05 Dragon Blood: The Blade's Memory (16 page)

“Hunting,” Ridge mumbled. “Like
tracking
?”

He stared at the pin, then at the seat cushion.

That’s possible.

“Son of a hairy teat-kissing sloth,” Ridge growled, clenching his fist around the pin. He drew back his arm and almost hurled it into the canyon, but made himself stop before letting go.

Even if it was a tracking device and had allowed his people to be followed across an ocean, it was probably worth researching. He would take it back and show Sardelle. No, he amended hastily, realizing it might still be active. He would leave it here where he had found it and bring Sardelle back to look at it if his description wasn’t enough to go by.

“You over here throwing a tantrum while I do all the salvage work?” Tolemek asked, approaching with all three crystals in his arms.

Ridge held up the pin. “Jaxi thinks this is what’s been letting people track us.”

Tolemek’s eyebrows rose.

“I don’t suppose you recognize the symbols.”

“They’re nothing scientific.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Ridge dug around in his jacket and found a scrap of paper, actually the back of a card from Wings and Swords promising free beers to pilots on any nights when they returned from a mission. He sketched a copy of the pin, then returned the item to the bottom of the seat cushion. He was tempted to bury it next to some landmark to ensure no scavengers, human or otherwise, would make off with it, but he didn’t want his enemies to know that he had found it. He hoped he hadn’t already clued someone in by handling it.

“Any idea who planted it?” Tolemek asked.

Ridge stared at him. He hadn’t even been thinking about that, but of course someone would have had to stick it there. There had been several times the fliers had been left alone during their mission to Cofahre and those two islands, but if someone had been tracking them since they left home, this had to have been pinned under one of the seats before they left Iskandia. Which meant someone had sneaked onto base and up to the hangars to do it—possible but not that likely. Or someone on the flier maintenance crew had done it. Or—he swallowed. Or one of his own people had done it.

Chapter 7

Sardelle woke to a touch on her shoulder. She looked blearily up into Ridge’s face, then realized she was lying on the floor next to the couch. Between the events of the night and the effort it had taken to remove Duck’s bullets and mend the holes they had left, she had been exhausted when she had finished. Collapsing on the floor had seemed much easier than walking to the bedroom. Besides, she hadn’t wanted to presume to sleep in Fern’s bed.

Soft snores floated down to her from the couch, promising that her patient was still alive.

“Duck looks much better.” Ridge smiled down at her. Dark bags lurked under his eyes, and he was in need of a shave, but he still managed to look appealing. His smile warmed her heart—it felt as if a few eons had passed since someone had smiled at her.

“Good,” Sardelle murmured.

“I have something I need you to look at.” He rested her sword belt on the table beside the couch. “Then you can go back to sleep.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Sardelle yawned. “Did Cas make it back yet?” A part of her was worried about Cas, but a part of her dreaded seeing her after the harsh words she had spat out the night before.

“No, Tolemek just rode out to look for her. Apex isn’t back, either.” Concern tightened his eyes, but he did not voice his worries.

He did not need to. Sardelle felt them bubbling beneath the surface for him. Maybe she shouldn’t have let Cas stalk away from her. If something had happened after she left, Sardelle would have another reason to feel guilty.

She sat up, intending to push herself to her feet, but Ridge surprised her by sliding his arms under her legs and shoulders and picking her up.

“Are we going somewhere romantic?” she asked, looping an arm around his shoulders, though romance wasn’t what she had in mind, not unless she could bathe first. Perhaps continue her nap for a few more hours.

“My mom’s bedroom.”

“I suppose that could do…”

Ridge looked faintly appalled. “I wasn’t thinking of getting romantic in my mom’s room. You can rest there while pondering what I have to show you.”

After carrying her into the bedroom, Ridge laid her on a sturdy bed made from logs. Despite the rustic appearance, the mattress was comfortable and inviting. Sardelle closed her eyes and leaned her head back on a pillow. Ridge opened the curtains to let the noon daylight in, then sat on the edge of the bed and handed her a card.

“You’re taking me for free beers?”

“Look at the back side, at those cryptic scribbles. I tried to draw a picture of the metal device I found pinned under one of the flier seats—what was
left
of the flier and its seat.” He grimaced, the image of the wrecked machines scattered across a ledge still at the forefront of his thoughts.

