Light Dragons 01 - Love in the Time of Dragons

you go out to the north pasture, where a tent and tables and chairs have been set up for the sárkány . Baltic and I will check on the canapés, although at this point, I don’t really give a damn about them either, but my mother raised me to show guests common courtesy even if it killed me. Which it did, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Chapter Eighteen
    “D id I see artichoke hearts? I love those.” Cyrene peered anxiously down the table. “With garlic and parmesan? Does anyone see them?”
    We were in the north pasture, a large open field mottled with wild grass and bare earth. I would have preferred a more civilized setting, but the only way I could get Baltic to agree to have the sárkány at his house was allowing it to be held in an open field, where no one could hide in ambush. I didn’t think the wyverns would do something like that, but agreed with him that it would be best not to take foolish chances.
    The ladies were seated around a couple of tables pushed together. The wyverns were together in a small clutch, obviously discussing something about the sárkány . Baltic stood alone, watching everyone with a glower that would have leveled a T. rex.
    Pavel and I had spent the day in the kitchen, making a few snacks that I intended on serving after the sárkány itself, but it appeared that all the discussion about the lemon sorbet had set appetites on edge.
    “Here’s a plate for you and Jim,” I told Brom as I handed him a tray with two plates piled high with hors d’oeuvres and canapés. “You may eat it in the kitchen, and afterward, Pavel said you could play with his video game machine.”
    “I don’t see why we can’t stay out here and watch Kostya have a couple of hissy fits,” Jim complained, nosing the tray to see what was on it. “Hey, we don’t get any of the famous sorbet? My mouth is all set for it!”
    “I left some for you in the freezer, and I prefer that you and Brom stay out from underfoot during the meeting. Speaking of which, don’t pester the dragons, either. All the guards are remaining in the house, and none of them looked very happy.”
    “Yeah, yeah, I can handle a couple of bodyguards.”
    “Don’t handle them—leave them alone. We had enough of an argument to get them to leave the wyverns out here alone.”
    “She just wants us out of the way in case Kostya comes unglued on Baltic again,” Jim told Brom as they started toward the house. Brom stopped and turned back, a suddenly worried look on his face.
    I muttered something rude under my breath about Jim’s big mouth, hurrying over to Brom. “Sweetheart, nothing is going to happen. It’s just a meeting.”
    “Oops,” Jim said, looking contrite. “Uh . . . yeah, B-man. I didn’t mean that Kostya was going to hurt Baltic or anything. Besides, if he tried, your mom would turn him into fruit.”
    “That’s right,” I said, giving Brom a quick hug. “No one is going to get hurt.”
    He continued to look worried. “Can I talk to Baltic for a minute? I mean Dad?”
    “All right,” I said slowly, wondering if Jim had been saying anything to him about the fact that the weyr wanted Baltic executed. I glanced over at the man in question, who was standing with his arms crossed, watching everyone with grim suspicion. At my nod toward Brom, he strode over. “Brom wishes to speak with you.”
    He raised his eyebrows and looked expectantly at Brom, who squirmed slightly and said apologetically, “Can I talk to him alone, Sullivan?”
    “Er . . . certainly.” I moved off to check that the sorbet was still packed tightly in ice and not melting under the warm summer sun, before standing behind my chair.
    “Oooh! Is that pesto?” Cyrene made happy little noises. “This is so good, Ysolde. You have to cater all the sárkánies !”
    “Thank you, but I think I’ll pass on that offer.”
    After a few minutes, Baltic returned, his expression unchanged. I watched Jim and Brom return to the house before turning to him. “What was that all about?”
    “He was worried about you.”
    “About me? Hell! Jim must have told him about the execution order.”
    “No. He was worried that if the weyr did something to me, you would be left helpless. I told him that he had nothing to worry about.”
    “Because I’m not weak or feeble or without the ability to take care of myself,” I said, nodding my approval of the way he dealt with Brom’s concern.
    “Because the weyr has no control over me,” he