Three mornings after the battle, Rysha waited outside the army’s stables for Trip. While the higher-ups debated what to do with the dragon problem, lowly lieutenants and captains had a day off. Trip had invited her to come out to see his little siblings with him, and she was glad to do so, though she wouldn’t have minded spending the day in her barracks room with him. They had finally been able to enjoy an uninterrupted night together and had found that her bed, though not spacious, was indeed more comfortable than a cave floor. Albeit somewhat noisier than a cave floor, with the old wood creaking and groaning under the admittedly robust use.

Rysha grinned, remembering Trip pausing to peer at the frame underneath the mattress and make suggestions regarding the support brackets and a cracked board. Naturally, she had tugged him back into her arms and informed him that repairs could wait. It hadn’t been hard to divert his attention back to her, but she had woken at dawn to find him using his magic to improve the bed. He hadn’t yet added cup holders, but it was just a matter of time.

“Good morning,” Trip said, strolling out of the stable leading a mare. He must have caught her smiling—or grinning in remembrance—for he offered a return smile.

“Good morning.”

“Shall I saddle you a mount or do you want to ride together? It’s not far to Sardelle and General Zirkander’s house, so I’m sure the mare could carry two.” He wiggled his fingers toward her waist. “Holding would be involved.”

“Sedate holding or vigorous holding?”

“Well, the mare might object to the latter.”

“You think so? She seems placid.”

Greetings, Storyteller! Shulina Arya announced into Rysha’s mind from wherever she was this morning. You’re not going to ride somewhere on that inferior beast, are you?

We’re going out to visit Sardelle and the babies. Do you wish to come?

Naturally. It is most enjoyable for me to spend time among magical beings. Also, I have not had any tarts in almost three days.

That is an eternity.

It is. I was especially depleted after the battle and would have relished sweets. There should have been tarts waiting for us when we returned.

I’ll suggest it to my superior officers.

I’ve already informed your king of this necessity.

Rysha grimaced, hoping the dragon hadn’t been wheeling around the castle on a scooter as she’d made the request.

Trip, gazing skyward, didn’t seem to notice Rysha’s long silence.

“Your dragon is coming,” he informed her, though Shulina Arya wasn’t visible in the sky yet.

“I know. We’re chatting. She thinks it would be beneath me to ride a horse.”

Trip’s eyebrows drifted toward his hairline. “I knew when I started dating a noblewoman with her own castle that she would be accustomed to the finer things in life, but I didn’t know a horse wouldn’t qualify. Especially elite army horses from quality lines.”

“It’s a manor, not a castle,” Rysha said, smiling at the old joke, though it prompted her to remember her mother’s visit.

When she’d gone out to dinner with her and Aunt Tadelay, she hadn’t been able to extract any more information from them about the troubles at home. And they’d said no more about that hint that her father might be considering selling the family land. Rysha found that inconceivable, but the mere suggestion made her want to go home to dig further. Perhaps, if Shulina Arya was willing to fly her around today, she could make it down there later and talk to everyone at dinner. Of course, she might be met with silence on the matter of her concerns, and she couldn’t imagine asking Shulina Arya to telepathically poke into her parents’ thoughts. Someone subtler would be ideal for that. Someone she needed to officially introduce to her parents anyway, even if that would be more awkward after the barracks room incident. Maybe they wouldn’t recognize him in clothes.

“Do you want to go to dinner with me tonight?” Rysha asked.

Trip appeared puzzled at the topic change, but promptly said, “Yes.”

“At my family’s home?”

“Er.”

“You’re not going to change your answer, are you?”

“No. I just… Are you sure it’s allowed? That I’ll be invited? After…”

“It’s my home. I can bring anyone to dinner that I wish.” Rysha was on the verge of adding that she could use his help in sussing out information, but the mare squealed, her brown eyes growing large.

She reared up on her hind legs, almost pulling the reins from Trip’s hands.

Rysha scurried out of the way. Trip made soothing sounds and tried to catch the mare’s gaze.

Suspecting what was coming, Rysha didn’t think he would be successful in calming her. More alarmed whinnies came from the stables, and a shadow blotted out the sun.

Surprisingly, as Trip gazed into the mare’s eyes, she settled down. Her nostrils continued to flare—she surely knew a great predator was drawing close—but she didn’t rear up or try to jerk away again.

“Am I correct in assuming Shulina Arya has offered to fly you to Sardelle’s house?” Trip asked.

