Trip had never been so tired in his life. An atypical heat wave had come in, drying up the spring rains, and hot sun beat on his back as he manipulated metal with his mind. Over and over and over. He felt like an athlete training for competition. Would all this practice at manipulating elements turn him into a more efficient mage? Or would it simply melt his brain into mush?

Clangs and bangs came from elsewhere on the flat rocky lot behind Bhrava Saruth’s temple. It hadn’t been flat enough to work on when Trip had arrived four days earlier, so his first effort had gone into leveling it. Now, the base of his massive structure stretched over it, lightweight despite its substantial length and width. In the end, an airship would be able to land on the platform, if necessary, or an entire company of soldiers could be taken up to fight from it. The weapons that would perch atop towers along the outside perimeter were being constructed elsewhere in the temple. Trip would soon start to work on the engines and the massive propellers and housings that would keep the platform aloft.

“I need more dragon blood,” came a call from the temple.

That sounded like Dr. Targoson.

Since Trip was the project manager, he assumed all orders, questions, and complaints were meant for him. He left the seam he was smoothing and trotted inside, glad for a chance to escape the heat.

A few of the men working on the structure glanced his way, but none of them objected to him leaving. So far, his team was working out well. They were mostly army engineers, men with experience building bridges, military fortifications, and all manner of related structures. He also had a few civilian smiths and metalworkers from the capital.

Everyone was sleeping at the temple and had strict orders not to speak with anyone outside about the project. The king worried that some of their enemy dragons, especially the group that had stolen one of the chapaharii blades and proved willing to use trickery to gain what they wanted, would find out about the platform and sabotage it before it was built. Until the weapons were installed, the structure would be vulnerable. Trip hoped his belief that other dragons would avoid Bhrava Saruth’s temple because they found him annoying proved true. The island it was built on lay a few miles north of the city in an inlet in the cliffs. A dragon flying directly overhead would be able to see down to the yard where they worked, but a dragon simply flying down the coast wouldn’t notice the area.

It is highly inappropriate for a dragon god’s worshippers to wish samples of his blood, Trip caught Bhrava Saruth saying as he stepped into the cool shade under the high arches and stone ceiling of the main temple. Did we not agree that samples from those bronze dragons that have been loitering around would be sufficient?

“They’re not here,” Dr. Targoson said, frowning back at Bhrava Saruth.

Targoson had a number of tables set up in a back corner of the temple with laboratory equipment stretched across them. The rocket housings and the beginnings of a rocket launcher rested on the floor nearby, but he was working on creating more acid now. A compact burner heated a ceramic pot of the stuff, and sulfurous steam arose, making Trip wrinkle his nose.

“I may be able to find them and ask them to come,” Trip said, walking up to the table. “I’ve noticed our dragon helpers have been scarce since the tainted ore arrived.”

“I’d like to be scarce.” Targoson pushed back the tangled locks of dark hair that tended to fall into his eyes.

“Because you don’t approve of the project? Or because the ore is bothering you?” Trip had it locked in iron boxes currently. He could sense it, but it wasn’t giving him the constant headache that came with more direct exposure. He would have to oversee the part of the project where it was woven into the structure of the platform and the rocket housings, and he dreaded that.

“Because that dragon seems to believe that everyone who’s here working is officially one of his worshippers now. Earlier, he was wandering around asking what offerings people had brought today.”

“I’ll have to order some baked goods to be delivered for him and our other helpers.” Trip hoped he could get the army to pay for that. He’d learned that his own pay had been put on hold pending the outcome of the inquest.

“I understand sheep are acceptable too.”

“They don’t come in tidy bags with paper napkins.”

“I’ve yet to see a dragon use a napkin. I imagine they just magically clean themselves off.”

Trip remembered his attempt at mud removal. “Do you not?”

He knew that Targoson had dragon blood in his veins and sensed him drawing upon his power while he worked on the acid.

