CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6
“You’re late.”
A man spoke—the Archon was the title Gayriel had been given. He lounged on a velvet cushioned chair, risen up on a dais at the front of an immense hall. Fat wood pillars lined the path from the double doors, where they entered, to his seat, each carved with a repeating pattern that left Gayriel's eyes crossing. A long golden runner softened their footfalls as they approached.
Windows lined the walls on both sides of the room; the west side still clothed in darkness, but the east let in the first rays of dawn. In between windows hung tapestries depicting vivid scenes of battles and what looked to be victorious moments in history, though she recognized none.
Surprisingly, no guards filled the chamber at all, or any of the things she had come to expect to surround men with power, simply stools and books.
The Archon himself was a middle aged man with silver at his temples. His black hair was longer, and bound. A firm jaw and pronounced cheekbones with a hint of stubble highlighted his amber eyes.
Another Dragon Lord, then.
But he did not wear the tight black shirt and pants that Firestriker favored; his clothes were a charcoal gray, highlighted with amber embroidery. The thread shimmered when he shifted, giving the illusion that flames flickered within the fabric.
“I ran into some difficulties.”
Firestriker walked before her—three steps—as they approached. He had dressed—blessedly, because otherwise her concentration was shot. She kept imagining...things, instead of trying to discern what was going on with her future. Despite his anger, Firestriker had not laid a hand on her, and she didn’t know whether to be relieved, or worried that some worse form of punishment was to come.
It was bad enough that he had flown her, firmly clutched in dragon claws, back to the aerie; a terrible and inherently cold trip on which she had plenty of time to wonder about her master...and his dragon. Their arrival had gone little better. Without releasing his grip at all, Firestriker had transformed to man and dragged her up some familiar stairs and right back to the white room she had started in.
He had tossed her what looked to be one of his own shirts and ordered her to cover up. Then he left, not returning for hours, as she sat, nerves strung, at the end of the bed.
She nearly stumbled over her own feet twice as they approached the Archon, exhaustion pulled at her. When it didn’t appear she was to be punished immediately on Firestriker’s return, her anxiety subsided, but it left her drained.
The Archon’s brows rose at Firestriker’s statement, a silent question or command to present his excuse.
“Kurath and his pack were in the aerie.”
The Archon’s lips turned downward, his forehead creased. “Yes, I have received the report.” He rose from his draped position, placing a well-worn book on the armrest.
“This is bad news, Dynarys,” a crease formed between his brows. “Kurath and his followers were banished for a reason. You caught them before they did any harm?”
“They caught me, actually,” Firestriker explained, as they came to a stand at the foot of the dais. “He challenged me to Konois-gar.”
The Archon straightened. “Impulsive dog,” he muttered, pacing back toward their end of the dais. “And now? Can I expect vengeance from his pack for the next twenty years?”
Firestriker shook his head, “I did not kill him. His adherence to the rules was non-existent, I was not bound to honor the challenge. Actually, I believe that the attack was less about the Konois-gar and more about something else.”
“Oh? Explain.” If the Archon had seemed to be on the verge of relaxing, Firestriker's words restored his tension.
“Kurath challenged me, and his warriors swarmed me, but there was at least one other wolf within the aerie walls; they had some sort of signal between them.”
The Archon grunted and then flopped back into his chair. It seemed like a movement of defeat to Gayriel; a man carrying a heavy burden.
“But was it one of Kurath's Shifters...or our own? Someone had to let that pack in. It is too coincidental to believe that someone here is not involved.” He sighed. “It seems like we have traitors in our midst again.”
“So it seems,” Firestriker agreed.
“It is unfortunate that we rely on the Shifters so much, and I worry that it will be our downfall.” He sighed. “We need that orb Dynarys, did you fetch a suitable slave for me?”
“Yes sir,” Firestriker stepped aside and waved a hand Gayriel's direction, and for the first time, the Archon’s eyes moved toward her. His gaze was cold and assessing. It was like being back at the choosing house, and his look said he was not impressed.
Not that he should be. Firestriker’s shirt was too large and, though it pressed against her breasts nicely, it would only hide the rest of her figure, and the pair of pants he had shoved at her when he returned were no better. She had to roll the waist six times before they would stay put on her hips, giving the impression of an unsightly bulge beneath the loose shirt.
But the truth was, it didn’t matter what the Archon thought of her. She would not be his slave any more than she would belong to Firestriker. She worked at tamping down the angry betrayal she felt that Firestriker had bought her for someone else. It was an irrelevant feeling, and pointless.
She had escaped this fortress once, and she would do it again. Nothing short of death would stop her.
