I straighten the papers unnecessarily. “House Draxion needs both of us here today. Father's courthouse duties keep him occupied, which works in our favor. The elders speak more freely without him looming over the proceedings.”
“You're changing the subject,” Anees leans closer. “She deserves to know what's happening.”
“Who?” I ask, though the feigned ignorance sounds hollow even to my ears.
“Esme,” he says, refusing to let it drop.
I watch the elders of House Meraxis enter, their ceremonial robes sweeping the marble floor. “Her training takes priority. Shadow energy is volatile. She needs to focus on control.”
Beyond the terrace to our left, turrets glow against the darkness of the cavern ceiling. The distant sounds of celebration driftupward: street festivals that have continued since our engagement announcement, despite the controversy it sparked.
“And the wedding?” Anees whispers. “Last week you were determined to find a loophole.”
“She should be grateful I found a way to keep her alive,” I snap. “I brought you here to discuss the uprising, not my personal affairs.”
He sighs, his eyes reflecting the torchlight. “The whispers grow louder each day.”
“Draethys cannot rise,” I say. “Not like this. Not now.” I grip the edge of the table. “We'd only repeat the bloodshed of our ancestors.”
“We need a better approach,” Anees agrees.
The massive doors creak open as House Braynor enters. Jeron stalks in beside his uncle, scowling when he spots me. His upper lip curls back, revealing teeth sharp enough to tear through steel. Typical Braynor, no doubt still fuming about my fracas with his family earlier.
“Always one talon away from violence,” I mutter as the council members arrange themselves around the obsidian table.
Anees leans closer. “Your engagement to a darkblood hasn't exactly bolstered your standing either, brother.” His voice drops lower. “Though you remain the right dragon to lead this council.”
“Someone's orchestrating this surface-world obsession,” I say. “These aren't just tavern whispers anymore.”
“I'll help you find the source,” Anees promises.
I stand, acknowledging the Houses with a measured bow. “Thank you for answering our summons. Several matters require your collective wisdom while my father attends to judicial concerns.”
“I pray we aren't discussing your ill-conceived nuptials,” Lord Brutus Meraxis calls out, his ancient voice crackling like dry parchment.
“The wedding proceeds as planned, Lord Brutus. Your presence would honor us.” I maintain my diplomatic tone. “In fact, we expect it.”
“Is attendance compulsory?” He tilts forward, triggering appreciative snickers from his fellow elders.
I study him silently: the papery skin stretched across his skull, sparse golden hairs clinging stubbornly to his scalp. The old dragon was ancient when I completed my first molt. His continued existence defies draconic biology; he should have returned to the flame a century past.
“It’s hardly obligatory, yet House Draxion will be sorely disappointed if you and your esteemed kin decline our celebration,” I remark, curling one corner of my mouth. “Though we might save a barrel or two of mead if you skip it.”
He shoots me a tremulous glare. “What have you convened us for, Lord Daynthazar?”
Good, he’s taken umbrage. Hardly my fault I can scent mead on his breath well before midday. Anees clears his throat, cue enough to proceed.
“Milords, I’ll address the most troubling matter at once,” I announce, lifting my voice. “Since my return, I’ve observed a troubling swell of extremist rhetoric among our people. Deluded calls to launch a Draethys assault on the surface world.”
“Reclaim our true dominion by force, you mean,” Brutus interjects.
“Whether true or not, it’s no longer ours to seize, certainly not by force,” I reply. “We’d only repeat past failures, as you’ve witnessed across our kingdom’s peaks and valleys.”
He inclines his head. “I concur. It’s reckless folly.”
“Precisely. The humans have ruled the surface far too long,” I continue. “Though we have grown since our descent into Draethys, they still outnumber us and wield greater magical resources.”
Colonel Rogon’s brother, Lord Leander, arches an eyebrow. “Nothing surpasses dragonfire. We once dominated the skies by blood and flame.”
