The military police escorted Trip up the walkway toward the one-story Army Justice Headquarters, a humorless brick building at the back of the fort, standing in the shadow of the bluff that held the flier hangars. Trip gazed up wistfully, feeling homesick for his cockpit and the chatter of Wolf Squadron as the pilots went off on training exercises.

That feeling intensified as he watched six fliers taking off. For training? Or because some threat approached?

Trip stretched out with his senses, checking for unfamiliar dragons. He sensed Bhrava Saruth, miles to the north and still at his temple, then Phelistoth near Sardelle’s house. He hadn’t sensed the bronze dragon Telmandaroo for several days and assumed he’d gone back to his pirate islands. Shulina Arya’s parents weren’t within range. He had no idea where they went when they weren’t here reporting to the king or tinkering with ancient technology. Shulina Arya herself was closer than Trip expected, a few miles away and flying toward the city.

Currently, he didn’t sense any other dragons, which was a relief. He’d been checking often for the gold that had spied on him three days earlier.

That morning, Trip had left Tolemek mounting the rocket launchers. The platform was almost ready for a trial run, but as long as it was on the ground without those weapons installed, it would be vulnerable to sabotage.

One of the police escorting Trip cleared his throat and jerked his thumb toward the front door. He didn’t say, “Quit dawdling,” because he was a sergeant and Trip was an officer, but Trip sensed the words among his surface thoughts.

Informing the man that he was searching for signs of enemy dragons probably wouldn’t win him any lenience. Trip quickened his pace, telling himself the sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could return to his project. And once that was done, he could return to the squadron and his flier.

Assuming this inquest didn’t go poorly.

The police marched him inside and down a drab hallway. They entered a room with two rows of chairs in the back behind a railing, chairs and tables in the middle, and a raised dais and throne-like seat in the front with a stool on either side. Nobody was up there yet, but the chairs in the back were surprisingly full given the early hour. General Zirkander sat next to Sardelle, Blazer, Duck, Pimples, and Leftie—Trip had barely spoken to Leftie because he’d been so busy of late—along with a few Tiger Squadron pilots that Trip had worked with a few times.

Seeing the group there—to support him or even testify?—warmed his heart. Of course, they were so busy reading newspapers that they didn’t seem to notice him come in. Only Leftie, who was twirling his lucky ball on its chain, spotted him. He grinned and ambled over, bumping one of the guards in the shoulder, perhaps not by accident.

“Want to kiss my balls, Trip?”

The guard’s eyebrows flew up.

“Balls?” Trip asked. “Is there more than one now?”

“There always was.” Leftie winked and stuck a hand in his pocket. “But if you’re referring to the metal ones, I’ve added a lovely tungsten luck ball to my collection. You see, the melting point of tungsten is almost twice that of gold, which my other ball is mostly made from. After my near miss with that flame-happy dragon last week, I was concerned about my lucky ball melting, so I had a backup made.”

“The lucky ball you keep in your pocket?”

“Yes. Now I keep two.”

“Don’t you think you’ll melt before the gold does?” Trip was pleased that he didn’t see any signs of the burns Leftie had suffered the week before. He’d been certain that he and Azarwrath could heal the injuries, but he had been less certain they could prevent scar tissue. He hadn’t seen Major Kaika in the last week and hoped she, too, was free of scars.

“If I do, I hope you’ll be around to un-melt me.” Leftie thumped him on the shoulder, then held up his new ball on its chain.

“I’m not kissing that,” Trip said, though Leftie’s offer made him happy—as did the fact that Leftie seemed perfectly willing to be healed by him these days. How far they had come.

“It’s lucky. You might need luck today.”

Do not do it, Telryn. No self-respecting mighty sorcerer should be seen leaving lip moistness on a metal ball.

Azarwrath? Trip checked with his senses and realized both Jaxi and Azarwrath were in their scabbards and tucked between the chairs that Sardelle and General Zirkander occupied.

Naturally. I came to ensure that you wouldn’t do something foolish like letting yourself be hanged because you were afraid to use your powers in a morally questionable way.

