The evening before Trip’s inquest, Shulina Arya dropped Rysha off at her family’s manor. Rysha faced the double-doored entrance, squared her shoulders, took a deep breath… and didn’t move.

“Do you want to join us for dinner?” Rysha asked the dragon, looking for a reason to stall.

Also, she wouldn’t mind someone who would support her as she argued with her mother and father. She’d come down to ask one or both of them to travel to the city—she would happily provide winged transportation to get them there quickly—and act as character witnesses for Trip. At the least, it would be nice if they talked about how Lockvale had been pressuring them to sell their property. That ought to make the noble’s presence there the night of the fire appear more suspicious.

The eating would be done with forks and knives and spools? Shulina Arya asked.

Spoons, yes.

I find human eating implements confusing. Why do you simply not use your teeth and tongues?

Some foods are difficult to eat with teeth and tongue alone. Rysha remembered the dragon’s difficulty with the jawbreakers and thought she could understand.

Though sweets are enjoyable, I prefer simple food I can eat with my fangs and talons. Also the pleasure of the hunt. While you dine, I believe I shall seek a sheep.

“All right.” Rysha thought about suggesting that a wild ram would be a better choice than one of her family’s woolly livestock, but after killing that silver dragon, Shulina Arya deserved a sheep if she desired one. “I’ll see you later.”

Let me know when you wish to leave.

“Thank you. I will. And thank you for toting me all over the place. I have to admit it’s very convenient to travel so quickly.”

Indeed so. Human legs are so stubby and slow. Everybody should be a rider, so they can have access to a dragon.

“A shame there are more humans in the world than dragons, as your parents pointed out.”

Shulina Arya flew off, and Rysha had no reason to dawdle further. She opened the door, traveling the hallway and several rooms before finding her mother in the library. She sat at a desk, books stacked to either side of her and one open under her hands. The university term had just ended for the summer. Maybe she intended to catch up on personal reading.

“Rysha,” Mother said, looking up and smiling. “It’s good to see you again so soon.”

“Thanks, Mother, but I came on business.” Rysha walked into the library. “Personal business, admittedly. I was hoping to talk to you and Father.”

Mother’s smile faded. “Is this about that military inquest starting tomorrow. Centered around your… friend?”

Her gaze shifted to a newspaper on one of the stacks of books.

For the last three days, Trip had been on the front page. He wasn’t doing anything except hiding out and working on his project, so she assumed Lord Lockvale had a friend at the press he’d asked to stir things up. So far, the articles had been outcries against the sudden influx of those with dragon blood into the capital and the surrounding countryside. The journalists hadn’t mentioned Trip’s little siblings, but Rysha had read between the lines that Lockvale had heard about and was counting them, as well as supposing that more dragon-blooded children would be born soon. Rules had to be established and precedents established, he argued in one interview, or soon mundane human beings would find themselves enslaved to sorcerers once again.

As if that had ever happened in the first place. Rysha shook her head in disgust.

Her mother lifted her eyebrows, and Rysha remembered the question.

“It is about that,” she admitted. “I’m hoping that either you or Father will come to the capital and testify. You don’t have to say anything about Trip, just that Lord Lockvale has been up to dastardly practices and can’t be trusted.”

A faint clink sounded behind her, Aunt Tadelay standing in the doorway and stirring a mug of tea with a spoon.

“Rysha,” Mother said, “I understand you wanting to defend your friend, but we’ve only met him once, and we don’t truly know anything about him.”

“Other than that he has admirable assets.” Aunt Tadelay smirked and brought her mug to her lips.

Mother blinked. “Tadelay, you’re not referring to that—that night, are you? I thought that mortified you.”

“I was extremely mortified. But neither that nor his strategically placed pillow kept me from noticing assets. And understanding why young Rysha might be smitten with him.”

Rysha’s cheeks warmed at this uncertain defense.

“Smitten,” Mother said. “That’s the word the newspaper used.”

“They’re mentioning me?” Rysha had seen most of the articles but must have missed that one.

“The journalist said it’s likely he’s using his power to influence you so that he can marry you and gain a place for himself in the nobility.”

“Mother, surely you don’t believe such nonsense. Or you, Aunt Tadelay. You know what the silver dragon was up to and how Lockvale was trying to take advantage. He came here openly, trying to buy our land.”

“I’m aware of that,” Mother said, “but we don’t have any proof he was working with that dragon.”

“Trip said he was.”

“The Trip who is being accused of attempted murder.”

