CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 10
Dynarys loosened the tension of his jaw. The muscles there were getting sore from his constantly gritted teeth. Bringing the woman here was a mistake. He should have locked her in her room and feigned an illness for her. No matter which direction he turned, interested eyes appraised her, many Lords approaching before his glares sent them back the direction they came. It was a headache he was unused to dealing with, and the only relief he might get was to claim her as his own tryst for the evening, which required touching her excessively to stake his claim...and that created its own problems. Ones that would be noticeable to the entire hall.
He moved her along, handling the introductions where they were necessary. Thankfully, she seemed content to passively nod and smile, and no one questioned his story about her, nor his association with her.
Despite having to be constantly on guard against approaching interested Lords, he found his mind drifting back to the interlude with his mother. Dark news seemed to cling to the woman, for she never appeared with any other purpose. Now, it was the Shifters of the forest going missing. Try as he might to remain emotionally detached from such tidings, he could not. The Archon might seek independence from the Shifters, an insurance against events such as Kurath's treachery, but the Lords would never be separate from the Shifter race. Trouble for their packs meant trouble for the Dragon Lords.
Right. Keep telling yourself that is why you care.
The truth was he did care. And for far more personal reasons, though he wished such reasons didn't exist. And now he must convince the Archon to care too. To allow additional members to their delegation on his behalf, as well as an additional purpose.
“Dynarys,” Cillumn approached nodding respectfully to both him and Gayriel. His gaze flicked to the woman's arm, where Dynarys held her, brushing his fingers along her skin absently. This Lord, he noted, did not have a woman with him, though he could spot several that looked his way with interest. Something like longing crossed Cillumn's features before he raised his eyes to Dynarys's.
Odd how different it was now that they were no longer boys playing their days out as sparring partners. Now that he was General, did Cillumn resent his promotion? He, too, had potential for leadership.
“May I speak privately with you for a moment?”
That didn't sound like the words of someone resentful. Dynarys nodded, guiding Gayriel to an alcove.
“Remain here,” he commanded, and stepped away, out of hearing range, but near enough to intervene should anyone approach.
Cillumn waited with the patience of a man who had little else to discuss than the changing of the weather.
“I have overheard rumor of a theft,” he muttered when they were alone. “From Lord Jaithuk's treasury. There is a certain sect that is quite upset about it, though no one will mention what was stolen nor has it been reported to the Archon.” He met Dynarys's eyes boldly. “I believe it might have to do with Kurath's incursion.”
“Why keep it secret?” Dynarys frowned. It made little sense. Then another question formed in his mind. “Which sect?”
“The one that has been lobbying for your dismissal from the aerie for the last ten years.”
“I thought those gray-hairs had given up.”
“Your promotion has stirred some of the old protests up. I am sure the Archon will tame them as easily as he did in the past. What I am not sure of, is what this has to do with recent troubles.” It was Cillumn's turn to frown; he placed a hand on Dynarys's arm, a symbol of brotherhood. “I am worried for you, my friend.”
Dynarys blinked. That was two shows of steadfast loyalty this night. He had never been one to carouse or partake in the rash entertainment with the other warriors. And though he tried to be fair, he knew that he was harsh and demanding during training. Respect he expected...camaraderie...was a pleasant surprise.
“Thank you, Cillumn. I will heed your warning, and watch for trouble.”
He looked up to the woman he was supposed to be guiding. She was scowling now, in a very unslavelike manner.
He suspected that trouble might have found him on a number of levels.

Gayriel took a breath and tried to pretend Dynarys hadn’t closed in, crowding her with his body and subtly brushing his fingers along her waist, guiding her from one delegate to another.
She focused on trying to memorize the names and titles, so that she might match them to faces later on. Each and every delegate, besides herself, was a Dragon Lord. And each eyed her with interest as the lie was told. Delegate from the city. Lady Gayriel.
She filed away what Tharissa had told her, that each of the men were likely eager to try her for a mate. It certainly seemed that way, but it was not conducive to the calm air she wished to expound. Surely, a true delegate would possess a smooth grace in such a situation. It worried her that any moment one of the men would smell her lie.
