Vorik approved of the sign of trust, since it boded well for his mission, but he caught himself watching her lips more closely than he should have as she chewed, then ate the second half of the berry, the pink of her tongue briefly visible. He knew she didn’t mean anything erotic by the way she ate, but his libido found the sight quite interesting regardless.
With the scowling sergeant standing beside them, Vorik made himself look away and step back. “I’ll accompany you to find your aunt. It sounded like your bodyguard needs help with whatever barricade the… I gather somewhat aged woman put in place.” He couldn’t keep from smirking his amusement that the sergeant hadn’t been able to handle the situation.
Syla frowned at him. “Aunt Tibby is in her fifties and doesn’t seem aged at all to me. She’s smart, a hard worker, and resourceful. I’m sure there’s more than a chair leaned up against a doorknob.”
Vorik bowed an apology. Maybe he’d meant to take a dig at the sergeant, but he didn’t want to offend Syla.
“She has a pack of magicalmachineryguarding her,” Fel said. “I’d never spoken to the woman before this, but I can already tellresourcefulis an understatement.”
“There’s a reason I want to find her.” Syla stepped past Fel and Vorik to lead the way.
Fel rushed to follow right behind her, glowering at Vorik, as if that would keep him away from her if Vorik chose to make an issue of their walking order. He did not. Besides, he’d received an update from Agrevlari on the deliciousness of the not one buttwosheep—and a goat—that the dragon had hunted down and was in the process of devouring. Before following Syla, Vorik left most of his month’s salary on the porch for the aunt or whoever did the books for the farm.
16
They passedthe stables and a barn filled with hay before approaching what Syla thought of more as a machine shop than a barn. Since she’d visited the farm before, she knew that a variety of magic-powered farming equipment was stored and worked on inside the building, so she had an inkling of what they would find.
“How do we get rid of him?” Fel whispered as they walked toward the closed double-doors of the structure.
Two huge tractors had not only been parked outside but idled, a hint of magic emanating from under the hoods. Perhaps because of Fel’s earlier words, Syla had the notion of guard dogs rather than corn harvesters.
“For now, I think we shouldn’t try,” she whispered back.
Vorik was strolling behind them, surveying the farm and the sky—did he expect his dragon to return soon?—and appeared to be giving them the privacy to speak, but she wondered. If he’d heard the whispered conversation they’d had in the kitchen, with the exterior door closed and the windows shuttered, he had keen ears.
“If he helped you, it was because he needs you for somereason.” Fel had listened as she’d given a brief accounting of the battle at the lighthouse and how Vorik had saved her life—again—but it hadn’t swayed him from believing Vorik was an enemy.
“If I’m a target for stormer assassins right now… we may needhimfor a reason.”
“I won’t let myself be parted from you again.”
“I…” Syla groped for a tactful way to say that two dragons and riders would have been more than a match for Fel.
But a window in the loft slid open, saving her from needing to explain that diplomatically.
Vorik surged forward, startling Syla as he leaped in front of her, his sword in hand. The barrel of a hand-cannon thrust through the open window, and she understood what had prompted him.
“Trespassers will be shot!” a woman yelled through the window, peering out enough to reveal red-gray hair drawn back from her face and thick spectacles reflecting the landscape. “Especially overly belligerent trespassers who belittle a woman by not believing her capable of taking care of herself.”
Vorik raised his eyebrows, as if wondering if the words were meant for him.
But Fel sighed as he massaged what was probably a sore hip. “We had a previous conversation.”
Increased rumbles came from the idling tractors, and Syla sensed magic flowing down from the loft and into them.
“I take it that your conversation didn’t go well.” Syla, realizing her aunt wouldn’t be able to see her well through Vorik, stepped up beside him.
He lifted a hand to stop her, but she swatted it away. His eyebrows arched, but he didn’t grab her or push her back.
“Aunt Tibby? It’s Syla. We… need to talk.”
“Syla! You’re a prisoner!”
“No, but I?—”
The tractors surged from the door, much like the guard dogs Syla had imagined. Each on four huge wheels, one roared toward Fel and one toward Vorik.
“Aunt Tibby!” Syla called. “Stop your machines, please.”
