CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 9
Gayriel held up the delicate silver fabric and eyed it warily. So much for functional. Something special consisted of two fitted lengths of silver satin with wide side panels of black lace. Not only would it leave nothing to hide, but it didn’t look easy to move in, not if she wanted to go faster than a slow shamble.
Yet her new role, if she were to embrace it fully, did not consist of dashing through forests and back-roads to earn her freedom. It consisted of seducing. Perhaps, in that sense, the dress was practical for her purpose.
She slipped it on, struggling a little to get it passed her hips. It pulled at her hair as it settled and she freed the dark locks from beneath it. She had brushed it and planned to leave it loose and flowing this night.
As promised, the old woman had the dress fitting to perfection. The lace revealed an uncomfortable amount of skin. The sides of her breasts were completely exposed, and most of her hips. She worried that, if she shifted wrong, she would reveal more than was appropriate at such an event. One of her damaged fingers snagged on the lace; she unhooked the broken fingernail gently and bit at the uneven edge.
Her chamber had been invaded while they shopped. The tub and towels were removed and several pieces of furniture brought in: a small, dark wood table and chairs, a full length mirror, which propped against the far wall, a desk complete with parchment and ink, and a traveling trunk that now held the day’s acquisitions, six new dresses and accessories to match.
The Dragon Lords spent quarry as if it were nothing but loose gravel; she had lost count of the total far before they had exhausted Tharissa. The exuberant woman had ended the afternoon limp and happy. But the money and the crowds riled Gayriel's nerves and she was glad when it ended.
Only now she had to survive her first test, play her role to satisfaction at a banquet full of Dragon Lords and their mates.
She let out a heavy breath, willing her hands to lose their tremble, and moved to the door. She was ready and her guard should know the way.
“Gay?”
The soft, feminine call and knock startled Gayriel. No one had mentioned the protocol for attending a banquet, and over time she had given up hope that someone would come to guide her. Dynarys had deposited her at the room and simply directed her to get ready. Dusk had fallen long ago, if the light coming from the vents corresponded to that of the outside, and the room was now lit with the glow of several lanterns.
“Yes?”
“Are you ready? Does it fit?”
Gayriel opened the door to Tharissa’s bright smile.
“Wow,” she grinned, “I knew that one was perfect.”
Gayriel had the same sentiments and, she admitted, a little relief at seeing Tharissa’s dress. It was a mixture of burnt orange and yellows, with delicate embroidered leaves. The fabric parted each time a leaf joined with another, giving the illusion that they were simply glued to her, until they flowed into a loose skirt that shimmered about her knees. Matched with the golden tan of her skin and the deep green of her eyes, the combination was breathtaking.
Gayriel stepped into the hall, noticing at once that both Dynarys and Morkuth waited farther down. The guards assigned to her door shifted slightly, a simple tilting of their heads. Knowing a little more about the Shifters, it no longer struck her as odd when they did not look up at her, and she took the tilting as their form of greeting. Of course, it could easily have been a gesture of distaste, or an agreement between the two to eat her later, when there were no witnesses. She shuddered a little, remembering her experience with the wolves. Tharissa mentioned other forms, but she had a feeling that they would be no better.
The Shifters fell in behind them as they moved toward the Dragon Lords, so she spent the trip down the hall attempting to stem her discomfort. She had the suspicious feeling that her wariness was transmitting to them loudly, which spiked her nerves even farther.
Dynarys tilted his head; he did not look happy and relaxed, as he had at the market. A subtle wariness had overcome him and he stood in stoic silence. He remained in what she was coming to think of as his uniform; only the sheaths were different, the plain functional ones changed to highly decorated, and even bejeweled replacements. He wore a torc around his neck, as well, the center of which formed an emblem of knot work.
She noticed Morkuth also wore one, though the emblem differed. A sign of their separate houses maybe? She made a note to ask about them later.
“Lady Gayriel,” Firestriker greeted, taking her hand and bowing his forehead to her knuckles. Amber flashed in his eyes when they lifted once more, traveling the extent of her appearance.
She shifted uncomfortably, wishing he wouldn’t look at her that way. It drew her mind in directions she didn’t want it to go.
Morkuth nodded to her, though his eyes never left Tharissa’s figure as she approached, a muscle twitched in his jaw. He looked more like a beast ready to pounce than a man ready for a social event. Dragon Lords, Gayriel decided, were sexually voracious.
She eyed Dynarys speculatively.
“What is she doing here?”
Tharissa’s mutter pulled her from the moment. She was frowning down the corridor, toward the main entrance, where a shadowy figure had detached from the wall and was making its way toward the group. The Shifter guards split immediately, allowing the shadow through.
Gayriel squinted, making out a sleek middle-aged woman with fiercely bound silver hair. She strode forward with an aggressive gate. Her clothes were a tightly fitting brown shirt, riddled with weapons, and dark pants that tucked into heavy boots. Dual swords hung from a sheath at her waist. With each stride, the tip of a bow and quiver peeked above her shoulder.
Dynarys’s fingers tightened on hers, he straightened immediately and scowled.
