Page 71 of A Matter of Destiny

“I decline,” he declares.

A gasp rolls through the crowd. A few dragons even shout out their objections. Greimbyss raises his claw, that smug expression once again smeared across his snout.

“I have another name to submit for consideration,” Greimbyss says. “But first, I’m going to make my argument.”

Murmurs run through the crowd like a shiver through scales, and I suddenly feel cold. The empty Throne of Claws pulls my attention, as though the twisted black metal has its own gravity. Damn it, I just had their attention! Should I have warned the dragons about Rensivar? Should I have told them we might be attacked?

But who would have believed me? My eyes drift back to Greimbyss, pulled by the swagger in his walk as he paces along the grass. He wouldn’t dare speak Rensivar’s name during the Queensmoot. He wouldn’t risk the outrage or the humiliation.

“You all know me,” Greimbyss says, speaking easily, as though everyone in the assembly of dragons was his closest friend. “You know what I believe, what I think would be best for the Iron Mountains.”

There are a few sneers and growls, and a dishearteningly large number of cheers.

“You know how I feel about the treaties,” Greimbyss snarls, curling his lip in disgust.

More cheers. Something cold runs up the back of my scales.

“Let dragons be dragons,” someone shouts.

“Yes!” Greimbyss replies, his eyes sparkling. “Exactly! We need to let dragons be dragons!”

The crowd erupts into a mess of snarls, insults, and howls of support. Greimbyss flares the spines on his neck, and the back of my throat turns bitter.

“We used to be hunters,” Greimbyss declares, his eyes narrowing as he sweeps them across the mountainside. “We didn’t buy our food. We didn’t trade for meat—”

“Spoken like someone who’s never gone hungry,” a voice thunders from beside me.

The crowd’s attention shifts as Nyrgin comes to his feet, his silver scales gleaming dully in the starlight. A low shifting rustle fills the air as he walks onto the grass, his great talons leaving divots in the soft dirt. Nyrgin turns to face the crowd.

“My mate was murdered,” he declares. “An elven hunter drove a golden lance through her heart spot. I raised our hatchling alone.”

His head swings, fixing his gaze on Greimbyss.

“Do you have any idea,” he growls, “how hard it is to find prey in the winter mountains? How hard it is to leave your only hatchling undefended for days at a time while you search the snow for signs of elk, and all the while knowing the elves are hunting you too?”

Greimbyss gives him a cocky smile, then opens his mouth. Nyrgin, ignoring him, swings his head back to face the crowd.

“The elves used to murder us,” Nyrgin declares, in a voice as deep as the caverns beneath the Iron Mountains. “And now they bring us cattle. The treaties of the Iron Mountains protect us.”

Greimbyss’s lips pull back into a smile that makes my scales shake.

“But do they?” Greimbyss hisses.

Realization hits me like an iron fist in the teeth. Mothers above, this is what Greimbyss was waiting for. Whatever he’s going to do, stars help us, he’s going to do it now. I rear back, my front claws in the air, and open my mouth to howl a warning.

But it’s too late. A massive crossbow bolt falls from the sky and slices through Nyrgin’s flank. The scent of blood fills the air; the sky hisses as another volley of crossbow bolts cut through the night.

The assembly dissolves into screams. I rush forward, my claws sinking into the grass, one arm raised to press to Nyrgin’s wound, my wings spread to obscure the aim of whoever is commanding the damned crossbow big enough to launch a bolt that can injure a dragon, wherever they are. The hissing sound grows louder. Something punches me in the wing, knocking my body forward into the grass.

The world explodes into agony.

Chapter32

Rayne

Ihold my breath as my heart tries to climb up the back of my throat. I’d half climbed and half slid down the mountainside, releasing several torrents of stone that would have easily given me away, invisibility magic or not, if the dragons around me hadn’t been so busy shouting at each other.

And then Doshir had stalked onto the grass, smoke rising in twin plumes from his nostrils, his sleek golden tail cutting through the air. Kings, he’d held the entire crowd in his claws; it was just like that morning back in Cairncliff, when I’d blundered into the Town Council to stupidly announce the death of the dragon who’d birthed me, and Doshir had pulled me from that fire with just a few smiles and smooth words. He can command a crowd, that golden dragon of Cairncliff. I wonder if he knows that. When Doshir backed down and Greimbyss took over once again, the coral dragon behind me muttered something so unflattering I had to bite my own lip to keep from laughing.

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