Syla hesitated again, probably wondering if that meant the dragon might slay her if they ran into each other again. “Thank you,” was all she said.
But you will not use that trinket to spy again.
“I did not intend to do so, and I apologize,” Syla said.
“Trinket?” Vorik thought of the venom extractor, but that wouldn’t be used for spying.
Syla drew something from a pocket in her dress, a red dragon figurine. It appeared fragile, like blown glass, but Vorik sensed magic in it and knew it was sturdier than it appeared. He’d seen such items before, though never linked to a wild dragon. How odd.
“This was my father’s, and he left it to me,” Syla said to Wreylith.
I am aware.
Syla blinked. “Did you… know my father?”
One before him.
“My… grandfather?”
Do you know nothing of your own history, human? Your ancestry?Wreylith lifted her unwounded forelimb and used a talon to scratch her long neck.
“Uhm, I know quite a bit, but not about people’s… collectibles.” She sent a wistful look in the direction of the city.
Collectible.Wreylith grunted. It almost sounded like a scoff.
“My father passed earlier than any of us expected. He didn’t mention anything about this item to me while he lived.” Syla leaned forward, maybe hoping the dragon would share more.
You will not use it to spy on dragons.Wreylith lowered all four feet to the ground and stared intently at Syla.And you will not summon me with it. I am not, as we discussed, a pathetic hound.Her jaws parted, her sharp fangs scarcely two feet from Syla, and Vorik tightened his grip on his sword.Your healing magic has done nothing tobindme to you.
Again, Syla didn’t skitter back, though Vorik wouldn’t have thought any less of her if she did.
“I didn’t think it would,” she said.
If you vex me again,Wreylith stated,I will slay you.
With those final words, the red dragon sprang into the air. The wind of her wings battered at them as she flew off over the cliff and out to sea.
“Dragons aren’t known for being the most grateful of beings,” Vorik said, doubting Syla had interacted with them often.
“At least she didn’t kill me.” Syla grimaced. “Today.”
She had to be wondering if she’d made a mistake in coming to the red dragon’s awareness. Vorik wished he could assure her that Wreylith wouldn’t hold a grudge, but the wild dragons weren’t predictable. They weren’t like the familiar dragons who workedwith humans. Vorik wouldn’t say that Agrevlari didn’t have any mercurial moments, but he was easier to predict. He was?—
Vorik looked around, realizing his dragon had moved away from them. He was near the lighthouse, lying in the lush green grass with his legs crooked into the air.
“What are you doing, Agrevlari?” Vorik asked.
Scratching an itch and enjoying how cool and soft this vegetation is.The dragon swished his hips and shoulders back and forth, tail moving from side to side.
“Is that dragon… rolling in the grass?” Syla stared, her mouth dangling open. In shock?
Maybe the gardeners weren’t familiar with the less serious side of dragons. Or that at leastsomedragons had them. Vorik had a feeling Wreylith didn’t roll in the grass. His brother’s dragon, Ozlemar,certainlydid not.
“He has an itch,” Vorik said.
“Oh.”
“And he likes your grass. The stuff that grows out in the dry Desert Mountains, Scorched Islands, and on Juniper Flats is anything but lush. You can braid it to make switches to spank your children with.” Vorik patted his backside, well remembering lashings given to him and his brother by their stern mother.
