Giels’ nostrils flared. Sunniva found herself torn between relief that someone he couldn’t argue with was telling him off, and concern over what he would do when she left.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken about my ability to inspire the natives. This particular human volunteered.” Giels thrust his finger at Marcus.
The matriarch studied Marcus. Sunniva fought the urge to turn round and look at him herself. Volunteered? But Giels had implied it was a punishment.
Ingigor completed her survey. “That degree of modifier is dangerous.”
“In inexperienced hands,” Giels countered.
The matriarch pushed her bowl away, most of the broth still untouched. Giels signaled the servants again.
The next course was a rare fillet of some meat, accompanied by vegetables carved into reproductions of more Dreki flowers. Sunniva thought wistfully of the simple meals she ate in her workshop, and wondered if she should mention her research. The Kervilli had their own network and were rich in power as well as in more tangible resources. Such an abundance of dragonmesh was hardly cheap.
“You’ve rejected all the candidates you’ve met.” Too late. The matriarch was glaring at her again. “Don’t you think you’ve been a little hasty?”
Sunniva dug her fork into a cascade of tiny white flowers that might have started out as a radish. “I have tried, both here and on the homeworld.”
She’d gone to courting events when she was younger, but as she’d gotten older and prospective candidates her age were fewer she’d given up. Her mother still insisted she keep trying, and simply sprang candidates on Sunniva without warning rather than give her a chance to refuse. At least her work had given her some excuse. And then Giels had demanded her. “It could be your last chance,” her mother had said, and nothing Sunniva could say would dissuade her.
If she could show her mother the work she’d done for the clan, assuming she was successful, would that count? Sunniva took a bite of succulent and well-seasoned meat and chewed it mechanically. She already knew the answer to that question.
“I have done my best.” Giels sounded resigned. “I have discussed this before. She needs to be excluded from the line of inheritance.”
The matriarch cut viciously through her meat. “A male clan head is not traditional.”
“Neither is an unproven female,” Giels countered.
Sunniva stared at her vegetables, feeling fundamentally defective. Hearing that Giels wanted her cut out of the clan stung. If only she’d been a distant cousin or clanless, or anything else…
She felt rather than heard something settle behind her. She snuck a quick glance while Giels expanded on her deficiencies.
Marcus had put one hand on her chair behind her back, where it couldn’t be seen by the others, holding it lightly. Supporting her.
She told herself that he was only doing it because of the modifier, but there was a spark of warmth that couldn’t be entirely dampened. At least she wasn’t alone.
“Bring her to the council meeting on Friday.” The matriarch pushed away the rest of her plate. “Neither of you are ideal. Perhaps another clan would manage these things better.”
For an instant Giels’ expression was vicious. Then it cleared, replaced by smooth politeness.
“As always, I’ll defer to the council’s wisdom.”
Ingigor shook her head sharply when Giels beckoned the servants for the next course.
“I’ve had quite enough.” She pushed her chair back from the table. Her dragonmesh was already sparking and crackling, the gems on her bracelet glowing with power. Sunniva felt Giels send an impulse through the aerie matrix and the false wall of the banquet hall dissolved to reveal the open night sky, cold air gusting into the room.
The matriarch’s dragon was a deep blue with silver claws to match her horns, massive even in the space of the banquet hall. She took two st
eps forward on thickly muscled legs and launched herself into space, her wings snapping open with a booming sound.
Tomorrow, Sunniva’s dragon said wistfully. She watched the matriarch climb and turn, her body silhouetted against clouds.
Tomorrow.
The wall reformed. Giels picked up his linen napkin, blotted his mouth with it and then slowly and precisely ripped it into two, dropping the pieces on the floor.
“If the council take away everything I’ve worked for I’ll see you and your useless dragon rot,” he said, in a conversational tone. “Dessert?”
Her dragon surged within her, and for a moment Sunniva’s hands curved into claws before she regained control. Don’t challenge him, she said. Giels was in the heart of his hoard, surrounded by power; at best he would block any attempt to shift. Her dragon subsided, grumbling. Sunniva put down her fork carefully, trying not to let it clink on the agate.