Perhaps being so nosey wasn’t such a good idea, Lucayr thought as he sprinted. After nine months of snooping about Nabol and its minor holds on behalf of his master, his cover had been… compromised. Stare at something long enough, and you can recognize it instantly, no matter what color or name it has. Apparently, there was a woman out there who’d been to enough events he’d played at and who’d longed enough after him that she could recognize him from behind, just by the shape of his ears. Hair dyed a dark, dark brown and donning a feature-obscuring masquerade mask and false name as a traveling tanner hadn’t fooled Larisse for an instant. Her husband, Lord What’s-His-Name of Isolated Rural Hold, had turns ago caught his wife making illicit (and rather extravagant) overtures to him and was not pleased to see the quixotic harper again now—hence the sprinting.
Bad enough to have to end his assignment prematurely, but a perfectly good overcoat had been left behind in that bedeviled woman’s groping hands. She’d also been wearing a green sash about her waist that looked awfully familiar. No doubt it was that lovely silken scarf she’d poached from him when he’d made his escape that last time. He would have sighed if he wasn’t out so of breath from running for his life.
Thank the Egg for escape plans, especially those that included the convenience of dragons! A brownrider and his bonded stood waiting for him around a blind corner, and they had disappeared between before his pursuers even rounded the turn. As soon as they reappeared in the air over Ruatha, Lucayr’s fair of firelizards converged on him from every direction, their cries a cacophony of loving croons, excited chirps, and scathing screeches. The latter would be Minx, of course. The green flit swooped closely past his face, making her displeasure known with a sharp flick of her tail across his cheek.
“It had to be done,” he assured her, a slight whinging in his tone as he rubbed the sore spot with the heel of his palm. “Nine months is a long time to be separated from you, but anyone would notice a man with so many firelizards as I have, no matter how well disguised.” The dragon landed, and Lucayr slid down its shoulder to the ground. Minx hovered beside the man’s head and chittered hotly, her tirade far from complete. He took his punishment in silence, and finally the green was satisfied with the verbal lashing she’d given him, coming to rest with a huff on his shoulder. She got in a good minute or two of sulking before Oria, the much-larger gold, forcibly removed her and took over that choice perch.
Lucayr collected his letters, all nine months’ worth. He’d get to them all eventually, but there was a particular announcement he was looking for… ah, there! From his mother, an update on her condition. Over a month ago? He was late! Another sprint back to the dragon, and they were off again. His firelizards, refusing to be separated from him again, swarmed in and latched onto his shoulders, arms, chest and back.
A short hop between later, he was walking into his parents’ home, positively swathed with stubborn flits. His mother met him as he walked into the kitchen, saw his bizarre state, and burst out laughing. Then she turned, reached into the bassinet beside the table, and gently placed a baby into Lucayr’s arms. A hazel-eyed child, with a coating of soft auburn fuzz on its head. Lucayr’s mother leaned over the baby and smiled fondly, stroking its tiny arm. “Son, meet your little brother, Silviu.”
Mx Cherie