A Storm of Shadows (Fates and Fables #3)

39. Dryston

Chapter 39

Dryston

T he council room was loud as they arrived, even standing outside the doors. That was never a good sign. The most opinionated demons in the city convening and demanding his presence was not his favorite activity to begin with. An urgent request followed by this buzzing? He already had a headache.

The double doors opened, and they walked in, Onora staying close to his side. He knew it was apprehension, maybe even a little fear, but he liked it. Liked how it made him feel needed. Wanted.

The room was full of chieftains, business owners, and his cabinet, as well as many of the royal guard. Kalen and Maria followed behind him, and the room fell silent as he entered. An older demon stepped forward, a smiling relief lighting his face. Salen was Dryston’s closest advisor and had been his father’s as well. He was sometimes stuck in his old ways, but Dryston was always able to get him to the middle and listen to reason. His wisdom and experience had been invaluable to Dryston.

“Lord Dryston,” he said, striding forward and then pulling him into a tight, unceremonious hug, despite his formal language. Then his eyes darted to Onora. “You must be the Hunter.”

Dryston turned back in time to see her stiffen, her face becoming an impassable wall of stone, the same look she’d had so often before. The last few days it had been gone, though. Seeing it again was upsetting, and he had half a mind to threaten Salen for making her feel that way.

Murmurs rose in the room, and he cursed under his breath as his shadows twined around him and poised, ready to strike. He pulled them back, inhaling a deep breath to calm them.

Salen’s eyes darted between him and Onora, and Dryston noted that he wasn’t the only one. He swallowed, ignoring it. He knew what they were thinking, and they were right.

“Welcome,” Salen said, looking at Onora. “I’ve heard tale you helped Dryston escape.”

She opened her mouth, but Dryston answered for her. “She saved my life. I was dying from poison arrows, and she was able to use a healing spell on me.”

She gave him a curious look, but he looked back to the crowd. They had no business knowing the full scope of what had happened. It was in the past. Things were different between them now.

“We have a lot to discuss,” Salen said, ushering them to the large round table in the middle of the room. It was the table for him and his advisors, the cabinet, and the chieftains of the different regions of the shadow realm.

Dryston went to the head of the table, looking behind to see Onora had stashed herself to the side, standing with the others who were not official spokespeople for the realm. She looked nervous, rigid, with her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger. Her eyes darted around the room, noting the weapons on everyone. Demons were a warrior culture. Even bards and farmers were known to be strapped with weapons at any given time.

He didn’t want to leave her in a crowd of demons by herself, and there was a seat next to his, one that had gone unfilled since his parents died. He knew what it would look like to everyone else, and he hesitated a moment, before beckoning for her to come. She did, and he took the seat out and pushed it in for her to sit.

Others exchanged more glances, but he ignored it. He had no time for their idle chatter. Then he sat down and the room fell silent, save for the scrape of wooden chairs on the stone floor as the others sat.

“I, Salen, Vice Lord, call this meeting of the colonies to order.” A few other demons sounded their agreement, others yawning and stretching comfortably in their chairs. Salen liked to be formal, but most demons preferred a more informal atmosphere. “Lord Dryston, let’s get you up to speed.”

Another older demon, Makel, cleared her throat. “There’s not much we need to tell him. He’s experienced it. Now let’s move the motion to retaliate against the Hunters.”

Murmurs of agreement rose, and Onora sat even more tense in her seat.

“There’s an order to all this, Makel,” Salen said. “Do not get ahead of yourself.”

“They killed the first Erebus Lord and kidnapped our current one!” another chieftain cried out, banging his fist on the table. “What is there to discuss?”

“We need to hear from Lord Dryston and the human first,” Layla, a younger demon chieftain, said. “There was a trial, and the Hunters claim they had good reason.”

“Do you believe that?” Makel asked, incredulous.

“I believe that many Hunters most likely did believe it,” Layla replied. “I don’t believe our Lord did anything of the sort.”

And so the fighting continued on in that fashion. Dryston drew in a deep breath, rubbing his forehead, and shot a glance at Onora. She looked by turns angry, amused, and scared. He reached under the table and placed his hand on her knee, giving it a squeeze. She met his gaze, a question there.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, and she nodded, still tense.

He stood, finally, and cleared his throat. “Will any of you let me speak, or will you continue your prattling?” His booming voice echoed through the cavern. The people stopped and looked at him, those who’d stood to engage in a passionate debate sitting down. “First and foremost, we will not be retaliating against the Hunters. If they want a fight, they can bring it to Medeis. We are not attacking them.” Angry dissent rose, and he held up his hand, his shadows bursting around him in fury as his wings flared out, shutting down the voices. “Now, let me tell you what happened, and we can discuss after.” So he did. He left out Onora being the one to kidnap him and her volunteering to execute him, but because of various questions he couldn’t avoid the fact she’d been the one to try to execute him. She sat with a straight back, meeting the looks of suspicion with her own steely glare. Then he told them about the attacks, what he’d seen and heard. “It seems some lying amidst the higher ranks is occurring in the human realm. We’re not going to hold individual humans accountable for their leaders.”