“I believe that was implied.”

“If she’s willing to take me, too, I’ll put the mare away.”

“Yes, I think the mare would like that.”

As Trip led the horse into the stables, Shulina Arya landed in the yard in her full golden majesty with her wings spread wide. The alarmed whinnying—or was that screeching?—from inside escalated. Rysha winced, imagining Trip being struck in the head by hooves as horses reared in their stalls. But the whinnies grew quieter, and much of the noise subsided.

“Are you doing that?” Rysha asked Shulina Arya.

No, it is difficult for a mighty predator such as myself to calm prey animals. I could, but your mate is doing a sufficient job. He has admirable power for a human, and he is conscientious and appealing.

The compliments startled Rysha. She hadn’t realized Shulina Arya had noticed anything about Trip. I hope I can get my parents to think so.

If you decide you no longer desire him as a mate one day, I may take him as mine.

Rysha almost fell over.

Trip walked out at that moment, lifting a hand as if to catch her. She steadied herself on a hitching post. He looked at the ground in puzzlement, no doubt wondering what had tripped her.

Rysha, cheeks flaming red, hoped he hadn’t heard the telepathic conversation.

“Is it all right to climb onto her?” Trip asked, waving at Shulina Arya.

Rysha couldn’t keep from making a choking noise. “Yeah, more than all right, I gather.”

Trip tilted his head in further puzzlement, seemingly unaware that the dragon’s violet eyes were regarding him. Not with sexual consideration, Rysha hoped.

Fear not, Storyteller. I would never take a mate from my rider. That would be a most despicable practice. And I do not feel sexual attraction for humans when I am in dragon form. I only note that some human males are more appealing than others. That Captain Duck has very noble thoughts regarding me too.

“Are you all right?” Trip touched Rysha’s sleeve. “You look dazed. Did something happen?” He frowned around the stables yard, no doubt ready to leap to her defense if someone had passed by and slighted her.

“Sorry, I’m fine. I was just having a conversation with Shulina Arya that I didn’t realize she was old enough to have.”

Really, Storyteller! I am a fully mature and fertile female.

Rysha thought of Shulina Arya racing around the castle on her scooter, her ponytail streaming behind her, but only replied with, I apologize. I hadn’t realized you were, uh, fertile.

I’ve had two mating cycles now. I have not let any male dragons breed with me, however. I do not desire young at this time. And so many males are so ridiculously full of themselves.

Like Bhrava Saruth?

Indeed!

“Yes,” Rysha said out loud, realizing Trip was gazing at her, waiting for an explanation. She decided not to offer it, instead waving to Shulina Arya’s back. “I believe we can climb on.”

The dragon settled onto her belly to allow easy access, but Trip waved a finger, and Rysha, who wasn’t carrying around Dorfindral on her day off, floated into the air. They settled atop Shulina Arya’s back together.

See, conscientious, Shulina Arya observed.

Yes, I’ve noticed.

Fortunately, the dragon hopped into the air and flapped her wings without remarking further on Trip’s attributes.

From behind her, he slipped his arms around Rysha’s waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. She leaned back into his warm grip, though it was hard not to forget Shulina Arya’s words and comments on being fertile.

Perhaps a dragon might be less likely than a mare to object to vigorous holding, he murmured into her mind, kissing the side of her neck.

Uh, I think we’d be far more likely to get commentary.

But not objections?

No, I think Shulina Arya might like seeing your vigor.

What?

Never mind. As they soared over the walls of the army fort and toward the city walls, Rysha decided it was time for a subject change. I confess to having an ulterior motive for asking you to dinner.

Oh? You want to lure me off to a higher-quality bed that doesn’t creak so much? I believe I fixed that this morning, but a little grease would—

That’s not the reason. Rysha knew he was joking, but she was mortified at the idea of having sex in her parents’ manor. In the bedroom she’d grown up in. That was just down the hall from her parents’ bedroom. And Aunt Tadelay’s bedroom.

Trip squeezed her shoulder. Go ahead. I’ll be serious.

Rysha wished she had responded with a joke instead of horror. He was always serious. And so often grim. Hadn’t she been the one to tell him to have fun more often?

She reached back and patted his thigh. When my aunt and mother came to visit, after you absconded with my pillow, they said they were worried about riots in the countryside and trouble among Iskandia’s subjects, due to worry about the future. The potentially dragon-filled future.

