Trip spotted smoke in the air as he flew north to the capital, but he didn’t sense any dragons up there other than Bhrava Saruth. Had Wolf Squadron driven them all off? The chatter over the communication crystal had died down too. Normally, he might feel disappointed about missing a battle, but it had been a long day, and he’d dealt with more than his share of dragons.

The darkness made it hard to tell how much damage had been done to the city, but he sensed pain and fear from the people below as he flew toward the army fort. In several places, buildings burned, mostly warehouses and canneries along the waterfront, but fires also lit up the night farther inland, in residential areas.

His gut tightened as he thought of the babies. He had the addresses for all the mothers taking care of them and would check on them as soon as he could.

The hangar was well-lit with the big sliding door still open, so Trip flew straight in. The scent of smoke met his nostrils. At first, he thought the building itself had been burned, but the smoke came from the engines and tails of some of the fliers. A few damaged craft had barely made it back to the hangar, and they were parked in the middle rather than in their slots to the sides. A makeshift medical area had been assembled with blankets on the floor and officers sitting or lying on them and others kneeling or standing around.

Trip sensed Leftie and Duck among the injured, and he landed as quickly as he could, praying to the seven gods that the wounds weren’t mortal, that he could heal them. The idea of losing a friend in a battle he hadn’t been there for horrified him.

As Trip vaulted from his cockpit, General Zirkander, his face smeared with soot and his sleeve torn and bloodied, jogged from the office in the back.

“I’ve sent our report to the king,” Zirkander told Tranq, Blazer, and the colonel from Tiger Squadron, all of whom slumped with weariness. “Sardelle is coming to help with healing.” He started toward the blankets, then paused, spotting Trip running over.

“Sorry I’m late, sir,” Trip blurted, feeling awful for coming in after the fight.

Had he made the right choice in staying to help Rysha’s family and dealing with that fop Lockvale? Or might he have been more help here if he’d arrived sooner? Maybe he could have stopped people from being hurt.

“Make way, please,” he said to those gathering around the blankets. “I can heal people.”

Therrik was one of the people kneeling in front of them, and he stepped back, turning with a glower for Trip, his hand reaching for the chapaharii sword at his waist. Trip tensed. This wasn’t the time for this. Therrik stopped his fingers before they wrapped around the hilt.

“Help Kaika,” he growled, shifting out of the way. “She’s one of the worst.”

Trip sucked in a worried breath as he spotted her lying on the blanket, burns covering one side of her face and body. She should have been unconscious from wounds like that, but her face was contorted in a rictus of pain.

“You sure took your time getting here, Trip,” Leftie said, his voice strained. He lay next to Kaika, also burned, though not as badly, and a deep gash lay open on his arm.

“Sorry.” Trip couldn’t come up with a flippant remark, not when he felt so much guilt for having missed the battle.

Azarwrath, will you help me? Trip asked, focusing on Kaika. I don’t know how to… I mean, I know it’s just important to ensure she lives, but can we keep her from being scarred?

Very likely. Begin. I will assist. She is the worst of those left alive.

Left alive? Trip glanced at the others on the blankets and saw Duck sitting up and gripping talon gouges in his abdomen while Pimples knelt beside him, making jokes about him being a low priority. Another charred officer, his face unrecognizable due to the burns, lay completely still. Dead. Lieutenant Beeline.

Tears welled in Trip’s eyes even though he didn’t know the man well.

Kaika moaned softly and brought a shaking hand up to grip Trip’s arm. He took a deep breath and focused on her. She was alive and in pain, and she needed him.

He closed his eyes and, with Azarwrath’s guidance, healed burns for the first time in his life. He was aware of voices, soft discussions going on behind him, but he didn’t participate in them. He needed his concentration for this.

“Is the king coming?” That was Therrik.

“He’s on his way,” Zirkander said.

“Does he know…”

“I said she was injured and that she threw her sword in order to drop a dragon’s defenses for us. It may have saved the night, even if we’ll have to get it off the bottom of the harbor. And even if we still lost Beeline and Snail.”

“Snail too, sir?” Blazer asked.