Sardelle sighed, feeling like she should have done something to prevent the possibility of people finding the fliers. Perhaps she could have used her powers to craft a stronger camouflage than what the men had achieved with brush.

“Jaxi thinks it might have been used to track us,” Ridge said.

“Track us?” Sardelle examined the back of the card. “Everywhere we’ve been?”

“Everywhere since leaving Iskandia, I assume. Do you recognize the symbols? I’m afraid my mother is the artist in the family, but I did my best to draw the pin. I didn’t want to risk bringing the real one back here. Mom would be upset with me if someone blew up the cats.”

Sardelle snorted softly. No doubt. Two had already hopped onto the end of the bed and curled up. “They’re letters, not symbols. A and C. The maker’s initials perhaps?”

“Oh? Jaxi and I thought the designs were familiar, but she wasn’t sure what they were. I just had a feeling I’d seen them before, or something in a similar style.”

“You have. Some of the other letters in the alphabet are on the scabbard of Cas’s sword. There are two languages on her blade, Old Iskandian and Middle Dragon Script. This is Middle Dragon.”

Oops, I should have recognized that,
Jaxi said.
I’ve seen examples of Dragon Script before. Just not so embellished.

This is almost a calligraphy version.

Do you think Ridge will take me out again? I wasn’t very useful, and there was nobody to telepathically interrogate.

I don’t know. Did you do anything to irritate him this time?

Does threatening to pee down his leg count?

Yuck. And yes.

“Dragon Script? The dragons wrote things down?” Ridge groped at the air. “I’m imagining Phelistoth’s scaled arms and claws here. Or do they call them talons? Either way, I can’t see that giant creature holding a pen. Or a quill.”

Sardelle smiled. “As you’ll recall, dragons
can
shapeshift. But no, this is more the human interpretation of the dragon language than anything they would have written. Dragons themselves were capable of writing, usually using their minds to do so, but they had genetic memories and rarely bothered to record their history, at least not in a way we could understand.”

“You said Ahn’s sword has this language on it?” Ridge seemed to be trying to picture the symbols on the scabbard. He probably hadn’t had a good look at the weapon. They had been busy traveling since retrieving it, and Cas hadn’t exactly been showing it off. She always kept it close, not asking anyone else to carry it.

“Yes.” Sardelle sat up and touched the side of his face, hoping he wouldn’t mind the sharing of the information. She did her best to picture the scabbard in her mind, making the details of those symbols as precise as her memory allowed. She stroked his cheek as she did so, scarcely able to remember the last time they had been alone together. True, Duck’s faint snores reminded her they were not entirely alone, but the house was quiet, peaceful. If they hadn’t had so much to worry about—Kaika, gods, how was she going to get Kaika out of that castle?—she might have slid her hand around to the back of his head and kissed him.

“Oh.” Ridge’s eyes widened. “Oh! I’ve seen those somewhere else. Just last night.”

Assuming he meant the language and that her thoughts of kissing hadn’t seeped through the link, she asked, “Where?” Dragon Script wasn’t common anywhere anymore.

“Under Therrik’s bed.”

“Uhm, what?”

“Here.” He rested his hand atop hers, keeping hers pressed to his cheek. “Can you tell what I’m thinking?”

Much as she had, he formed an image in his mind. She saw a wooden floor with broken glass scattered across it, and a long, oblong box sticking out from underneath a bed. The same two languages appeared on the top of it. The words weren’t the same as those on the sword, and she would have to visit a library to find out what they said, but she doubted it was a coincidence that the same scripts had been used.

“You say Colonel Therrik has that box?” Sardelle asked. “How odd.”

“Yup, it was hidden under the bed where a normal man puts a collection of souvenir beer steins. Assuming his collection hasn’t been blown up. Along with his bed. And his house.” Ridge’s mouth twisted with rare bitterness.

Sardelle wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him on the neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“Right, your house would have blown up anyway, even if you had never met me.”

“It’s always a possibility.” Ridge rested his hand on the back of her head and smiled into her hair, his bitterness fading quickly, as negative emotions usually seemed to for him. She wished she could let things go so easily. “Did you know Therrik’s house is regularly vandalized? The MPs barely even report it anymore.” Now he sounded tickled.

“How did a man like that get an ancient dragon-slaying sword?”