I’ve heard similar stories and read about a rise in crime in the newspapers.

I think there’s trouble in my own home. They alluded to something, but wouldn’t go into details. I was hoping that a telepathic sorcerer might be able to sneak into my father’s thoughts in particular and try to get information.

You want me to intrude upon your father’s privacy?

To help me help them. If they need help.

Don’t you think I’ve, ah, caused affront enough to your family already?

By being naked in my bed?

That was the affront I was thinking of, yes.

If it makes you feel better, you could have Azarwrath do the spying.

How’s the food at your castle?

Rysha glanced back, startled by the question. We have a chef. It’s always good.

Azarwrath may be distracted then. Especially if there’s a sommelier too.

We don’t have a sommelier, Rysha said, surprised he knew of the occupation. She’d never heard him mention enjoying alcohol of any kind. We’re not that rich.

Right, only a chef, a butler, and a maid. Quite impoverished.

Keep teasing me, and you’re never going to get vigorous holding.

You would withhold holding? Even after I fixed your bed?

It wasn’t broken. It was old and had character.

If it’s like everything else on the army installation, it was built by the lowest bidder.

Shulina Arya, who had set a leisurely pace flying them to Sardelle’s house, tilted her wings and soared toward the rooftop. For some reason, she liked to land on it, rather than in the yard.

I’ll lift you down, Trip told her. Even though you’re potentially withholding holding and also officially an elite troops officer now, and I know hopping off a rooftop is a simple matter for you, perhaps preferable to using stairs or ladders.

You’re very kind.

I’ll also go with you to dinner and spy on your father.

Extremely kind. I withdraw my objection to vigorous holding.

Excellent.

So long as it’s not done in front of my father. Or my mother. Or my aunt. Or my sister.

Are we allowed to touch at all in your castle?

We’ll see.

* * *

Trip held his chin up as he walked along the lakefront road toward the sprawling stone manor. He did his best to look stately and acceptable. Since he kept nervously smoothing the jacket of his dress uniform, he wasn’t positive he managed the look. Also, mud spattered his boots and his shins, since the gravel road featured a lot of potholes brimming with rainwater. Even though the calendar promised summer was only a few weeks away, the frequent precipitation in this part of Iskandia made it hard to tell.

“Can you de-mud us before we get up to the front door?” Rysha glanced down at the slacks she wore, they, too, being adorned with damp spots. The sandals she’d chosen, perhaps dressing according to the current pleasant and calm weather rather than the rain that had dominated previous days, left her skin exposed to the elements.

Though Shulina Arya had offered to land on the rooftop of Rysha’s manor, she had adamantly told the dragon that it wasn’t necessary, asking her instead to drop them off on the opposite side of the lake. A wise choice. The charred remains of her grandmother’s house remained near the shoreline there, and Trip doubted her family would appreciate the appearance of a dragon, even a friendly one.

“De-mud?” he asked.

“With your powerful magics.”

“Hm.” Trip eyed the mud spatters. “I’ve never turned my power to de-mudding.”

“Surely, cleaning clothing must be within a mage’s repertoire. It’s at least as important as incinerating enemies.”

“If Jaxi were here, she would recommend incinerating the mud.”

Rysha touched her shoulder where she’d been shot the month before. “I remember her tendency to consider that a solution to all problems.”

With enough precision, you could incinerate mud, Azarwrath chimed in.

“Oh dear,” Trip said.

“What?”

“Jaxi may have rubbed off on Azarwrath.”

Hardly that. Azarwrath sniffed loudly into his mind. I’ll ensure you look fabulous by the time you reach the door. Later, I’ll give you grooming tips.

That sounds like something to look forward to.

If your lady wishes her attire cleaned, a good sorcerer should be able to assist her. Ah, but what is that I detect? Do you smell it?

Probably. Trip sniffed and turned his nose in the direction of smoke rising from one of the twelve—no, fourteen—chimneys poking above the rooftop of the sprawling manor. I assume you’re sensing things through my nostrils.

I am, indeed. Meat is being smoked. Pork, I believe. And is that the hint of a sweet barbecue sauce simmering in a pot over an open flame? Barbecue was invented in Cofahre, you know. It was originally considered a peasants’ dish, but a couple of centuries back, it grew trendy for culinary experts to refine the sauces and the smoking methods. A good chef today can ensure the meat falls off the bones and melts in your mouth. Telryn, is your mouth watering now?