“Lockvale’s doing that to save his own reputation. He should be on trial here, but because he started this hubbub, nobody seems to remember that he was up to sleazy practices, even my own family, the one targeted by said practices.” Rysha realized she was yelling, and she took a deep breath, struggling for control. She had planned to be measured and rational, not bellow at her mother.

A throat cleared in the hallway. Her father had joined Aunt Tadelay in the doorway.

“We haven’t forgotten, honey. I certainly haven’t.” He shared a nod with Tadelay. “But like your accused officer, we lack evidence. It would be our word against his if we attempted to press charges. And since nobody ever saw him with this silver dragon, nobody who has come forward about it, there’s nothing to link him to it in the eyes of the law. Further, as you know, all the noble landowners in the region know each other and interact with each other regularly. Starting feuds never went well in the past, and it’s not something I wish to do now, not over this. He was stopped, it seems, and with the dragon gone, we can get our workers back.”

“He was stopped because of Trip,” Rysha said, turning to look into all three sets of eyes.

“Actually, he was stopped because of you and your dragon, was he not?” Aunt Tadelay asked.

“We never would have caught that silver without Trip’s help. He was creating magical walls so the silver had to turn. You were outside, Father. You saw that, right? The silver was too fast otherwise.”

“Hm,” her father said neutrally.

“Listen,” Rysha said, “you don’t have to love him or think he’s the right person for me.” Though she wished they would. “I’m just asking for someone to come to the city tomorrow and testify, to talk about the pressure Lockvale has been putting on the family to sell.”

Father sighed. Mother fiddled with one of the books on the desk.

Rysha’s shoulders slumped. It was such a small favor to ask, but maybe she’d been foolish to think her family would come through for her. It wasn’t as if she’d received any approval from them these last few years. Why did she even bother coming home? It was a waste of time.

She pushed past her father, not caring that her shoulder rammed against his, and hurried into the hallway.

She had almost reached the front door when Aunt Tadelay stopped her by calling her name. Rysha looked warily back at her, her hands in her pockets and her shoulders hunched. If anything, her aunt probably wanted to chastise her for stomping out without asking permission to leave or saying goodbye. A proper lady didn’t do such rude things.

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Aunt Tadelay said.

For several seconds, Rysha stared at her, not understanding. “You’ll come to the city? To the army fort? For Trip?”

“For you.” Aunt Tadelay pursed her lips. “If your Trip is a sorcerer, I don’t think he needs my help.”

“He won’t use his powers for his own personal gain. He has morals and ethics.”

“No wonder he’s being picked on by Lockvale. I will be there to say exactly what I think of him and what slimy scandalous things he’s been involved with, not just in regard to attempting to acquire our land, but in his relationships with other nobles as well.” Aunt Tadelay’s eyes narrowed.

Rysha suddenly wondered how much dirt she had on Lockvale. And on everyone in the nobility for that matter.

“As for your virile sorcerer… Dear, I feel like you have the power to make this problem go away and you’re not using it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you not just complete elite army training that allows you to pulverize men with your fists?”

“Yes, but—”

“And do you not have some kind of magical sword? And a great golden dragon that breathes fire and rips lesser beings into tiny pieces indistinguishable from the blood meal our gardener sprinkles on the lilac bushes?”

“Technically, yes, but—”

“No, no buts. You are a grown woman with more resources than any woman has likely ever had in the history of women. Go and deal with Lockvale yourself.”

“By turning him into blood meal? If I do that, you’ll end up testifying at my inquest.”

“Just tell him you’ll do that. That your dragon will incinerate him if he doesn’t drop the charges against your captain.”

“You think I should threaten him?” Rysha wasn’t horrified by the suggestion so much as she was startled that her aunt was the one making it.

“Of course not, dear. The nobility aren’t so crass. You pressure him. Imply that if he doesn’t tell the truth, your dragon will breathe fire all over him.”

“How is that different from a threat?”

“Because you’re a noble lady. Ladies don’t make threats.”

“I…”

Aunt Tadelay shooed her toward the door. “Run along. Deal with him before it gets late. It’s terribly rude to visit after dark, you know.”

“Right, a threat should be made before sundown. To be polite.”

“Pressure, dear. Pressure.”

* * *

Trip yawned and sat down on the temple steps, looking out over his project as dusk deepened.

He’d completed and installed the four engines that would spin the massive propellers that would keep the platform in the air, along with eight crystalline energy sources he’d created. The design had been inspired by the referatu light devices that powered the fliers, but intended from the beginning to provide power for an engine. Trip had also imbued them with chapaharii-sword-like magic to allow them to work alongside the tainted iron. He hoped they would be effective and that they would last, but he had to admit he’d created them intuitively, without much reliance on math or engineering, and time would be the ultimate test. As would their first attempt to lift the platform into the air.