Ridge pulled back enough to look her in the eyes, though he wrapped his arms around her waist, keeping her close. “Is that Kasandral’s box then?”

“I’d have to take a closer look to say unequivocally, but from what you shared, it seems likely.”

“Now I
really
wish we had questioned him. Maybe this has something to do with why he’s the queen’s new favorite.”

“Is he? Hm.”

“Yeah, let me tell you about last night.”

“I should tell you about my last night too.” As much as Sardelle did not want to relive losing Kaika, he might see something she had missed in glimpsing the events through her eyes. “Here. Lie down with me, will you? If it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, we can share our memories. The way we did while sitting on that log in Cofahre.”

She thought Ridge might object, but he only smiled again and said, “I seem to remember that devolved into you thinking sexy thoughts about my back.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself this time.” Sardelle scooted to the other side of the bed to make room.

“That’s not any fun.” Ridge lay down beside her, clasping hands with her.

“You go first.” It was easier for her to read his thoughts than it would be to share hers with him, since he didn’t have any affinity for telepathy.

He closed his eyes and thought about the previous night’s events, everything from how they had found Tolemek’s lab emptied out and locked up, to the disturbing scene at General Ort’s house, to the conversation he had overheard from Therrik’s bedroom. She saw and heard what he had experienced and his emotions, as well. He feared losing Ort, not only because of their years working together, but because he had been feeling overwhelmed ever since he dumped Therrik on the road north of the city. He had wanted to confess everything to a superior officer and let someone else take charge. She had no trouble understanding that, even if it surprised her because she had not realized he felt that way; he always seemed so calm and decisive, even when everything was going wrong around him.

He was chagrined but sheepishly amused that he had thrown the knockout grenade through Therrik’s window only to realize nobody was home. It amused her, too, and she curled on her side to face him, resting her free hand on his chest and thinking of snuggling closer. She appreciated his humor and would have liked to bask in it for a time. But it was her turn to share, and there would be little to amuse either of them in that story.

She lost herself in the relaying of the events, and even though she did not want to saddle him with her emotional problems, if he wanted to know he wasn’t the only one feeling overwhelmed and lost, he would have that from her, along with all of her other feelings. She couldn’t hold back the helplessness and desolation she still experienced over being the lone survivor among her people, the dejection she felt every day, knowing nobody in her homeland wanted her there anymore, and lastly, she shared the pain that Cas’s rejection had given her, how it had seemed that even the few friends she had made did not want her here. By the time she finished sharing the night’s experiences, tears streaked down her cheeks.

“Sardelle,” Ridge murmured, shifting onto his side, facing her, and resting his hand on her hip.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I just meant to relay the facts, not complain.”

He eased closer to her and wiped her tears with his thumb as he kissed her gently. “First off,” he said, his voice hoarse, “you can complain whenever you want. You have more reason than any of us to do so, and you’re not even on anybody’s payroll. You’ve been helping us just because… I don’t even know why. You redeemed your word to Tolemek and freed his sister. You went to the castle to help me and to help Kaika. Maybe I should have asked if you wanted to continue helping. You certainly don’t owe any of us anything.” He rubbed her hip and kissed her again. She closed her eyes, needing his touch, his words, like the first day of sun after a long winter storm. “Kaika wouldn’t blame you for her getting caught,” Ridge said. “She knew the risks when she picked that mission. Everything you’re doing for us, it’s a favor. I know that. You’re right that Iskandia hasn’t given you a reason to want to help yet. I wish I could change that. I don’t know if it’ll ever be in my power to do that, but I’ll try.”

Sardelle wanted him to know how much it meant to her that he appreciated her, but was not sure if she could manage words, or even what she would say if she could, so she kissed him back instead. Sometimes that was easier than talking. Her salty tears moistened their lips, and for a time, their embrace was one of finding comfort in each other, but the space between them gradually disappeared, with Ridge’s leg covering hers. Sardelle shifted closer and slid her hand around his head, loving the feel of his short soft hair as she massaged his scalp. He rubbed her through her shirt, his fingers slipping beneath the hem to find warm skin. His touch made her shiver, and his thoughts did too. Genuine appreciation for her mingled with his desire. He wasn’t sure what kept her here, especially when his plans were so sketchy and the odds seemed against them, but it meant everything to him that she was helping his team.