Trip could smell the meat smoking, but he had no idea about the barbecue sauce. And he was growing more concerned that he and Rysha approached the front doors and were still bedewed with mud.

Worried that Azarwrath was unduly distracted, he focused on his trousers as he and Rysha climbed the three wide flagstone steps. Avoiding thoughts of incineration, he tried to envision every speck of mud that stuck to them, willing them to fly away from their clothing, leaving it pristine.

One of the doors opened as his magic was in the middle of working. All at once, the mud flew from their legs and feet toward the man who stepped onto the threshold. Countless brown droplets spattered against his legs.

Trip cursed to himself, checking the man’s face, hoping he hadn’t felt anything, and also hoping this was the butler or some servant who wouldn’t be horrified by a few dirt smudges. Or make that a few dozen. He certainly had concentrated the grime, hadn’t he?

“Father,” Rysha said at the same time as Trip recognized the man from their previous meeting.

Her father’s lips started to curve upward at Rysha, but he noticed Trip right away, and those lips shifted into a frown. Not one of recognition, Trip decided, sensing the man’s surface thoughts. Maybe because Trip was clad in his dress uniform instead of the fatigues he’d worn when he flew Rysha down to see her family a couple of months earlier? Or maybe because on that day, the man had dismissed Trip as someone worth forgetting.

“Rysha,” her father said—Trip groped for his name, but didn’t think she’d ever given it. Lord Ravenwood would have to do. “It’s good to see you.” He stepped forward and gripped her wrists, but then decided a hug was preferable and gathered her into his arms.

Trip sensed surprise from Rysha—apparently, her father wasn’t one to show affection through physical means, especially in front of others. From Lord Ravenwood, Trip sensed a mixture of relief and sincere happiness at seeing Rysha.

Feeling uncomfortable witnessing the man’s emotions, Trip almost walled off his mind so he wouldn’t sense them, but he remembered this was the reason he was here. To spy.

“Your mother didn’t lead me to believe you were coming down,” Lord Ravenwood said.

“Just for tonight.” Rysha returned the hug. “For dinner. I’ve missed you all and wanted to make sure everyone is all right.”

Trip sensed her discomfort at the partial truth.

“Only for dinner?” Lord Ravenwood released her and stepped back to look her up and down.

She had chosen not to wear her military uniform or the newly awarded badge that proclaimed her a member of the elite troops. Only her civilian clothes. Trip knew she was proud and would have loved to come in the military attire, but also that she knew her family wouldn’t appreciate it. It stung her that they couldn’t accept her choice and that her parents wanted her to leave the military, that they had no interest in celebrating her achievements within it.

Trip looked away. He hadn’t meant to spy on her thoughts.

“Yes, sir,” Rysha said. “I have work tomorrow.”

“Ah.”

“This is Captain Telryn Yert. He goes by Trip. I invited him to dinner.”

Trip sensed Rysha bracing herself and wondering if her father had heard the story of the barracks-room nudity.

“I see.” Lord Ravenwood didn’t scowl at Trip, not exactly, but his expression wasn’t welcoming as they made eye contact. He didn’t hold the gaze for long, instead looking back to Rysha. “It’s unfortunate that you didn’t let us know you were coming. I know your mother and aunt have a list of appropriate young men that they would love to invite over to meet you.”

Rysha gritted her teeth, and her cheeks grew pink. “Because that’s what’s important now, I’m sure. Dragons are invading Iskandia, and there’s civil unrest all over the countryside, but let’s make sure to find Rysha an appropriate nobleman to make babies with.”

Lord Ravenwood lifted his hands and stepped back, truly seeming apologetic. “Neither of us intends to pressure you to have children—” He glanced at Trip, appearing appalled at speaking so bluntly about such things in front of a stranger. “I just know they want you to have a reason to stay closer to home.”

“To quit the military, you mean.”

“Rysha—”

“Can we come in, please? It was a long ride down here.”

“Ride?” Lord Ravenwood looked past them. “Did you already take your horses to the stable?”

“Our mount is cared for.”

They had left Shulina Arya to hunt for some of the rabbits she’d spotted darting in and out of the hedgerow along the road. While rabbits were but a scant appetizer to dragons, the flavor was appealing, especially with the plump ones, or so Shulina Arya had informed them.

“Mount?” Lord Ravenwood asked, his thoughts hitching on the singular use of the word.