And also to make sure you don’t kiss Leftie’s balls, Jaxi added. I know Azzy was concerned about that.

Trip smiled for the first time in… he didn’t know how long. He’d missed Azarwrath’s company—and Jaxi’s, too, though he’d never expected her to be a permanent part of his life. A couple of times, he’d thought about slipping over to Sardelle’s house at night to pick up the soulblade, but the military police had come to the temple at least twice a day to check on him. If they had come and he hadn’t been there or in his barracks, he would have been relegated to a jail cell again. Also, they would have objected if their prisoner had been wandering around with a sword.

“How about you just kiss it for me?” Trip said. “And then rub some of your luck on me.”

“You want me to rub you? That’s disgusting.”

“But kissing balls isn’t?”

“Of course not.”

A throat cleared behind Trip, and he sensed Rysha walking up. He turned to face her, his smile widening.

“That’s not the discussion I expected to walk in on.” She stepped forward and hugged him.

The two military police looked like they wanted to object to all these people coming close, but Trip didn’t give them a chance to. He wrapped his arms around Rysha and kissed her.

“Oh dear, not this again,” another woman’s voice came from down the hall.

He broke the kiss, his smile faltering when he saw Aunt Tadelay approaching. She wore a prim black and blue dress and a matching blue hat with an ostrich plume stuck in the band, and her lips were pressed together in a thin line of disapproval.

“I promise we won’t get naked and have sex here, Aunt,” Rysha said, clasping Trip’s hands.

Trip hadn’t expected such bluntness from her, at least not with her aunt, and watched the woman’s face warily.

“I certainly hope not,” Aunt Tadelay said. “Public displays of affection make those around you uncomfortable and are completely unseemly, especially for proper noble women.”

“There’s a woman who’s unlikely to kiss my balls,” Leftie muttered from behind Trip.

“It’s good to see you.” Trip squeezed Rysha’s hands and did his best to ignore Leftie. And the aunt.

“I came to offer support. And…” Rysha leaned around him to peer into the room. “Have you seen Lord Lockvale yet?”

Something about her tone made Trip believe she didn’t expect to see the man. Had something happened? He was debating on poking into her surface thoughts when General Zirkander spoke.

“Haven’t seen much of anyone yet. No judge, no witnesses for the opposition, no opposition. Could it have to do with King Angulus’s recent announcement?”

Rysha grinned, as if she knew exactly what he meant. Trip hadn’t paid attention to the newspapers this morning, but he looked now since Zirkander waved the front page in his direction.

“The engagement?” Trip asked, remembering Zirkander’s words from the night before. “Is that truly something that would affect this?” He waved toward the room.

Even though Zirkander had suggested it would, Trip hadn’t truly believed it.

That’s because you’re an unworldly youth who has no idea what the ramifications of a royal marriage are in the city where the king lives, Jaxi informed him. In the entire country. All of Iskandia will be abuzz about this today. Even if he weren’t marrying a commoner and a female soldier—that is entirely unprecedented, you understand—it would be huge news. But this addendum makes it absolutely scintillating to the masses.

“Trip?” Rysha nudged him. Had she said his name more than once?

“Sorry, Jaxi is educating me.”

“Ah. Have you missed her mentorship since she’s gone back to Sardelle?”

Sardelle, who was paying attention to Trip, now too, quirked her eyebrows.

“That’s perhaps not a question I should answer when she’s in the room.”

“Oh?” Rysha asked. “Afraid she’ll fry your balls?”

“Yes. And mine have a much lower melting point than Leftie’s.”

Aunt Tadelay, who was pushing her way into the room, threw him a startled look. Leftie grinned at Trip and winked at her.

“Heathens,” she muttered and stepped inside. She looked at the empty dais and the empty seats behind the railing. “I came here to publicly shame Lord Lockvale for his heinous attempt to acquire our property, and he’s not here. Nor are any of his cronies.”

Trip looked at Rysha, surprised. She must have been responsible for her aunt showing up, but how had she ever talked the woman into coming to speak against Trip’s accuser?