A lot of finishing touches remained such as places for soldiers to be protected from the weather—and dragon fire—when manning the weapons, and the rocket launchers themselves needed to be mounted and tested. But the bare bones were there. And he was exhausted. His brain hurt and even his body hurt from bending over and working. On top of all the mental and physical labor, his inquest was tomorrow.

He groaned and flopped back onto the marble floor of the temple.

Someone in uniform was walking toward him with a lantern in one hand and a jug in the other. General Zirkander.

Trip was surprised to see him. He had let everyone else go for the night, since they were almost done except for the fine work that required good lighting and rested minds. Even Bhrava Saruth had gone off somewhere, perhaps to be worshipped by one of his nubile female devotees. Trip had been alone for the last hour, trying not to think about what he would do in the morning. He had to go to the inquest—there was no doubt about that—but should he use his power to attempt to influence people? Or would that backfire on him and provide support for the opposition’s arguments about how vile sorcerers were?

Maybe General Zirkander would have some advice.

“Sardelle said you were still out here,” Zirkander said, ambling toward Trip.

“Here and my barracks room are the only places I’m legally allowed to be, sir.” Trip’s weary brain kicked into gear, and he realized he needed to salute. He scrambled to his feet to do so.

Zirkander waved for him to sit back down. “I would have guessed a bunk in a barracks room would be a more appealing place to sleep, but then, I haven’t been out here at night. Is that marble floor more comfortable than it looks?”

“No, sir.” Trip sat on the steps again. “The sound of the ocean is nice, and it is peaceful. Damp, but not too cold this time of year.”

Zirkander sat next to him, setting the lantern to one side, then offering Trip the large stoppered brown jug.

“Beer, sir?” Trip asked.

“Beer.”

“I thought you might be coming to give me advice about tomorrow.”

“Beer is much better than advice.” Zirkander removed the stopper and took a swig to demonstrate.

The second time he offered the jug, Trip accepted it and drank. The rich stout flowed down his throat easily. Apparently, generals could afford better beer than captains.

“Though if you want advice, mine would be to get hammered tonight and let tomorrow take care of itself.”

“Tempting, sir, but I’m not convinced tomorrow will take care of anything without my influence. I’m afraid… uhm, Rysha brought me one of the newspapers, so I wouldn’t be surprised when extra accusations came up in the inquest.”

“I’m not sure a newspaper is what I would want my girlfriend to bring me if I was incarcerated in a dragon temple.”

“She also brought cookies.”

“Ah, that’s an improvement.”

“Except that there were only three by the time she got here. I guess Shulina Arya ate the rest. Still, they were good. Cinnamon raisin.”

“If it makes you feel better, the oven is constantly running at my house, and I hardly ever get anything but scraps.”

Zirkander took the jug back and drank again. Maybe he planned to get hammered too. Trip hoped that wasn’t a reflection on how he believed the inquest would turn out.

“I’m not convinced that weapons are the best way to deal with dragons,” Zirkander said. “I’m disappointed that Angulus didn’t take me up on my suggestion of lobbing baked goods onto Cofah shores every week, thus to ensure all dragons would feel compelled to live over there. Sort of like installing a bird feeder.”

“Does he take you up on any of your suggestions, sir?” Trip smiled.

Rysha had described how her meeting with Angulus had gone before and after Zirkander showed up. Trip had been surprised to learn that Angulus didn’t seem to love Zirkander—or his suggestions. The general did have a mouthy streak that not everyone appreciated.

“More often when we’re having private meetings than in front of other people. But this was my suggestion, that you be sent out here for your punishment.” Zirkander thumped him on the arm. “You’re welcome.”

“I can’t be upset since I’ve gotten to work on my project. I am somewhat distressed by how many of Bhrava Saruth’s trysts I’ve had to witness.”

“He trysts out in the open?”

“Often in that throne in the main room. Sometimes in the back—there’s a large bed in his private room, which is full of non-edible things that people have brought him. I have to confess, I didn’t truly think he had worshippers, that anyone fell for that.”

Too late to take back the words, Trip remembered that Zirkander had admitted to following the dragon once. Trip had assumed it was a joke or something done to appease Bhrava Saruth, but who knew?

Zirkander smirked. “I suspect most of them are using him, pretending to worship him in order to get what they need. And I don’t think he cares if his followers’ worship is heartfelt and real or a bit of a sham. He just likes the attention.”

“Multiple times a day, from what I’ve seen.”

“I would have thought you were too busy working outside to notice the attention he gets. Multiple times a day.”

