7. Precipice #2
Their rainbow of wings rustled softly as the dragons shuffled past. My eyes trailed over the wickedly sharp tip of a crimson spike briefly, but I found my gaze unwittingly drawn to the jet-black wings in front of me.
Now that we stood at the same level, I realized the dragon prince did indeed stand taller than Lenn by a couple inches.
Though his wings certainly made him more imposing, if that was even possible.
The Shadow hummed softly but said nothing.
He turned toward the table to take his seat.
As I stepped to walk past him, his wings flexed slightly, moving into my path.
There wasn’t much room in here to begin with, but especially not now, with all the extra appendages.
As I did my best to side-step him, the back of my hand brushed along the folded outer bone of his left wing.
Warmth spread from the point of contact, racing up my arm and drawing a small gasp out of me. My gaze snapped up, finding gray eyes framed by dark lashes staring at me intently.
Something pinched in my chest. Blood rushed to my head, drowning out the noise of the room and leaving me dizzy. Gods, I was just standing here staring at him, about to pass out. What the hell was I doing?
The moment stretched too long. My skin cooled, and I drew in a shaky breath as I turned away from the dragon prince.
Odd, the Shadow remarked.
More than odd, but I said nothing in reply. I stepped to my left, tugging my skirts to keep them out of the way of Rensif’s gilded wings, and made my way to the head of the table. As she passed me, I could feel the energy rolling off her in waves. She settled into the stool directly to my right.
Lenn pulled my chair out, allowing me to step up to the table.
With a thud, I set the silver box on the mahogany surface, sliding it over to the golden woman.
She settled her sparkling eyes on it with a slight twitch of her brow.
Swinging my skirts forward, I glided gracefully into my chair as Lenn pushed it in.
“Your countryman,” I said, gesturing to the box.
I looked down the line at each of them, noting the prince’s scowl and Corbyn’s pained expression. His ruby wings drew closer together as he leaned forward, the delicate membrane disappearing almost completely under the lean muscles and graceful bones. The others kept their faces impassive.
Rensif reached out a slender hand, pulling the box toward her. Her fingers stalled for a moment atop the runes as mine had done a few moments earlier. But she snatched her hand away quickly, folding it back into her lap.
“You have our thanks for your consideration of our customs,” she whispered, though her voice still retained its eerie echo.
I bowed my head slightly. “Grantis did his duty, in accordance with the treaty.” I glanced at Corbyn, though I hadn’t meant to. His black eyes narrowed. “I am grateful. Though he did not ultimately save my mother’s life, his sacrifice deserves honor.”
The prince reached in front of Lightwing, pulling the box to him. “His family will appreciate having his remains returned to them. Thank you,” he said, his voice a deep rumble.
A chill ran down my spine. They were the first words I’d heard him speak, and it was certainly not what I’d been expecting. He reached across Corbyn to hand the box to the red-haired woman, Yara. She nodded her assent.
“It is the least we could do.” I turned back to Lightwing and her unsettling smile, which had found its way back while my attention was diverted.
“Mmm,” she mused quietly, orange eyes inspecting me.
Every warning bell in my head rang at the same time. I hoped my face—historically, my greatest enemy—would not betray me. I glanced furtively at the Jarlum and saw their expectant looks. Apparently, I was on my own.
“Honored Lightwing,” I began, folding my hands in front of me on the table, “you will have to forgive my bluntness, but certainly you cannot be surprised at our confusion.”
“Certainly,” she countered, infuriatingly placid.
Freya Vilke cleared her throat not-so-subtly. A reminder to keep my composure. Arching my brow in annoyance, I slid my gaze to the prince at Lightwing’s side. I thought I could make out some base level of sympathy in those startling gray eyes, but I wasn’t sure.
Looking back at the golden woman, I exhaled sharply through my nose. Keep calm, just keep calm, I said to myself, fighting the urge to tap my fingers on the table.
She’s trying to goad you, Asvoria. Don’t let her.
I took a moment to compose myself, thinking about what to say—how to appear strong and regal when faced with potential enemies.