Fortunately, Dynarys did the talking, and she found she had little to input besides a brief hello. So she concentrated, as they moved on, pretending she was in a peaceful setting, one where she felt confident in herself and her place. She decided if one could lie effectively by pretending to answer a different question, then one might hide their emotions by pretending another situation. And she needed her emotions concealed. Because it grated on her, the disadvantage of having her emotions available for all to see—or smell.
Sadly, she struggled to come up with such an imaginary place and, at last, settled for her bunk in the choosing house. She knew, there, exactly what was expected of her, and until a few days ago, she felt assured of her plan. So, in a quiet place of her mind, she focused on that.
It was hard to tell if it made a difference, being as she could not smell the emotions herself. But Dynarys paused now and again to look at her oddly.
They had managed to circle the room, meeting six Dragon Lords that would be traveling with them, as well as, she gathered from her passive role in the conversations, several units of Shifter guardians.
To her consternation, they approached the fountain once more. Or one of them, anyway. She suspected Dynarys drew close on purpose, to fluster her. For a moment, she thought to make her displeasure known, but several couples gathered nearby and she wondered if there was yet another Dragon Lord to meet among them. Plus, all the other women seemed to enjoy the fountains—some more than others—and she didn’t wish to draw attention to her discomfort.
The humor of it didn’t miss her. A bedroom slave uncomfortable where Lords and their women were not.
Pretending she was in her bunk, and everything before her was only a dream, she followed the gentle pressure at her waist. The moaning and primal sounds of pleasure were a bit harder to block out.
“Where do all these women come from anyway?” she grumbled. They weren’t all mates of Dragon Lords.
“They come from the city,” he studied her face. “It is considered a great honor to be chosen by a Dragon Lord.”
Gayriel snorted.
“It is an arrangement you should be aware of, as delegate,” he tilted his head. “An old contract. Protection for the city in exchange for whichever women the Dragon Lords choose. Though, in modern times, we prefer they come to us on their own.”
“I have never heard of such a thing,” she frowned.
“As I said, we like our women willing. Your situation made that impossible.”
That was true, but in the city, rumors spread quickly. Especially about the nobles. Why hadn’t she heard of this exodus to the forest?
She studied the group they approached. It was a mix of tall, warrior-bred men and slightly clinging women of different shades and builds. They did look eager to be there. Only one, a blond woman with porcelain features, stood apart and unattached from a Lord.
Her dress, at first, appeared to be sleek and black. An elegant creation that clung tightly to her body, from her breasts to her hips, before flowing to the floor. Gayriel tamped down a little irritation, she would have been far more comfortable in something like that.
Until the woman turned.
As she moved beneath the light, the material turned sheer, proudly displaying her...everything. A mulish set came over her lips, as she watched Dynarys and Gayriel approach.
“Dynarys,” she greeted, lowering her lashes slightly.
The conversation of the group broke and they turned their direction. Strale, Gayriel noticed, was among them, arms wrapped around the waist of two scantily clad brunettes. He unwrapped one of them—to the woman's dismay—and sent Gayriel an inviting gesture.
She shook her head politely, the corner of her lip turning upward. Indomitable man.
“Finished showing off your woman?” Strale asked. A subtle question laced his words, his brows raised slightly.
Gayriel stiffened. She was risking many things, death included, for her freedom. She would not be labeled as belonging to anyone.
“I am not his woman,” she announced.
The group at large turned from their assessment of Dynarys, and stared at her. Dynarys stepped behind her, and placed his long fingers on her shoulders. A warning.
She ignored him.
“I belong to no man,” she added for emphasis.
They still stared; even the blond stared. At first she thought it was because she had not yet asserted herself at the aerie and it surprised them. But the longer they stared, the more she wondered if she had stumbled into a social mistake.
The blond recovered first, a sultry smile curved her pout upward.
“If that is so, maybe Dynarys would like to spend the evening with a more willing partner.” The suggestion that it would be herself was entirely plain.
“I have duties this evening,” Dynarys answered. His voice was remote, but Gayriel could still feel the tension in his fingers.
“It seems your assignment as the lady’s guardian may have been...premature,” the Lord who spoke was a bristling older man. His hair had turned silver long ago. Faint wrinkles creased his face, though his body retained a fitness most humans Gayriel had known would envy. A pale woman stood at his side, her white-blond hair vaguely familiar. Azure eyes regarded Gayriel skeptically, and she had a sense the woman did not quite approve. Of what, she wasn’t sure. “Perhaps the Lady delegate has tastes that run a little more pure.”
