Page 11 of Scorched By Fate

Mektar’s expression darkened further. He turned slightly, angling his body toward the central table as if expecting allies to rise from the shadows of the chamber. "Do you think it’scoincidence this sickness began now? That Mysha herself—an elder—has fallen? We are not blind, Vyne. The Forge Temple?—"

Rath groaned. "The Forge Temple sees enemies in every shadow."

My jaw twitched. Mektar’s voice grated on every nerve I had grown tired of sanding down. "The humans have no more idea what caused this than we do," I said, my tone flat and edged in mirthless humor. "But yes, brilliant theory. Let’s assume they crashed landed on our planet, waited several months, attempted to integrate into our society, and then whipped up an illness targeting our people, all while volunteering themselves to die along the way. Master strategists, clearly."

Sarcasm coated the words like molten slag, and I didn’t bother softening it. Mektar shot me a glare. His claws scraped louder against the table as his tail flicked erratically. "Their weakness invites sickness! Their blood carries it! They are frail creatures, and whatever infects them spreads faster than wildfire. Shall we wait until it has taken root in each of us before acting?"

"Is that an actual question?" I asked lightly, leaning back on one foot. "Because while we’re slinging paranoid accusations, perhaps you should consider someone more credible. Anyone from the Temple make an unannounced visit lately? Say, to the healing caverns? To stir things up a bit, as they tend to enjoy doing?"

Zarvash’s brow quirked at that—subtle, but there—and Mektar’s expression darkened. For all his bristling and righteous indignation, the accusation landed just close enough to the truth to irritate him. His wings flared before snapping back against his spine.

"You think the Forge Temple would harm our healers?" Mektar sneered, brushing the words aside like ashes in the wind.He was trying too hard. "The Forge Temple stands to protect our people’s traditions, not poison them."

"Of course," I said dryly, crossing my arms. "I’m sure that’s precisely what they're thinking when half their low-ranked acolytes hound Rath, screaming about divine judgment because he claimed a mate. Very hospitable. Truly guardians of reason and decency."

Rath let out a short bark of laughter from the other end of the room, and even Zarvash couldn’t stop the twitch of his lips that threatened to resemble approval. Mektar’s irritation boiled over, his claws leaving visible divots in the table now.

"Enough foolishness!" Mektar growled, glaring across the room like he was daring anyone to challenge him outright. "The Blade Council should stand united in protecting Scalvaris—not indulging in childish deflections. The Forge Temple—whether you agree with their methods or not—speaks to the heart of this matter. We should listen."

Rath rolled his eyes so hard I thought his head might snap backward. "Oh, absolutely. We should let the priests guide our survival. Maybe throw a few humans into the lava while we’re at it, just to cleanse their ‘weak blood.’ Who shall we start with? Darrokar's mate? Mine?"

Darrokar growled.

Mektar snarled in response, but before he could launch into whatever drivel passed for a counterargument, Zarvash clapped his hands once, the sound sharp even in the fire-lit chamber.

"Enough," Zarvash said coolly, his tone slicing through the tension with a dangerous calm that carried no room for argument. He tilted his head, keen gaze sweeping across Mektar before settling briefly on me. "Mektar, do not be foolish. The humans did not spread this disease. And you, Vyne, know the Temple would do no such thing. We’ve wasted enough time chasing our tails. Here is what we know: The humans’quarantine methods are working—for now. Their intervention has stopped any spread into the city. The humans seem to be immune to whatever is causing this."

His words had just enough venom to make Mektar twitch again, but Zarvash didn’t stop. "If we exile the humans now, what exactly do we gain? Crippling fear? Spreading this sickness? I don't want them here any more than you do, but it would be foolish to punish them now for helping."

Zarvash, the voice of reason. Since when?

From this angle, I could see Mektar’s claws tap against the stone, too forceful to be casual. "Maybe we should form a committee," I offered, my voice perfectly bland. "One to vote on who gets to deal with the crisis first: the humans with brains and solutions, or the Temple with prayers and sacrifice. I’d love to see how those results come back."

Mektar hissed under his breath, his glare cutting toward me more murderous than it had been all night. "You tread too close to heresy, Vyne."

I exhaled through my nose, unbothered. "If heresy means valuing practicality over fanaticism, allow me to fetch the shackles myself."

Zarvash made a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh, low and exasperated but not without amused acknowledgment. He straightened, fixing his gaze once more on the room’s larger audience, deliberately dragging the focus away from me and Mektar before the latter self-combusted.

"If we intend to approach this situationlogically," Zarvash said once more, with renewed emphasis, "then I suggest no more delays. Order additional supplies drawn from the lower stores. Work with the humans—not against them—to analyze the sickness’s source and treatment. Above all, ensure cooperation, or risk this disease spreading throughout the city."

The silence that followed wasn’t quite agreement, but it wasn’t argument, either. It hung there, brittle and unresolved, but quieter than anything Mektar would risk answering with.

Finally, Khorlar grunted from his corner. His stoic expression hadn’t changed, but his agreement—or at least his refusal to dissent—carried weight. For now, Zarvash’s logic would hold.

Mektar bristled visibly but didn’t speak. I didn’t bother hiding my satisfaction, letting the faint flicker of a smirk cross my face as I rose to full height. Mektar caught the expression well enough; his sneer returned swiftly.

I left without waiting for his next fumbled insult.

The council chamber's heated tension clung to me as I strode away. Mektar might splutter or rise against Zarvash’s surprisingly even logic later, but not tonight. For now, I’d won. Or rather, Zarvash had—his careful threading of caution and reason had defused the worst of it or delayed the inevitable explosion. Mektar's paranoia wasn’t extinguished; it was merely smoldering, banked embers waiting for any excuse to blaze.

The path back to the forge was empty. Quiet. A reprieve from the council’s festering fear. The tunnels curved ahead, the usual dim lighting casting an even glow across the uneven stone. It should’ve been a relief to return to solitude.

It wasn’t.

The quiet only amplified my thoughts. They tripped over themselves, restless and sharp-edged, leaving trails of unease. The weight of Mektar’s accusations mingled with the ache stirred by Selene’s presence in the cavern. The momentary distraction of council politics wasn’t enough to silence the pull she ignited—not nearly.

Her scent lingered as if she were standing beside me now, that subtle sharp tang of adrenaline threading beneath it. Itburned clearly enough in the caverns that it chased me through the tunnels.

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