6.0 - Raptor (37 page)

“Research, sir.”

“About
magic
?” He had already been radiating displeasure, and his scowl turned to a look of incredulity. Incredulity and anger. “Researching magic is forbidden.”

Apparently, nobody had mentioned that the army was working with a sorceress now and that some of the old rules were being bent or outright ignored these days.

“Who gave you permission to be in here?” Therrik went on. “This isn’t a damned museum.”

“No, sir, but with the dragon coming tomorrow…”

“What? You’re going to learn magic to use on it?” His gaze dipped to her chest.

Cas tensed. She told herself he was just looking at her nametag, but she couldn’t help but think of the diplomat who had pawed her and tried to force her into a sexual encounter last fall. As a young lieutenant, she hadn’t had a clue as to how to deal with someone in such a high position, and this would be the same type of situation if Therrik had that in mind. Aside from Kasandral, she hadn’t brought any weapons with her, and she knew she couldn’t best Therrik in a fight—she remembered him easily pinning Zirkander up against his flier before the mission to Cofahre, and Zirkander was better at hand-to-hand combat than she was.

Fortunately, Therrik’s gaze didn’t linger long. His scowl returned to her face, taking on an element of a sneer. “Ahn. You’re the one they gave my sword to.”

“It was the king’s decision, sir.” Sort of. Zirkander had been the one who hadn’t wanted Therrik behind him in his flier.

Therrik shook his head. “You’re just a wisp of a girl. If he had to pick a woman, he could have at least chosen someone like Kaika.”

“Ah, yes, sir.” Cas wanted to make that
Stick it up your ass, sir
, but saying such things to colonels rarely went well. “You don’t by chance know the commands of power for the sword, do you? That’s what I was trying to find in the book.”

She wished she hadn’t asked, because he walked into the room. Even if he didn’t have anything inimical in mind for her, she wasn’t comfortable being alone with him. She doubted many of his soldiers were. Animosity wafted from his pores, and he seemed quick to jump to irrational dislikes of people, at least when magic was involved.

She backed up as he closed on the table. He only looked at the book long enough to slam it shut.

“You don’t need any magic words. Just put the pointy end in the dragon.” He curled his lip at her. “If you’re big enough to pick
up
the sword, that is.”

“I can handle it fine, sir.” Some of the lower-ranking meekness disappeared from her tone, but she didn’t care. She was more worried that she hadn’t gotten a chance to copy the lines in the book.

“Out.” He jerked his chin toward the door and dipped a hand into his pocket. Keys jangled.

“Sir, it could make a big difference tomorrow if I—”

“Out,” he barked, taking a step toward her.

Cas was debating if there was any way she could reach in, grab the book, and sprint out before he could catch her when a soft knock came at the door. Kasandral growled into her mind.

“Good evening.” Sardelle stood in the open doorway. “Is this a private meeting?”

“Yes,” Therrik snarled at the same time as Cas said, “No.”

She sent a significant look toward the box, to let Sardelle know that Kasandral was in here. Sardelle followed her gaze, nodded once, but did not appear overly alarmed. Because the sword was in the box? Cas wondered if Therrik had noticed it. She hoped not. Maybe she shouldn’t have looked in that direction.

“We’re fine,” Cas said. As much as she wanted Sardelle to come in and for that to cause Therrik to leave, she worried what he might do if he realized his sword was right there, a sword that wanted to kill Sardelle.

Indeed, he was sending the look of purest loathing across the room to Sardelle. Her hair was down, and she wore untied boots and a nightgown, looking like she had left bed and hurried up here. Jaxi must have told her what was going on. Even straight out of bed, Sardelle had an appealing beauty, and Cas couldn’t imagine how any man could look at her and see an enemy, but Therrik seemed as single-minded as Kasandral. Maybe they were perfect for each other. If only an enemy stood in the room instead of Sardelle. If Therrik made a move for the box, Cas would do whatever it took to beat him to it.

“Ah, there’s the book I was looking for.” Sardelle smiled and walked in, appearing oblivious to the hatred etched on Therrik’s face, though Cas knew she wasn’t.

Surprisingly, he stepped back when she approached the table, making room so she could pick up the book. Or maybe he just didn’t want to risk being touched by her. Those gloves looked large enough to fit his hands. Was he the superstitious one who had cataloged these items? It was hard to imagine him not handing the job off to some private.

