Page 81 of Of Scale and Blood

I shook my head. “Go get some rest. You deserve it.”

Kele snorted. “So do you, Captain, but I’m not seeing you rushing to do so.”

I smiled. “With the title comes responsibility. Go. I won’t be that far behind you.”

She hesitated then lightly saluted and ran off after the stretcher bearers. I grabbed the three packs and carried them back through the shield into the aerie. The other drakkons who’d come here with Yara watched with wary interest as I patched the newly torn sections of Rua’s wing. While that was not unexpected, given how little interaction they’d had with humans until Kaia and I had intervened in the attack on their aerie, if we were truly going to build an army of fire-breathing dragons and riders, we needed them to trust us. Right now, while they would obey Kaia, they remained wary of us.

Of course, if we couldn’t find more strega witches willing to ride drakkons then it wouldn’t really matter.

Once I’d rubbed on the last of the numbing salve, I rinsed my hands with the last of my water, then scratched Rua’s eye ridge. “Keep that wing as still as you can for the next few hours.”

Will. Appreciate.

I smiled. “You’re welcome, Rua. Just don’t do something that stupid again.”

Won’t.

I gave her eye a final scratch, then picked up all the empty wrapping and salve tubes, shoving them in the pack and tossing all three into a corner, out of the way. I had my own to carry down and no desire to add additional weight. Not when I was feeling bone weary.

Once I’d strapped on my sword and slung my bow and quiver over my shoulder, I grabbed my packs and headed home. Night had well and truly settled in by the time I reached the gate, where I discovered that, for the first time in ages, the portcullis had been lowered into place. Obviously security measures had been increased, even for minor gateways that were never likely to be a point of entry for either the Mareritt or the gilded riders.

I hailed the guards, and, after a visual check, the portcullis was raised enough for me to slip under. One of the guards stepped forward and, with a crisp salute, said, “Captain, I’ve a message from Commander Silva for you.”

“And that message is?”

“Head immediately to your quarters and report in the morning.”

Relief spun through me. I needed food, I needed a bath, and I needed to see my husband—and not necessarily in that order. “Thank you, soldier.”

I returned his salute and continued on, making my way through the short tunnel, then across the courtyard and into the palace. The foyer was dark and still, and if not for the presence of various guards, it would have been very easy to believe the entire building was empty. I ran lightly up the stairs, my stupid heart racing at the thought of seeing Damon again. His magic shimmered over me as I approached the door, a familiar caress that felt as strong and real as the man himself. I nodded at the guard positioned at the midpoint between my room and the thermae—a new assignment, and perhaps one to prevent Damon’s aunt getting to come to family apartments—then stepped into my room. It was as quiet and as still as the rest of the building and utterly empty. Once again, disappointment shot through me.

That’s what I get for falling for a man for whom I would never be a first priority…except I didn’t fall. I was given. Big difference.

Even if my heart was suggesting the end result was the same—me, foolishly tripping along the path to caring. To loving…

Nope, I wasnotgoing there. Wasn’t even going to think about it.

I dumped my packs into the holding bin, then stripped off my weapons and hung them over the hooks. Once I’d taken off my boots and my jacket, I padded over to the scribe tablet and ordered a meal and shamoke, half smiling as Candra’s comment about never knowing when the family was going to scribe down for food echoed through my mind.

As I turned and headed for the bathroom, I noticed the symbols Damon had written on the floor now glowed with an odd, bloody luminance. I paused briefly, wondering if it was wise to approach a possibly active spell, but, rather unsurprisingly, curiosity got the better of me. Three steps away from the symbols, I hit a shield and was stopped. Light flared across its surface, its hue yellowish rather than the red of the letters—a warning, I suspected, rather than a threat. I raised a hand and pressed a finger against the magic continuing to tingle across my body. Light gathered where my fingertip met the spell, buzzing around it like tiny moon flies, even if their color was yellow rather than silvery. Frowning, I circled the symbols, keeping my finger against the shield as a guide; the moon flies trailed after my touch, reminding me a little of a falling star’s tail.

The symbols were completely encased. I rose on my toes and ran my finger up its surface to see how high it was; there was a slight curvature, suggesting it wasn’t so much a wall as a complete bubble.

Was this a mini version of the spell he would use to share my strega abilities with Kaia? Or was it something else?

The suspicious part of me said it was the latter, and the instinctive part of my soul loudly agreed. It was frustrating that Damon wouldn’t confide in me, but in truth, why would he? We might be married, we might be fire in bed and out, but it took more than sexual compatibility to build trust, let alone a relationship.

I dropped my finger and continued on to the bathroom, running water into the bath before stripping off and tossing my clothes into the laundry chute. A long soak in the hot water made me feel fresher, if no less tired. The food arrived just as I was tugging on a gown, one woman carrying a tray while her companion carried a large pot of shamoke. I thanked them both and helped myself to the latter, savoring the smell for several seconds before taking a drink. But as I sat down to eat, I spotted a sealed piece of paper with my name on it.

The writing was Damon’s.

Heart hammering unreasonably, I slid a fingernail under the seal and opened the letter.

My dear wife, it said, and I could almost hear his dry tone as I read that,I have gone to meet—and escort—the Angolan witches here. They had some trouble with their mode of transport, but we should be back by the morning. I’ve left a leather bracelet on our bed—please wear it. It will stop my aunt stealing your thoughts when beyond our room. I have also given one to both your parents. As stakes rise, it will be more important than ever that our secrets are kept.

It was simply signed,D.

I immediately rose and walked over to the bed. In the middle lay a plaited bracelet of brown and black leather with threads of red and gold—the colors of his house and mine—interwoven through it. Even without picking it up, I could feel the familiar caress of power emanating from it, and wondered if the darker leather had been soaked in his blood in order to hold his magic.

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