Rysha was looking at her aunt instead of at him. “Not here? That’s so odd. Perhaps someone took your advice last night, Aunt.”

Tadelay adjusted her hat as she turned to regard her niece. “Did someone? I hope my advice was followed in a dignified manner appropriate for a noble woman.”

“Mostly dignified, yes. Pressure was used rather than threats. Though there was a sword fight…”

Trip started to grasp what they were talking about since distinct imagery drifted to the surface of their minds as they spoke. He shouldn’t have been telepathically eavesdropping, but with the women standing so close, and with his curiosity brimming over, it was hard not to.

“So long as it was a dignified sword fight,” Aunt Tadelay said. “Did your dragon assist you?”

“She did come along, but incineration wasn’t required, so she mostly sat on the table and looked fierce.”

Aunt Tadelay curled a lip. “On the table, dear? Where people eat?”

“She changed into a tiger first.”

“I’m not sure that’s any less unsanitary.”

Rysha turned her smile toward Trip again. “I can explain later,” she said, though he sensed a hesitancy from her, as if she didn’t want to explain. Or didn’t want him to know that she’d stepped in on his behalf to solve his problem for him? That did not bother him whatsoever.

I think I got the gist, he whispered into her mind and hugged her again. He refrained from kissing her since so many eyes were upon them, but he did rest his forehead against hers.

Aunt Tadelay issued a distressed sound. “So much public affection.”

Thank you, Trip told Rysha, ignoring everyone else.

It was the least I could do after you stepped in to help my family. I’m not positive they deserved your help, but I do appreciate it. One day, I hope they’ll come around and realize that you’re a wonderful man.

I was thinking of building them a coffee maker.

She grinned and swatted his chest. That could do it.

“If Major Kaika can get a king, I don’t see why a captain couldn’t get a princess,” Pimples said from the end of the row of seats.

“You’re not still pining after that Cofah princess, are you?” Duck asked him.

“We write letters to each other. And I sent her a fancy design for a bookcase that frames her reading nook in the palace. She invited me to come to Cofahre, but I told her I’d be shot on sight there and invited her to come here instead. I told her I’d build us a treehouse full of bookcases.”

“You think she’s going to leave a palace for a treehouse? Did an otter fall on your head?”

“She likes treehouses. She told me so.”

“Uh huh.”

“Clear the way,” the military police said, abruptly pushing people away from the doorway, then snapping to attention as a colonel in a dress uniform strode in. His name tag read: Srandark.

Trip didn’t recognize the name. Hadn’t a lieutenant been assigned to him? Or maybe this was the judge?

Srandark pinned Trip with a cool gaze, and Trip’s hope that the rest of the world would forget about his inquest disappeared. Not only had someone remembered, but that someone looked dyspeptic. Before the officer said a word, he reminded Trip of his old squadron commander, Colonel Anchor.

“Don’t witches salute when a superior officer walks into the room?” the colonel demanded.

Trip whipped up a salute, feeling foolish for the lapse in courtesy—it ought to have been automatic after all these years in the army—but he’d been distracted. And distressed.

Trip felt someone’s presence behind him, Zirkander coming over to stand by his shoulder.

“He’s a sorcerer, Colonel,” Zirkander drawled, his voice as casual as typical, but his eyes uncharacteristically hard. “They’ve got different rules than witches. Different genders, too, I understand.”

The colonel, who clearly hadn’t seen Zirkander when he walked in, cursed under his breath and snapped up a salute of his own. Trip sensed that he hadn’t expected to run into anyone who outranked him in his own inquest room.

Sardelle came to stand on Trip’s other side, somehow not looking out of place, though she was one of the few people not in a military uniform. “Technically, there can be male witches, but we have only sorcerers and sorceresses in Iskandia, those trained in the referatu way.”

The colonel’s eyes grew round, and he stepped back, radiating discomfort at this open talk of magic. Then his belt unbuckled, and his trousers dropped to his ankles.