“Mm, does Chef need help preparing dinner?” Rysha asked. “She probably wasn’t expecting extra mouths. We don’t mind cutting vegetables.”

Lord Ravenwood looked at Trip.

“I don’t mind,” Trip said, though he wasn’t sure if that was the question in that look. “I’m amenable to anything.”

“I’ll bet,” Lord Ravenwood muttered, but waved for them to follow him inside.

“Does Tohomas have the day off?” Rysha asked as they entered a grand foyer, the flagstone of the portico giving way to large marble floor tiles. “I was surprised when you answered the door yourself.”

“Tohomas recently decided to pursue other work, and we haven’t replaced him yet.”

Rysha faltered, and Trip rested a supportive hand on her back as a feeling of loss radiated from her. “Tohomas left? But he’s worked here my whole life.”

“After the dragon attack, many of our workers left. They didn’t feel safe.”

Trip squinted at the back of Lord Ravenwood’s head, sensing a half-truth there. Should he start spying now? Or wait until Rysha steered the conversation to the topics she wanted information on? He didn’t want to pry only to discover something he didn’t want to know and that she wouldn’t want to know either.

Then she looked over at him. She didn’t form any words in her mind, but maybe she sensed her father’s evasion, simply using human intuition, and she wanted his opinion.

“Who else has left?” Rysha asked as they kept walking slowly down the long hallway, ignoring a piano room and guest wings opening up to the sides.

Trip let his awareness shift deeper into Lord Ravenwood’s thoughts, trying to keep his touch gentle so he wouldn’t be sensed and also trying to be tactful in what he pulled out.

As Lord Ravenwood answered Rysha’s question with a list of names, images flashed through the man’s mind of faces of workers—even friends—he’d known for years. In the beginning, after the first attack that had resulted in the death of Rysha’s grandmother, the workers had banded together with determination to fight off invaders. Trip was surprised at how many people lived on the property, some in the manor but far more up and down the valley in small communities near the areas they tended, orchards, farms, grazing and timber lands, and even a cranberry bog.

A few weeks had passed without further dragon attacks, at least not in their valley, and business had returned to normal, but then a silver dragon had appeared, flying over the family’s property every day, sometimes multiple times a day. For some reason, it had shown undue interest in them, and its frequent visits made everyone nervous. Occasionally, it plucked up livestock, devouring the animal from some rooftop while in plain sight.

After a couple of weeks of this, nervous workers had arrived at the manor, singly or in small groups. They’d reluctantly turned in their resignations, almost all of them saying the same thing, that they were moving to the city to be closer to the army installation and the king’s protection.

Lord Ravenwood had understood, but he’d also been surprised and stung at how many workers had deserted the estate over this, especially when no human deaths had been reported. Ravenwood believed the dragon was simply attracted to the fertile land and feeding off the wild animals and livestock here. Or at least, that was what he had believed until—

Trip bumped his shoulder against a coat rack he hadn’t noticed, and he grunted, hurrying to catch it before it fell. It clacked against the wall, and the heavy stone base rattled noisily on the marble as he righted it. Lord Ravenwood and Rysha both stopped to stare at him.

“Sorry,” Trip said. “I was distracted.”

“Officers aren’t what they were in my grandfather’s day,” Lord Ravenwood muttered, then gestured toward a sitting room. “Have a seat. I’ll round up the rest of the family. I’m sure they’ll enjoy having dinner company.”

Even though the bump had broken his link with Lord Ravenwood, Trip still sensed the lie, that the man thought Trip’s presence would ruin what otherwise would have been a nice family meal with Rysha. Having their daughter home—without a strange dinner guest with skin that was too dark and eyes that were an odd shade of green—would have been a welcome change from all the disruption the silver dragon’s presence had caused.

Rysha took Trip’s arm and guided him into a large sitting room with tall glass windows overlooking a garden. There were four different seating areas, some focused on the fireplace and others on gaming tables. She stopped at a trio of chairs and a sofa by the fireplace where wood crackled and flames danced, even though it wasn’t cold this time of year. Trip sensed that she wanted to sit on the sofa with him but knew her parents would object to such blatant closeness, so she chose a plush leather chair for herself.

“Normally, I would be depressed that my father’s first impression of you is that you’re a klutz and a meager officer,” Rysha murmured quietly, “but perhaps for tonight, it’s for the best that he underestimates you.”

“You can’t tell me I’m the first young man to visit your castle who’s bumped into the coat rack. It’s practically in the middle of the hall. And why is it so far from the door?”