“I saw the fire hit his flier point blank. By the time it disappeared into the harbor, it was nothing but a charred husk. Damn it, I wish more people had tried the parachutes.” Zirkander’s voice was thick with emotion. “Better to lose fliers than pilots.”

“Better not to lose anyone,” Therrik snarled, his voice also heavy with emotion. And frustration. “And better not to lose any more of the swords. They just got the one, right? We’re sure Kaika’s is on the bottom of the harbor?”

“I saw it hit the water. Nobody saw any dragons dive down for it—only two of them had those hook things. Graspers. Whatever you want to call them. Seven gods, I need to stop thinking of the dragons as animals without tactics beyond biting and clawing and breathing fire. We’re fortunate Bhrava Saruth arrived to help drive them off. I shouldn’t have sent both our warrior dragons along on Trip’s mission.”

“We would’ve driven them off without him. We had them on the run.”

“On the run with one of our swords. And only because Phelistoth showed up to help. We have more swords than we used to, but not an unlimited supply, and it’s clear they’re targeting them now, trying to get them away from us.”

“They won’t get any more,” Therrik said with determination.

“Let’s hope not. We need to watch out for treachery as well as open attacks. Bhrava Saruth said these were some of the same dragons that dropped a building on your head.”

“Fortunately, my head isn’t my deadliest part.”

Zirkander grunted. “Did you just insult yourself, Therrik? That’s my job.”

“I’m in the mood for self-flagellation.”

“Now you’re using vocabulary words. You’re not trying to make me think you’re smart, are you?”

“Not now, Zirkander.” Therrik moved away from him and crouched next to Trip, the tip of his sword scabbard clunking on the cement floor.

Trip tensed, aware of the big man’s presence, and especially aware of Kasandral. But all Therrik did was rest a hand on Kaika’s shoulder, on the side that hadn’t been burned.

“Shit,” Kaika rasped. “Therrik is giving me sympathy. That means I’m going to die for sure.”

“I think Dragon Man is fixing you,” Therrik said, “but you look like the inside of a volcano. Fat chance you’ll get Angulus to kiss you again.”

“Looks don’t matter when your tongue is as talented as mine.”

“Uh huh, you and your tongue better keep the lights off.”

“I always do. My tongue likes dark and mysterious environs.”

“Was that an innuendo? If so, disgusting.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Trip smiled slightly, glad Kaika had the strength to trade barbs with Therrik, but he kept his eyes closed, kept pouring his energy into mending her burned muscle. The skin was impossible to repair, so he and Azarwrath built new skin, accelerating the process by thousands of times. Trip let the more experienced soulblade take the lead and simply lent his power for the task.

“Sardelle,” came Zirkander’s voice from behind Trip. It stood out to him more than the murmurs of the other pilots and ground crew who were attending the wounded men and the damaged fliers. Trip sensed her and also that Angulus had arrived. He radiated distress and concern.

Someone touched Trip’s shoulder. Sardelle.

You have her? she asked quietly into his mind.

Yes, ma’am.

I’ll work on Duck and Leftie.

Thank you.

Trip kept his focus on Kaika, not wanting to fail her or Angulus or anyone else, especially when he could sense the unease lurking within everyone else here. Nobody thought this attack had been a fluke. The dragons would be back.

* * *

The light of the magical illumination globes Shulina Arya had created showed the charred, smoldering remains of the vineyard. At least the fires were out now. She had helped squelch them, moving large quantities of water from the lake to dump onto the flames as the family watched in open-mouthed awe.

Now, Shulina Arya lay off to one side while Rysha, her father, aunt, and Krey walked down the path that had once meandered past the vineyard to a pergola, benches, and a fountain. The stone fountain was blackened but still standing. Only ashes remained where the wood structures had been. Rysha blinked back tears, remembering roughhousing with her brothers under the pergola and playing cards with her grandfather before he’d passed.

Only a handful of vines in the back corner had escaped the fire. Aware of how many years her brother, and their grandfather before him, had spent creating unique and desirable cultivars, Rysha hoped some could be saved and replanted.

“It could have been worse,” Father said, looking toward the manor and the lake.

