Page 38 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

A low growl rumbled deep. "The accounting is simple," I bit out, the words rough. "He tried to take what is mine. He paid the price."

A ripple went through the chamber. Whispers hissed like steam escaping rock fissures. Good. Let the claim echo. Let it become undeniable fact carved into the very stone around us.

"And that," Karyseth said, turning her sharp gaze back to the full Council, her voice rising slightly, "brings us to the poison in our midst." She gestured dismissively, though not towards me. "These humans. Outsiders. They bring only chaos. Their very presence invites Ignarath aggression."

"The humans did nothing to summon Plaktish," Darrokar’s authority slammed down, silencing the chamber. A blade forged in command. "The Temple knows this."

"Do not presume to tell me what the Temple knows," Karyseth shot back, her tail lashing the stone once, a sharp crack in the heavy air. "Strange beings from the sky. Possessing knowledge we lack. Bonding with our strongest." Her eyes swept the room, landing briefly, pointedly, on Darrokar, Rath, Vyne, then me. "Altering the balance. We can end this threat without more bloodshed by simply surrendering them."

"Surrender?" Rath snarled, leaning forward, his scales flushing a darker, furious red. The word was an obscenity there. "You mean sacrifice."

"I mean the survival of Scalvaris." Karyseth’s reply was ice against his fire. "One city against its rival. These humans are not our people."

The chamber fractured. Voices clashed, raw and angry. Krazith always bowed to the oldest, harshest traditions. Morvar, whose lands bordered the Ignarath, let fear oil his words. Brezath, ever the opportunist, smelled power in the Temple's stance. Their agreement was loud, insistent.

Others held back, watching, waiting. The calculation in their eyes sickened me. This wasn't about right or wrong for them. It was about advantage.

But the line held. Darrokar was immovable. Vyne's loyalty to his own human mate, Selene, was absolute. Nyx's warrior honor demanded protection once offered. Zarvash, the Strategist, saw the trap in appeasement, even if he was normally an adherent of the temple. Rath's usual recklessness was tempered into fierce, unexpected conviction.

And me. I was rooted to the spot. Unyielding. A wall of stone and fury.

The noise swelled, a cacophony threatening to shatter the fragile control. Darrokar raised a hand, but the momentum was with the dissenters, fueled by Karyseth’s burning fire.

I stepped forward again, into the charged space before the table. Fangs bared. The clamor faltered, died down. Expectation hung heavy, thick as volcanic dust.

"No human," I declared, pitching my voice low but letting it resonate with the bedrock certainty I felt in my bones, "will be traded. Not one. The warrior code forbids bargaining lives like chattel."

"You speak of code?" Karyseth challenged, turning fully to face me, her presence a suffocating wave of ancient power. "While shattering tradition? Your human was targeted because you claimed her outside Temple sanction!"

The accusation struck sparks against my pride. "My claim needed no blessing," I growled, the sound ripped from my chest. "It was made by right of blood. Bone. Instinct." My wings shifted, restless, scraping faintly against my back plates.

"Animal instinct," she hissed, dismissing centuries of warrior truth. "Undermining the careful order."

"The order was broken when Ignarath sent a shadow-operative to steal her," I shot back, planting my feet wider. "That wasn't politics. It was an act of war."

"Stone Fist is right," Zarvash added, rising to stand near me, a surprising but welcome solidarity. "The attempted abduction proves the Ignarath are not acting in good faith. They want something specific from these humans."

"The Strategist speaks like an apostate!" Karyseth snapped, eyes flashing. "Placing outsiders above your own kind?"

A harsh laugh scraped my throat. "Safety? Appeasement buys only illusion, Priestess. Never safety."

"Enough!" Darrokar’s command wasn't just loud, it was a physical force that slammed into the room. His wings flared, catching the light, a controlled display of the inferno beneath his scales. Every eye locked onto him. "The Temple demands action. The Council requires deliberation. We cannot act until we possess facts."

"We demand a vote!" one of Karyseth’s zealots cried out, stepping forward rashly. "The Temple?—"

"The Temple advises," Darrokar cut him off, his voice dropping to a lethal softness, eyes narrowing. "The Council decides. And I determine when that decision is made." His wings flared wider, undeniably dominant. "We adjourn. Review strategic implications. All of them. Before any vote."

Karyseth’s face tightened, her silver scales seeming to darken. Suppressed fury radiated from her like heat off scorched rock. "The Sacred Flame burns hot, Darrokar. Some threats demand a response."

"And they will receive it," he countered, implacable. "Once we understand why. Why Plaktish is so desperate. Why that specific human was targeted." His gaze flickered to me. A silent acknowledgment that shook me deeper than the open conflict. "There is more at play here."

Strategic brilliance. Buying time. Time to think, gather strength, shore up defenses. My respect for Darrokar solidified into something harder, sharper.

"Word arrived as I entered," Vyne spoke into the sudden quiet, his deep voice resonating. "Another Ignarath envoy approaches. Formal. Escorted."

The air thickened again. A formal envoy. Escorted. This wasn't a probe. It was pressure. A demand backed by implicit threat.

"Then we prepare," Darrokar concluded, drawing himself up. The Warrior Lord incarnate. "Assess the defenses. Identify weaknesses. This Council reconvenes when I call it." His gaze swept the chamber, a final command. "Dismissed."

---