“Mother,” he greeted stiffly.
Gayriel's gaze flew to the woman who stopped precisely, just close enough to ensure discomfort. Her pale gray eyes passed over Gayriel with disinterest before resting on her son.
Odd, but she had never imagined Dynarys with a mother. It implied he had once been young and helpless, as opposed to...intimidating.
“Why are you here?” he demanded. No inflection of pleasure hinted that he was happy to see her.
“Last time I checked, I was still welcome,” she snorted, “in the aerie to see my son.”
Dynarys grunted, but did not acknowledge her words in any other way. There was a moment of awkward silence, where Gayriel desperately tried to blend in with the surrounding stone.
Tharissa and Morkuth did not help; they frowned at the woman, adding to the distinctly hostile moment.
“Who is this?” the woman asked at last, jerking her head to indicate Gayriel.
Gayriel shrunk a little inside, though she tried not to show it outwardly.
“This is Lady Delegate Gayriel,” Dynarys stepped forward, pulling her hand and turning her to face the introduction directly.
Gayriel sighed inwardly; her blending attempts had failed. She stood straight and smiled at the woman politely; something about Dynarys's mother was vastly intimidating. It worried her that her smile was more of a cringe than she intended.
The woman did not smile back. She stepped closer, frowning.
“Mother...,” Dynarys warned.
Gayriel held her ground.
Oh, a big part of her wanted to run, or maybe cower, behind Dynarys and let him deal with the craziness that was his kin. But that stubborn foolish pride the managers had always bemoaned tangled her emotions. She might be low on the social scale, but she was not this woman's slave. So she met the woman's gaze directly, forcing her shoulders to square.
Pale lips pulled tight, and gray eyes narrowed. A daring, stupid part of Gayriel found that satisfying.
A low sound emanated from the woman’s throat.
Was she growling?
“Mother,” Dynarys snarled.
The woman grunted, glancing to him and then back toward Gayriel. “Lady Gayriel is it? I’m Illaise.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Gayriel lied.
Illaise narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.
“How did you get here? You didn’t travel alone again, did you?” Dynarys grumbled.
She looked back along the hall she emerged from. “After the fuss you raised last time? Of course not. My companions, however, are apparently not as welcome in the aerie as myself. They await me outside the gates.”
“Which brings me back to my original question. What are you doing here?”
Illaise tensed. “My scouts lost track of Kurath three days ago. I came to warn you, but it appears, by my reception, that I am late.”
Dynarys snorted, but his grip relaxed a little.
A small smile lifted the corner of her lips, before disappearing. “There is something more,” she added. “Something I would discuss in private,” her eyes flicked to Gayriel pointedly.
“Come, Lady delegate,” Morkuth commanded. He had Tharissa’s arm and was guiding her down the hall.
Gayriel's curiosity had piqued, however, and she fought between two urges: the first, to obey, and the second, to work her way into staying somehow.
Illaise glared her distaste, and Dynarys, seemingly accepting the inevitable, released her hand, giving her no excuse to remain. So she turned and followed Tharissa and her mate.
She did not like the worried glance Tharissa gave Morkuth when they turned from the hall.

The banquet was held in the central cathedral, a mammoth of a building that glowered down at its surroundings like an unhappy eagle that would protect its young.
Gayriel craned her neck upward and studied the peaks of its towers. They stretched into the night sky, high enough that she imagined an expansive view over the aerie wall and into the surrounding forest.
She and Dynarys had attended the Archon in that very building, but it spoke to that morning's exhaustion that she had not noticed its features.
Tharissa and Morkuth had not spoken since the encounter in the corridor, and the silence grated. There was something about the tense interaction that nagged at her. Or maybe it was the way that Dynarys had stiffened, but she suspected that Illaise did not visit often, and when she did, it was not for pleasantries.
Something shifted against one of the towers and Gayriel stopped, staring as a dragon stretched his wings before disappearing beneath the shadows once more.
“The protectors of the aerie,” Tharissa murmured, “along with the Shifter’s ground warriors, are a force to be reckoned with.”
She sounded fierce and protective. Gayriel wondered if Illaise’s appearance might have something to do with her mood.
She didn’t have a chance to ask, as Tharissa tugged at her arm and pulled her toward a set of double doors guarded by four men in heavy armor. They strode by them easily, as if recognized, which left the question: who were they there to keep out? Her mind flitted once more to Illaise, before she dismissed the thought. It hadn’t looked like she wished to attend a banquet. Gayriel's goal this night was to gain as much information on the Onyx Aerie and Celcath as possible, but now she wondered if she could learn more of Dynarys, and his mother, as well. After all, it was wise to know your friends, as well as your enemies, right?
All of her speculation fell from her mind when they passed the inner entrance chamber into the great hall. The walls of the room rose three times the height of a man, then curved gracefully to form the dome of the ceiling. Lanterns hung from carved vines that swooped across the dome and wound down toward the floor, lighting the hall with pools of gathered light much like the dapple of a sunlit forest.
The tinkle of multiple fountains filled the air along with a soft music, the source of which she could not discern. Though, she admitted, she wasn’t looking too hard. She was too busy staring at the gathering of people.