Krey gave him an anguished look.

“At least we all survived this time,” Father said.

“I know,” Krey said, “but there’ll be so much extra work to do to replant. And there won’t be a harvest for years, not for the grapes or the apples and pears that the other dragon took out. It’ll take a long time for the vines and trees to regrow and bear fruit again.”

As Rysha listened to the growing argument, she looked toward Shulina Arya and also toward the sky. The valley was quiet, but she had no idea what was going on in the capital. Now that the fires were out and she’d verified that her family had survived, she needed to report in.

“Shulina Arya?” she asked, heading toward the dragon. She looked tired, her tail wrapped around her supine form. Rysha hated to ask her to take her on another flight.

Yes, Storyteller. I am ready to do battle again, if need be, but I believe it has ended.

“Oh? Can you sense the city from down here?”

I can sense other dragons. There were many in the city earlier. Now, I sense only Bhrava Saruth and Phelistoth.

“Does she talk back to you?” Aunt Tadelay asked from the shadows along the path.

Rysha jumped. She hadn’t realized her aunt hadn’t gone back to the manor. She noted with some bemusement that Tadelay still had a rifle. The butt rested on the ground, and she didn’t look like she intended to fire on the dragon. Shulina Arya certainly didn’t appear concerned. She rested her chin on her tail and gazed at Rysha and the valley behind her.

“Yes, telepathically.”

Aunt Tadelay arched a skeptical eyebrow. Then the other eyebrow flew up and her gaze jerked toward Shulina Arya.

“What did she say to you?” Rysha asked dryly.

Tadelay hesitated, her lips turned down. “That rifles are ineffective weapons for defending young ladies from dragons.”

“Is that what you came over here to do?”

“It crossed my mind, but it doesn’t seem very…” Tadelay spread a hand toward the resting dragon. “It’s not what I expected.”

“Shulina Arya is a she, the only female I’m aware of that likes humans.”

“To eat?”

“No, but she does like our food. Sardelle makes tarts for the dragons, and I understand there are regular orders from Donotono's Bakery in the capital. I just tell her stories. She seems to like those almost as much as food. Did you see the other gold dragon that flew past? He likes humans, too, though he believes they should worship him. And give him belly rubs. Sometimes, he turns into a ferret to encourage that.” Rysha realized she was babbling, but she wanted her family to understand that not all dragons were a threat. And that Shulina Arya was the reason that the silver dragon wouldn’t bother them again.

Aunt Tadelay scratched her head, not seeming to notice when she pushed her hat askew. “When your mother and I came to the capital, we truly believed you needed to be saved from…” She extended her hand toward Shulina Arya again, who flopped over on her side and either stretched her jaw or yawned. It might have been both. Fortunately, she didn’t look threatening in that position, even with her fangs on display. Her tongue lolled out, and Rysha smiled, remembering the jawbreaker incident. “Dragons,” Aunt Tadelay finished.

“Just some dragons. But with Shulina Arya’s help, along with this sword, which has an affinity for slaying dragons—” Rysha touched the hilt but didn’t draw Dorfindral, lest he get overly excited by Shulina Arya’s proximity, “—I can defeat them. Granted, Shulina Arya does a lot more than I do, but together, we’re a good team. And the country needs someone who can defeat enemy dragons right now.”

Aunt Tadelay shifted her gaze toward the smoldering vineyard and then toward the front of the house, where the gas lamps illuminated the dead silver. Rysha wondered whose responsibility it would be to move the body. And where did one put a dead dragon, anyway? If her uncle Sabber had been here, he might have offered to taxidermy the head for his hunting lodge.

After a long moment of consideration, Aunt Tadelay looked back to Rysha, eyeing her up and down. Rysha felt rumpled after multiple battles and a full day of travel, but she stood up straight, hoping her uniform wasn’t too mud-spattered and wrinkled.

“I’m beginning to see that,” Aunt Tadelay allowed.

“Trip helped, too, though it would have been harder for you to tell he was doing something. Every time the silver dragon smashed into an invisible obstacle, that was Trip’s work.”

“He’s… a sorcerer, then? It’s true? I thought your brothers were gossiping.”

