Page 23 of Echoes of Fire

He met my gaze without flinching even though his words were a knife. “For you and Orla to participate in the Mating Challenge.”

The tension in the chamber thickened so much I could barely breathe. Vyne whistled softly. Khorlar’s stony brow furrowed, but he remained silent.

I stared at Darrokar, anger igniting behind my ribs. “Absolutely not. No one’s done that in years. Surely you jest.”

He shook his head. “Never about this. You know the festival’s importance; they still speak of your success at the warrior trials all those years ago. The Mating Challenge is revered—our people treat it as the ultimate test of bonded pairs.”

I felt my wings twitch, my pulse hammering. “It’s insane. Warriors spend years preparing to face it together. She’s a civilian. And a human. You think I’ll throw her into a crucible meant to break the strongest among us? I don’t see you offering to throw your human in beside mine.”

“Tread carefully now,” Darrokar warned, the beginnings of a growl under his words. “If you can’t find some way to prove the bond to the doubters, this will not end. Zealots corner her while your back is turned. Word spreads that your human mate weakens you. Is that safer?”

I let out a long breath, claws curling into the table. “You think risking her life solves this?”

“I think showing the council—and all of Scalvaris—that your bond is more than a ploy to protect her is the only way. The River’s Run draws every eye. If they see your mate stand at your side, if they see what she’s made of, they’ll have no choice but to accept her.”

“She’s human,” I said in a low rasp. “You expect her to pass a challenge designed for trained warriors, ones who can brush off wounds she cannot?”

Darrokar’s expression didn’t shift. “I’ve seen what these humans can do. They’re stronger than many care to admit—and you know it too, or you wouldn’t have claimed her.”

That truth sank like a hot coal in my gut. Orla was fierce in ways few understood. But she hadn’t chosen this life. It had chosen her. I couldn’t make her face such trials purely to appease the old guard. Yet … I saw Darrokar’s point. Too well.

I forced my shoulders to relax. “And if I refuse?”

Darrokar’s gaze hardened. “The doubt will continue to spread until Karyseth finds a way to truly challenge you in council.”

Drakarn traditions were harsh. A mate bond was supposed to be sacrosanct. Lying about it would dishonor a warrior beyond nearly all else. I wasn’t lying, but a small part of me could understand why it might look that way.

Vyne’s voice drifted back into the stalemate. “You could always make another public declaration. Challenge someonefor her honor, take her right there in the marketplace—very dramatic. The city will love it.”

I turned on him with a snarl, tail whipping the air. “Try me, Vyne.”

Khorlar broke in. “He may be a fool, but he’s not entirely wrong. Your woman must know the stakes. If she accepts, at least the council won’t treat her as a human outsider—they’ll treat her as your mate.”

A brittle kind of hope mingled with dread in my chest. Orla wouldn’t shy from a confrontation. She’d meet it head-on, even if it tore at her. The thought of exposing her to the Mating Challenge, though, made my blood chill.

“Let me talk to her,” I ground out, not hiding my reluctance. “She deserves a choice. I have taken enough from her already.”

Darrokar nodded. “Good.”

I pivoted sharply toward the exit, wings fluttering in frustration, tension climbing my spine. I’d had enough of this.

Khorlar’s rumbling voice stopped me mid-stride. “Don’t forget why you chose her.”

I didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. The memory of that primal pull, the way her scent sliced through me and stirred something feral, flashed again in my mind. Conviction and fear tangled in my throat.

One false step and I’d pay in Orla’s blood.

The corridors outside felt stifling, the veins of heat crystals pulsing along the dark walls. My steps echoed louder than normal, each stride a release of pent-up energy I couldn’t unleash in the council room.

Then I saw that piece of filth—Krazath. He smirked as he spoke in hushed tones with Zarvash, another councilor and a follower of the Forge Temple. Krazath’s wings were partially unfurled in an agitated stance, while Zarvash’s calm expressiongave nothing away. When they noticed me, their voices dropped even lower.

I let my steps slow, eyes narrowed. Their posture—leaning in, wings tense—reeked of plotting. I caught a stray sentence from Zarvash: something about opportunists and precarious positions. Typical.

Zarvash stepped away from Krazath and inclined his head as he passed me. “It seems I cannot go a day without hearing about you.”

I grunted. “And you believe it all?”

His bronze eyes flicked over me, unreadable. “I merely follow the truth. Wherever it may lead.”

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