The chamber was crowded with striking men and a fair portion of women in various states of undress. Her concern over lace vanished as she watched a well-rounded blond slip from her dress and into the fountain on her left. A few male eyes turned her way with interest and she gestured to one, a brown skinned man with black curls cropped close to his head. He approached, grinning, amber eyes flashing. Gayriel stared in disbelief as he leaned in and took one of her dusky nipples in his mouth.
This was not what she expected when she was told to attend a banquet.
Tharissa sighed next to her. “Isn’t that the fountain where we discovered I was your mate?” She asked Morkuth, but the twitch of her lips told Gayriel she already knew, and was teasing him.
His eyes flashed, too, but at a much more intense level than the other man. Already, he was removing his shirt and allowing a wide set of deep red wings to stretch freely.
“You are tempting the poor beast,” he growled at his mate. “I thought you wanted to stay a while this time.”
“I don’t think I understand this banquet,” Gayriel looked away from the sexual display.
Tharissa had no such qualms.
“You will find the Dragon Lords can turn any event into an excuse to tempt their beasts into choosing.”
Gayriel's confusion—and consternation—must have shown, for Tharissa chuckled.
“They really didn’t prepare you to replace your counterpart did they?” She glanced at her. “You remember that I explained that the dragon only mates with one woman? Well, the Lord often doesn’t know the dragon has chosen until he climaxes,” she looked back to the couple in the fountain, “...and they like to test their possibilities. Although sometimes there can be early signs, before the mating.”
Just what had she gotten herself into? Would she be expected to enter the fountains? The thought sent a string of panic through her.
“Something wrong?” Dynarys spoke from behind her shoulder. She hadn’t heard him approach, but now he leaned in, crowding her with his body.
“Uh...no,” she turned to face him, conveniently putting the fountain behind her.
“No?” An eyebrow raised. “When you lie, your face goes completely passive. You are trying too hard.”
She frowned, looking for Tharissa. She and Morkuth had ventured from the entrance, however, and Dynarys leaned closer.
“This time, pretend you are answering a different question, one where your lie becomes the truth. You want me to believe that nothing is wrong, you want to say ‘no’ with conviction, so let’s pretend I’ve asked if joining me in the fountain would interest you.” His voice grew husky. “Now give me an answer.”
What answer? The nearness of his body and his scent teasing her nostrils confused her mind. She was supposed to say ‘no,’ but the second he murmured the possibility heat flared through her core and she could feel a distinct wetness gathering between her legs.
Would she be interested in displaying such actions for all to see? She had been trained to do so, should it please her master. Would it matter, so long as Dynarys was the one touching her? Would she even notice?
An amused, and somewhat intense gleam had entered his amber gaze. His eyes flared and she got the sense he struggled inwardly with something.
“Firestriker,” a Dragon Lord approached, separating from a group of women nearby.
She stared. She was certain he was one of the duelers, the first she had glimpsed of the dragons in the little courtyard near her rooms. But it was difficult to tell with him so nearly naked. His only covering was a strip of gold that rose over one hip and cupped his man-parts like a glittering jewel. She noticed, with a hint of bemusement, that the color matched that of the wings sprouting from his back.
He strutted as he walked, a broad grin aimed, first at Dynarys, and then toward her.
She had no trouble picking out each and every broad muscle, but in her shock, her eyes kept drifting to his golden package. How was it even held up? It pulled to one side, as well, giving a clear view of his obviously shaved testicles.
Dynarys stepped in front of her slightly.
“Strale,” he greeted, and it sounded genuine, if a little exasperated.
Strale was not put off. He flashed his teeth at Dynarys and clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly gesture.
Somehow, he wedged himself closer, offering his hand to Gayriel next.
She accepted politely and he bowed over her hand, touching it gently to his forehead. When he straightened, he brushed his fingers along her arm. A blatant invitation.
Subtly, she tried to pull away from his grip.
“Strale, there are several women over there mourning your lack of attention. Please leave our delegate unharrased,” Dynarys grumbled.
“Well, I would never disappoint a woman,” Strale grinned again and winked at Gayriel. Then his face grew serious and he murmured softly. “I wanted to show my allegiance. Pourtus is here. He is lobbying the Archon for a place on the delegation. I thought you should know.”
“Pourtus?” she ventured. Then she blinked at herself. Hard earned lessons were just slipping out of her grasp now. Speaking out when she wasn’t the one addressed...she had blue bruises for a week after her first offense.
She shrank back a bit into herself, but neither of the Dragon Lords noticed her mistake. They were too busy studying a white blond man, standing next to the Archon, whom Gayriel recognized. Pourtus was the first of the Dragon Lords that did not strike her as warrior stock. He was fit and trim, but his stature spoke more to speed and agility than strength. No wings sprouted from his back, in fact nothing out of place even neared the man. His robes were fashioned after those of the Archon, and the quality rivaled that of the older Lord.
A glower appeared on Dynarys’s face. “Not a friend of mine,” he told her. “Come, you should meet the Lords of the delegation.”