“Our countries have enjoyed a millennium of peace,” I began, “and never once have we been… graced with the presence of a Council member. Please do me the honor of explaining why you have now come.”
Rensif’s orange eyes flashed, and her smile twitched. “A millennium of peace,” she repeated, voice higher than before. “Far more than a lifetime for many at this table. Yet we remember when it was not so. We mean only to assure you of our continued desire for that peace, Your Majesty.”
She spread her hands and bowed her head in a placating gesture, but I got the impression it was not her mind that had spoken those words. They were softer, and more genuine than Rensif had been thus far. Was each member of the Council taking a turn? If that was even possible, who was just speaking?
Vaelria Longtail, the Morningstar? Or Bayard Icebreath, scourge of the Drakon War? I shuddered to think.
A derisive sniff came from my left, bordering on a snort. That would be Ingvar. Damn that old man and his transparency. I managed to keep myself from looking over and drawing even more attention.
“Assurance… Is that also why you’ve brought a prince to fulfill your duty to the treaty?” The words came out harsher than I intended.
Lightwing opened her mouth to speak. But she was cut short.
“If I may,” the rumbling voice spoke. The prince ran a hand through his hair to push it away from his face. His wings stretched with the movement, glinting darkly in the sun. My stomach flipped, and I was again struck by how… appealing his features were.
Focus, Asvoria, the Shadow prompted.
I cleared my throat a bit, willing the sudden tightness away. “Please, do.”
“The truth of it is,” he continued, “I volunteered.”
Confusion fogged my thoughts. Why would he? I was always under the impression that being assigned this position was seen as a menial task by the Shifters. Why would a prince want to be my Talon?
I don’t like this, the Shadow murmured.
“Volunteered?” I repeated dumbly, blinking at him.
“A sign of good faith, Your Majesty.” He extended his arms in some gesture of supplication.
Lightwing leaned forward, resuming control of their side of the conversation. “The Council understands these are… delicate circumstances, Queen Asvoria. Prince Bentein was gracious enough to offer himself for the position, and we thought it wise. As we said: assurance.”
“Delicate.” I chewed on the word—tasted the bitterness of its insufficiency. My gaze landed on Corbyn. “Quite so.”
The golden woman followed my look. “Which is another reason we Three have come,” she continued.
“The amendments made fifty years ago require a member of the king’s household to be present if an incident such as this occurs, hence Skymaster Yara’s attendance.
But as we have said, Your Majesty, we wish to assure you of our good intentions.
This incident is… troubling, to say the least. We Three would also like to determine the truth of it.
It is impossible for a dragon to lie in the presence of the Ancients’ power. ”
A muscle in Corbyn’s jaw twitched. Was that nervousness I saw?
I looked back at Lightwing, some of my hardness melting away. If she was telling the truth, that would bode well for us.
If she’s telling the truth, the Shadow hissed icily.
I drew in a deep breath. “Then you understand that we have questions we’d like to ask of Talon Arlbright,” I stated, trusting myself to sound neutral.
“As is only fitting.” Lightwing looked down the length of the table, settling her flaming gaze on Corbyn.
He seemed to shrink under her scrutiny. And when next she spoke, all three of her voices filled the room, booming in the small space.
“Corbyn Arlbright, last son of House Vadis, you are called to stand before the Council.”
I didn’t think I’d ever heard the name of Corbyn’s house before. And the way Lightwing emphasized “last son” was strange, to say the least. The look on his face told me he hadn’t appreciated the designation either.
Slowly, he stood from his stool, tucking his wings even tighter to avoid those next to him. Lenn shifted behind me with a quiet grumble. Every eye in the room watched as he planted himself at the empty end of the table opposite me and clasped his hands behind his back with a steely look.
“I stand before the Council, wings folded and fire quenched,” he said, voice wavering slightly.
Yes, those were definitely nerves. Though what he had to be nervous about, I shuddered to think. My heart pounded wildly. Finally, I would know the truth of his role that night.
Lightwing looked back at me. “You may begin your line of questioning.”