“I was, but I can sense, uhm, strong feelings or emotions. And sometimes, everybody out here can hear the strong feelings of emotion.” Trip took a drink, a long one this time, to wash away the memories.

“I’m sure he’s using his dragonly, uh, what’s it called?”

“Scylori.”

“Right. I’m sure his allure pulls people to him, but he does genuinely heal them and bless them. I’d assumed his blessings would be a joke, but he gave me one three years ago, and I still heal a lot faster than normal. I can nick myself shaving in the morning, and it’s completely healed by the time I get dressed. For you, that’s probably normal, but my blood is plain and boring.”

Trip was glad the people who came to Bhrava Saruth got something out of it and weren’t only being used to satisfy the dragon’s urges. The whole setup with the temple and the fake religion reminded him uncomfortably of Agarrenon Shivar and his cult. Bhrava Saruth seemed much more benign, but Trip still hated the idea of anyone using power to influence other people for their own gain.

As he wondered if he needed to do that very thing tomorrow.

He groaned and dropped his face between his knees.

“I know the beer and the company are good, so I’m going to assume something else is disturbing you,” Zirkander said.

“I’m just conflicted. Tomorrow, do I just sit there like a lump and let my fate be decided by a heartless military judge and some young lieutenant law defender who never even came out to speak to me? Or do I use my power to influence people—the judge, I suppose is the most important one—and make sure things come out in my favor? I know I can walk away at any time, no matter what happens, but then what? I would be an outcast, and I could never come back to my unit, never visit my grandparents in Charkolt, never spend time with Rysha again unless it was in secret… She deserves better than that, than some criminal she has to skulk around to see.”

Tears stung Trip’s eyes, and he looked out at the night and away from Zirkander, embarrassed. He hadn’t wanted to break down in front of his commanding officer.

Zirkander patted him on the back. “I don’t think it’ll come to that. Look, the king is on your side, even if he’s trying to appear like he’s not. He’s got an announcement tomorrow that’s going to give the newspapers something scintillating to talk about, and they’re going to forget all about you and your inquest. I doubt any journalists will even show up. I gather he’s delighted that he got a yes and gets to make the announcement regardless of your situation, but he was pleased to hold off a couple of days and strategically make it tomorrow morning, to take some of the attention off you.”

Trip wiped his eyes and looked at Zirkander, trying to puzzle through what he was talking about. He didn’t mean to read his commanding officer’s mind, but Zirkander was smirking and thinking about Kaika and Angulus holding hands, then kissing in front of a crowd.

“He got a yes… to a proposal?” Trip hadn’t known Angulus and Kaika were that committed. Though he’d seen one of their reunion kisses and heard rumors that they’d been seeing each other for years, so maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“He did.”

“She’s not noble, right?”

Zirkander laughed. “About as far from it as you can get. A lot like me. Though I don’t think her family tree has as much dead wood on it as mine.”

“Huh.” Trip wondered if it was selfish of him to promptly think of himself. If the non-noble Major Kaika could marry the king, wasn’t it possible that the non-noble Captain Trip could marry a certain Lieutenant-Lady Ravenwood?

“Don’t worry too much about tomorrow, Trip,” Zirkander said. “It’s sure to be interesting, but if you’re lucky, it will not be because of you.”

“I would love for my life to be un-interesting, sir. Aside from slaying dragons and defending Iskandia.”

“A good goal to strive for.” Zirkander placed the jug on the stairs at Trip’s feet, then stood up. “I better get home to Sardelle and the children. Just wanted to make sure you had the means to get hammered if you so wish. And that you’ll be all right. Will you be?”

Trip also rose to his feet, feeling he shouldn’t sit while a general stood. “I think so, sir. Thanks for coming out here.”

“I’ll be at the inquest tomorrow too. Several of us will be. Just in case someone needs to glare daggers at this Lord Lockvale. You know Wolf Squadron isn’t afraid of any nobles.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Zirkander gave him another pat on the shoulder and turned to leave.

“Sir?” Trip asked, glad for the support but also wondering if… Was Wolf Squadron protecting their own just because the pilots always would? Or did they believe he was innocent? “You know I didn’t do it, right? Hurt him or even threaten him?”

“Of course,” Zirkander said simply, tilting his head.

Trip brushed his mind, checking to see if he was telling the truth. And… he was. Trip had to blink away tears again. He hadn’t been here in the capital, working with Wolf Squadron and under General Zirkander for that long, so it touched him that his commander believed him and knew he wasn’t the kind of person who would use his power in a vile way.

“Thank you, sir.”

Zirkander gave him a lazy salute and headed off into the night.