What?
Gayriel opened her mouth, and then closed it, not sure what she would say. It didn’t matter. The old man paid her no heed, as he stepped back from the small group, gesturing to someone across the room. She thought, for a moment, that she might have heard Strale groan in dismay, but the two bodies occupying the fountain behind her messed with her perception a little.
The old man returned, guiding a trim and fiercely handsome younger Lord. Gayriel recognized him immediately.
“My son, Pourtus,” the older man introduced.
Pourtus nodded sagely, a glass of deep red liquid perched between his fingers. His amber eyes were appreciative, until they reached the hands still set upon her shoulders. There was no mistaking the hard glint in them then.
“Pourtus will also be attending the delegation,” the old man continued. He paused and then smiled winningly at Gayriel. “You must be aware of the dangerous position your city has placed you in. I am sure they have their reasons, but a woman traveling the forest and into a strange aerie most certainly requires protection. Pourtus is a wise choice for your guardian. There is no doubting his loyalties.”
She was missing something in the conversation. There was certainly an insult in there somewhere, but for whom?
“If I were your guardian, you would not be going,” Pourtus dismissed his father with a wave of his hand. “There is no excuse to put a woman in danger in such a way. I expect as much from humans, but a Dragon Lord should know better.” He looked at Gayriel, ignoring Dynarys completely. “Your city can send another, you are not disposable.”
“Wait,” Gayriel protested, he had started to speak as though he owned her. She didn’t like it. “I did not ask for your protection, nor do I want it.” Not if protection was telling her what to do.
The group shifted, no doubt she had made another subtle mistake. She didn’t care.
The older man frowned, saying nothing. However, he and his mate stepped from the group to wander elsewhere.
“It is your choice, of course,” Pourtus conceded at last. “But you might wish to look at your chosen protector’s parentage before you make up your mind. And especially before you let him lead you from the aerie. At least you have met mine.”
Parentage?
“I have met Dynarys’, too. His mother at least, just before the banquet,” she argued. She was starting to dislike this man.
Dynarys’s fingers tightened on her shoulders, almost painfully. Strale groaned once more.
“Really?” Pourtus mused, glancing over the rim of his glass. The sparkling liquid inside sloshed against the edge as it rolled between his fingers. “An interesting choice, in times such as these, don’t you think? What is that saying...blood will tell?”
“There are many Shifters loyal to the old ways, association with them tells nothing,” Dynarys said, his tone indicating boredom with the topic. His fingers, however, had yet to loosen.
“Ah, that might be true, but Illaise is not one of those loyal, is she? In fact, as an Alpha of a free pack, some have speculated Illaise is behind the current bout of insubordination. And given her eldest son found his way into the aerie, as well, those suspicions have a great deal of support.”
Dynarys said nothing and Pourtus turned to Gayriel.
“Lady Delegate, the Firestriker blood might once have been royal, but surely it would be wise to ally yourself with a Dragon Lord with less...dubious affiliations, for the benefit of your fair city,” he raised his glass and trailed off toward the fountain.
She remained still, determined to keep her bunk imagery in place and block the mixed flood of emotions that threatened to overcome her.
Illaise, a Shifter. That explained a few things. It hadn’t occurred to her that the mixing of the two races would create such tension. It only seemed natural, given their intimate association. Yet Pourtus’s words proved otherwise. And Dynarys had mixed blood.
“You might have said,” she whispered to the man at her back. Not quite an apology.
Illaise had not behaved like a Shifter, in fact, she had met Gayriel's eyes nearly constantly while she spoke. Something to do with her Alpha position, Gayriel was certain.
“It did not concern you,” Dynarys said stiffly. She turned, so that she could see his expression, but he was staring across the hall to where Pourtus was conversing with several others.
He sighed. “It matters not. He would have discovered her anyway. It seems my mother has also wormed her way onto our delegation,” he paused at Gayriel's raised brows. Then he lowered his voice to a murmur. “It is becoming a dangerous front for your task.”
Her task. Right.
She wondered if the Onyx aerie would be as complicated. And how she would manage if it was.