After a long moment, the Archon nodded. “She has the spirit necessary, you explained what she is to do?”
Wait...what? Wasn’t the reason for buying a bedroom slave because she already knew what to do? She had assumed...
“There has been a distinct lack of time, and as you mentioned, I was already late,” Firestriker said flatly.
She could have been mistaken, but she thought she noticed the Archon’s lips twitch upward slightly. “Woman,” he called, “come closer.”
Surreptitiously, she peeked at Firestriker. He stood to the side, passive and calm. No sign of the possessive nature she had glimpsed so far. And no help at all.
The Archon huffed, signaling his impatience, so she shuffled forward obediently.
“You will have to train her to contain her emotions,” the man said as she neared.
“Noted,” Firestriker replied dryly.
Gayriel tried not to frown. She thought she was doing a commendable job of keeping her face in the passive mask she had been taught. She stepped up the dais and moved toward the Archon until he raised a finger indicating she should stop. It was a relievingly distant position, too far to have intimate expectations.
“What is your name?” he demanded.
She hesitated, what did he care for her name?
“Gayriel.”
The Archon nodded, then leaned forward, his eyes intense on hers. Everything about him was intense. She resisted the urge to look at Firestriker for direction.
“Freedom,” he stated.
Confusion drew her brows together. “Pardon?”
“That is what we offer. Freedom from slavery of any kind. Freedom to choose your own path, and enough gold to buy a new life.”
She blinked. He must be jesting. Three hundred platinum quarry to purchase her...in order to free her? This time she did glance at Firestriker, her brows clashed together and a frown tugged at her lips. He made no move to clarify for her, however, just stared at her with an unreadable expression.
“In exchange for one service,” the Archon continued. “One we believe only a woman with your training might accomplish.”
This was making less and less sense. She was the slave here, why not simply command her service?
“What service?” she decided to ask.
“The apprehension of an important item. We believe it is hidden in a vault in the bedchambers of Celcath Nightshade, Archon of the Onyx aerie...an orb, specifically.”
“You want me to sneak into Celcath’s bedroom in exchange for my freedom?”
“Dear woman, if sneaking into the room were possible we would have no need of your services. You must be invited in. It will not be an easy task, nor is it without risk to your life. If you are discovered, Celcath will not hesitate to have both you and my men killed.”
She shuddered. That sounded less than appealing. After all her training and worry, this is what became of her? A pawn in some battle between beasts. Suddenly, she felt a little foolish and naive that she thought Firestriker wished her for himself.
She is not for me.
But he hadn’t faked his arousal.
As she stood there, for the first time in a very long while, she realized she held some power in her own life. Even now, the Archon waited for her reaction. They needed her cooperation, not simply blind obedience.
“If I refuse?” she questioned. Behind her, she sensed Firestriker stiffen. Afraid he made the wrong choice? That she would embarrass him in front of his Archon? Or did something else bother him?
“Then you will be returned to the choosing house and we will select another, more willing slave,” the Archon growled. She had displeased him. He expected she would reach for the gift of freedom he offered without thought.
She mulled over his words. So much for gaining power in her life. Her choices were to put her life in danger for a struggle not her own and earn freedom, or go back to where she began and hope her plans worked out better on the next round.
...And then risk her life once more to escape a new master.
“Your decision on this matter must be immediate, we have lost too much time as it is,” the Archon prompted. “Do you accept or refuse?”
She frowned, worried she might be digging herself into a trap she could not escape from. “I accept,” she said at last.
The Archon nodded, satisfied.
“Two important points. First, only Dynarys, and myself know of your purpose. You will keep it that way on pain of death,” his amber eyes flashed with dark promise.
She swallowed.
“Second, you will masquerade as a representative of your human city. It is not so unusual that Celcath will question your presence.”
“But,” she began...just what had she agreed to? “I know nothing of the city’s higher ranks.”
“Celcath cares not for human ways; he will not care for anything you have to say politically. I would be surprised if he paid you any attention at all. That my dear, is the challenge. There is a day yet before the delegation will be prepared. Dynarys will brief you on what you need to know, you are both dismissed.”
Firestriker turned promptly, tilting his head for her to follow. She stepped from the dais, a little shocked at how fast fate had turned.
“Oh, Dynarys?” the Archon called as they neared the far doors.
Dynarys paused.
“I trust you explicitly with her...but it might be wise to keep her from Strale. He will want to try her for a mate, and on the off chance she is...well, Celcath will smell it on her. He will never believe a dragon’s mate trying to get into his bed. In fact,” he paused, his amber gaze studied her intently. He raised a hand to scratch at his beard. “...I suggest you keep all the unmated dragons at a distance.”