“He’s half dragon. It’s a very long story, but I love him, and he’s good to me. He made me a fancy display case to hold my elite troops initiation medallion and the awards he’s sure I’m going to earn in the army.”

“You’re truly determined to have a career in the military?” Aunt Tadelay didn’t seem that comfortable talking about Trip and latched onto that.

Rysha didn’t push. This already seemed like progress, that her aunt had seen what Shulina Arya was capable of, and had also seen what Rysha was capable of.

“Yes, Aunt. And speaking of that, we need to get back to the city. Dragons are causing trouble up there too.”

“It’s a daily event anymore. I wish something could be done.”

“We’re working on it. We’ll find a way to protect Iskandia’s borders. Just give the king and the military time.”

Aunt Tadelay took a deep breath. “I shall find it encouraging that your brain is helping with the problem.”

Rysha didn’t think her brain had been that useful of late, but she didn’t object to the statement. Someone in her family seemed to finally be coming around to her side.

Since Father and Krey were still arguing about vines, Rysha decided to leave her parting words for Aunt Tadelay. “Be very careful if Lord Lockvale comes around again. Trip questioned him while we were chasing the silver. It was, uhm, telepathic questioning, so he doesn’t have any evidence, but he found out that Lockvale conspired with that silver dragon, that they were plotting to get Father to sell the family estate cheaply.”

Rysha watched her aunt warily, immediately wishing she hadn’t said anything about telepathy. Even if the secret was out about Trip’s magical powers, she doubted her family would find actual proof of those powers any less creepy than his Wolf Squadron comrades did.

“Lockvale,” Aunt Tadelay snarled, not commenting on telepathy or creepiness. “I knew that’s what he’s been doing. We all knew. He’s not the subtle genius he thinks he is. Fool. I even suspected he was aligned with that dragon. It was all too convenient otherwise.”

Rysha nodded, glad she wouldn’t have to convince her family Lockvale was trouble. She knew her parents were smart, despite their lack of support for her military career, and hadn’t truly believed they would be taken in, but she appreciated this reassurance.

“Just keep an eye out. If you or Mother or Father or anyone needs anything, or sees anyone else suspicious, get word to me as soon as possible, and I’ll come down and be a rabid guard dog for the property. We’ll come down.” Rysha pointed at Shulina Arya, even though the dragon’s eyes had closed, and her breathing was deep and even, so she didn’t have much of a guard dog mien. “We can get here quickly.”

She worried her aunt might scoff, despite what she’d seen tonight, but instead, she nodded solemnly, stepped forward, and gave Rysha a hug. The muzzle of her rifle clunked the back of Rysha’s head, and she was fairly sure Dorfindral’s hilt poked her aunt in the ribs, but it was a hug, nonetheless. A hug between women who would do what was necessary to protect the family.

“Father, I need to go,” Rysha called when they broke apart. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

He looked over, frowning, and opened his mouth as if he would protest, but Aunt Tadelay shook her head. Father closed his mouth. He hesitated, then lifted his hand in farewell.

“Shulina Arya?” Rysha rested a hand on the dragon’s side, hoping she would rouse easily. She hadn’t seen her sleeping before and didn’t even know where the dragon bedded down for the night. All Rysha knew was that she objected to stables. “We need to go back to the city and see if they need help.”

One violet eye opened. Tarts? Her voice sounded sleepy, and Rysha regretted that she couldn’t leave the dragon snoozing. It had been a long day.

“Uhm, maybe afterward. We can check.” Rysha doubted baking tarts had been Sardelle’s priority today if dragons had been attacking the city.

Shulina Arya did the telepathic equivalent of mumbling something incoherent—or maybe it was coherent in dragon?—and rolled onto her stomach so Rysha could climb onto her back. The illumination spheres she had created faded, and Father and Krey headed for the house. The shadows hid the destroyed vineyard, but Rysha remembered the image all too well, the charred remains of the vines near the black skeletons of trees in what had once been a beautiful orchard.

She didn’t know when she would find the time, but she vowed to ensure that Lord Lockvale couldn’t harass her family or anyone else anymore. One way or another.