“Use magic for bathing? No. I don’t use it for much of anything. Sardelle taught me to levitate a pencil and light a lantern with my mind, but I haven’t had time to learn much else. This—” he waved at the bubbling pot over the burner, “—I do intuitively. Much like you manipulate metal, I imagine.”

Trip nodded.

“It comes easier than the other stuff for me,” Targoson added.

“Doctor,” Trip said, eyeing the steaming pot, “have you found acceptance here? You’re Cofah and have power. It seems like people here would be mistrustful.”

“Call me Tolemek, and the people here are mistrustful of me. Less so now that it’s been three years and I’ve helped them repel a number of attacks, but I rarely have strangers walk up to introduce themselves and ask if I want to be friends.”

“Does that happen to anybody?” Trip couldn’t recall a time, but then, he lacked Leftie’s looks and charisma.

“To Zirkander, I’m sure. Men ask him out for drinks. Women ask him if he’s monogamous. Older women ask him to speak to their children’s classrooms.”

Trip quirked an eyebrow. That sounded like something Targoson had witnessed directly.

“So, you stay for Captain Ahn?” he asked.

“For her and because I have found a place here. Even if I’m not warmly welcomed by many, some do include me in their lives and seem to appreciate my presence. And King Angulus gave me a state-of-the-art lab and lets me order anything I like in terms of tools and ingredients.”

Targoson—Tolemek smiled. Trip hadn’t seen him do that before. He supposed he would also be excited if someone gave him a workshop full of modern tools and an unlimited budget.

“A lot of what I do is fulfill orders from the army,” Tolemek continued, “but I’m paid fairly for my creations, and they aren’t all weapons anymore.” He glanced at the pot of acid. “Usually. I also have time for my side business. I just purchased a house in a very nice area of town. It’s high up on a hill and overlooks Cas’s father’s estate.” His smile turned a bit smug, as if this was some coup. “We enjoy spending time there.”

“I was thinking of buying the lot across from General Zirkander’s house,” Trip offered, more because Tolemek had brought up houses than because it was relevant. “Someone put a for-sale sign up on it a couple of weeks ago.”

His questions about being accepted were mostly prompted by his upcoming inquest and the ease with which someone’s spurious claims had resulted in him being held. Even now, though he was out here working on his project, two military police were stationed in front of the temple and escorted him to and from the premises. Most nights, he stayed out here with the other dedicated workers so he could avoid the indignity of being walked to the barracks like a criminal.

Trip believed that King Angulus thought him valuable and wouldn’t let this inquest end in a death sentence, but it stung him to the core that it could even be possible. If he hadn’t been a strange-looking sorcerer with skin too dark for a typical Iskandian, would these charges ever have stuck? Did Lockvale’s word—and that of his comrades—get that much more weight simply because he was a noble?

“Most young officers would be horrified by the idea of building a house across the street from their battalion commander’s.”

“I’d like to help out with my little siblings whenever possible, and since everyone who needs training goes to Sardelle’s house, it seems logical.”

“Yes, I was there last summer when Zirkander talked Wreltad and Jaxi into helping him build that bunkhouse in the back for students. Most high-ranking military officers would hire a contractor for such work.”

“Were the swords that helpful?” Trip could imagine dragons allowing themselves to be bribed for food and other pleasures of the bodies, but what could convince a soulblade to move boards and hammer nails?

“Wreltad is Zirkander’s buddy. I’m sure he was helpful. I understand Jaxi helped cut down a few trees and shape the lumber. Via incineration.”

“I suppose if you don’t have a circular saw, fire is a valid method of—” Trip frowned as something plucked at his senses.

He walked toward the open back of the temple, the stone roof supported by columns far enough apart that a dragon could easily fly between them. The surf roared, waves crashing against the rocks nearby, and the men continued to work in the lot. All appeared calm, but Trip sensed a dragon. It wasn’t Bhrava Saruth. He was chatting up—or maybe blessing—a couple of women in the front of the temple. It also wasn’t one of the other Iskandian ally dragons. Trip had grown accustomed to dragons being around lately, so he wasn’t surprised he hadn’t felt another one slip in until it had gotten close.