“Is that the referatu way?” Zirkander murmured, his eyes much friendlier as he considered Sardelle.

Sardelle raised an innocent hand.

Jaxi snickered into Trip’s mind.

Extremely immature, Azarwrath remarked.

Tell me you didn’t laugh, Jaxi said.

I did not.

Liar.

Aunt Tadelay, the recipient of a full-on view of pale underwear as Srandark bent to yank up his trousers, gasped and whirled away, raising a hand to shield her eyes.

Trip might have laughed, but something in the distance tickled his senses. He turned toward the north wall, as if he could see through it, and stretched out with his mind.

“I thought Colonel Tlen was presiding over this inquest,” Zirkander said, not commenting on the clothing mishap.

Srandark shot him a dark look as he refastened his buckle. “She was pulled away by a political officer to be consulted on the king’s upcoming nuptials.”

“Hm.” Zirkander looked at Sardelle. “We may have made a miscalculation.”

“There’s trouble coming,” Trip said.

“Not necessarily,” Zirkander said. “Jaxi can keep dropping his drawers all day.”

“Ridge,” Sardelle admonished.

Technically, I can, Jaxi told them. That hardly required a strenuous amount of effort.

Trip shook his head. “I mean dragons. I sense them coming in. A lot of them.”

“The same group as before?” Zirkander’s tone lost all its amusement.

Trip nodded. “There are at least eight, and a powerful gold is leading them.”

“How far out?”

“Forty miles, but it won’t take them long to cover that.”

“Is your platform ready to fly?”

Trip hesitated. “It’ll fly, but we’re still in the middle of mounting the rocket launchers. Nothing’s been tested.”

“Eight dragons sound like a good way to test.”

Trip wanted to protest—no dragons, no wind, and a beautiful sunny day sounded like a good way to test his project—but what was the alternative? Go up in fliers with nothing greater than the chapaharii swords and some acid-filled bullets, and risk losing more people?

“It was six dragons last time,” Zirkander said softly, perhaps thinking the same thing, that it would only be worse if they didn’t have a way to change the odds.

Trip nodded firmly. “I’ll do my best to get it in the air, sir.”

“Good. Take Ravenwood and her dragon. If you can’t get it in the air right away, get a ride up to the hangar, and get your butt in a flier.”

“Yes, sir.”

If Rysha minded being given orders by a different battalion commander from her own, she didn’t show it. She squeezed Trip’s hand, then ran to her aunt for a quick hug and to issue a warning to lie low.

Zirkander turned to his officers, all of whom had rushed to gather around him. “Leftie and Blazer, get up to the hangar and prep the fliers. Pimples, go round up our elite sword wielders. Duck, sound the alarm, warn the city. Sardelle—” As Zirkander turned toward her, Trip wondered if he would presume to give her orders, “—I’d love to have you up there with me if you feel you’re able.” He glanced toward her stomach, though her figure had mostly returned to normal proportions since she had delivered the baby.

“I’m ready.” Sardelle reached between the chairs to pull out the two soulblades. “And Jaxi is chomping at the bit.” She tossed Azarwrath to Trip as Rysha rejoined him.

“Good,” Zirkander said. “You know I pine when you’re not in the air with me.”

“And Jaxi?”

“Yes, I pine without her fireballs incinerating enemies.”

With Azarwrath in hand, Trip was ready to take on the dragons, so he didn’t wait to hear more. He started toward the door, but found the colonel blocking the way.

“I don’t know why you think there are dragons coming when the city alarms aren’t sounding,” he said, “but I have an inquest to start in—”

His trousers descended.

“Cursed badgers’ teats,” the colonel hollered.

Zirkander grabbed the officer and pulled him out of the way, so Trip didn’t have to. “Get in the way again, and she’ll incinerate your pants.”

“Who?”

“My wife’s sword.”

Trip, already racing into the hall, didn’t hear the colonel’s response, but he was starting to understand why someone would pine for Jaxi in her absence.

Rysha ran at his side. “You think your platform is ready?”

“Seven gods, I hope so.”