“What of this human?” Makel asked, pointing to Onora with a snarl. “Can we hold her accountable?”

“If you wish to hold me accountable,” Onora said, her voice low, commanding, and dangerous. Not a single person in the room moved or uttered a sound as she spoke. “Then challenge me. Let’s fight it out and see who the gods decide needs to be held accountable.”

Makel sat back, her face going sheet-white as she looked at Dryston with the same shock he felt.

Not because she’d so openly challenged a demon to a fight in a room where she was the smallest and weakest. But because that command had tugged on something primal in each one of them. It had made him want to sit and obey her every command. It had silenced a room. It had brought every one of them to attention.

And he only knew of one reason why that could be.

“My apologies,” Makel said, sincere, her voice trembling, and now it was Onora’s turn to look confused.

Well, she would just have to stay that way. He was in no place to have his heart ripped to shreds by her at the moment—he had a war to avoid.

Dryston leaned on the table, his eyes meeting each person’s as he said, “If anyone touches Onora, I will personally skin you alive.”

The room was silent, deadly so. The Lord of Shadows had spoken, and many bowed their heads in agreement, obedience. He stood upright again.

“I’ve just returned. Let me gather more information before anyone makes a rash decision.”

Makel nodded, swallowing. “As you wish, my lord.”

“We’re adjourned for now.” He turned, looking for Enid. She leaned against the doorframe with the swaggering grace she was well known for. “I want to speak to Avenay.”

Enid’s brows shot up, but she nodded, coming closer as the others dispersed, talking amongst themselves or leaving.

“Should we let Onora have a bed to rest in and ... bathe?” Enid asked.

Onora rolled her eyes, which only made Enid grin.

“I want her to talk to Avenay with us, but after, yes,” Dryston replied, motioning for Kalen and Maria. They trotted over, and Kalen’s eyes shot from him to Onora, the usual calculating reasoning visible behind his eyes. “I want both of you to find servants and oversee them setting the room adjoining my own for Onora. Clothes and food and whatever other comforts she needs. You’ll be her personal detail while she’s here.”

“The room ... adjoining yours? ” Kalen asked, an edge to his words.

Maria nudged him, coughing awkwardly, and he stood straighter. Enid looked at Onora with that same curious gaze as before, but this time with something more knowing.

Shadows twined around his arms again and he was getting really, really tired of it at this point. “I can trust you, can’t I, Kalen?”

He knew he could. Kalen’s suspicion and pushback was from love and a loyalty that ran deeper than brothers. Still, he needed to remind him on occasion that he had no business questioning him on certain things.

“Of course,” Kalen replied, something like hurt passing briefly across his face. “We will protect her with our lives.”

“And make sure that her nest is comfortable,” Maria chirped, barely concealing the grin on her face.

Dryston leveled a glare at her. He didn’t need rumors like that running around. He needed to figure out what was going on between them and talk to Onora before all the gossiping biddies of The Darkened City got to her first.

Enid motioned to Onora and Dryston. “Follow me. Avenay will be excited to talk to both of you.”

Avenay was in her study, nose deep in her notes as she leaned over the desk, fingers dirtied with ink. The room was small, but the cave walls were covered with books and maps and parchment and scrolls. He wondered how she found anything in the room.

“Lover,” Enid said when Avenay didn’t notice them standing before them.

She jerked up, her dark curls bouncing and her brown cheeks tinged in red. “Enid,” she hissed. “Not in front of your brother. We’ve had this talk.”

Enid chuckled. “Sorry, I didn’t realize lover was one of the salacious names you asked me to not call you in front of others. I only thought it was sweet ti?—”

Avenay shot to her feet. “Hi, Dryston! Welcome back. You’re all in one piece, which is always preferable.”

“Indeed,” Dryston replied, grinning. “I’m personally very thankful to be in one piece.”

“Drys has something he wants to talk to you about, sugar as?—”

Avenay held up her hand, glaring at Enid and silencing her—save for the laughter—and turned to Dryston.

“What is it?”

“Nothing good, I’m afraid,” he said, then told her about the attacks and what they’d seen.

Enid sobered up with each word, and Avenay picked up an enchanted quill and parchment, making it write with a flick of her wrist. He could see what she wrote, mostly just jotting down what he said verbatim, but occasionally he noted things like, “related to Evolis?” and “because we opened the well?”.

He finished by saying, “I can see you’re already thinking what we are by your notes.”

“Can you tell me where these attacks occurred?”

“Not precise locations, but I can give you a general idea. Onora may know better.”

She grabbed a map and pencil. “Please.”

They showed her roughly where he thought they must have been, conferring with one another to get a more precise idea of where they could be.

“I need to speak to my father,” Avenay said. “And I’ll ask seraphs to investigate and see the locations of these.”

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s too soon to say. But what the witches in Evolis were up to ... it was nothing good, Dryston. They were into dark, dark magic. Straight from the blackest pit. I’ll keep investigating, and when I know more, I’ll tell you.”