel mailing out seasonal brochures.
“Though I have been wondering if I should keep my little house in the army fort,” Kaika said.
“In case things don’t work out with the king?” Rysha hoped Kaika didn’t have that in mind. Even though she didn’t know Angulus well, she knew this was his third marriage, and she hoped it would be the final one, that this would bring him—them—happiness for the rest of their lives.
“In case a dragon or sorceress burns down the castle. Again. I’d hate to lose my souvenir beer steins, the way Zirkander did when
someone blew up his house.”
“Ah, I see. The king might actually prefer it if the souvenir beer steins were stored somewhere else.”
“Nah, he wouldn’t mind more junk around the castle. He has dusty musical instruments all over the place that he collects. It seems that if they’re more than a hundred years old, they’re valuable. Do you know he can play the lute and sing? It’s moderately entertaining. He’s serenaded me a couple of times.”
“Perhaps he and Colonel Grady could get together to perform for… someone.” Rysha didn’t know who. She couldn’t imagine a king showing up with a lute at a tavern. Maybe when he’d been just a prince, such things wouldn’t have been seen as odd.
“Careful. Don’t volunteer to be his audience. He sings a lot about nature and symbolism—or so he claims. All I remember is flowers weeping with the morning dew glistening on their petals. But he sits patiently while I talk nostalgically about the old 37-A dragon bombs, so I guess I can listen to flower songs.”
“Clearly, you two are a perfect match.”
“You’re the first person who’s said that, however sarcastically.” Kaika thumped her on the shoulder. “That’s why you’re standing beside me.”
“Oh, is being supportive required?” Blazer asked, strolling up beside Kaika, her cigar leaking smoke into the air.
“Do you mind?” Kaika plucked the cigar out of her mouth. “This is a non-smoking wedding.”
“What? The invitations didn’t mention that. And you said we didn’t have to get girlie and mannered and such for this, that we’re making a statement.”
“Yes, but it’s a non-smoking statement.” Kaika held the cigar away when Blazer reached for it.
“Are you even allowed to be out here?” Blazer asked. “I thought the bride was supposed to hide among her ladies attending and make a dramatic appearance right before the music starts.”
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