Compared to the organized, even powerful governments of the other four clans, Garnis had nothing. The Lost. In twenty years, Mal had yet to discern whether their lack of involvement in Council discussions was because of their clan’s ways or because they had little power to reinforce any point of view. Surely they believed
He wanted to pace—or rain lightning down on those who opposed him. Too much temper for a Giva. He’d known it from the beginning. A slow-boil fury made him vibrate with things unsaid, actions not taken. He pushed his anger into the pit of his stomach. No one would humble him. For all the doubts others harbored about his legitimacy, Mal knew the truth. He had the insight and resolve to see his people through this crisis.
“We all know her husband was killed. No one has seen her or her son since. This letter is the first communication anyone has received from her. It’s half-scrawled in blood, for Dragon’s sake.”
Arguments burst across the table as the senators took his words, warped them, turned them into weapons to brandish at one another.
Nynn’s words haunted him day and night. Even the fierce mountain winds sounded like his long-lost cousin. Her voice was strong enough to compete with the ticking clock in his mind that said they were running out of time.
His aunt, Leoki, had been dead since the accident no one mentioned. She had given birth to Nynn by a Pendray man. Perhaps one day she would’ve been accepted back into Clan Tigony, especially with Mal as Giva. Instead, Nynn had killed her.
Grief still pounded in his joints. Leoki had been his aunt, but they’d been separated by only five years—more like siblings. He’d lost so much that day. Leoki dead. Nynn subjected to the process that had boxed away her dangerous powers. She’d emerged practically human, so that his decision to have her educated in the States was an easy one to edge into her consciousness. After only a few weeks, she’d taken up the idea as her own.
And marrying a human man . . . That had been the end of Nynn’s life as a Dragon King.
He’d fought the Council. He’d even fought Nynn, hoping she would relent and come home. But layered over that wretched era had been one moment of goodness. She had appeared happy for the first time in years. Even when the Council delivered its verdict, she was a woman relieved of deep burdens.
Only, she didn’t know what burdens remained in her mind.
“That’s what I’d expect to hear from a Thieving liar like you!” came a shout from Pendray Youth.
“Quiet!” Mal’s voice thundered around the wide circular room. “You’re spoiled children, not senators. I
“Act without our consent?” Sath Youth looked ready to turn his chair into a weapon—whether to strike Mal or Pendray Youth didn’t seem to matter.
Tigony Wisdom cleared her throat. She was the only person who could stem the tide of so much anger with the arch of one brow. The Pendray and Sath Youths glared, but one cast his eyes toward the table and the other fussed with draped robe sleeves.
Named Hobik, Tigony Wisdom was Mal’s adoptive grandmother and the only senator whose name he still used in his mind. Despite no blood relation, they looked a great deal alike: thick, straight bronze hair and eyes so deeply blue as to appear black in the low light of the Council room. Elegant, the Tigony had always been called. Cultured. Gracious.
Another reason they weren’t taken seriously in times of war.
Mal could’ve laughed. His people had taught the Greeks and Romans how to fight. How to build cities and raze them. At that moment, a crackle of static was taking the form of sparks in his blood, inside him, all around him. If he let his concentration slip, those sparks would amplify into violent kinetic energy. He would become a living turbine.
Not now. Maybe not ever.
He gave his grandmother the barest nod.
Hobik turned her attention to the rest of the Council. “Whether or not Nynn’s child has been blessed by the Dragon, the other two human cartels remain our clearest stream of information. They are openly jealous of Dr. Aster’s acquisition. Because of the timing of her kidnapping, we can assume some truth to the Asters’ involvement. Why would he hold them captive if they weren’t important?”
That logic was apparently the key to coalescing the Council’s attention. Mal had been too agitated to think of it.
He breathed deeply of the mountain’s thin, chilly air, thankful that Hobik’s logic had quieted the senators. For now.
Nynn was a piece missing from his life since her departure for the States, and then gone from him forever after marriage. She had never treated him as a man apart, but as a friend. Worse, she had since become an obsession. She represented the first and only significant time he’d given in to the Council’s demands. As a result, he’d never met her husband or her son. Her resentment had been too strong.
Now he had her letter. What might be her last. Her disappearance finally warranted the Council’s involvement. He’d been waiting for such an opportunity.
Mal cleared his throat. Time to bring this meeting to a head. “What’s more, new information suggests the existence of an underground network of Dragon Kings. They work in secret and are unaccounted for among their clans. More than that, they have reached across clan boundaries. No politics. No allegiances other than to our people as a whole.”
Gasps of surprise and disbelief met his words. Every senator believed that he or she held sway over their territorial, increasingly bureaucratic governments. They likely thought it impossible for clansmen to escape entrenched lore and self-importance. Managing Council meetings even twice a year was becoming more and more difficult. No one was willing to compromise for the greater good.
Not even this small group.
Yet out there, he believed others might see the world—and their pending extinction—with more pragmatism. That gave him as much hope as Nynn’s letter.
“They don’t have a name,” he said, with all of his calm and focus. “No codes. No way of getting in touch.”
“Then who delivered the letter? Carrier pigeons?” Wearing a sneer, Pendray Youth made as if he were ready to retire for the evening.
Mal paused, looking the rebellious senator in the eye. “It was Tallis of Pendray.”
No one spoke. Mal could see them processing this new information, testing it for truth. Finding it lacking.
“The Heretic,” Tigony Youth whispered. “He’s been dead for years.”
“He hasn’t been dead, because he’s been a Pendray myth all along.” Sath Wisdom shook her head. “Some legendary assassin? I don’t believe any of this.”
Mal smiled coldly. “Careful. Calling me Trickster is one thing. That sounded very close to calling me a liar. I refuse to discount any possibility.”
The pair of Indranan senators shared a glance before their Youth spoke. “We’re with Sath Wisdom on this. He doesn’t exist. Never has.”
“Pendray Youth?” Mal stood, placed both hands on the table, and let it take his weight. The senator’s natural golden color had drained to a sickly pallor, as if he’d seen ghost. “He’s of your clan, so tell me. Is Tallis of Pendray a myth? Is he dead?”
“The Heretic is not a myth,” he said, his voice hushed and monotone. “And as far as the Pendray government is aware, he is not dead. We would’ve seen the celebratory fires from here in these mountains. Our people have hunted him for decades.” Although he appeared to have aged in a matter of moments, he snapped out of his daze. “And he just
“Don’t think me so generous,” came a shadow-dark voice.
Mal stood to his full height, pleased with Tallis’s timing.
Guards materialized out of nowhere. The Council’s Youths jumped to their feet. Only the crackle of electricity from Mal’s fingertips silenced the chaos. “Stand down, senators. Now. And I suggest you introduce yourself. Quickly.”