“You and your kind are the reason that dragon got let out of his prison,” Therrik said, his fingers curled into fists. He looked like he wanted to knock her across the room, but he didn’t lift a hand.

For the first time, Cas realized that he feared her as much as he hated her. Maybe his fear was
why
he hated her.

She struggled to grasp that. Oh, she could understand fearing magic and what it could do—she distinctly remembered that Cofah sorceress killing her comrades with those fireballs—but she couldn’t understand fearing
Sardelle
.

“If people like you hadn’t killed
my kind
,” Sardelle said, “they would be here now to protect you from dragons. Also, I’m fairly certain Angulus let Morishtomaric go, though the dragon used his power to coerce him to do so.”

“He did
not
.” Therrik’s nostrils flared with his indignation.

For the first time, he peered into the shadows beside the door, straight at Kasandral’s box. He jerked slightly. He must have just noticed it. Or maybe the sword was calling to him, filling him with extra irritation the way Kasandral had been doing to Cas. And Therrik would have no reason to ignore that feeling. He might invite it in.

“Were you there? Perhaps you should ask Captain Kaika.” Sardelle turned her back on Therrik and faced Cas. Having him behind her
had
to make her shoulder blades itch, but none of her discomfort showed. “I could use an assistant for these translations, Cas. Will you join me?” Sardelle nodded toward the chairs on the other side of the table.

Cas eyed Therrik, remembering that he had ordered her from the room and wondering if he would object—and what she would do if he did. Sardelle might be sleeping with Therrik’s superior officer, but that didn’t give her any rank over him.

He fumed in silence, glaring at the back of Sardelle’s head. He did not acknowledge Cas. Lightning flashed outside, and rain slammed against the window, as if someone had hurled a bucket of water at it.

“Yes, ma’am.” Cas did not usually call Sardelle ma’am, but it seemed a good idea to be circumspect all around tonight.

Therrik took a step toward the door. Cas had no way of knowing if he was leaving, or if that step would take him to Kasandral. Before she had time to consider her actions, she sprinted around a table and toward the box, trying to cut off Therrik.

When she was two steps from it, a vise-like grip clamped down on her shoulder. She was yanked backward with such force that she couldn’t do anything to counter the attack. As she went down, instead of worrying about landing so that she wouldn’t hurt herself, she threw her legs out, trying to stop Therrik, or at least get in his way. He jumped over her as easily as if she were a root in a trail. He lunged, not for the door, but for the box.

Cas rolled to her feet, intending to leap on his back to stop him.

Before Therrik’s hands wrapped around the box, it flew straight up. His knuckles bashed against the wall as he flinched in surprise. The wooden box sailed across the room, half an inch from the ceiling, then hovered there above the logbook.

“That item hasn’t been properly cataloged,” Sardelle said. “Let’s leave it in its box for now, shall we?”

Therrik glared at Sardelle, but not for long. He was well over six feet tall and could jump and touch the ceiling. The box floated over the table, making it harder to reach, but he leaped onto a chair and stretched for it again. The box zipped away from him, this time stopping over the window behind Sardelle. Lightning flashed outside again, highlighting her from behind. Her face was grim but calm.

Therrik, with one foot on the table and one on the chair, alternated between staring at her and staring at the sword. Cas had found her feet but hesitated, not certain what to do.

“Should I get the general?” she mouthed to Sardelle.

Cas didn’t know if Zirkander’s presence would do anything, not if Kasandral was feeding extra fury into Therrik, but if Therrik was going to listen to anyone here on the outpost, it would be a superior officer, whether he liked Zirkander or not.

Before Sardelle could respond, Therrik leaped at her. She didn’t flinch as he sailed toward her, arms outward, his fingers curled like talons. Cas sprinted toward them, not sure how she could pull him off. Why in all the hells hadn’t she brought a pistol down with her?

Therrik struck an invisible field and flew backward, almost crashing into Cas. She scrambled to the side. He slammed into the table as he landed, and it pitched over, books flying and wood squealing as chairs were shoved away.

The box floated across the ceiling, passing over Therrik’s head as he leaped to his feet, then coasting through the doorway.

Cas might have laughed at the exasperated expression Therrik wore, but his icy glare snapped onto Sardelle
and
on her.