“That was the second coat rack, in case people change their minds and want to remove some layers before sitting down.”

Trip paused, wondering what his grandparents would think of a house that required multiple coat racks, then shook his head. “Even so, I’m sure other people have bumped it.”

“Other people haven’t caused mud to go flying and spatter his trousers,” Rysha said. “I assume that wasn’t intentional.”

“No, he opened the door with unexpected promptness. And he didn’t notice that, so I know he’s not judging me based on that. I don’t think he knows I have any power at all.”

Rysha shook her head and patted him on the leg. “I’m just teasing you.”

“Good, because I only ran into something because I was concentrating on spying.”

“Already?” Her eyebrows rose.

“I thought you wanted me to when you gave me that look in the hall.”

“Oh. No, I was just thinking that you look dashing in your dress uniform. And then you bumped into the coat rack.”

“That diminished your opinion of my dashingness?”

“Sorry. I’m a shallow girl.” Rysha smirked at him.

“Yes, as shallow as the Zevian Trench.”

Sensing a woman’s approach, Trip looked toward the hallway.

Someone’s coming, he warned Rysha. In case you don’t want to be seen fondling my thigh.

Fondling it? I was simply attempting to make you feel less rejected.

I believe your aunt would object to that.

Rysha grimaced. Trip held back a similar expression as the familiar woman walked up, instead standing up and nodding formally toward her.

Aunt Tadelay’s clothing was fitted, perfectly matched, and immaculate, with her brown hair swept back into an elegant bun pierced with ivory sticks. Unexpectedly, she carried a tray of drinks.

“Aunt Tadelay? You’re, uhm…” Rysha waved to the tray. “Bringing us refreshments?”

“I do know how to carry a tray, dear.” Tadelay smiled quickly if somewhat sardonically at Rysha, then looked at Trip and sighed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Captain, but I was hoping not to see you again.”

Trip scratched his jaw, debating if he should stay silent and not ruffle feathers or stand up for himself. He had a feeling “standing up for oneself” was considered rude among the nobility. At least if one wasn’t of the nobility.

“What would be the right way to take it?” Trip asked.

Tadelay set six drinks down on the table, ice cubes clinking in the pale pink liquid—it smelled slightly of cranberries—a testament to an icehouse somewhere on the property. Trip wasn’t surprised. What was the point of living in a castle if one couldn’t have ice cubes on demand?

“Trip is smart, brave, loyal, and one of the best men I’ve ever met,” Rysha told her aunt firmly.

Tadelay made a clucking noise—was that disappointment?—and walked out with the empty tray.

Wondering who else would join them, Trip reached for a glass, making sure to choose one that wasn’t close to him. “This isn’t going to be poisoned, right?”

“My family isn’t that dreadful.” Rysha rubbed the back of her neck. “Maybe this was a bad idea. I should have waited until times were more settled before bringing you. Or at least until the memory of us together in bed had faded from my aunt’s and my mother’s minds.”

“You don’t think the image of my magnificent form will stick with them forever?”

She swatted him. “More likely, the image of your magnificent form falling on the floor. Then hiding itself behind a pillow.”

I have detected a few things in your father’s thoughts, Trip said, switching to telepathy. He was aware of several people in a nearby kitchen. Give me another hour, and I may have a better idea of what’s going on here. I’ve already learned that a silver dragon seems to be involved.

Trip sensed Rysha’s alarm, though she only reacted by dropping her hand on his forearm. What?

I don’t sense another dragon in the area right now besides Shulina Arya, but perhaps, the next time she contacts you, you can ask her if she’s aware of any silvers visiting your valley.

Rysha looked like she wanted to say more, but men’s voices sounded in the hallway. Trip sensed three people about their age approaching. Her brothers?

She rose and faced in that direction. The three tall men who ambled in appeared to be in their twenties, all sturdy and athletic, one with spectacles similar to Rysha’s. They all grinned and came forward to hug her and thump her on the back.

“Congratulations on passing your army thing,” the one with spectacles said.

Trip sensed a little disgruntlement from Rysha at having the elite troops—and the intense training she’d gone through to get in—summed up as a thing, but she was also glad to receive a modicum of support. And she was pleased none of them had opened up with a suggestion that she promptly leave the army and return to the estate.

“This the one we heard about?” One of the brothers frowned as he looked at Trip.