The newcomer seemed large and powerful. A gold?

Trip peered toward the tops of the cliffs framing the inlet, and his breath caught when he spotted the dragon perched atop the rocks in the distance. Yes, it was a gold. A male. And he was looking down on the yard and the goings on below.

Trip hoped the dragon would think little of the structures humans built, and simply fly off, but even if he did, his presence here couldn’t signify anything good. It suggested the dragon coalition was spying on the city, perhaps preparing for another attack. Even worse, it could mean that they’d heard about Trip’s project and planned to destroy it before it was done.

An alien presence brushed Trip’s mind, and he buried his thoughts deep inside his mental bank vault. He looked out toward the workers and did his best to camouflage them, to hide them and their thoughts, though he doubted he could fool a dragon, especially a gold dragon.

“Trouble?” Tolemek asked, walking up behind him. He looked in the direction Trip was looking. “Ah. I don’t suppose he heard me request dragon blood and wants to help out.”

“That seems unlikely.”

As they considered the gold dragon, it sprang into the air and lazily flew out of sight to the north.

“Hm,” Tolemek said.

“I wonder if we can get some of the other dragons to spend a few days out here, ready to defend my project if it gets attacked.”

“They’ve been scarce since the iron was brought in.”

“True.”

Trip doubted he could count on the tainted iron by itself keeping dragons away, but maybe he would leave a few of the bars out around the project site.

“Only Bhrava Saruth refuses to leave his temple for long,” Tolemek added, “lest he miss the arrival of adoring worshippers.”

Trip sensed unfamiliar people entering the temple from the front—soldiers. More military police. They had to have come for him. He grimaced at the idea of being taken away from the project when there was so much work to do in what he assumed would be a short time.

“Captain Trip,” one of the two uniformed men approaching said.

“Sir.” Trip spotted the pins of a major on his collar. The younger man walking at his side was a lieutenant. Trip realized they were likely from the judicial department, not the police.

“I’ve come to inform you that your inquest will be in three days, early in the morning,” the major said. “Lieutenant Foxlin has been assigned to be your defender.”

Trip had no idea who that was but worried a lieutenant wouldn’t have a lot of experience. Had nobody higher ranking been willing to sign on to defend him? But maybe a younger officer would be more open-minded and less likely to dismiss him as something less than human because of his blood.

“At the king’s request, you’ve been granted surprising latitude…” The major looked around the temple, including to where Bhrava Saruth sat in human form on what could only be considered a throne with a woman in his lap and another kneeling on the dais, his hand on her head.

Trip wondered exactly what kinds of “blessings” the dragon was giving.

“I knew he wasn’t cleaning latrines,” the lieutenant muttered.

Trip had the urge to take them out back and show them what he was working on, but there were a lot of reasons to keep that a secret for now. Further, even though he trusted himself—and Rysha had come over one evening to check his math—he couldn’t be certain the weapons platform would do all that he’d promised until they got it in the air and a dragon attacked.

“So, make sure you’re there on time,” the major finished, pulling his gaze back from Bhrava Saruth.

“Yes, sir,” Trip said, though he wished he could push it back a couple more weeks until he’d finished everything here. Or push it back until half past never.

What did Lockvale stand to gain from this, anyway? Was it all out of spite? Because Trip had embarrassed him in front of his friends? But those same friends were testifying to an attempt at murder, so they were clearly willing to stand with him.

With their news delivered, the major and lieutenant hurried back the way they had come. Hunches to their shoulders and the quickness of their pace suggested they couldn’t wait to leave the temple. Because a dragon god lived there? Or because they suspected it oozed magic?

Trip rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if the average person would ever accept that magic and sorcerers could be useful.