“I am not your enemy, Colonel,” Sardelle said.

“You’re a witch,” he snarled, as if the idiotic statement refuted her claim.

“I don’t know what’s going on in here,” a voice came from the hallway, “but it doesn’t sound like the proper use for a room full of priceless artifacts.”

Zirkander stepped through the doorway, his eyes hard as he looked past the overturned table and chairs and pinned Therrik with his gaze. He was wearing socks, and his hair was rumpled, but he had thrown on his uniform jacket and cap, the gold general’s rank gleaming at his collar and on the cap, above the fancy gold braids.

Therrik growled, but some of the fight went out of his stance. If nothing else, he seemed to realize he had missed his opportunity to hurt Sardelle. To
kill
Sardelle, Cas amended with a shudder. That sword wanted her dead, and Therrik would be pleased to let Kasandral use him for the purpose.

“Can’t you keep your people out of my storage room, Zirkander?” Therrik snapped. “It isn’t for
tourists
.”

“Sardelle has more right to those items than anyone else alive,” Zirkander said. “She’s hardly a tourist here.”

Therrik’s brow furrowed, more with confusion than anger this time. He must have never learned her story.

“We have a meeting in the morning,” Zirkander continued. “Early. I suggest you get some sleep, Colonel.”

His gaze flicked toward the upturned table, and Cas almost expected him to order Therrik to fix the furniture before leaving, but he kept his mouth shut. Maybe he questioned if Therrik would actually obey. Cas hadn’t missed that he hadn’t called Zirkander “sir.”

After a glare at Cas, as if she was responsible for all of his problems, Therrik stomped toward the doorway. Zirkander did not step out of his way to make it easy for him to pass. Cas half expected Therrik to bowl him over, but he merely glowered and stepped around Zirkander. He looked toward the ceiling as he entered the hallway, maybe hoping for another chance to grab Kasandral, but he must not have seen the box, because he stomped off without another word.

“Everyone all right?” Zirkander looked at Cas, but his gaze lingered on Sardelle.

“Yes,” Sardelle said.

“Yes, sir.” Cas’s shoulder would have a bruise from Therrik’s grip, but it wasn’t worth mentioning. The dragon would surely do much worse to her.

Though Sardelle did not appeared rattled, Zirkander crossed the room and hugged her. The sword box floated through the doorway, back from wherever it had gone, tilted, and settled against the wall again.

“Is it strange that things like that have stopped seeming weird to me?” Zirkander asked.

They hadn’t stopped seeming weird to Cas. She wondered how many books and swords floated around their house.

“I don’t think so.” Sardelle slipped an arm around Zirkander’s waist and returned the hug.

They weren’t kissing or doing anything overly snuggly and amorous, but Cas thought about making an excuse to leave. Watching other people share affection had always made her uncomfortable. Maybe because she hadn’t been around much of that growing up.

“Do I blame Kasandral for Therrik’s attack?” Zirkander asked. “Or do I instate disciplinary action?”

Sardelle considered the box.

“It definitely has a pull on people, even through its case,” Cas said. “But I don’t think he tried to resist it.”

“He was probably tickled for the excuse,” Zirkander grumbled.

“I wasn’t hurt,” Sardelle said. “Am I right in that there would be a lot of paperwork involved in this disciplinary action?”

“
Piles
. We’d also be without a fort commander if I relieved him from duty, which could be inconvenient tomorrow.”

“Then I have no objection to leaving him be, if Cas doesn’t.” Sardelle extended a hand toward her.

Cas arched her eyebrows. She hadn’t expected to be asked. “I’m fine, sir.”

“All right.” Zirkander released Sardelle and righted a couple of chairs. “I’ll leave you two to your studies then.”

“You’re welcome to stay if you wish,” Sardelle said.

“To translate old words in an old book?” Zirkander flipped the table back into place. “No, thanks. I have to be alert and perky for that meeting in the morning, since I’ll be attempting to get Phelistoth to go along with my plan.”

Cas waited, curious to see if this plan would be explained. It sounded like something different from their original one.

But Zirkander only waved to the two of them and headed out, frowning briefly at the box before leaving. The last glimpse Cas had of him as he shut the door was of his socks. It was strange seeing her commanding officer half dressed, but she was glad he had come up. She couldn’t guess what else Therrik might have tried if he hadn’t.