Trip had sat back down after Tadelay left, but he stood again, since he felt towered over, especially as their collective attention turned to him. A little over six feet in height, he wasn’t used to feeling short, but the men were all several inches taller than he. He could imagine what they had “heard about” if Rysha’s mother and aunt had been the source.

“This is Captain Trip Yert,” Rysha said. “Trip, these are my brothers, Krey, Severin, and Jhory.”

Krey had a chipped tooth, and Trip remembered the story Rysha had told about wayward piggyback rides in her youth.

“Yert?” Severin asked. He was the tallest of the men, with a thick brown beard that took up most of his face despite being tidily trimmed.

“No, he’s not noble,” Rysha said, “and no, you’re not going to tell me it matters.”

“Oh? Glad we got that straightened out.”

“This isn’t the new Wolf Squadron pilot that they say is a witch, is he?” Jhory asked, lifting his spectacles and squinting at Trip.

Trip froze. Thanks to that newspaper article, he knew there were rumors about him in the city, but he wouldn’t have guessed they had made their way out into the countryside. Or to Rysha’s family.

He looked at Rysha before answering, not sure if sorcery was typically brought up the first time a noblewoman brought a boy home to dinner.

“Male mages are called sorcerers, not witches,” Rysha said. “Even female magic-users prefer the term sorceress.”

Jhory exchanged long looks with his brothers. They all oozed worry and two out of the three wondered if they had a brotherly obligation to protect Rysha by pounding Trip into the floor. Though Severin was now worried Trip would shoot fire out of his nostrils if they tried.

Telryn, Azarwrath said, turning the name into a long sigh. Simply stop dampening down your aura, and let these people see the real you. If you wish, you can turn on your allure to charm them, though that’s not necessary and admittedly not your strength—besides, you don’t want your lady friend’s mother and aunt drawn to you sexually.

Trip made a choking noise. Fortunately, the brothers were too busy muttering darkly among themselves to notice. Rysha noticed, gave him a concerned look, and glanced at the cranberry beverage he’d tasted.

I believe if you let your aura show, Azarwrath continued, the family will treat you with respect, not like some idiot delinquent who seduced their little girl.

Respect or fear? Trip already did not care for the unease he sensed from the brothers.

Perhaps some of both, but either way, it will be an improvement over this shrinking into yourself that you’re doing. It’s unseemly. You’re not thirteen. You are a half-dragon man and a sorcerer coming into your powers. A trickle of disappointment came from Azarwrath along with the words. Maybe even embarrassment, as if he didn’t care for riding on the hip of someone who acted subservient.

Was Trip truly being that? He just didn’t want to make trouble for Rysha. And the plan had been for him to be incognito so he could more easily spy on her father.

Are you all right? Rysha asked silently, touching his hand.

Yes, I just didn’t expect to be recognized. Or have my power recognized, I should say. Azarwrath thinks I should try less hard to quash everything. What do you think? I came to help you. I’m not sure if it’s better to be seen as my normal self or as a powerful sorcerer.

I’m not sure my family will be able to tell the difference. None of them are familiar with magic or those who use it.

Trip remembered the way people had looked at him in that restaurant in Lagresh when he’d let his aura out. Even Grekka, a sorceress in her own right, had been affected, even drawn to him. Drawn to do as he asked. He didn’t want to have that effect on Rysha’s family. It seemed to be cheating to use his power that way, even if it would have felt natural to let his aura leak out. He was so used to repressing it that it wasn’t that hard to do so, but he did sometimes wonder what it would be like to simply let it out and walk around with it on full display all the time.

More voices came from the hallway, and Trip sensed Rysha’s father again, this time walking with a man who put him ill-at-ease. When the pair came into view, Rysha frowned, not recognizing the person at her father’s side. He was gray-haired and significantly shorter than her tall family members, only slightly over five and a half feet tall. He didn’t carry any obvious weapons, nor did he have the mien of a soldier or anyone dangerous. Yet Lord Ravenwood was definitely uncomfortable.

“We’ll be having a dinner guest,” he said, looking toward the hallway where Aunt Tadelay was returning, along with Rysha’s mother. “Another one. Lord Lockvale has come to discuss business with me after we eat.” He forced a smile.

Trip let his senses trickle toward the newcomer. This Lord Lockvale did not have any dragon blood and was easy enough to read, especially since one prominent thought simmered right at the surface. He hoped to obtain the Ravenwood estate for himself.